Joe's Slate

  The little boy with his tousled, curly locks Revelling in his throne of big and small rocks; Underneath his eternally closed lips, A pair of pearly whites with a little dip. Droops over my entrance His rations, depends upon emotions and the heavens Gawking at the floral parade outside Rules don't apply to him, nor does he abide. A vehement little thing he is Draped only with what used to be a white overall There is no sound from him, not even a guffaw. The so called 'throne' he has made Is his only pride and joy; During downpour and dark He takes shelter with all the creatures of Noah's ark. The brevity of human life He never fails to defy Not a care in the world, not a sacrifice Not worried about his strength or his vice. No one goes near this little boy And he thinks it is better that way His only pride and joy The little brats might splay. This pathetic little boy Guards the street at night Aware of every scream and blight.

  Displaced communities in a displaced land Their very origins, unbeknownst The arrogance and ego of man But at what cost The divine forces at work here Something to respect and something to fear Too powerful for man to combat Nature finally taking back the habitat Only a few extra drops of rain And more than hundreds get slain What else can we do but sit and watch And pray that nature doesn't turn it up a notch.

  A few years is all it is Then we fall into a never ending abyss Only a few to tell our story Our final moments happy, sad or gory Only our names remembered All our ties with the world forever severed Why hold on then,  Just float away in a far off dren The people you've made memories with Not all of it was just filth Your deeds, euphoric and sober Decide where you go after you cross over Some want to go to Mars I just want to be with Him among the stars

SIKKIM The air a comfortable chill The land a pleasant green The sounds echoing with a trill The sights never before seen The roads a gradual decline The architecture, it's just so fine The hills each a pattern of its own The place, from paradise, it's a loan The river with its own notes and chords The birds now taking the lead The harmony, oh kings and lords Steady and majestic like a steed The rocks having their own story to tell The orchids have cast a spell The wind a tad bit calmer The clouds, they have never felt closer

We got ready for the great battle,  With our every step we made the chariots rattle.  As soon as we heard the bugle,  We barged into the jungle.  We were fighting a clan of tribals,  Who had just finished their ritual.  Our general told us that ‘It was black magic.  And that the outcome of it would be tragic.’ We broke down the bamboo wall,  We intended to destroy it all.  But my comrade didn’t think so,  He hated to see the blood flow.  He withdrew from the fight,  While we ravaged the village with all our might.  I thought of my wife and kid,  Thinking of them a cruel thing I did.  I accidentally slashed a boy,  Who I thought was a decoy.  Then I thought of my own son,  How I used to treat him with a bun.  Even he must’ve had a dad,  Who taught him what is good and what is bad. I threw away the spear,  To protect someone’s dear.  I sling hi...