Plea to a horrible world

How terrible must it all be,
if clinging on to a giant airplane,
that will rise to 31,000 feet 
and zip through the air at 800kmph
seems like a better choice than staying back?
If leaving with nothing in hands,
in such desperation as to risk life itself 
seems like a reasonable thing to do?
'It's okay if I fall off the sky, 
it's okay if I plummet to my death,
but life in my home country 
is going to be worse than it all.'

How can an entire world watch helplessly,
as a country and its people fall into 
hands of terror, hopeless and petrified?
Are you so horrible that you will watch
from within your warmed rooms and
from behind the glass windows when 
a nation's young girls become like
pigs awaiting slaughter in the farm?
Are you so powerless, you the big 
League of Nations, of superpowers
colourful flags fluttering outside your 
magnanimous buildings, making decisions 
for the world, in the name of averting crisis
and maintaining order, are you really anything ?

World leaders, doing what is 'best' for their countries,
fighting heights of catastrophe successfully day by day, 
holding themselves responsible only for their 'own' folks
in a land left to its doom, abandoned by its own,
are you powerless in front of a bunch of fanatics?
Are their arms, manpower scary to you?
Or is their willingness to go to any extend that 
stops you from doing the right thing?
Do you fear repercussions ? 
They are going to start showing anyway!
Do you fear gunfire ?
Surely, you provided them with those, 
don't you have better, bigger variety ?

Are you failing to see it : 
You created poison,
You need to find the antidote.

Counting Words

(A poem (?) in thirty words.)
Orwell prophesied a future
where words would be rationed, "very" 😉
Which classic was written counting words?
Words are beautiful, harmless yet powerful,
Why curb their flow, why hold them back?

What do you miss?

Moonlight pours in through the wooden window,

the night follows the lit path inside, they sit

on my closed eyelids, I sleep, peacefully, there.

Then, I am asleep like a baby, here.

Musings on a Saturday Evening

I wrote this one in Malayalam. Typing it out in Malayalam would require me to possess more patience than I could ever hope of having. So I wrote it down, in the good old fashion, and uploaded them here. My handwriting might be terrible to read, my grammar might be that of , an eleven year old. But the thoughts are mine, from last Thursday, and writing them down was a process filled with a very special, pleasant enjoyment and much needed, calming effect.

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I found her through books

“But as soon as I grew enough up, to be precise, as soon as I outgrew Enid Blyton, and began to comb through the enormous collection of English literature in the attic, I was face to face with exactly that.”