A Weird Race

It’s weird, the world,

Strange, and seared,

In a color, too many,

Vivid hues, contrasting,

Coming together, as one,

Unique, different, a race,

Not of life, or success,

But of unity, on this ball,

Our planet, brown,

And blue, and green.

We are different,

From each other,

Quite a bit, a lot,

We fight, we talk,

We eat, we sleep,

Though as one,

Weird we still are,

Here’s some proof,

Here I go, poof.

We have a half girlfriend,

Every hero survives,

And wins at the movies’ end,

We honk on the straight road,

But never at the bend,

We defend, we offend,

That’s what we tend,

To do, always, no change,

We give, but sometimes lend,

But that does depend,

If it’s a friend, close, or enemy,

We try to mend, everything,

Possible, if not impossible,

And plausible too, damn that’s applausible,

That’s not a word,

So this is the end, for now,

‘Cause I’m tiring, but,

I’m still firing, and there’s always more to come.

From My Heart

The words hiding, coy,

Not scared, anxious,

Still nervous, I am,

Aware, unaware,

But wary, of you, important,

You are, to me, today,

A day, tomorrow, reigning,

A conqueror, you are,

Stealing me, away, not,

Too far you are,

Still so close, separated,

A wall lurking, weak,

Short, small, not minute,

As the clock ticks, forward,

Stomach tightening,

A knot forming, churning,

The heart beating, not,

But racing, sprinting,

Running, and lurching,

Jumping, uncertain,

But not hiding, behind,

A curtain, as you appear,

Not disappear, the smile,

Melting, the heart, me,

Sweating, the words,

Coming, slow, tense,

Unhurried, truly hesitant,

Coherent, I don’t know,

But just a story,

From my heart.

The Mystery Of The Ghost Writer And The Wheat- Part 2

Team Name: Blogstirrers

You can read Part 1 (Click Here) which was written by Jaideep Khanduja for Game of Blogs by Blogadda.com.

“Honey, did you hear me?”

The repeated question struck Shekhar and roused him from his trance.

“Sorry, what did you say? I was a bit…”

“Yeah, your newspapers are more important than your wife, aren’t they Mr. Writer? You go on, I’ll find someone else to talk to,” scorned his wife, Tara, in her sweet voice which was lined with a concoction of anger and mischief.

“I apologize Ma’am; and this humble servant of yours is ready to serve penance in order to get back into his boss’ good books,” said Shekhar, bending into a mock bow.

“One of the benefits of marrying an author- they always know what to say in order to make you fine. And I was talking about what gift you’ll be giving me on our anniversary.”

“Oh, when is our anniversary? Is it today? Oh God, no! I forgot it again!”

Seeing the spurt of anger ready to erupt from Tara, he began laughing and went on, “There’s still time dear. And as always, it will be a surprise for you to remember.”

“Okay fine, don’t tell me. By the way, what were you reading? Anything important in the news?”

“Something which interested me after long- a case filled with a lot of unknowns.”

“Who?”

“Do you remember that photographer we’d met in Kochi? Jennifer Joseph?”

“How can I forget her!”

“She was found in Mumbai with a law student from Delhi, with almost a truckload of drugs, worth around 2 crores. But the thing is that the student and Jennifer have had no previous contact, and there is no way they could have known each other, owing to their backgrounds. But then, they were found together, in a 7-star hotel room, and that’s not cheap, even for someone like Jennifer.”

“Anything else? I fear you’ve left the best for last.”

“Both of them have not got even an ounce of the drug in their body. They have no previous records of drug abuse and even possession; nor do they have an idea how they reached there. It’s like they were framed or something.”

As Shekhar’s voice trailed off, Tara’s phone rang.

“Yeah, something important come up,” she asked into the phone. Listening intently for a couple of minutes, she began barking orders, “I’ll be there in an hour. Get the team ready, I want to be able to leave for the crime spot by noon.”

Keeping the table, Tara deftly tied her hair in a bun, and to Shekhar she said, “Another journalist and freelance photographer has just been found dead in her hotel. Suicide is the initial take, but there has to be something more. And the catch is that even here, a large quantity of Wheat has been found. The police is still working on the facts, but it’s said that there is a connection between this murder and the Jennifer Joseph case. This matter is inflating quite fast, and it’s going to be a media circus. I can’t skip this case, it’s too important. You sure that you will handle everything fine here?”

“Of course, my love. Come back in time for that surprise, and don’t forget my gift.”

“Yeah darling, now let me rush,” said Tara as she vanished into her room.

Shekhar’s eyes followed his wife, and as she slipped away from his sight, he pulled out his mobile phone.

The last message read, “Mission Accomplished”.

To that, he just replied, “Just received confirmation. Proceed with the next part of the mission, all the best.”

You can read the next part here.

“Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.”

You For Me

Its happening, not really,

No, not at all,

I’m stuck, I’m held,

At the crossroad,

And the signal’s turned red,

Stopping me, I don’t know,

What, to do, should I,

Wait, or go, move, an inch,

A bit, a little, towards you,

Or away, walk, run, sprint,

Or just stand, still, as is time,

At a standstill, stationary,

Each second an hour, transformed,

Expanded, exponential,

Increased, to be torturous,

Terrible, horrendous,

As I’m there, for you,

Holding, slowly, biding,

Time, unable to point,

Decide, the path, to tread,

To walk, to choose,

An option, too many,

But only you for me.