Living The Dream

My bedtime stories are a
cinematic experience in itself.

The closed eye visuals are just the timelapse,
Of discordant series of images.

Yet, something still feels familiar.
Perhaps, the order those looping images.

My dreams look just like
The real-life incidences.

Hitting hard with the Deja Vu,
About which I absolutely have no clue.

They seem like a motion picture trying to trap me,
Although their recurrence feels new everytime.

I’ve now memorised every moment
Of the movements in those visuals.

This has become quite regular now,
Just like an inevitable ritual.

I’m still unsure about when
I’m awake or asleep.

Although my eyes seem open,
It literally feels like living the dream.



The things I saw as a child,
Appeared before me in several ways.

The objects, the people, the places,
They looked the same but really weren’t.

The armchair my grandpa rested in,
Lost its prestige after he was gone.

The door I angrily slammed as a teenager,
Had its glow faded by the time I grew calmer.

The tricycle I rode and boasted about as a child,
Was left in a dark corner of my house, dusty.

The beaches I once made sand castles in,
Ebbed routined and charmless.

Once considered gems, all of these things were
Cornered in my house surrounded by dark walls.

But as the door opened,
My face illuminated with reminiscence.

The gateway released the Gems that embodied the
Special memories from the past.

The Identity

He grew young, tall and handsome,
But the beard on face looked as if
He’ll demand a ransom.

He had soft spot for all the cutesy things,
Although most of his peers chose to
Ride fancy motorbikes and wear bling!

The beard on his face was just another jewel,
But as he walked past many thought,
This guy must be gruesome and cruel.

Perhaps he liked his beard or maybe he couldn’t shave,
But, he couldn’t understand why was he being judged
And thought, “Why wouldn’t they just give me a break?”

Another side of the story wasn’t either a glory,
For some thought him to be the Manliest Man,
But he considered that ideology to be sham.

The visuals in the box showed similar concepts
And tips about how to be a real man,
Women dig the beard and fall as instantly as they can.

But he remained indifferent to the weird culture of his society,
For he knew that having beard was part of human biology
And it had nothing to do with any traditional ideology.

He was just another human after all like everyone else.
What would make him a man was his humanity,
While everything else could be lost in the identity!

The Bazooka Lady

Vigilance of this vigilante is
What the city needs!

This woman’s here to wipe-out
All the corruption and greed.

An exclusive example of an
Empowered woman is what she is!

Upright she holds the bazooka and shouts:
“AYE! Ho rey melya, baazula!!

The leaders of the corrupt empire,
Shiver with fear on hearing her name.

She is the one to fight them all
And get their fake reputation defamed.

The cops too, feel protected due to her helping hand,
For she would stand firm to fight back for her motherland!

Angry Maushi version

Boulevard Of Apocalypse

As he walked down the aisle,
the corpses filled his eyes
with fear and rage.

He didn’t want to face it,
but had no other choice
than to witness the world collapse.

As the crimson rivers flowed,
through the sewer
into the darkness.

He wondered,
what would’ve happened,
if he was one of the dead too?

He didn’t want to see,
but could not unsee it.
The image in his head lasted forever.

The despicability of humans,
had spared no soul
in those bodies.

They were now just
skeletons covered with
a thin layer of flesh and skin.