Painless

The incessant setbacks in the path to my goal are reflected in this poem, penned after the latest disappointment.

It's 7 now,
in a row,
Six years gone,
slogging,
with anticipations,
with visuals,
of success,
that remain
where they take birth,
still there.

While others,
they've raced ahead,
piled up reserves,
work experience,
some married,
some dads,
travellers,
and their trekking fads.

Experts, they are,
with break-free careers.

And here,
a huge gap,
no specialization,
half-jack of all trades.
Uniform, yes,
knowledge, rare.
General knowledge,
oh yeah,
that habit,
of binge-watching the newspapers.

The desire to rise,
the sick road taken,
the idealism,
that started it all,
is flickering,
those 'reforms',
the 'selflessness',
is stuttering,
facing essential questions,
is it OK to be selfish?
It might well be.

The determination,
is all but gone,
the thought of,
having missed,
the sceneries around
the 'determined' road,
haunts,
or have I not
missed much?

But there are stories,
of miracles,
of last-ditch attempts,
the final push,
the 'Do-or-die' fevour,
that mattered in the end,
all guilts evaporated,
pain forgotten,
'impossible' was proscribed.

The vigor must remain,
cool head,
careful analysis,
for these 7 may have
been due a reason,
What reason?
He knows.

Calmness,
diligence,
smart work,
concentration-
all needed.
For anyways,
it's already painless now.

The Happy Road

I turn, and I enter
the dim road,
brought into shape,
by a street lamp.

Travellers,
hardly any,
maybe a rare cyclist,
like me, or
a daily wage earner.

Residents,
many.
A tree,
dancing merrily with wind,
'content in solitude'.
Few shops,
workers tending machines,
the waiting barber, and
a lady, tired,
of ironing the 'rich' clothes,
the iron lady.

A school,
haunted,
till the morning bell.

The 'party' plot,
dark and lonely,
after the last night glitter.

At the far end,
a tea stall,
with an odd guest.
Adjoining the roadside temple,
the ringing bell,
of faith,
the sleepy priest.
And outside,
his partner,
the florist,
sifting the dead ones.

But the road,
it is happy,
to rest,
to roll,
basking in the moonlight.

Where does it lead to?
My mind.

P.S: I enjoy cycling on weekends these days. A particular street I cross, caught my attention and led to this poem.

No Longer The Studying Kind

Wrote the following paragraph on 23rd March 2010 (2nd year of B.Tech). Things certainly had changed from school to college:

There were school days when I used to enjoy studying, how eagerly I did my homework and how good were the teachers. But now, it has been long since I met books. This bloody laptop, through which I am writing my feelings is a damn idiot thing, that is responsible. On the whole I am myself responsible for this ordeal. There's nothing such as true interest left in me. Study just a day before, grasp the facts as much as you can. In the friend circles, we enjoy a lot but dedication is no longer to be seen. To a college student of today's era, my thoughts may seem cynical. The "chill" attitude that I have developed, troubles me a lot. Somewhere I miss that tint of contentedness that I used to have doing my home work myself, and not copying it two minutes before the deadline, like we do here today. You see the student who is my age group studying in MIT, is still thinking of solving that silly problem he faced developing the algorithm or visualizing the graphics of that game and I ? Full of remorse, days passing by .... I may get a job, then we would recall that how much fun we used to have, but true to heart maybe a pinch of guilt will continue to remain. I heard that life comes only once.....God help me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!