My poetry is a call for mutiny,
Master of escape like Houdini,
For me it’s a catharsis,
They think of it as an artifice,
Swear at me,
Redemption is what to expect,
Swear on me,
Considering me as a sacred text,
Tendrils hanging over her temple,
Love is the religion,
Faith and prayers in ample.

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They call me a klutz,
Like a starfish, I don’t give fucks
My heart is as white as tar,
So what? Ain’t as evil as a Czar,
My poetry maybe wack,
Do not be too quick to judge or attack,
Been through some thin and thicks,
I am a vegetarian so I don’t get chicks,
Being famous has it’s own connotations,
Making controversies first then donations,
Ain’t your veera-ppan, I don’t smuggle tusk,
Alone, I smell good like the musk,
In my world, we don’t need a caucus,
There are no elections for the potus,
Roses are not overrated here yet,
And beauty can still be found in a lotus,
I despise limelight, it makes me tan,
Like the detonated dynamite, we bang!
Dealing in blood diamonds,
Words are linked to my pen with hyphens,
What doesn’t fall, usually ripens,
But that’s not the case when the noose tightens.

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Every verse is a curse
Life is a moving hearse
Dramas on worldly stage
No time to rehearse
Every blessing is in disguise
Mystery is what we call life
Fruits of ambition still waiting to get ripe
Ain’t no roses but pocket full of knives
Expensive clothes and cheap characters
They remain cool around me
Making me feel like the nuclear reactors
Steroids result in empty treasure chests
Am I getting personal?
No I even use windows as a “guest”
These people are like Bisleri
Reusable till they got the cap
They be posting quotes from google
About the things they themselves lack
It’s time for me to move along
Like the hiker does with his backpack

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A night spent in the hospital corridor,
Leaning against the green wall,
Legs sprawled out on the floor,
I could hear the distant muffled cries,
Cold wind too felt like a sigh,
With folded hands doing his prayers,
Someone sitting nearby on the stairs,
Is this where even the mighty breakdown?
Is this where no one values the crown?
This is where the realisation hits you,
Where life either tears or knits you!

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Confusing my enemies with the ink
My pen feels like a octopus
Checkmating them in a blink
I make moves like Magnus
Searching for land beyond the ark
I feel like Noah’s bird
Keeping these goats on leash
I am a goatherd

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We live among the five rivers
History of fighting the oppression
Hearing our tales, the weak shivers
We live on the golden soil
Where daily our fathers toil
We grew up playing on the farms
We were raised next to the arms
Our mothers and sisters are fearless
Holding pieces of us and still tearless
We saw our forefathers hanging from trees
Pools of blood and grenades in the streets
Our destiny is engraved with “Inquilab”
We are the children of Punjab.

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What good is sowing seeds?
If lands are covered with red soil
What good is strength?
If injustice doesn’t make your blood boil
What good is authority?
If they can’t uplift the suppressed
What good is society?
If many are still lost and depressed
What good is democracy?
If we are still tied with a chain
What good is living a life?
If we can’t escape the troubles and pain

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47 left us with rotten bodies and bloodshed
Drama ended with a cliffhanger by Rad
At midnight, they turned off the peace lamps
Democracy was born in the refugee camps
In 84, we witnessed mass killings
Saw no stars but bullets in the sacred ceilings
No laws but low blows
Land of diversity now governed by crows.

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I create big stories like the 90’s Bombay.

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Though I am not William,
My words still worth!

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