All posts by Jaivir S Arora

I'm not really sure, but if I had to define whatever this is, I'd probably tell you that I'm just a guy who forgot how to live. And this is, by some vague standard of normalcy, an attempt to define whatever there is to define about my world and all that's in it. God's green Earth, Blue skies. That sort of stuff. I've heard rumors that I'm a poet during monsoons and winters. Any other time, I'm the mad guy laughing at your dreams.

In A Lawless Land

And, with crossed fingers once, I sat
In a moving train and wondered,
How did the world get itself
In such a rush?
People running in all directions
Blinded by reflections of gold;
While I always found myself wanting
of hope, light or torn shreds, to hold.

And with crossed fingers, I sat,
Waiting, just like everybody else,
Waiting for life to pass by,
Perhaps waiting for someone to come;
Waiting for this season to change,
Looking for shade to hide from the sun;
Waiting for better times to come.

For blood or blissful glory,
Or for completely new lines
For an old bitter story.
For justice of words,
For sinful vengeance or God above;
An ode or a requiem,
A little something for long lost love!

And while I waited,
I forgot about footprints in the sand,
And yet I felt the burden of ages,
Upon the lines of fate,
Lines drawn in the palm of my hand;
And I just sat there hoping,
Hoping for justice, in a lawless land.

Ghost Hunter

For a man who spends his quiet nights chasing ghosts that lurk around corners without a motive, for someone who walks quietly into the shadows of a dark night, I wonder if there’s any part of him that believes that life exists outside anymore. Beyond the dark corners of his heart? He walks into the cemetery and searches frantically, and weeps and weeps on the tombstone of a man he once knew. Rumor has it, he killed the man buried under the tombstone. Then why does he cry? What is he looking for? What have you lost? Whose dreams were you chasing that you let go of yours?

Let’s rewind 5 years of his life now. “You came to me a long time back, like a friend should, like a friend would. All I see now is a faint shadow, which crawls back in and out, afraid of quiet sunsets and dark nights. I remember a time when you walked the shallow streets like you owned every sleepless night. Now you’re merely one to walk amongst it. No different than any ragtag junkie or a scavenger. A bitter irony, this story, of a man, reduced to nothing more than a faint shadow of the man he once was. It’s not often that you see a man burn and come back as nothing but ashes of his own reflection. No, it’s not the Phoenix. That return was triumphant. This is just sad to watch.”

“This is my dream! Raise objections, ask questions, shout, shudder, ponder, abuse me! But you raise a finger and I’m taking your arm for it.” I remember you shouting out to the world. You were on fire.

Then you made a mistake. You decided to walk away. Leaving behind an empire of dust and sin. You left it to rust, you looked away and you walked. I remember the anger, the cries of a million dead dreams, and they all surrendered; frickin’ surrendered to the roar of a lion. The wild untamed beast that you had become. Welcome to the dark side! You asked us to embrace it. The lifeless nights on old forgotten roads and empty streets. What happened to you, man? A man of quiet anarchy, a man of fire and wind and magic. How could you forget everything and walk away? I know the inspiration runs dry, I know that the music doesn’t sound good anymore. But you have to come back. You deserve more, you deserve better. You’re frickin’ better than everything you’ve put yourself through. It’s a tombstone of a dream you once killed. The ashes of which you scattered over the face of a broken-down, faceless society. It’s a thousand stories that you massacred. Come back, man. The anguish of man crying over broken dreams is one that this world can relate to, or maybe not. But that’s not your problem. That doesn’t matter. Come back. The dead have been known to bury them out. Don’t give up just yet. These ghosts haunt forever. Come back! Rewind! Watch the world go backward, watch time turn back.

Yesterday’s dead. Yesterday’s buried. Sing your songs of tomorrow, you’re only young until you tell yourself you are. We can’t always walk away from ourselves. We can’t always stand on thin edges and stand by what’s right. Sometimes you have a story to tell. Tell them your tales. Never kill a man who has a story to tell. Our todays are yesterdays’ stories and ‘tomorrows’ become stories too. Tell them a good story. You tell the world a good story because the world needs one. When you tell them, a lot of them will relate to it. And you ask them whose dreams were you chasing that they let go of yours?

Never let them tell you that you can’t stand on thin edges of an abyss without falling in. It’s the inner depths of reality that you can never come back from.

And so, “On the day to the last, when all eventualities come to pass, you’ll know it has been a good life and one hell of a ride.”

An Ode To A Dead Street

Somewhere along a misty trail
I sold my shadow for free.
And on the old dead street, I walked
When I gave up in entirety.
Trembling hands gave me
More than my soul could hold
Those feeble words gave me
The burning rage to be bold.
While I dreamt only to forget
You gave me dreams to keep.
And gave me in my waking life
Every dream I saw in my sleep.

Now while you lie silently still
I pray an old song brings you back to life.
And people who once walked on you
Soon walk you by.
Has the world forgotten
The sacrifices of trampled street?
Or its destined creed to care?
That one day when it is deemed unfit to walk,
They just assume you lead nowhere.

So stay.
Stay, stay until the morning light
Stay and we shall reminisce;
Reminisce in the glory of a forgotten night.

This Man Walks

This man walks and walks for no reason. He never had anyone to give him directions. He could never go back home, for he had none. A man told him once, “Kid, keep walking. It’s always better to be a mile ahead of where we stand.” And truth be told, that really was the only thing anyone ever told him.

So he walks now. He walks without aim, without reason, he walks in every season. Just to be a mile ahead of where he stands. He walks with the burden of ages upon him. He walks with the memories of the walls he has left behind. He walks with the burden of the streets he has left behind. He knows there’s no going back. Life does not go a full circle for everyone. And yet he walks. He walks for the blood that flows within.

He walks in search of freedom. In search of life, love and beyond. In search of purpose. To live a life well-lived. He walks to see what lies beyond closed doors. To see what’s on the other side. Yes, this man walks. He walks with the burden of ages bestowed upon him. He walks to be a mile ahead. He walks to respect the words of a dying man, to respect a promise to be a mile ahead of where he stands. And now he walks forevermore.