Not my last exam

Fluttering pages, glancing texts and notes

With faintest hope of catching something left

No sleep for me, nor can I lounge

Morning comes with heavy head

Reluctantly entering the hall with time

The point being as far as I can see,

To clear the paper, once and for all.

Never will this day come again i feel

Never again shall I glance

At the despised pages of baffling intent,

Slipping precious hours and scratching of pen

I exhaust my knowledge on paper wid every depressing second

Floating invigilators and seekers of cheats

Bell rings with sigh of relief

It is over! Done with! At last!

For life and for the last time;

But wrong I was , wasn't I..

Now time to earn, make family

Sooner or later everyone will be

tyo boss ko gali, profit and loss..

ghar ko tension, responsibility of nation..

Tyo sunyatako abhash....

Time to implement wat you learnt....time to perform

Life is a test and we get graded on our performance

You may not desire A+ but your surroundings will demand from u

And we do get graded 

Not by some absolute standard 

or within some bell curve; 

But against ourselves— 

How well we used what we had......

Now i feel, if there were only written tests..

Only if life took no suprise tests..

Only if test schedule was published in advance

so that I can prepare myself...

But life is rude...

PERFECT OR IMPERFECT

When we were younger, we were like clones...

Child-that's beautiful, Unspoiled innocence

Before i grew up, into a fractured (shell)...

Mislead by illusive blanket of self hate - self fabricated

Media influence, peer pressure for perfection, and a cult of gllossy,

paper cut out, models

Stick figurines posing as supernatural beings 

And gods in the eyes of children,

Time fills insecurity in us..

sometimes it breaks down completely inside

I m sorry I can't be perfect..

Nothing last forever..

Didn't I grow up according to plan?

Feri tyo din, feri tyo raat

feri same struggle with oneself on a bheegi barshat

I know at it's worst i will 

be mocked, never praised

be shoved , never helped

be ashamed , never adored...

still i feel lost and forgotten...

inside an ocean of sufferings and struggling my way out into the mountain

so gigantic and warm sun kissing as if a perennnial river 

its bed and deposits of lyf making a fusss... 

where did my mud lost and breaths shortened,

i would be an imposter tring to fly out- fly out by wounded wings... trying to cut my roots

oh my gosh ! its all me, all along, and all the way i never cried that feasty feast...

and evaporated water of the sea, -all again flies the water and twigs again to touch its branch...

decayed and rusted-rotten-bones, - i endeavour hard but what to avail,

and fate ordained i must succumb to death and me a lost soul---reachin out unmeasured heights

But sometimes I realize imperfection is the symptom of being alive

Imperfections make us beautiful,

My inner beauty may be ugly to the rest of the world,

and when that doesn’t make me cry,

that’s beautiful.

Imperfections kick our asses to touch perfection...

However painful it may be

In some other way

Without them we’d all be the same, vain,

superficial and lifeless. That’s me,

that’s the me after I let go and forgot the beauty of my imperfections. 

Life is nothing but confusion between former and latter thoughts...

Still I’m just another disposable cliché.

There’s nothing I can say that hasn’t been said before. 

I’m the adolescent with overused metaphors and over expressed expressions.

I’m not the only one,

drowning in imperfection.