Random

This is his story. A story which created history. Very few know him, even fewer understand him and perhaps no one ever got to see the real him.

Who is he?

He is anyone, everyone, and no one.

This is our story. A story of which we all are a part of.

His-Story
A con man with an uncommon genuine smile,
Predicating an image that is still unclear,
Is always facing some or the other trial,
For his mind has both courage and fear.

Humble at the very core but not so much on the skin,
Just like the world we so much adore, we too are on a spin.
And to win?, Con man must be a kin,
And so we all have this evil twin.


Passionate is another charm of time,
Without which nothing is fine.
Each step in life is like a line.
His story is for him to design.


To be truthful, not being truthful is alright,
For with situations we need to change our sight.
Lose if you must for trying is right,
His story speaks about everyone's fight.

Something that gets us closer to redemption,

Is something worth searching for.

So while many things are paving our direction,

Let me invite you to the floor.

Knock knock, who’s there?

Smile at.

Smile at who?

Whomever you want to, it’s free.

The world is your audience looking at you,

Could be daunting only if it were to be true,

Laughing eyes helps to see right through,

Says the Poet who has no clue.

Just break into laughter and smile a while,

For my words seem wise because I do hit and trial.

Curious, each smile has one unique style,

Searching for laughter is worthwhile.

Let us believe that our believes are wrong,

Days are short but the hours are long,

Deaf is hearing a dumb person’s song,

And the reality was unreal all along.

We aren’t whom we thought we were,

Winters are clear while summers are blur,

Each argument is accepted without any demur,

Can you imagine, Madame and Monsieur?

I pave the way for you to see a new world,

Unreal reality is laminar yet twirled,

Add a little randomness, let logic get swirled,

For that time it is just your world.

Let others live by the rules and norm,

Enjoy the wind and rain of what they call storm,

Just wander the reality of an unreal platform,

For when you come back, you will be happy, you will perform.

Some memories from the old shelves,

Came across as I was passing by.

Without any effort there was a smile,

As for a moment past and I were ally.

On one side is me, rushing from goal to goal,

While on the other was I, running freely as a whole.

On one side is me, with clean and ironed shirt,

While on the other was I, a knight who couldn’t be hurt.

On one side is me, cruising in my car,

While on the other was I, peddling my bicycle to the stars.

For a moment I became me,

For in that moment I was free,

Amazing is that kid we all see,

Bicycle stories are for us to flee.

I and me, The Poet and the Pen

I have travelled quite a bit, seen a few things here and there. Travelling is good.

It is necessary to take time out of our lives, turn off those bright screens which we see all day and just catch a train.

A nice train compartment, a hot cup of coffee, a good book or some blank pages, and one Pen. The Poet always needs the Pen, pun intended. That is an amazing way to start a journey, if one likes to travel solo.

Traveling with friends is amazing, helps you to connect, bond, explore and make memories for a lifetime but there is something about travelling solo.

I remember my old days when I used to kick start my motorbike and take on the roads. No pre-fixed destination, just going where the path leads me to. I used to ride for hours, accelerate on highways and open roads, stop at small roadside shops or gas stations for a cup of tea and then carry on with my adventure. Lately, I have been missing those days. I would love to go on such trips again but thats okay. Someday I will.

A traveller travels for the novelty of it,

A fresh life with each morning star.

As fancy as it sounds, it is hard to commit,

It is not just about the places afar.

Each mile stores millennium worth moments,

Waiting to be explored by the travelling gambler.

Richness of difference is life’s endowment,

Appreciable only by a fellow traveller.

With a crowd or alone, to field or hills,

Remains at liberty with the desperate dweller.

Capturing the world in the form of stills,

Only gets sweeter for the gazing teller.

A Traveller

Thinking is important, no doubt there. However, there is another act which we need to perform with if not equal than with more tenacity. I am talking about a start. Speaking of… without further adieu, read to know…know to read.

Breakfast

How important is it, a start?

Perhaps the most important of all.

How do we know our ventures will last?

We don’t. With life it is our eternal brawl.

That goal which we always wanted to achieve,

Is waiting on the opposite shore.

Enriched with everything that we believe,

There exists atleast a path or more.

Break this cycle which only ponders,

Nothing happens unless we start.

It better to get lost or wander,

Breakfast if you are smart.

Nishant Gang, The Poet and the Pen
Atleast one always exists

In search of my goals I often get lost

And wander through hills and valleys.

Character which I have today

Reflects my path through all those alleys.

Every route that brought me back

Gave me something to offer and share.

Finest days were those which,

Taught me the game of dare.

Each of us walk without a map,

Yet we somehow reach a place.

Some are pleasant while some teach us,

Our choices are what we face.

Choose wisely for they can’t be reversed,

But never shy out from exploring the new.

Choice is one unique word,

Despite us having quite a few.

Nishant