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Too long and too silently have I suffered,
from this punishment, the world calls life.
The only escape I now know and seek,
is in the glistening blade of my knife.

Why did they invite me to enjoy the world’s spoils,
when each bit of it was poisoned and cursed?
Why did they pretend to embellish my wretched destiny,
while secretly it was only their fortunes they nursed?

Why was I shown luring mirages of success,
when what was intended for me was ruin and wreckage?
Why was it that I never got to write my own story,
and the one they wrote, opened at the last page?

They answered my blind loyalty with shameless betrayal,
and dissolved my faith in a steaming cauldron of deceit.
At my slightest slip, they came swooping down upon me,
like eerie vultures descending on leftover meat.

Too long I stayed illusioned by their Machiavellian tactics,
and consorted in their brazen acts of transgression.
But, now I can play the masochistic puppet no longer –
too famished am I now to battle this depression.

The world is free to hate and despise me,
for the road I take is laid with a defeatist’s tar.
But let those chance few who loved me, know
that but for them I wouldn’t even have made it this far.

The world hasn’t been completely unkind to me,
and I do have some sweet memories to carry yonder.
There were indeed a few alleys of unscathed happiness,
and in them will my surrendered soul silently wander.

This paper will now patiently wait on the side-table,
and announce my decision to take the long journey back.
And the last line this unfortunate hand will ever write,
will be a thin crimson one across my neck…


NISHANK MEHTA  |  14.08.2009


Death Warrant


Alzheimer Patient

I have never been accused of cowardice –
My heart and soul are drenched in courage.
I have vanquished men more gifted than me,
But alas! Here’s a war I can’t dare to wage.

I have no complaints to fling heavenwards,
No painful regrets or remorse to swallow.
But I feel terribly lost – in this darkness,
that shrouds the path I am destined to follow.

I can feel it lurk stealthily nearby…
I can hear it taunt me to stage a fight.
But how to wrestle when you have already lost?
Where to flee when there’s no escape in sight?

Alzheimer’s – they have a rather fancy name for it,
an invincible killer with a ruthless temperament.
While you loiter in the labyrinths of lunacy,
it boldly and briskly builds up its armament.

Perverted senses and frightening memory losses,
leave your cerebral circuitry in a total wreck.
You are unceremoniously warped to a vegetative mode,
as the infernal disease launches a scathing attack.

Even Hippocrates can only sell me false hope,
for nothing seems to work against this devil.
Branded an incurable pathological specimen,
I am left to ponder over my bizarre peril.

My social cognition is slowly fading into a blur,
and I am now just a consumed hospital bed.
If this is how life ahead is going to be like,
wouldn’t I be much better off dead?

Oh Lord! Can’t I have a more graceful exit?
Why this vile twist at the end of the tale?
How can I bear the torture of this painful wait,
as death inches closer at the pace of a snail?

So here I lie – life holding me at ransom,
Head poised against the barrel hole.
Oh! Just pull the god damn trigger…
and lift this curse that imprisons my soul.

Survival stings now as I long for an escape,
from the iron claws of this merciless menace.
Stirring the last dregs of sanity left in me,
I stare ahead into a seemingly endless space.


NISHANK MEHTA  |  28.07.2008




Crumbled underneath shattered dreams,
that fell before they could span their wings.
Struggling for a quick last gasp of breath,
He bore the brunt of horrid sufferings.

He knew by intuition, that all was lost,
and the crucifying pain stung like hell.
He had gambled and stumbled in succession,
And before he could rise, again he fell.

Maybe ambition had driven him mad,
or maybe greed had stabbed him in the back.
Penalized for wishing and barred from hoping,
He was imperiously thrust into a ravine so black.

He had shrieked for aid as he bled,
But a shameless silence answered his yelp.
Success had made him many friends,
But in misery, he had only his shadow for help.

Convinced of his apparent invincibility,
he had jeered at predictions of his fall.
But when the fatal fist struck and strangled him,
he shivered and stood cornered against the wall.

His life got embroiled in the worst of controversies,
with luck dealing all the dreaded cards.
The public juggernaut steamrollered over him,
And his destiny broke into a thousand shards.

People stood shocked as his fortunes dipped,
and readily chronicled the tragedy of his tale.
His spectacular doom had fluttered many minds,
and his life was enveloped in a stormy gale.

Stripped of all his glory, he stood naked
at the altar of the Great Court of Deeds.
Prosecution was sharp and the judgement brisk,
and he was gheraoed by a ghetto of Satan’s steeds.

He could smell the stench of felony in the air,
as once-familiar voices called for his head.
The wretched flimsiness of human loyalties
filled his torn heart with a fierce hatred.

Even as they pitilessly led him to the gallows,
the resolution of all illusions made him blind.
And even before the darned noose had tightened,
Hopelessness had triumphed over his mind.

So, he died – a pathetic predetermined death,
punished for living rightly by the wrong rules.
Lost amidst the cruel ironies of his world,
crushed under the combined weight of fools.


NISHANK MEHTA  |  07.03.2008