Oh Pretty Girl

Oh! Pretty girl who lives within the trees
Why don’t you smile and come down?
It is hard to see you between the leaves
But it is clear that you’ve set a frown

Is it because the leaves are wilting away?
Is it because they’re turning brown?
Is it because the fruits seem to decay;
As you see them rotting in the ground?

Come down pretty girl, for soon the tree will be bare,
And there’ll be nothing left to hide your beauty.
Don’t let the thought of a naked tree give you a scare;
I’ll protect you my pretty girl, please come down to me.

Descend slowly pretty girl, be weary of the splinters,
Now that the tree has hard and hurtful branches.
I will be there to keep you warm for winter;
Until the seasons change and nature advances.

Repeatedly the moon will slowly wax and wane;
The sun will also routinely rise and set.
And one day the tree will sprout new leaves again
But it will not be the end of the journey yet.

I’ve thought of joining you soon up there
After the harsh winter will be finally gone
I’ll also live a pretty life next year
In the trees, you and I will live as one

A Blank Noteboo…

A Blank Notebook is an invitation for an Idea

- P.J. Original

An Idea in Exile

An idea is banished to common exile.
Just because some rich people can’t smile -
At the thought of an Idea so pure
that, time and civilization, it has endured.

An idea in exile because of the rich.
For the poor may find out which is which.
The rich may lose their evil methods of gain.
An idea… which could well enough end their reign.

An idea in exile due to old beliefs;
As the elders misunderstood the fruit it reaped.
An idea that would have borne the sweetest fruits.
An idea sent to exile to hide the truth.

An idea in exile because its books were burnt;
By some religious pigs who just eat and grunt.
An idea in exile – a chain of thought;
which would change the course of humanity’s path.

An idea in exile, tired, torn and burnt;
But soon enough, it will return -
As a spark of thought in some wise man’s head.
The idea is in exile, but it is not yet dead.

A bloody river

A deep canyon
Made almost unpenetrable
By the dense shrubberies
That surround the cliffs

Every month there’d appear
A lady waiting to be loved
Incomplete in herself; alone
In the canyon below.

And every month she
would build a house
And then she would wait
Until she could wait no more

She’d then destroy the house
And then die in vain
Filling the whole canyon
with a bloody red river.

Selfishness

And there she lay
With a smirk on her face.
Satisfied.
Her lover lay beside her;
Tired and wanting.
But she wouldn’t bother him anymore.
Well…
Not until she
Wanted something else.

Fishes in the sea

So many fishes in the sea
All so beautiful to see
And they taste wonderful too, I hear
Sadly, I’m a vegetarian

And the feeling becomes mutual

The roses do not wish to bloom for you,
Nor do you seem interested in giving them a smile.
You’ve torn through hundreds of their petals;
And the thorns have pricked you many-a-times.
It is not that the roses do not miss your smile,
Or that you have lost admiration for a rose’s beauty.
But, somehow, One of you has developed a sense of hatred
And the feeling becomes mutual.

A small crack in the foundations of friendship;
Caused (maybe) by understanding through wrong perceptions.
A small lie here, a bit of disappointment there;
A twisted-truth that enters the ears of a believer.
Those small random moments when you feel like stopping,
Leaving behind all that you have and hope to have.
And yet you try. Until you finally give up on the world.
And the feeling becomes mutual.

You see someone do a random act of kindness.
But instead of questioning your own soul and ethics,
you feel a sense of gratitude and you smile.
A stranger’s face lights up as he looks at yours.
OR maybe you’re a person who becomes jealous
And wear a frown for the accomplishment of others.
Whatever be the case you feel with the world.
Slowly but surely, the feeling always becomes mutual.

 

Happy New Year

(This may seem odd to most of you but today is our New Year. You see, we Nepalis follow the Vikram Samvat Calander. You can learn more by clicking on the word links.)

I didn’t understand why people celebrated New Years. It just seemed like another day to me. I’d see everyone around me happy and rejoicing over a stupid change in date. I always used to think, “Hey, its just a change in Date”. But I’d see everyone happy. And I’m a person who tries to find reasons even in small things. So, a few years ago, I approached the New Years with a different approach. It was then that I developed a code. Each New Year, to me, would be a milestone where I look back at the things that I’ve accomplished, the things that I’ve made, and the things that I’ve lost in the whole year. That’d give me a reason to celebrate a day. A day to analyse where I am, how I am. A day to be happy with what I’ve accomplished and a day to point out my shortcomings. A day to start anew.

All these years I’d kept that to myself. Something I’d do on my own. I would spend the whole day (mostly all by myself) thinking about the past year. But a year ago, I was (luckily or unluckily) placed with company. It was then that I noticed how the perception of most people about new year was. People celebrated new year just for the sake of it. It was just an excuse for them. An excuse for a holiday.  An excuse to go out and party. The date didn’t carry any deep meaning to them. Of course,when I’d made a symbolic meaning of the new year for myself, I thought some others whom I knew would have too. But its all disappointment until now. From what I see my friends do, it has just been about going out at night, grabbing some booze and getting wasted somewhere.

But somehow, I haven’t lost hope. I still wait to meet people, people of my generation, who take the modern new year to be something symbolic. Something to be celebrated for a reason. I’m feeling optimistic this year. Hey, who knows, maybe my optimism might just pay off.

 

Rape

And there she was walking alone
Through the alleyway towards her home
She walked her way, lost within her mind
It was then that he grabbed her from behind

Caught in shock and awe, she couldn’t scream
And maybe she hoped that it was a bad dream
She turned back hastily, just to see a guy
And all she saw was his frightening lustful eyes

And soon she found him tearing into her dress
And she stood there- stunned, confused and helpless
Regaining self-control, she started to shout
She tried to run but stumbled about

She was shouting still, when he pulled her hair
Shut her mouth up, so no one would hear
Fearing she’d scream more, he hit her head
Dropped her on the ground, all bloody red

As she gained consciousness she found him on top
tried to crawl away with all the energy she’d got
But she was helpless- as she watched him fondle her
Her thigh grew stiff and her eyes grew blur

She yelled out a scream before she passed out
A traveling pedestrian heard her loud shout
He came running to a helpless woman’s aid
He spotted the man and below him she laid

He grabbed a pipe that lay astray beside the wall
He hit the man on the head and made him fall
He noticed her bloody, and in rags all torn
He covered her body with the coat he’d worn

As she opened her eyes later that night
The look of her savior gave her a fright
She tried to crawl away like she’d gone insane
It’d be a long while until she’d trust a man again.

What I do with most of my writings

Come up with a topic.
Be satisfied with it.
Start writing about it.
Add some puns and sarcasm.
Add metaphors with deep meaning.
Smile at your brilliant ideas.
Get Stuck at a point.
Can’t find the words anymore.
Mind gets blank.
Read it over again.
And over again.
And over again.
Not satisfied with the topic anymore.
Think for a minute.
Try to convince yourself that you’re at the end.
Delete everything.
Go to Bed