The autobiography of a wrinkle


…And you just saw me,
Your nightmare came true.
The first thought in your mind is to hide me from show.
Yet you know, you can hide me but can’t say ‘No’.
For I’m the mark engraved by the chisel of time.
I’m your secret diary, I’m the cane of time.
I’m the last smile to your boyfriend
And the first kiss of your husband.
…And you want to hide me now.
I’m the ugliness of the journey,
Which came as a friend and said, “Hi! I’m life”.
I’m the cry for your turn at the see-saw.
I’m the scarlet wound of your first fall off the cycle.
I’m the sob under the shower with a broken heart
Still trying to heal the hurt of a failed love.
I’m the pain that you took to give birth to a new name.
I’m the sleepless nights in the month end,
With no money and a lot of commitment.
I’m the death of your dear one’s.
I’m the mark of the cane.
…And now you are thinking how to hide me.
I’m the beauty of the journey,
Which came as an enemy and said, ‘Hi! I’m life’.
I’m the first smile that lit up your parents face.
I’m the hearty laugh after winning the cycling race.
I’m the joy of getting drenched in the rain
With the boy you loved in your college day.
I’m the glow on your face when your child took the first step.
I’m the promotion letter of your husband in the month of May.
I’m the family photograph stuck in an album,
Which makes you say, “Those were the days!”
I’m the mark of a genuine smile that showed it’s glimpse once a while.
…And in the journey we learnt life,
Where a friend turned enemy and an enemy stood as a friend.
We grew together. We grew along.
Why look at me in the mirror, I’m your mirror.
I’m as tender as you and you are as stoical as me.
I’m too close to you, so you will see me through other’s eyes.
But can never see me.
For I’m just a wrinkle under your eye, which you will always want to hide.

Social Circus.

Come see the circus!
Where life will perform to the needs of life, and more.
Where we perform stunts for a few claps more.
Where the wounds don’t matter, pounds do.
Clap! Clap! And Clap a little more.
We climb the ladder to fall again.
And still we laugh to hide the pain.
Jokers we are, and all of us.
Clap! Clap! Clap!

Kids cry at home, but we perform,
With life in the fist and love in the clouds.
Here you will see, you and me.
Standing on string of the boardroom ring.
Where we fall and rise on the bed of nails,
And we still smile hoping for some golden days.
Welcome! Welcome! To our social funeral.
We are trained professional.
We don’t cry. We laugh when we want to cry.
And then we all say ‘I am fine’ with a smile.

Smile! Smile away! Smile always.
Come! Come! Come!
To the great ‘Social Circus’.
Where relations are used to move ahead.
And when heartache grows, we drink a little more.
And laugh and say ‘what the hell!’
When sinews go slow we still keep playing.
And we make us laugh till the burial is laid.

So, till then we, the jokers;
Dance to the tune of unheard cries.
And clap because tears are dry.
So, Come! Come! Come!
Clap! Smile and laugh for we have to play,
The joker of destiny everyday.

Bravery Award

I know a brave man who walks the earth like you and me.
He is common and ordinary but there is much more to see.
He wakes up early morning to say his prayers first.
Then has his morning food which can’t be called breakfast.
Walks down the staircase with his small suitcase.
Wears a bald, a creaseless shirt with a pen,
A net trouser, a polished shoe and a straight face.
Takes the routine bus at 9 o’ clock sharp.
Though his school is not too far but he can’t excuse himself for getting stuck up.
A history teacher he is for 30 budding futures.
But who knows why in the pages of history his face turns white.
Yet he smiles at the students to say, “History paves the way to present and future.
So, it’s the knowledge that will determine your pride through gesture”.
In the teacher’s room he never speaks too much.
That the reason why they call him ‘a stopped watch’.
He smiled at them when he heard it for the first time.
And said, “History is an account of time. But for us history stopped when India was free.
I tried to keep track of time even after 1947 but my watch stopped in 1993”.
No body got what he tried to say.
Some said mad, other said he thinks in a different way.
Student’s like him for he appreciates their view.
He teaches them not just to read but analyze too.
“History is written by those who have won as we all know,
But does it mean there can’t be another theory which will go against the flow.”
When the last bell rings and it’s time to go home.
He pulls himself to his home for he has nowhere else to be.
Then while climbing the staircase again he moves to his room sluggishly.
Opening the rusted lock his feet searches for ground.
Switches on the light of his 12x12 world of silent sound.
He sits back for a while maybe to ponder over how time could be.
But his watch has long stopped in 1993.
Then making food which can’t be called dinner.
He goes to bed keeping the Bravery Award in the memory shelf
But he will never be called a winner.
And as he sleeps, I look at him and feel inspired by his story.
Here lies the man who has won another day in his life of unwritten history.
He may look common and simple like we.
For he is still alive while time stopped for him when he lost his child and wife in the blast in 1993.