Placed a stool

Under that fan.

At an enormous pace,

His dark mind ran.

Things were going well,

On the lines of his plan.

Didn’t care what would..

Didn’t bother what could..

As on the wooden stool,

With shaky legs he stood.

With a loop around his head.

Loop of death it was,

As it is said.

A leader once,

Was now misled.

His mind bewitched,

By the deathbed.

The following second,

Stool was kicked aside.

The loop did its work,

And the man died .

Too anxious of the future,

Too fearful of his fate.

A victim of his mind,

Prey of his mental state.

To get away from himself,

Yes that was his greed.

Didn’t look back at his people,

Went against his creed.

Seemed like the devil,

Had some valid points indeed.

Maybe he was a king,

Who died like a pawn.

Found that one reason to leave,

Ignored hundreds to go on.

In the dreams of heaven,

Forgot our earth.

In the shadows of others,

Forgot his worth.

He is not worth my tears,

Man hanging from a rope.

But I shed them for those,

Who called him their hope.

No need to bow your head,

Don’t waste a sob.

He was too weak for our world,

Who jumped off the top.

Found a bed to rest,

Found a coffin to hide.

But I cry for those,

For him who cried.

His loved ones, so called

Still standing by his side.

I see them in black.

With flowers by his grave.

Yes I call them bold,

Think of them as brave.

Farewell they give,

His homecoming they crave.

A wound is all they got,

A wound is all he gave.

Hey! diseased one,

Get off the edge

And drop that gun,

Don’t leave the front,

Don’t turn back and run.

We will fight by you,

A battle is to be won.

Just think about those

Who call you their love,

Who call you their friend,

Who call you their son.




I heard the church bells,
Blowing of the shells,
Words of the azaan.
Read testaments of bible,
Plenty of those dohas,
Verses of quraan.
When notes of your music,
Left me spell bound.
When these eyes were closed,
When my head touched the ground.
You were there by my side,
I could feel you around.
In every shrine I found,
You in every being,
Every corner, word, sound.
While joining hands in a temple,
While chanting the word ‘om’,
Its was you under the cross.
Its was you under the dome.
I saw you shining bright,
In a candle’s light.
In all three colours,
Saffron ,green and white.
When a life starts,
Or when some one dies.
I see no religion in their smiles.
I hear no religion in their cries.
My father if everywhere,
Your presence is the same.
Then why these people go against you.
That too by your name.
The days have started growing dimmer,
We need a Jesus once again.
Now tears can feed a river,
We need a Buddha once again.
Men with eyes cannot see,
We need a Nanak once again .
To show the world what’s unity,
We need a Mohammad once again.
Another Mahabharata is to be fought,
We need a Krishna once again.
Not ten but a million heads he has got,
We need a Rama once again.
Fall on the dry earth,
As drops of rain.
Tell me my candles,
Didn’t melt in vain.
We need a prophet once again.
We need a prophet once again.

– Samarth Sharma



I am in this desert of illusions,
Where everything deceives.
Gathered around by slaves,
Of irrational beliefs.
They don’t let me fly,
With these chains around me.
But their walls are not enough,
To limit my mind, so wild and free.
‘Son of the blue’ is what I am,
I was born with these wings.
But they say they don’t know,
Any such things.
Only falsehood floats,
In their ocean of lies.
While truth sleeps deep in bed,
Limply, with closed eyes.
In their forest of concrete,
The art to survive,
Is to kill someone else,
And yourself be alive.
But I will find my way out,
Out from their maze.
From their labyrinth of time,
With such puzzling ways.
In this mist of false notions,
I look for reason’s light.
Yes, I am that black drop,
In their sea of white.
My rusty lungs,
My dusty lungs,
But unlike rest of them,
My breath thirsty lungs.
Craving for some air,
Dying for some sky.
Want to breathe in some clouds,
As I pass by.
My artist mind,
This anarchist mind,
And as they call it,
‘The darkest mind’
Goes after things,
To which they are blind.
Separates me from my men,
Separates me from my kind.
I don’t need their religion.
I don’t need their gods.
Not even their fuzzy vision.
I am one of the odds.
I don’t need their culture.
I don’t need their traits.
I just want to open,
Their old rigid gates.
Been locked from ages.
Been locked from dates.
The gates behind which
The real wisdom waits.
With my heart soaked in wrath
And my iron veins.
I’ll break through their grip
And melt off these chains.
It runs along my blood,
It shines in my eyes.
It wanders in my brain,
My throat even cries.
‘Freedom’ is what it is called,
Still looking for where it lies.

-Samarth Sharma



Soldiers and sons
And those hefty guns.
One sinful mind,
Mankind against mankind.
The sun had almost
Reached the crown
And finally the metal
Had brought him down.
The war was over,
He had got his share.
Stains of his blood,
On the pieces of his gear
He knew he had been hit thrice,
Twice on his legs and once on his chest.
He also knew that it was time,
Time for him to take some rest.
As soon as he closed his eyes,
Memories of his homeland flowed
And he saw himself running down
Running down his country road.
He saw those red bricks
And rusty gate again.
Forgot all wounds
And forgot all pain.
She wiped her tears halfway down.
His mother in her same old gown.
As she took him into her arms,
Tears gushed out like flood.
As they felt the warmth,
Warmth of their own blood.
Then his heart skipped a beat.
He saw his love down the street.
Two young, fledgling souls,
Ran towards each other like opposite poles.
But as soon as he kissed her head.
A haze started growing overhead.
Then he could see nothing else.
Before he knew he was dead.
And here in the real world,
Blood sodden dust swirled.
And the sun red in shame,
Hurried towards west.
While some dark and bold clouds,
Gathered to protest.
That day even the sky cried.
And the winds also took his side.
Not because a human was dead,
But because humanity had died.
And there he slept lifelessly,
Just two decades after his birth.
A son in the dusty arms,
Dusty arms of his mother earth.
Soldiers and sons
And those hefty guns.
One sinful mind,
Mankind against mankind.

-Samarth Sharma