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

Middle of Nowhere


middle of nowhere

A thousand thoughts trespassed my befuddled mind,
But my legs simply refused to survive the grind.
Should it be the beaten path that I follow?
Or should I pave a new way across the hollow?

Time nagged me to be quicker in my choices,
But my brain was haunted by unfriendly voices.
Even as I pondered, the fork widened ahead
The unpredictability of life was driving me mad.

With aspirations and aversions in a battle of wits,
The road seemed studded with camouflaged pits.
Future was mocking me with shameless mirth,
A newer person within me was itching to take birth.

Forbearance and fortitude were put to a nasty test
as luck threatened to go for an ill-deserved rest.
Hurdles were conspicuous and hope was bleak –
Too many gorges preceded the epitomic peak.

The ignominy of anonymity stared at my face,
And that precisely is the catch in a rat race.
Even if you pursue glory, and succeed in that,
At the end of it all, you are still a slimy rat.

At last, I stood confounded at the crossroads of life,
Would this road lead to victory or sombre strife?
Even fate seemed to have called it a day,
And only the ghosts of past hovered in my way.

Summoning every inch of courage, I took my first step,
But the next moment, I forged a cowardly escape.
And so, I doubled up before even daring to dare,
Landing up once again in the Middle of Nowhere.


NISHANK MEHTA  |  20.09.2007