Each face, a story

Each face says a story,
Each passing glance, a life time,
Moulded by circumstances,
Weathered by the incessant tides.

Eyes tempered to deep tolerance,
By the fires or emotional turmoil.
Eyes sparkling with mischief,
Darting back and forth with delight.

Each face says a story,
Downcast with despair,
Worried about unknown circumstances,
Or gleaming with divine Ecstasy.

Fine lines and deep furrows sculpted,
By joy and sorrow in turn.
Hair combed to perfection,
Or bleached white by time.

Each face says a story,
Each color, each line an emotion.
Never was I more crowded,
Nor neither so alone.

Trapped.

In the beginning,I believed,
In good and evil, right and wrong,
Decisions were so simple,
Wearing heart on sleeve; so carefree.

Somewhere along the lane,
I realised all were not the same,
Different shades, different views,
A mean, a grey in between.

I began to analyse and categorise,
Weighing rights and wrongs,
A delicate physical balance,
Which a feather weight can destroy.

It wasn't long before I turned to self,
Measuring every action, each word,
Realising each opinion needed backing,
Thinking and then discarding.

So now, here I am,
Caught within the four walls I've built,
To keep me in or others out,
I don't know, don't care to find out.

Trapped, by the very chains I've forged,
Scarred to try new things,
Lest I break the fragile glass,
my heart has become...

Conqueror or murderer was I?

The guns had stopped booming,
But in its place I heard dying groans.
The smell of blood and tissue
Nearly smothered me till I lost all control.

I heard my voice give a victory hoop,
But my heart only moaned,
Beside me lay dead my commanders,
Before me strangers I had never Known.

They said we had won the war,
But I only saw the corpses at my feet.
They said we had attained victory
But I could hear only the pain and agony.

My head told me I had defeated my enemy,
My heart told me I had murdered a part of humanity.
I saw my county's flag fly high
As I stood on the brink of uncertainty
Conqueror or murderer was I?

Oh blindly had I followed!
never had I questioned,
Your country shall be victorious they said;
Blindly had I trained all day
My folly I never realised,until now,
When it's to late.

"what have I done?" I asked myself,
My heart answered me true;
Much did I protest but how long
Can I deny the truth?
What could I do but kneel and pray?
And I prayed long and hard,
But "You have committed the greatest crime against humanity"
Whispered the conscience in my heart.

The perfect score.

Once there were two friends, A and B.
Both entered tenth grade at the age of fourteen.
Every phone call from that week on
Was peppered with advice from the 'wise',
"No more library memberships" they said,
"Down with the cable,out with the modem!
This is THE year you have no time for leisure!
No more plays,no,No! absolutely no more extra curricular!
"And on and on the 'encouragement' peaked,
"You need to get 95 percent,that's what you deserve,
You are brilliant, you need to show the world!"
Their words rang in both their heads..."This is THE year...no more leisure..."
A sought to listen to the advice...
After all her relatives were supposed to be 'wise'...
So out went the cable,modem and all,
No more scripts, only graphs...
She firmly put her foot down
.B threw the advice out the window...
the "wise" were not going to live life for her..
And yes, she designed the magazine cover.
That was after the cultural play,
She gained many new friends and the title,"SET DESIGNER."
B thought of reducing production costs,
A though of reducing Quadratic equations,
B begged the director for and increase in the budget,
A begged the science teacher,
For that one more experiment...
Slowly the friends drifted apart,
After all they no longer shared the same path.
Then the common exams came,
And both did well up to their expectations...A got 95, B 82.
They looked through their diaries,
to sum it all,
B smiled at every new friend met,
A at every 95 percent.
A was branded as a achiever,
B as lacking in perseverance,
So who was right and who was wrong?
And who to judged and who to branded,
But those relatives who are called 'wise'?

Brains of the same batch

When God first decided to create humanity,
He created all the brains in row.
Thousands, millions, billions of them,
Each perfectly timed for its life on Earth.

Each had a different personality,
A unique outlook on life,
Different opinions on different subjects,
Different strengths, different flaws.

God pondered when he was done...
In the end he felt something was wrong,
If all the people were different,
And each opinion unique,
Then the world will always,
Always be plunged in controversy.

And so he categorised them all,
And he added cross-reference tags,
He tweaked a little date here and a opinion there,
And finally the batches were set.
Each batch was sent to Earth,
Scattered to the four corners.
And slowly, excruciatingly,
Some of the brains found each other,
Just like you and me my friend.

I'm that kinda girl

I'm that kinda girl who is not in the spot light,
I'm that kinda girl who is working it.

I'm that kinda girl who doesn't go on stage,
I'm that kinda girl who organises the show.

I'm that kinda girl who doesn't visit temples,
I'm that kinda girl who argues religion with Geo. teachers.

I'm that kinda girl who doesn't believe in love in first sight,
I'm that kinda girl who believes in Prince Charmings.

I'm that kinda girl who doesn't speak at public gatherings,I
'm that kinda girl who writes winning speeches for those who do.

I'm that kinda girl who thinks the Indian education system sucks,
I'm that kinda girl who reads the Iliad for kicks.

I'm that kinda girl who is not in the cool people's mailing list,
I'm that kinda girl who gives her heart to friends for keeping.

I'm that kinda girl who doesn't mingle much at social gatherings,
I'm that kinda girl whose friends threaten to shut up with duct tape.

I'm that kinda girl who cries after an argument with a sister,
I'm that kinda girl who smirks at a teacher venting of steam.

I'm that kinda girl who always forgives,
I'm that kinda girl who never forgets.

I'm that kinda girl who makes things happen,
I'm that kinda girl who sits back and lets other people think they did it.

The broken Chain

A rusted chain, tarnished,
Slashing into it's victim's souls,
Leaving behind it like a trade mark,
Gaping wounds,blood and broken hearts.

Link after link it marches on,
enslaving a nation, sparing not a soul,
Manifesting itself into things people crave to believe,
It lies invisible and un-conquered in the dust.

Resistance proves becomes useless,
Too much pain involved,
Monotony takes it's place,
With the chain hidden in the dust.

And yet new links are forged,
Making the chain stronger, harsher,
Breaking families, bringing floods of tears,
Forged by the very victims it binds.
Tradition, Culture and Religion,
Gems, a country's most valuable heirlooms
,Defiled by the hands of greed and prejudice,
Alloyed and added to the dormant chain.

And somewhere in the distance,
A rhythmic "ching" vibrates,
Small blows, small miracles, tolerating the pain,
Breaking away the link, breaking the chain,
Breaking free, soaring free.
And thus a soul may break free,
Though the chain be remade,
One star more to guide those who dare,
Hope of the future, renewing the faith of the nation.

child sexual abuse in India

First of all, let me begin by saying... I honestly wish I dont have to post this topic... but the thing is, sexual abuse is concidered such a taboo in India hardly anyone talks about it and it lies hidden which people talk about child labour and physical violence... they miss the basic things lieing beneath thier nose. So here are some notes from a organistaion called tulir that is trying the do something about this menance. I feel one of the smallest ways I can help these people is through spreading the message around... so plz check out the following linkwww.tulircphcsa.org/

Deabtes 2005

Wow... I'll never forget that day.... we had spent days... no weeks slogging over the pc... umindful of backaches and wierd blurrings in front of out eyes.... the topic given to us was "reservation policies give the fairer sex an unfair advantage". Something like 2 days before the actal debates we figured we were prepared only for one angles of the entire debates... Many times during that final week I had told myself that winning was not my objective but not making a cake of myself was... and eventually when I did get on that podium I remember bieng vaguely calm... but it did not last for long... by the end of my speech I thought I was going to collapse or something... nand oh yeah... I also thought I was going much too fast and much too low. oh well.. alls well that goes well... in the end we managed to get best team nd I won runner- up best speaker missing best speaker by one point... :) so yeah... if ure interested.. here's my speech...

According to the National Commission for Women every 26 minutes a woman is molested. Every 54 minutes a rape takes place. Every 48 minutes an eve-teasing incident occurs. Every 4 minutes a woman is kidnapped. One act of cruelty every 33 minutes and one criminal offence every 7 minutes against women take place in our country.

(Intro)

We come from the land of the Manushastra… where Manu has explicitly stated that a woman is expected to be “taken care of” first by her father, then her husband, and in the last stage of her life by her son.” In India… women have always been respected… as ideals of art and beauty, NOT as a part of the government.
In rural India, almost 60 per cent of girls are married before they are 18. Nearly 60 per cent of married girls bear children before they are 19. 245 million Indian women cannot read and write making it the largest population of illiterate women. In spite of all this women are trying to come up in all fields but they are being put down at all levels. Indian women can dominate in almost all fields of economic activity, having acquired the essential instrument for empowerment – education and skill training. These women just need a chance to get back on their feet. Reservation policies for employment and education will help them in just that.
In our day to day lives, every day, in every situation - in public transport, markets, restaurants, women face various degrees of harassment - from whistles, catcalls, cheap songs and rude remarks, to touching, pinching, flashing. When these go unchecked and unpunished, the result is often molestation, rape and violence. In a country where women have to carry safety pins and wooden rulers as defense objects, and fear retaliation from their abusers, reservation policies form a much better choice.
In politics, can any of us ever believe that no woman has political aspirations or can any of us every say that no woman has ever dreamed of making a difference? Then why is it that women who form half of the Indian population and one-third the labor force are represented in the parliament only by 11.6%...? The common argument is that people believe that women lack the sharpness and charisma to carry a public post. We have already seen the success of the women panchayat leaders who have benefited from the reservation bill reserving 1/3 of the seats for them. A new army of a million empowered women have come forward and have taken bolder steps against corruption and have passed policies to reduce liquor consumption in their villages. These reservations in governance are not incentives for the women to enter politics. Rather it is to force men to give way for them to enter.
The test for whether or not you can hold a job should not be the arrangement of your chromosomes

ask no favors for my sex.... All I ask of our brethren is that they will take their feet from off our necks.

Centre Stage

Listen to my silent plea,
Look into my eyes,
Hear the words I dare not speak.
Somewhere inside me there is
A person outspoken and forthright,
Not scared to ask questions,
Exploring paths now hidden to me.

When the moment really nears,
and I need to speak,
My opinion really matters...
They will define someones world.

That is when I become... frozen.

No words come out,
"No ones listening" a voice nags,
Hands shaking and palms sweating,
The moment swift flees, lost in time.

Softly I return to the shadows,
Unseen and unsung,
Just another face in the masses,
Perhaps the way I wanted it to be.

The moment comes again,
This time with lights glaring,
But now I am someone else,
Someone you do not know.
The nagging voice left behind the curtain,
Wearing a mask, false yet true,
That lost girl inside me,
Found - Centre Stage.

In memorey of... (poetry)

In memory of...
All the unsung heroes,
Every anonymous face,
All the hearts broken,
Every drop of blood spilled.

In memory of...
All the battles undocumented,
Every genius unrecognised
,All the visions scorned,
Every discovery unaccepted.

In memory of...
All the faith lost,
Every tear drop fallen,
All the beliefs defiled,
Every candle put out.

In memory of...
To all those unknown martyrs,
Sacrificed on the Battle field or stake.
To all those anonymous faces,
Unknown but not unforgotten.

I just realised how unappropriate the title is....

mm... I just realised how unapproporiate the tille "daily chronicles" is for the poetry I'm planning to post here... but apparently since my imagination can come up with anything better... got to go with wat I have now..lol... so yeah.. this is a general warnng... do not let the title mislead you... :D