As I walked a lonely road

As I walked a lonely road

And hear the croaking sound of toad

I keep my pace with human pride

Listening to the dusk of swollen nights

Passing the fields and passing the skies

Passing the river with invisible tides

Deaths below the mountain hold

Till the wrecking of cavern old

Then the truth of being unfold

And suddenly those eyes turned cold

Then rest my faith and pray my soul

Lash your fugitive wish to pole

Think of the world and think of the ride

Think of the monster that hail inside

So look for the sun and look for its kiln

And let the demons burn within.



Aye khakzada duniya ……………

kya dastoor ye tune banaya hain ?

Jis aurat ne tumhe rubaru kiya zindagi se……usse hi bazaar ki zeenat banaya hain

Darte nahi uss khuda se toh bas ye ilm hi karlo,

Uss khuda ne tumhe kabhi beta………to kahin bhai banaya hain

Parda nasheen kar k, tum kya uski aabroo sahejne lagte ho ?

Tumhare jaane k baad jisne bewa ban kar bhi farz nibhaya hain

Kuch kar sakte nahi aurat k liye to bas itna hi samjh lo

Usko izzat de kar hi tumne zindagi mein sawab kamaya hain.


I met an old friend today, one of the nicest person I know, with whom I had numerous innocent child ridden fallacies. We chatted for a couple of hours, basically the whereabouts of each other. And then when he left with a promise to meet me soon again. I was jibed by a question, why do good guys get nothing, neither the fame nor the love? Are they meant to deal with atrocious life, because they are good and can make way along?

Our friendship started when I was 5, on mutual pence of cricket. Our amity grew over time and over batting partnerships on the cricket field. Our camaraderie wasn’t appreciated by my father, and he was very reluctant to it. Why? Perhaps he was the son of a household maid, a single mother, who used to work in our society to earn their living. I wasn’t old enough to fathom this reason, and even now I dearth that age.

His father left them stranded when he was very young, and he grew up with this pungent feeling.

I recalled he had only two dreams since young, one being to make her mother happy and gave her a lavish life, and other was to marry his love, a girl I didn’t knew much about.

As time folded my way to college, with a different life and different set of friends, I lost him. And today we met after such a long time, only to find about his lost love and a paralytic mother, and his sunken eyes with forgotten dreams. But he didn’t complain either about those desirable dreams or about a lost friend, me.  And I was jibed by a question, why do good guys get nothing, neither the fame nor the love?