Me and We: a perpetual conflict. 

Why living is a war?

This morning I woke up with same old question, is there a way that human beings may actually live without making life a war of sorts, without losing or winning. And after a few hours I completed this poem which I had abruptly started as a tweet, a couple of days earlier.

The conflict between an individual and collective institutions are in perpetual conflict. Why is it so? Why can’t they work in harmony? Is it because it is inherently impossible due to its nature?

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Experiments with sonnet writing.

We know so much about everything that is happening around us but we know so little about ourselves. Every day unwraps a layer of shroud around our consciousness. Last weekend I experimented with poetry. It often happens that a sentence due to choice or words would strike me and I would chuckle and rhyme it, sometime to the annoyance of listener. Any how, a bit of scribbling jumbled up few rag-tag combination of words. Here below, I have experimented with ‘Sonnet’ style, if that can be called style. It is not what it should be but this is what I could do, so far. It is about homecoming from vacation. How return from retreat, renders a relief as also feel so boring. Actually every person is a King and his home is his castle. symbolically, every person behaves like King and Queen, may be without a large estate. Continue reading

Domestic help

Pic courtesy Bri.

Kaam Waali Bai Day. (Domestic Help Day)
Like dryad, she visits remaining in shadows;
Some time silently and like rain, drenched away the impurities;
And some time like fury of thunder,  utensils bearing the brunt;
For a meager solatium, undoing anarchy and chaos of affluence;
Nobody sent a card;
No holiday celebrated;
Abused like the carpet in rain;
Google returning filthy jokes and obscene colors;
Visiting same places again and again;
Making up with same chores, again and again.

(A tribute to the people who introduce quality and comfort in our lives and remain on the margin of society)

© Sandeep Bhalla



Actions and results

I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Ambiguity and Uncertainty, you are welcome to my abode.

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