“The Verdict of Peace” – A Monologue in Verse


A gathering in Jupiter, where present are the supreme Gods and Goddesses of each and every religion that thrives on Earth.

Objective: To end all religious wars, once and for all.

The gathering is headed by Jupiter, the Greek god of the ancient and presently, obsolete Roman State religion.

The seemingly seamless panel of Jury consists of spirits of each and every dead poet and writer from planet Earth.

Seated high on a frozen hydro-rock, manliness draped in unstitched silk, helium eagle by his side,


The chiseled Greek God speaks,

“Divine Handlers are you all here?

My religion is forgotten, dead are ones it had begotten,

So from this throne I shall speak unbiased,

Today, we’ll spit wars futile,

Harmony shall be the only necessity,

We’ll put an end to all this hostility,

No matter how claustrophobic your spawns might have to survive,

Today we’ll punish you with Peace and you’ll humbly oblige…

 Lord Buddha! Are you there?

Are you visiting Earth regularly?

How are some of your children acting that vicious and wild?

The jury has some orders for you,

Rush back to Myanmar; control the crisis in faith,

Preach afresh, do whatever it takes, do it now,

We can no more wait…


Now, to all my Lords, pay some attention,

Put me through your speakers in every sky on Earth,

One religion, one country,

Is that what you want? So Be It,

We’ll have the oceans help you have it easy,

In the silent of the night,

It will intelligently partition lands, like wide streams flow in between,

Into smaller fragments, all the land on Earth, we’ll divide,

One country shall feed on only one religion,

No permanent passports for one to forever breathe foreign,

Your land is yours, mine’s mine,

Produce and reproduce till your land can hold heads by,

Immigration and emigration shall be terms forgotten,

Stir your souls in your own soup,

And, then flush it out with your morning poop,

Erase all your country names creative,

Erase that fake secular smile,

Dull Nations, suits you humans, actors locked in their roles of sanity,

From this day, your countries will be listed this way,

Islam 1, Islam 2, Islam 3…,





Buddhism 1, Buddhism 2, Buddhism 3,…






Christianity 1, Christianity 2… to infinity.”


Heads low in shame, swearing within to implement and sustain, depart the Gods and Goddesses.

Discussions jostle in the jury

While, Jupiter gets busy sketching brand new triggers of fury…



( An enraged reaction to the recent bombings in India at Bodh Gaya, the seat of Lord Buddha’s enlightenment, caused in retaliation to the saddening plight of Muslims in Myanmar at the mercy of a Buddhist majority.)

“Terror strikes Bodh Gaya, serial blasts rock Mahabodhi Temple”


“Plight of Muslims in Myanmar”

http://www.kashmirmonitor.in/news-plight-of-muslims-in-myanmar-50419.aspx )




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A Hundred Holes


It took Alice a lot of luck,

To roam Wonderland till dusk,

To get past the rubble of hurdles,

Catch sight of that golden cradle,

Awaiting her in a room feared by rats and moles,

One adorned with a polished stump and olives on its mouth,

A room that one could walk into, but never come out,

A room with a hundred holes,

Barring the ceiling and the floor,

A hundred holes on its walls four,

To let in hundred rays of the Sun,

Every morning from the ceiling flashed a new handsome face,

Calling her to ride his masculine slide, make love at a swift pace,

A helpless Alice was deprived of the youthful fun,

Her privacy robbed by those hundred holes,

On that strange and primitive land of magic, eyes were always on a roll,

She couldn’t even get hold of a monstrous piece of fabric to curtain bold,

Where would she go? Where were the shops? Where were they sold?

So, she started blocking those holes with mud and clay,

A hole a night to start with, then four each day,

Soon, a wall was covered, yet she couldn’t fling out her lusty invite,

Scared of wizards, cooking up sorcery stews nearby,

So, ten holes a day, a little more labour took her to twenty,

Left was a dark and a gloomy space, now dim was the light, once in plenty,

Three rays shot into that room through the last three holes left,

Alice could feel a killing suffocation, herself out of breath,

Desire took a steeper turn that dawn,

From the ceiling, smiled Mr. Mojo, Sylvester Stallone,

She could dine with the beast for that masculine feast,

Impatient, she filled up all the holes in a lot of hurry,

To a Breathless end, only to sob her slipping moments of slavery,

Till she bloomed human in another life,

All over again seasoned into a sharper knife,

Grew young and wise into an attractive bait,

Her lust will have to wait…





Image from: http://www.cepolina.com

Up above our World, so High!


Baby, if you’re not doing much,

Let us try mocking the universal judge,

Come along; let’s grab a chocolate-fudge,

Then, let us put on our wings,

Shoot up from His funny lair,

For a macro view of this hungry hemisphere,

Gush past those lush gardens, that swing,

Past those adorning slums,

Above wandering dreaming wasted wise bums,

Swoop over degreed birdbrains in and out of concrete,

Tiny toddlers crying with lice in their hair on stone sheets,

Come along let us watch pockets drain and fill,

Men at their best, in her arms rich to rest, glowing to drill,

While, women smiling in cars and dim joints, scary on the streets,

Some smarter than their conscience, some dumb to his beats,

Stretch your vision to the end of that horizon,

Gaze unaffected by the strong gales of love, lust, treachery and treason,

A million blocks housing a trillion consumed cunts and cocks,

Colored in a dark auburn shade of sin,

Tarnished with players seasoned to give in,

An endless chocolate bar is what you see,

Outnumbered almost invisible, lost are the ones white and bright,

The ones, strangers to poverty,

Your giggles up above our world, so high,

Tells me you treasure this flight, our try,

From your lips, don’t wipe off that last fudge,

When your wings are gone with your first sigh,

You can lick that off, think of me floating by,

Re-live your moments in that greying sky,

Chuckling to a deeper insight,

From up above our world, so high…




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Pirate in the Womb


The Angel whispered into his unformed ears,

” I wouldn’t be taking a single class of yours till really long,

Direct orders from the Heavens,

Considered shall be Hell’s quota in the Faculty of Identities,

Factories that churn out futures,

Roll out puppets, good and bad,

Some misled on Satan’s path,

Some made up in a celestial seeming fad,

Some born to replenish climes,

Some blind to their changed beings,

Now, mere Hyenas, timidly hungry for dimes,

Till late in life, only the Devil shall be your teacher,

For no fault of yours, you shall be transformed deaf to every well-wisher,

To every saint, to every Holy preacher,

There’s something more that you should know,

Only in the womb, will you remain sinless,

Till death, you shall swim nameless,

O Thou poor seed of Sin,

I lament your years to come by,

For you shall burn in fame seeping out of Hades,

As you shall ripen more red,

Than the most celebrated Hunters on the Seas,

Metamorphosis shall strike you like a curse,

Leave you transfigured earless into an adder,

Will push you into the pit, off your conscience ladder,

Every time you hear cries to be spared, mercy pleas…


Only if there’s a change in the empyreal propaganda,

Can I ever reach out to your ears,

Hum in them songs that’ll teach you ways to preserve joys,

Hold on to your evaporating years,

To guarantee there’s none to handcuff your fun,

Will point out to you the difference in between  monstrous shadows and the Sun,

Will I be able to jerk you out of the fatal hypnotic spell,

One, that will get you from your birth,

Until then, rob you off your mirth,

Leave you with only bloody tales to tell,

It’s all part of a plan,

Woven exclusively for you, the chosen one from your entire clan,

So said minutes of a meeting in between Heaven and Hell,

A task for the Demon, ethereal,

For it needed Someone, who could wholeheartedly summon your destruction,

Something that He enjoyed more than everything else,

Something that He had to do, something that He could never miss,

From your womb, He had schedules for you till your tomb,

Your obedient Archfiend from the Abyss,

Only if there’s a change in the empyreal propaganda,

Can I stop you from plundering the oceans,

Bagging stranger riches, ruling tides on the run,

From Savannah to Sumatra…”





Images from : http://www.latoro.ru, http://www.sciencedaily.com