Mother

The hammer strike was terrible in the wee hours of that cold night. It shattered my little world. Pieces scattered around, I went numb. Lifelong we try to make. It just needs one unexpected strike to break. In a Cosmos where cosmic explosions create holes that can accomodate 13 Milky way sized galaxies, do I even stand justified in putting questions like "Why" and "How"? I couldn't move. Almost dead to the flux of events around. The biggest goal thinkable was to Crawl. So started crawling with my soul suffering the aftermaths of the strike and body almost giving up in its wake. After crawling, standing up was the goal. So I stood up slowly as acceptance creeped in. My unsteady steps changed to a steadier walk as I felt gratitude and love towards what I had lost in that terrible strike, my most valuable one, my mother. My tears of pain and suffering turned into holy waters of acknowledgement, love and gratitude for bein born from her womb. My sewn lips parted with a faintest smile for her well-meant pure life. My cries changed into a prayer for her journey ahead in the next dimension. I walk now, aiming to jog sometimes, and may be run further on, with her love in my heart and her blood in my veins. Travel safe Ma!

Hope, Love and Light

The light does hark,
beyond the deepest dark,
There is a day bright,
 after the ghostly haunts of a nightmarish night,
 After a barren famished fight,
 there blossoms a springed delight,
After pining pangs of seperation,
 there is a worthy end to the desperation,
After crashing in the gutters,
 there is a surge and rise to bathe in holy waters,
After crying convulsions on the lips,
a smile takes honeyed sips,
After the last deafeat,
still there is an undying urge to accomplish the feat,
Even when blind with despair,
there is hope hiding and cajoling somewhere,
Even in hate, love still lurks somewhere!

Mother

Mother, in complete humility and gratitude I bow,
However far you may go,
The rays of your love will light
even the darkest of my night!

O Mother,
My first footstep lies in thy womb,
From such a begining,
how can I reach a destination wrong?!

Darkness

Too far and deep, I have gone into the pit of gloom,
And lost in the cavernous folds of the impending doom,
Even the brightest big suns now appear too far,
Faint stars these now and just flash their inspiring rays,
Feeble raylets reaching me cannot take out the ship caught in treacherous bays,
I know the futility of the beckoning light,
Even in its brightest folds outside, hope was always out of sight,
Now i go deep into my night,
With nobody as a witness to my plight,
All cherished dreams out of sight,
A wingless bird that tried to fly but then crashed from its struggled height,
Now I just silently walk into the dark hold of my night,
Alone
and forlorn,
 Musicity of my soft moan,
Carrying me into hitherto unreachable zone!

Crime and Punishment

There is crime and there is punishment. The crime, full stop. It's a criminal act. It cannot be reversed. Punishment cannot right the wrong. There is hardly any redemption. Punishment is a poor instrument of deterrence, and most often it fails even in that. Going above the man-made instruments of punishments, we have the divine system of justice, For crimes, where man-made system of justice fails to deliver redemption, we expect the divinity to set it right. But what of mass crimes? What of Nazi Holocausts, communist purgings, religious ans racial genocides? The equation of right and wrong loses its meaning. It's just crimes, A massive wrong. Forget about mankind's justice, even wildest stretch of faith in divine redemption fails to get even an iota of justice.Does it  mean that the mass crime stands unredeemed? Forever. Does it just keep casting its shadows over the present, creeping into the future, almost forever. Just waiting to be redeemed. And forgotten finally. Or forgiven more suitably.

The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah. A song of humanity amidst mass crime. A depiction of human hate and lust for power in Nazi occupied France in second world war. France is virtually menless. Men are in prison. Women hold the baton of life. It's a dark cloud over, taking their smiles away. They are wives, mothers, daughters, sisters and lovers. But only in memory. The males who identify them as such are missing. They have to survive. When they can no longer fight to save their body, they fight to save their soul. For future. For the victory of humanity over monstrosity. For their men. To give them fresh lease of life, if at all they return after war. Forget about redemption. The survival of love in a woman's heart for her man, despite all the wrongs to her body in his absence, is still a better right then millions of wrongs by criminal souls. It is here that the question of redemption becomes irrelevant. Like a small lamp drives away millions of particles of darkness with its tiny flicker, The women of France keep the torch alive. Beacon of hope, of love, of a possibility in times to come, an urge to relive the moments that sound farther than wildest dreams, In the backdrop of Nazi holocausts, they move silently, unheroically, carrying love in their eyes, hopes in their laps and seeds of humanity in their womb. Read it. It might help you in being a still better human being.    .