Bird in a cage

E

very morning  they wake me up, they never needed a battery or tuning up yet they sang the best of tunes and a new one every time. Sometimes I used to wait for my alarm to sing, wait with my eyes wide  open fixed upon the windows that over look the massive trees. They were my little feathered friends, ever hungry and ever trying to be the early bird. There chirping's wake me up every day. An hour of their songs makes my day.

                One morning I woke up with their songs filled with terror and sorrow, for they were no songs but helpless plea of my little friends. I ran to my window and “timber” was he sound I heard and the crashing of the  last massive fauna that stood. It was no more a tree, it’s a log now soon to be shredded into pieces of wood. I don’t know where my little friends went I never saw them again. I wake up every day throwing this irritating piece of metal which wakes me up every time with its ghostly alarm tone.

                Concrete jungle surrounds me now and I can’t hear a single song throughout the day. I’ve let down my little feathered friends along with those trees. Too late to realize “I’m a featherless bird in a concrete cage”

               

Insomnia

Where's my sleep? not able to find it, ain't anywhere near me for the past few days. here i'm one more night tat aint worth mentioning.going through my inbox.why did i sign in the first place? Thanks to spammers least they do mail me.
my play list has started boring me silence means more music to me nowadays. Whats the cause of all these? my over loaded routine? or had insomnia become my routine?keeping the questions apart im tired of answering them.going through my old mail's with one thing in mind, to while away this night, ya thats my only agenda now.
whoever made this program to save  chat conversations as mail must be a insomniac like me. a snap shot of my total stupidity for the last few years lies in front of me as mails. not intentionally but to be honestly true accepting the fact that my truthfulness is bounded to sillily things like this, i landed to those conversations, those moments i last spoke to her.
To this very time it was my belief "she ditched me" but it aint so. what went wrong between us was by me. My reluctant attitude, to practically everything. here lies the proof,  she begging me to talk a word, a 50 please from her to make me say a word. a 100 Love you for a smiley from me.Wish i could continiue the chat now but its too late.
I crawl back into my sleepless bed, waiting for a heavy eye i stay awake with a heavy heart.

Guns can bring silence, but not peace.
oceans can fill every lake and rivers, but cant quench  thirst.
All roads lead to Rome they say.
But not all roads leads to ones home.

My Mobile

oh when i hold,
have i ever told you?
you make me feel you are the one,
i hold you 2nd to none.
smiles and tears you fill my life,
lemme tell you this i love you more than my wife.
you show me the way,
tell me what people say.
I'll feed you power,
you leave me never.

Let's do it

cut those trees, burn those logs.
Dirty streets filled with dogs.
Girls Raped. lifes shaked.
Mother of law, her eyes all taped.
fill those lakes make new place,
make that water little more scarce.
Bribe the court, bribe the law,
thats not enough? bribe your God.
one more price hike? stop your bike,
its a crowed place lets hitch-hike.
one more protest?? its so fun.
lets go protest & loot our town.

24 Hours

I need to satisfy my boss a little more,
24 not enough.
i need to work a little more,
24 not enough.
i need to sleep a little more,
24 not enough.
i want the weekends a little longer,
24 not enough.
i want to feel her warmth a little more,
24 not enough.
Hanging in the hands of death,
i want to live a little more.
24 not enough.
24 A wrong number.

THe class

Time dilates,

Mind frustrates.

Distractions become interesting,

Subject becomes distraction.

Graffiti’s on desk,

Acting to be brisk.

Eyes all opened,

Mind totally closed.

Mobiles on silent,

Imaginations vibrant.

A silent commotion,

An invisible opposition.

When the class gets over its heaven,

We feel 1947.