Filthy F**kin' Bastard!

Blotches of red on the white marble,

A pool of red at my feet,

My hand boasts of 23 cuts,

(some of them need stitches mind you),

No easy feat!

But hatred that wells within me,

A loathing so deep embedded,

It will echo in your heart and soul,

Long after I am dead.

You won't feel guilty,

You filthy f**kin' bastard

May you rot in hell,

And if alive, be cursed!

You know not what you did to me,

Why the hell would you care?

After all, you got it... didn't you?

You've had your 'share'!

Mark my words,

For they will bloom,

Justice shall be done,

And your entire kind is doomed!

Happy Birthday Kreation!!

A the title blatantly suggests, its Kreation's first anniversary today!
A year of blogging!
Memories!

It still seems the other day when I came across this guy's profile on orkut. He had included a link to his blog on his profile. I decided to give it a look... just out of curiosity. At that time, I wasn't even aware of the word 'blog'! I had to Google it to find out. Somehow, I liked this guy's blog... and decided to give it a shot myself. Initially, I made a blog on wordpress... and then.. forgot the password! (the quintessentially 'technically' challenged ME! What else could you expect?!)

Came across blogger.. dunno how.. liked it.. found it simple enough.. and that was when "kreation" came into being!

After a complete year of blogging, I had huge plans for my bloggie's bday. But as it turns out, somehow, i didn't even get the time to update it this morning. At 10 in the night.. here I am.. with so much to write and so little time!!

So, what I'm gonna do right now.. is.. well.. ill just include a few links here. Old posts.. either close to my heart.. or they got good reviews.. whatever might be the case..
For people who missed them somehow.. and for those who would like to re-read them.. you are welcome!

Awakening- My very first poem on this blog. In fact, initially I thought I'd call my blog "awakening".. but somehow.. it didn't fit.. and then... "kreation" happened!

The Beginning and End of it- This one's really close to my heart.. personal reasons! By the way, Thank you Nick. Remember.. you were the one who actually challenged me to write this?

The Daughter They Never Wanted- Inspired. Can't mention the source. But.. everything.. every single thing... that I mention in this.. is true!

आ रहा हूँ मौत मैं भी- My first Hindi poem on the blog.

The Kiss- :-P

What QMS taught me- A dedication to my dear school... and an insight into what it really stands for!

Dad- I wrote this one, composed it into a song.. and my dad still isn't aware that I wrote a song especially for him! :-(

Love- Defined - Feeling all lovey-dovey? check this out! no? still check it out.. this one got some really good reviews!

And more recently.. Incognito- Read it to know why it has been included here!

To all my readers, friends, foes, classmates, seniors, juniors (and what-nots!)... Thank you all for being here.. for your precious comments and valuable insights. I hope this bond strengthens further...

To The MBA Guy- you know who you are...

I apologise for delaying the post that I promised to you. I experienced some strict time crunches this week. But as promised, the post will be put up in a short while. Probably today itself. If not, then definitely by Tuesday.
Hoping for a positive response.

Creation

Incognito

At 8:20 a.m. on a Monday, the most hectic day in college, i find myself in 912 (which is thankfully DTC and not a blue line. Though it doesn't make much difference now.) sitting on the seat right before the conductor's. A genteel girl is standing nearby, definitely very uncomfortable (who wouldn't be if there were two pe****s rubbing against you ), yet bearing it all.

Her face speaks of an agony that stretches far beyond this bus-ride. A daughter's agony, whose father doesn't believe in her but has full-faith on her evidently useless brothers and everyday, she steps out the 'comfort' of the house into this big bad world which is chiefly plagued with predators; only to prove her father wrong. Only.

Her neatly manicured hands, nicely done hair and a carefully chosen pin-striped crisp cotton shirt with a vest screams that she is dying to be noticed- by you, by me, by her colleagues, her friends and the man of her dreams. Her dreamy eyes betray the solemn look on her face. They speak of dreams unheard of. Dreams of reaching such heights that its not expected, even atrocious, of her to even 'think' of them.

She doesn't tell you that she comes from a family which has difficulty in providing the basic comforts... no, not comforts... the basic needs; but the cuffs of her shirt, flared at ends and her jeans, torn... in a way that is certainly not 'fashionable' let you in on this secret.

Her dusky complexion, sharp features and a square jaw, possibly inherited from her father, exude certain exuberance, beauty. Beauty, that is not flamboyant or dumb but made even more charming by the asperities that she under-went.

She speaks... oh yes, she does!
She tries hard to sound disdainful and overbearing but there's an unmistakable hint of diffident modesty in her voice that she fails to conceal even after trying hard to sound reticent and withdrawn.

A blood red handkerchief in her hand speaks of a passion that she seems incapable of possessing, but nonetheless its an insight into the romantic that's buried deep inside her heart. She won't tell you how much she doted on a certain chocolate-boy- "OH! He's just okay."- but deep down she wishes to have a complete fairy-tale existence.

If there is one thing she is adept at, its ensconcing her wishes. Dreams are one thing, they wiggle out even if she doesn't want them too. There she has no control. But wishes- only she is aware of her wishes- no one else.
Not you.
Not me.

And she gets off.