caged freedom

advocating a window

'caged freedom'

light coming in,

eyes looking out.

a world beyond.

black lines cut across,

confining thought 

and body.

wings shut inside,

restricted

to mortal ground.

shadows outline

the light coming in,

a crude mimicry 

of its geometric form.

inviting picture,

a play of perspective,

aluminium frame 

of eternal vision.

sunlight,

keeping freedom warm.

warm, behind iron bars.

cruel glass,

shutting in freedom, but

letting hope fly free.

silent sir,

mystical doorway

to a garden in the air.

smell the cacophony of life

in flowers fashioned

from wind.

white trees sailing

across the sky

and the bountiful fruit

of life hanging

from the ceiling of the world.

but this meadow divine,

is a dream untouchable,

a sweet vision beheld,

by freedom caged inside.

what's in a language?

what is in a language.

he speaks a tongue,

the only one he knows.

not for show,

not to please,

its a natural thing, really.

a paradox.

on one hand,

authority demands,

on the other,

peers pressure against it.

what is in a language?

how would he know?

he's spoken but one

all his life.

some call it अंग्रेजी,

others refer to it

as english.

its a lingo

we're all familiar with.

rather, as a necessity.

we've even fought

battles over it.

lives have been lost.

but it's been there

for quite some time.

so what's in a language?

"guys, talk in english." 

"साले , हिंदी में बात कर। "

confessions of a clown

confessions of a clown

a clowns life,

is not a happy one.

yes, his jobs

to make others laugh,

but at whose expense?

its showtime already.

his face powdered

make up on,

his act is ready.

yet he is nervous.

he's done this a million times,

still,

so many faces

staring down at him.

the spotlights blaze,

music,

clapping,

laughing,

but at whom? 

he enters the stage,

and does his thing.

he can clearly see

each face in the crowd,

each little face smile,

smile transforming,

into something more sinister.

laughter pours through,

like a dam bursting.

the happiness and glee,

suddenly clawing at him,

eroding him.

and no one notices

a floodgate of emotion

slowly cracking,

from of the force 

of so much

misunderstood mirth.

but, he's done this a million times,

he keeps himself

together and instead

weeps inside.

rage

rage

he hears the news,

silence.

silence in his

calm facade,

his face white,

but inside,

a storm rages

as thunder crashes,

a deafening cacophony

of noises.

his eyes see naught

but red.

he felt each of his

hair stand

as of lightning 

about to strike.

he felt a heat within

himself,as of

a forest burning.

and all this happened,

the minute before he stuck.

a regrettable act

he comes to realise

as the blood 

he sees,

washes all the chaos

in his heart,

now a steady stream of

the deepest blue

flowing through

a lush green meadow

and finally,

laying on the

damp grass

now drying in

the first rays of sun

piercing through the

blackest of clouds,

blessed rest.