Ambiguity

What you see is what you believe on the basis of what you have conditioned yourself to accept.

Your Negative Will Be Someones Positive Pushkar

Pushkar

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Foreword

When people started reading what I have written I was branded as a person with self felt sorrow and grief, a sadist with a negative approach towards life, maybe its true, but then again I have found myself incapable of painting a rosy picture of life no matter how much ever I have desired. For me life is more like the episode of Crystal Maze people taking chances with their team members to the kind of game that they will play. The more I have thought of the people I have known and my own small life I have come to believe that we by nature are addicted to taking chances and take chances with everything from the friends you get to whom you get married to the way you think and what you believe in. I have been reprimanded for these thoughts as being shallow, but then again social dictums cannot and should not dictate facts, and no matter how I observe, chances are everywhere and we take them with a rosy picture and expectation of change or achievement of good and well being, to be precise eudemonia My question has forever been how many times have we achieved eudemonia? I havent because the craving for the unknown still drives me the hunger for chances is still burning deep within. I admire the Russians for Russian Roulette it mocks this expectation and I guess might give eudemonia to some. Im not a philosopher or a genius and would hate to be called that Im just a confused person looking for answers that make sense I would like to be known as a common guy just with some uncommon questions. For the people who may find my thoughts negative I have one thing to say Your Negative Is Someones Positive

Pushkar

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Footprints Footprints in sand, from someone gone before Oh, how I want to follow them But can I follow them with my tired feet, weary Im walking so far But these steps stand by me, through the ups and downs they still end up standing by me Not knowing I who it will be! Is it me or what I want to be? Or is it what I wanted but never could be

Pushkar

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The Circle Life is nothing but a tryst for me Nothing added, nothing gone Start and end at the same point I Hovering about in circles am I? Or does something fail at the start itself, and I never leave Ending at the same place again?

Pushkar

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Eclipse Why do I cry bitter tears, when there is no one to confide People come and they go, on who do I survive? Good Im to some, some find me bad But can anyone ever find who was the real I Or will he forever remain hidden, in the narrow lanes of my heart Shunned by the world standing far afar?

Pushkar

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Strength There is a feeling of pain I want to forget, of betrayals and dismissals Forgotten long back, by people down the memory lane Fresh it is still inside, like a wound fresh and cut deep inside Merciless mockery of this world I have seen Why, why dont these memories leave me?, Pain like a friend is forever by my side Superficially smile and live for long can I? Can I hide what I want to deep inside, or will it roll down through my eyes My hands clasped in prayer that this day never comes, as I lay on the green grass in the black rain waiting for the last drop to drain away. Empty with the tears the pain is more profound, killing within me the only sane dew drops I have grown cold, cold to the pain, happiness the sorrow, no longer a victim, and no longer in misery

Pushkar

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Floral Misery Flowers of a plant together at one end, yet so far from each other at the other end Same fragrances share they all, but still one beautiful the other ugly called. Withering all with the plant One lives on in memory lanes and the other forgotten forever? Is it one destiny to be loved and retained by a lover in his memoirs? And the other turn to dust laying on the ground no one cared of? Is it the makers versatility to be blamed for the diversity? Or is it only us who have these diversities? Is it for us to keep wondering about destinies, while each flower spreads it aroma?

Pushkar

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Me? Thinking whenever, who am I? Question arises, Who, What, Where am I? Is this me the real me? , Or is it a projection of what I want to be? Is it in my fate to keep drifting like a log in stormy sea with no horizon or anchor for me? Looking Im for the beacon of light, a friend a foe a guiding sign, help me to find me Or will it just remain an unanswered question for me.. Who is the real me?

Pushkar

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Amour In this battle of fortune and fame, Lost Im without a name Pain deep I cannot speak, memories I cant share Loosing without a fight, isnt that unfair Why am I feeling weak now? Sorrow unfelt is rolling down Why did I forget to see, love really isnt made for me Destiny a major part of everyones life acts a blotch to my life Tender feelings sharing of a smile, holding hands, feeling of being cared deep inside For some these are every day words for me this is rare delight Yet again they have forsaken me to a word I never liked To be judged and like a culprit seen, To be sentenced without a fair trial. Yet I want to share this feeling love, but cant share this feeling love that I feel deep inside

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Mumbai Sitting beside the river through which once pure water flowed, I see people rushing to and fro The noise of thoughts and things makes me go insane, even the mind is filled with CO2 instead Lost every man, Lost every woman, Lost every child into this new age world At the dance floor people dance, some for joy but most for no reason at all People rushing to and fro just like inmates in a death row Some laugh as they rush Some cry as they rush Some are frustrated, some anguished if they stand a chance in this rush. As I looked up to the black sky I wondered why? Why am I just an observer and not a part of the mayhem around me? Today I feel im just an observer of destiny, due to which I see victims of joy and agony. Contradicting though to one another, both share a common victim We all are victims of joy and agony. We fight futile battles against joy and agony while they parlay handing us over to one another like prisoners of war never fought between them. Yet every single moment we gear up for another conquest against one of them to be handed over for the same treatment again till we turn to dust.

Pushkar

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The later years of my life Having lost touch of mankind I now lead a new life A life of a vagabond, a loner With no care for today and no lookout for future Changed are my feelings for people and things around Having lost faith in life and death, I find time the only factor I find belief in Time? Because it moves, It moves me and my body as I find myself grappled by its theories Situations calling sentiments get a cold glance from me Blaming it on time I brush them past me. Sometimes I wonder why, why arent sentiments affecting me? I know what to react yet an absence of reaction seen. Sometimes I wonder if this new life has killed the human in me.

Pushkar

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Joker Sitting in silence, no thoughts in mind No need of today, the past forgotten in oblivion Stagnant thoughts to be drained, with it a new life to be found Chaos everywhere but solace in the dead silence inside Strong on the outside, but a cry for mercy from inside Significance of a moment lost to the useless mockery of this world Shuttling between dual existence, everyone in this world Live for everyone throughout the day, sleeps when he can be himself Wakes up in the morning to paint self for the world again Doesnt this remind you of the joker somewhere? At the end of his time looks at his life like a defeat self accepted If had lived a moment for self over the pleasing of others, would have shone like a star in a stormy night

Pushkar

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Symphony Craving for the unknown With present a mystery, partly caught in a transition from one phase to another Rhythm lost but a new tune found Weird concoction for a hungry heart Flashes of memory, searching for a song of solitude for this hungry heart Symphony lost at an octave, post a score well done Mystically the rhythm starts at the octaves next curve Such is life with starts and ends abrupt Trying to comfort the hungry heart

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Lesson People say I need to learn, without telling what and from whom to learn They say Im sad when I laugh, I wonder who are they to judge Interestingly funny and queer people around me stand Grappled with their theories they judge me with all they can Funny I find the need to know, what a person is. Cant I remain a mystery if I choose to be? Yet unnecessary efforts I have seen to understand me Hate I not the process of knowing but the conclusions drawn for me As they say what Im not and expect it to be me So yet again I repeat will anybody know me?

Pushkar

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Reflection As I cut my wrist, blood began to rush As I saw it paint the cold floor without a brush I saw it reach to crevices unseen; my deepest stains plastered in its color I bent down to feel its warmth, a jittery touch I felt repulsed Cold it flowed, without warmth, like me and my every part It flowed without vigour, and without gain Then I realised that it was cold since ages, I had turned to dust long time back, But the body prevailed and I misjudged Life had ended even before it started; The soul rusting through ages I played with the flow of this cold blood over years With nothing to gain or to fear, I finally let loose of my last tear As I finally lay down to slowly disappear, I felt my warmth reappear

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Story Of A Sniper A Sniper enters into the bush Taking aim he knows what needs to be done The target comes in the open, clear shot the sniper confirmed The trigger pulled, the bullet fired, a clean shot through the head and the victim retires The sniper retreats to his base, Accolades from his seniors await, a medal of bravery and satisfaction of a job well done In his bunker watches the news, filled with heroics and praises He feels this was his greatest As news rolled he sees women crying, calling him a killer with no feelings A mercenary for a government which never cared The sniper filled with guilt drinks, a bottle down he cant forget, the women scream Returns to his bunker, tries to call his wife, lines busy and his hope dies Takes his gun points it to his head, closes his eyes trying to make sense somewhere Flashes of his shot run to his head, he pulls the trigger yet again In the news next day a story runs, some homesick solider shot himself in the skull The ministers in parliament fight, discussing the apathy in which the defence lies. The sniper was the tool, someone else achieved Like the tool in the garden used for weed The next day a new sniper was dressed, He entered another bush and aimed at a target again The killer himself going to dust, becoming a victim for elses gain This cycle has to end somewhere, or we all will be snipers in a bush someday

Pushkar

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Promised Land A friend left for town faraway Leaving me with thoughts to lead headway Emotions he stirred from which I run Thoughts he mentioned to me never occurred When will I see him again I do not know But his questions need answers, Im sure Packing my bags I leave for the path of cure Trying to reach the Promised Land, of which Im sure Where life is in peace and thoughts are evolved Where everything has a meaning no ambiguity involved Where I can lead a life more resolved Where dreams are revered and assumptions arent recalled A sudden jolt wakes me up, Oh despair; I miss the heaven of my prayer My friend is gone and that is the true, the land I think of is untrue Yet again in dreams I wander, packing my bags which direction to take I ponder Yet again I take the road hitchhiking, I meet my friend his thought blinding Yet again I reach the pinnacle of grace, only to wake up surrounded in disgrace Waiting for the eternal trance, the Promised Land, is all I recall I dont want to wake up from this dream, I want my mask unveiled

Pushkar

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Last Thoughts His deranged mind called me last night Love he had lost which he felt, was his right Spoke to me for hours, told me history, for me it was an overdose Finally it ended; I popped two pills of peace wanting to rest Next morning a call waked me up, I recollected the discussion I had last night He had killed himself I was told; he slit his wrist and went into heavenly abode Next to him, they found a letter with my name, the last thoughts before the grave The letter read, My Dear departed friend, you will be alive I will be dead But I live and you die dont be surprised at this thought, and dont dread I wanted you to feel what I felt; unfortunately your heart to me was dead You were my hope while the rest had failed But to dust those hopes are laid I die in sorrow not in heartbreak, she never cared But you my friend I thought would be there Alas though failure I see, trusting a friend with no mercy for me And so my deranged friends letter ended, I was shaken, it felt strange That night I sat and I called a friend who I felt was mine I spoke with him for hours; I spoke for really long time I kept the phone and realised, no one truly is mine I opened the drawer and loaded my glass with tablets kind As I slipped into the eternal depth, I knew my friend would be saying His Deranged Mind Called Me Last Night

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The Lost & Forgotten They died last night a heros death, the whole country debated about their fate Why they died, who killed them, was it the bullet lodged by the assailant, no way, I say Online blog posts and comment sprang, orkut and facebook groups called, Join us in remembering these martyrs they said, a month later these posts go dead Ministers comment A Tragic Loss in tone full of no remorse, a vague display of remorse As people moved with their day to day life, small issues started ticking their mind As the memories of these heroes quickly sublimed, we created the scene for another set of martyrs some night. In memory of 26/11 martyrs the police, NSG and army personnel who fought and died for people filled with the attitude of non-gratitude... These heroes will be forgotten by the people of this country in a month like Lt.Saurabh Kalia and many others who lost their life while defending the countries from Pakistani Intrusion, parliament attacks, action against terrorists at the Batla House and the infinite others who have become victims of some irrational religious belief which is not supported by the same religion

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Human I stand on the plain and I walk tall I see forward, not above at all Surrounded by beggars of happiness I toil To reach a land of content I guess atleast that should suffice I choose not to see what is shown, but to create euphoria for me I choose to be content in tears, I guess that should suffice I choose to see the victim instead of a victor A victim of victory I see Getting used to winning a rat race, run by rats, how can it be a pleasant sight to see I choose to be the bystander watching the rat race, finding content in the result of this rat race, at least this should suffice Heaven calls so does hell, misfit Im to both and hence caught in this worldly spell Content Im neither being the saint or the sinner, Is there is a middle path I wonder Does it matter if Im a sinner or a saint, Or is it important to be somewhere Does it matter to lead than to be lead, Is it important to be a victor always. Does it matter if you are wrong, Is it important to be the beggar of happiness Is it important to have an extreme or will these questions remain unanswered, and I reach the land of content, And It will certainly suffice

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Religion They pounce on you with their might Every piece of your flesh is their right to bite Slashing and bruised you remain, a helpless victim with no say Like victors they stand besides your fallen frame Waiting for you to drain away in an ambiguous solace Yet again they start the biting and slashing The gashes so deep even pain is not igniting You lay there like a chosen one, lost yet privileged Wondering on the fate of the victims before Looking around you see more victims, none bereaved Whilst they prepare their final blow you wonder whats in store Will this at least be enough penance for bliss, Or do I have to yet again surrender for peace While I ponder they strike, with ruthless mockery of me being of mankind My own have me perished to dust, I find no one to mistrust Gnawed to the bone, ripped of my flesh I can now be new without the traces of self I can now stand slashed and bruised again, yet not a victor But a victim who stood against his torturers way

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The Insane Race

With insane sanity as a guiding light, I walk through the shreds called life. The moments for joy that seemed astounding, why am I so miserably recounting Through this path like a madman I run, trying to connect the dots, hoping to identify the next pattern However, shrouded these patterns are, the dots have leading me astray & very far Don't know where I started to run, and don't know where to stop, don't know what am I running for, yet compelled to run fast I want to stop running, take a brief pause, don't what would happen next.. Would it be another start the beginning of another race

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Life He rests his head on the rock, wondering on when will it stop His bloody feet had started to ache, but he knew he cant wait They would catch up and he had to escape, the load he carried was difficult to manage The freedom he sought would never be his, but he couldnt accept retreat On his self made crutches he tries to lunge, lands on the ground face first Yet again tried to get up with his failing arms, the bones in them couldnt hold on He dropped to the ground knowing it was over; a slow calmness took over, He patiently waited for the flashes of his life to get over, finally awaiting his final surrender With the rays of the sun over his head, he saw himself dead Yet never felt so light, blissful free, divinely right The chaos of his followers he heard, screaming and demanding from his dead frame

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Death Of A Dog As I lay by the roadside cut and bleeding, with the glassy eyes on the path to heaven misleading I wondered if I would ever be forgiving to a friend I had been protecting, being faithful and honest without demanding Today yet he deserted me without explaining, the grudge the agony is not subsiding He ran me over and mowed me down, his kind played a part of finishing me out. What was it my fault or just a twisted trick of nature, under the pretext of maintaining an ecological balance. That once a friend, turned human, and ran me over, thinking of it somehow makes me hate nature, Isnt it demeaning for us to be offsprings of this force that since its inception turns friends into foes. Giving preference to one of its progeny, deserting others with nothing in store

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Soha Mesmerized by her charms I dream in the day Her innocence captivates, lifts the dark spell over my crazy way Im accepted finally, in completeness without laws She loves me irrespective of my shortcomings and flaws I can be imperfect and politically not correct Cause all I wish for is her sweet caress When all you wish for is to see her smile, Waiting for to hold her, and get that feeling divine When she looks at you with those eyes understanding, You know you have come home, with love unbinding The day you find time to indulge in her unique charm You have fallen in love which will never let you fall
For people who know my incapability of viewing love the way it is perceived by everyone, let me clarify, this poem is for my daughter, my definition of loving someone is un-conditional acceptance, and I got that from my daughter, a feeling that I didnt have to explain yet be understood, being accepted with all flaws, weaknesses without question or doubt, and hence I have named it after my Daughter Soha

Pushkar

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