Walking Alone on an Empty Road

I drift lifeless in this weary night
Not cognizant of these dark ways
A tear in my eye blurs my sight
Souvenir of bright, beautiful days

I hear the sound of leaves, dry
Crushed like my life, torn apart
Like a soft, muffled cry
I hear their echo in my heart

I turned around with a firm belief
Of someone in this way unknown
But the sight multiplied my grief
An empty road with shadow of my own

I looked up at the moon profound
Prepared I was to shout aloud
At this happiness I just found
When she hid behind a chunk of cloud

The Feeling...

It was 3 AM in the night. He couldn't sleep because of an uneasy feeling, a feeling which can never be described in words of any language. A feeling which is only understood by the one who has experienced it in life. A feeling when one moment you find your chest laden with tonnes of grief that you feel like you're buried deep beneath a catacomb and other moment you feel so empty, so void that you stop sensing anything inside your rib cage, it's like you've snatched your own heart off and thrown it miles away.
In the bright sunlight he may be the most practical and logical man walking on the planet but at times like these he wanted to hold someone and cry like a baby. But practicality you see can inject life into a dying person. He thought that the best workout for an emotional state like this is to analyze the griefs and destroy them individually. So he closed his eyes and started thinking about his problems. After few minutes of deep thinking he found that he had no griefs at all, though his heart appeared to be swollen with them. Here is when the unexplainable part of the feeling comes, you don't have any visible problems. You're just so empty inside that you want your chest to be hacked and chopped into tiny pieces until it stops feeling anything.
His practicality shook him again. He knew that in such situations of distress talking to the people you love helps a lot. But who'll get up at 3 AM for him? Yes, definitely his mother. But if he called her at this time and told her about his situation she may possibly freak out and not be able to sleep for the rest of the night. He decided to call his girlfriend instead.
"Hello, listen baby I'm feeling so distressed. I don't know what's happening to me. I'm just scared."
"What? Scared?"
"Yes, I don't know. I'm going mad maybe, but I need you right at this moment to hug me and console me."
"See baby I can't understand what you want to say. I had a very busy and rough day today. I was sleeping..."
"Ah. Okay baby you sleep. I'll manage."
He disconnected, not because he got sad but because he knew she was saying the truth, her drowsy voice confirmed it and also because he knew he was talking gibberish in an attempt to explain his feeling. But he wanted her to be near him at that very moment. "I love you. Please hug me.", he texted. He knew she won't read the message but it somehow made him feel secure.
He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. But soon he had to open them to give way to the tears oozing out. He buried his face in the pillows and after a few seconds it was the morning alarm that woke him up.

Jihad

“Allah mentioned in His holy book, ‘And when the sacred months have passed, then kill the polytheists wherever you find them and capture them and besiege them and sit in wait for them at every place of ambush’. The command of your Lord calls you to kill them. Kill the Kaafirs, kill them all” their leader shouted raising his rifle.

“Indeed Ustaad” said Qasim in agreement holding his own rifle firmly.

Qasim was their best bet. His copper lined sword has slaughtered numerous Kaafirs and his gunshots have popped hundreds of brains. He has been the leader of numerous battalions sent for the ‘rights of Muslims’.

“The Kaafirs are destined to burn in hell. Let us go and coerce them to Islaam so that they may get into Jannah” the leader said again painting his plan with a tint of white.

“Let’s go then” shouted Qasim.

Qasim along with his partners went to the busiest market of the town. He parked his bike near a tailor’s shop. His bike loaded with bottles of diesel and Ammonium Nitrate. He went about twenty meters away and stopped thinking that it was the optimum distance to observe the show. Another bike loaded with explosives was parked at a nearby grocery store.

Qasim looked at his surroundings, put his hand inside his pocket and pressed the remote button. The detonator sparked and the bomb exploded with a deafening sound. Qasim put his left hand into another pocket to press the detonator for the second button.

A child approximately two years of age sat on the street near the grocery store crying and calling out for his mother. He was two young to understand why everyone was running in chaos. Qasim’s eyes met the small child’s eyes. He closed his eyes and pressed the button. The child’s body was thrown six meters away burnt beyond recognition.

Qasim started walking to the meeting place of the ‘mujahids’. His childhood flashed in his mind, when his parents were slaughtered in front of his eyes in the 2002 Gujarat riots. A saying of Prophet Muhammad flickered in his mind which commanded people not to kill women, children and old people or destroy plants even during wars. He knew for sure that killing children wasn’t good at least.

He went his home instead, opened his copy of the Qur’an and started reading Chapter 9.

“And if any one of the polytheists seeks your protection, then grant him protection so that he may hear the words of Allah. Then deliver him to his place of safety. That is because they are a people who do not know”

Now he knew that the chapter was concerned with wartime, fighting for your defense, behaving good if any of the opponents seeks help from you.

Qasim held his teeth tightly and headed to the meeting spot. He quietly sneaked inside their leader’s room.

“Hello Sir………Yes Sir the job is done, Qasim did it……..Yes Sir this time you’ll win the election……We have spread enough terror….HaHa” the leader terminated the call.

“You bastard! You made me kill people for money” Qasim shouted.

The leader shouted for other goons. Qasim pointed his pistol towards their leader. Another goon came and shot Qasim on his hand. Qasim cried with pain.

Qasim was put in shackles and brought in front of everyone.

“He has been maligned by the Kuffar” their leader shouted.

“You’re a shame to Islam” Qasim shouted back.

“We are soldiers of Islam. We are here to spread it. Shoot him.”

“There shall be no compulsion in the religion. The right course has become clear from the wrong. So whoever disbelieves in evil and believes in Allah has grasped the most trustworthy handhold with no break in it. And Allah is Hearing and Knowing” Qasim recited.

A bullet was fired into his head.

“Oh..Lordd. Forgive m…” Qasim mumbled before his breathing stopped.

Vision

I was walking alone on a derelict street. It was beginning to get dark with no sign of moon in the sky. December nights are cold but that night was extraordinarily chilling. The breeze struck my chest as a group of recently sharpened spears thrown with the very intention to rip the soul apart from my body. I dragged the zip of my jacket to the highest point available for the slide. The cold metal touched my neck and seemed to extract all heat from my numb body in one go. I lowered the slide a bit.

The only thing that helped my eye have a vision of objects was a lamp post about hundred meters away. I ignited a cigarette to pump some heat into my lungs. The fog made things barely visible beyond the lamp post. I somehow dragged myself to the lamp post. I looked up and saw the beautiful white beams emerging from the lamp. The fog made it very easy to see the trajectory of the rays. The leaves of the tree nearby sieved out the light rays which came as perfect tangents and spread radially into the atmosphere.

While I was busy analyzing the beauty of the scene, the lamp dimmed, sparkled bright again and got quenched. Damn! The only source of my vision was gone. I closed my eyes in dejection and kicked the dust on the street.

After a while I opened my eyes and looked onto the street. My pupils got dilated to collect extra light from the atmosphere. To my surprise I was able to see. I looked up and saw the moon emerging from beneath the dark clouds.

It wasn’t a full moon though.

Bullet Of Peace

People mistakenly assume silence to be peace but if you look deep down the stream you'll see that actual peace is attained by the sounds of flowing water, chirping birds and soft wind.

Silence is golden at times even synonymous with peace at few instances but surely you cannot induce peace by shutting the mouths and eyes of people forever.

Peace is only attained by open communication, by love and respect for others. You don't throw drones at the ones you want to be peaceful with.

Peace is no bullet to hit a target, don't turn it into one.

Fire-Cracker

I looked up the sky and got fascinated by the colorful sparks it is full of today. A red dazzling light in the sky shook my nerves with joy. I wondered if I would ever be able to celebrate like other people. I put my hand in my pocket.

One..Two…Nine.

Only nine rupees!

How could I purchase crackers with that much amount? Even the cheapest rocket cracker costs ten bucks. On top of that what will I have for breakfast if I spend this money on crackers? I gave a second look towards the sky with watery eyes.

Why was I so poor?

Why a street beggar?

Only if I had my own parents!

I looked down the dark street. My heart was filled with joy on sight of an unburned fire cracker. I picked it up and ran to find a spark to light it.

Finally, I got my own cracker.

I got a match from the uncle sleeping on the footpath. I was excited to see my own cracker exploding. I lighted the match and ignited the fire cracker. It ejected red and green sparks. I shut my ears as it was about to explode. A surge of joy flowed in my body. The cracker turned yellow….dull red….and decayed with a black smoke.

Reviving Sir Robert Frost : And Miles To Go...Continued

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
 
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
 
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sounds the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
 
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep, 
And miles to go before I sleep.

Desire in my heart forms a heap,

Stunned by woods' beauty, I weep.

But I won't stop 'cause there are,

Acres of corn field yet to reap.

Both the thoughts are still at par,

My heart with mind is caught in war,

Leaving the snowy woods I've to move,

Following that bright still north star.

In state of such dilemma you've,

To make one choice and prove,

That you can never have it all,

How much ever you desire the grove.

My wish is naive but promises are tall,

Now they give my weary spirit a call,

So let the white snow flakes fall.

So let the white snow flakes fall.