The Verb Song (without the music)

Be born.

Learn to crawl.

Learn to walk.

Break stuff.

Get screamed at.

Cry, because you’ve been screamed at.

Cry, because you feel like it.

Cry, just to get a hug.

Smile, when you get that hug.

Grow up.

Or not.

Learn to run.

Fall down.

Learn to fall down.

Learn to get back up.

Ride a tricycle.

Break a tricycle.

Get a bike.

Learn to ride a bike.

Scrape your knees.

See the scars heal.

Trample a few weeds.

Ride over grass.

Race your buddies.

Win some races.

Lose the others.

Celebrate the races.

Won or lost, doesn’t matter.

Drink some cola.

Feel the fizz in your nose.

Then, drink some more cola.

Outgrow the bike.

See it gather rust.

Feel the twinge seeing it gather rust.

Feel the twinge when it’s thrown out.

Or when it’s kept in the gloomy garage.

Let go of the twinge, and move on.

Eat ice cream with your friends.

Get a brain-freeze.

Eat more ice cream with your friends.

Get another brain-freeze.

Grow into the teen years.

Get your first zit.

And your first crush.

Worry about how you look.

Worry about carbs.

But sometimes, binge anyway.

Get your heart broken.

Mend your broken heart.

Learn about the world.

Learn about yourself.

Believe you can change the world.

Waste a lot of hours playing video games.

Stay up nights to study for tests.

Fall asleep half way through the test.

Get bored half way through the test.

Leave the test hall early, just to get rid of it.

Go to college.

Choose a degree.

Study something you want to.

Or something that you got through at.

Either way, it doesn’t matter.

Your whole life is still ahead of you.

Take an interest in Art.

Make an effort to understand expression.

Make more friends.

Learn to drive.

Bang your car.

Worry about it at that time.

Laugh about it later.

Get a girlfriend… or a boyfriend.

Fall in love, slowly.

Fall out of love, suddenly.

Break up, be lonely.

Then, fall in love again.

Know about Politics.

Pretend to know about Politics.

Read more than you ever have.

Write more than you ever have.

Think more than you ever have.

You won’t get another chance sometime soon.

Have a booze party.

Drink till you throw up.

Throw up till you’re empty.

Drink till you pass out.

Graduate.

Throw the cap as high as you can.

Then walk away as far away as you have to. 

Get a job.

Go to the job every day.

Get bored of the routine life.

Change jobs every few years.

Grow some roots.

Stay where you are.

Grow a pair of wings.

Try to fly away from it all.

Get a pet.

Take care of it.

Feed it.

Play with friendly cats.

Play with friendly dogs.

Take long walks on the beach.

Go for long hikes on mountains.

Holiday with friends.

Take a break with your family.

Get away, sometimes, just on your own.

Ride the bus.

Ride the train.

Play with children.

Play with your friends.

Bug your buddies.

Tell them to fuck off when they bug you.

Do it in a friendly way, though.

Find your soul mate.

Get married.

Make beautiful children.

Make a wonderful, loving home.

Watch your kids grow up.

Invite your childhood friends for Friday Night Dinners.

Watch them age with you.

Watch your kids make friends with theirs.

Watch sports on weekends.

Watch movies with your spouse, once the kids are asleep.

Go to the school when your kid gets in trouble.

Be proud of what he’s done, on the inside.

Watch him grow up.

Watch yourself grow old.

Enjoy watching the years fly by.

Smile at your receding hairline.

Laugh at your bald head.

Retire, and rest up.

Get lost in the memories.

Say Goodbye with a smile.

But, only when you want to.

This one’s inspired by “It’s Kind Of A Funny Story” (the film) by Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck. Haven’t got the book yet, but I somehow want to read it after watching the film.

This isn’t in any specific order. Feel free to jumble it up, or to throw out a few lines altogether.

The Revolt

Life is a revolt.

Happiness is a revolt.

For almost all of our lives, we have been told to 'not do' things.

Not to sleep too late, not to sleep till late. Not to ignore the important things in life, as had been defined by the rule makers. Not to question the definitions of those rule makers.

From an early age, we have been taught that these rules are rigid, unmalleable.

And these rules, they become like barbed wires
Or the white picket fences, gleaming in the summer sunlight

Forever present, forever on their quest
To keep within their confines what grows within their boundaries

But life is wild
Biology in untamable
And so, they prune
They mow the grass that grows too wild
And they cut the branches that dare to go beyond

And in their quest to make it pretty
They forget Life
Life is adventure
Life is unbridled exploration

Like the plant growing indoors
That stretches its branches, a millimetre a day
Or perhaps even less
Towards that window, and the gleaming sunlight beyond
Patiently waiting for that day

Like the many rats that find their way into your home
Through the sewers and the the cracks in the walls
Or the cracks under the doors
Theirs is a life too, revolting against the man-made illusion of security

In our haste to prune and to protect
We often miss the beady black eyes that stare at us for a while
Before they disappear, whisking away into the darkness
We miss the stubbornness of the weeds
Which grow in spite of being hacked away
As though they would never learn
Or choose to never learn

We fail to realize that little by little, life strangles the metal bars
It drills the picket fences hollow, it brings down walls with nothing more than creepers
And we fight, we resist, we cut away, hoping and wishing and praying
That in this fight, we win
The metal bars hold on, the fences stay white and strong
And the walls keep standing, sturdy
But life can't be contained by walls or bars or fences
Life moves on, life breaks the rules
And if a few bars bend, if a few fences decay
If a few walls crumble down, so be it.

The World

The world is the most beautiful
At its ugliest of times
The child's sweet eyes, full of sorrow
As it searches hungrily for it's mother
The jelly covered teeth of the toddler
That smiles and turns away
The beautiful thunderstorm
That brings life giving water
And the sad eyes of the puppy, cold and scared
Caught out in the cold, harsh rain
The dandelions in bloom, they sway
To and fro, in that autumn afternoon breeze
Blanketing the landmines just below them
Waiting for years, for one wrong footstep
The beautiful world, at its ugliest of times
Makes us want to shy away
From that ill, homeless woman
Old and helpless
And you look for change to throw into her bucket
Covering your eyes in shame
And guilt
And pain
There's green grass in the field
Grass that's running wild now
All the children that ran around
Played games and wrestled in the grass
Green knee-ed and dirt patched
They've left the playgrounds a long time ago
Moved away with the world
The asphalt tramples the green grass underfoot
In it's black, shiny glory
Making the world a little more beautiful
At its ugliest of times
Young life fights to live
And lose it's innocence to the outside world
But not a chance is she given
And the coursing blood
It stops in her veins
And in that stillness
That lifeless nothingness
Sitting heavily in those burnt out eyes
Her innocence intact in them
Never to be let outside
In that beautiful, beautiful world
Which in that moment
Is at it's ugliest of times

Go ahead and Jump!

Go ahead and Jump!
Don't let them tell you that you can't
Put on those shoes and Jump!
The sky is never that far
Go outside, breathe in the air
Don't forget to Jump!
Remember the childhood days
Those big open schoolyards
The long stone slides
And how it all began
With a tiny jump
Or a friendly bump
And you lived a lifetime
In those ten seconds of freefall
Go ahead and Jump!
Pretend that the world isn't watching
Climb that tree, as high as you can
Then jump, and fall
Into that soft pile of red leaves
Then again, and again
Till that free laughter jumps out
And joins you
Jump, one more time, with that laughter
Till you're smothered by it
Jump while you sing
Or while you dance
Jump in front of the mirror, alone
Jump hand in hand with a friend
Or with your loved one
Follow the train track, disappearing into the distance
Balancing one foot in front of the other
And hear the shrill whistle behind you
Jump off the tracks, and stare in wonder
As the giant, chugging train rolls by
Jump, till you feel the blood gushing through
Jump, till you feel the air inside you
Live a little, breathe a lot
And remember,
Don't forget to Jump!

This is a part of ‘Theme Thursday’ at http://themethursday.blogspot.com/.

Nightmares

This had been discussed in vague terms
Over the past few years
Through dauntless nights we wondered
Our eyes brimming with warm tears
Memories of those lost souls chase us still
And in our minds, sad, lonely and scared
We march on towards the void, our lifeless end

Countering Writers Block, or whatever the hell this is that I’m going through right now, I stumbled across this little exercise. Grab the 7th book from your bookshelf. Open it up to page 7. Pinpoint the 7th sentence on the page. Begin a poem that begins with that sentence and limit it in length to 7 lines.

Dear Thamma

I looked into the familiar face today, yet again. She smiled, and as I gently adjusted her hearing aid, I knew that toothless, childlike smile was one of gratitude. The constant whistle died down within her ears, and after many years she heard our soft voices all over again. She could hear the gurgle of the aquarium filter, as it spewed out bubbles for the fishes to play with. She could listen to the strumming of the guitar that had fascinated her for so long now, and her joy knew no bounds.

Her beautiful face, lined and etched with many years worth of wrinkles make it even more beautiful, and as my fingers ran over her cheeks to ensure that the hearing aid fits well, I could feel the soft wrinkled skin beneath my fingertips, and they told me so many stories of so many winters just like this, sitting in the sunlight hearing those vicious stories in Thamma’s soothing voice, knowing that in the end, it will be alright.

The days of storytelling are long gone, but that passion still lingers on. The way her eyes light up every time she picks up one of her books – be it the new Salman Rushdie, or yet another re-read of Harry Potter – she devours page after page of book after book, maybe hoping to find someone who would listen to those stories, the way we did in the warm winter sunshine on lazy afternoons.

I have seen Dadu being snatched away unexpectedly, and now I’m seeing Thamma withering away in front of my eyes; but there is beauty in old age. There is strength in this fragility. There is wisdom in those deep eyes, and they’re just looking for someone to listen. There is warmth in that voice, and you can feel it in spite of the cold winter chill.

For her sake, I want to be a writer. Someday, hopefully someday soon, I hope to be able to tell her one of my stories, to let her know that her little grandson, the one who used to listen with rapt attention to those stories in the sunlight, has grown up; that for a change, he’s got some stories to tell as well.

I better get going, and get to work; there are so many stories that I need to tell her.