Life and Lies of M R Maiti

Every saint has a past, And every sinner, a future. But neither we live in the past, Nor the future. Therefore, for the greater good, The saint and the sinner Reside inside all of us In the actual present, Playing a game of Quidditch To pass the time. The saint sweeps across the field, Escaping bludgers aimed at him, And shoots the Quaffle Into the hoops, Earning ten points At each successful attempt. But then the sinner emerges Out of nowhere, Chasing a tiny blur At a tremendous speed, And captures the Snitch, Overshadowing the hard labour  Of the saint in a single go. *** Liked what you read? Leave a comment!

No matter the intervening gap, The urge always finds you  And tempted by it, You rekindle the fire, But the lips trigger The countdown of regret, Developing a bad taste Halfway through. Take a call, Quit then, Clench your teeth And abide by it. Fight against the entropy, Keep the chaos at bay, Don't let it burn you  All the way through. *** Liked what you read? Leave a comment.

Though we went different ways And fought different wars, My friend and I were plagued  By two facets of the same coin. The Inner turmoil That I had in abundance, He suffered from a lack thereof. Still, once in a while, We returned to the same bar To compare our scars. All poets drink, He said, offering me a glass. A little amused by the remark, Just to humour him, I gulped it down, Then took a long hard look at him  and replied, Oh what a waste, The Converse is not true, Not all drunks are poets. We are one and the same, He said, offering me a cigarette. I took a drag and replied, No, we are not, Your addictions are Cigarettes and alcohol. Mine is a person. We are not the same. You are a human roadkill On the way to the hospital And I'm the EMT Keeping you alive. We are not the same. *** Liked what you read? Leave a comment!

When we are young, the world is full of possibilities. We can do anything, and become anything. We antagonise anyone who even hints at thinking otherwise about us. It's probably why most of us have a story to tell where the villain was a school teacher. Even I do. I don’t remember exactly how I ended up in the Headmaster’s cabin that day. All I remember is that back then I blamed my House Master for it. It wasn’t just me who had bunked the STD XII Pre-Board exams. There were many. But he made a scapegoat out of me. And the moment, I set foot inside the cabin, I received a big slap from the Headmaster. My ears rang. But that wasn’t the worst thing that happened that day. The Headmaster instructed him to call my father. Tell him to come or his son would be rusticated. I wasn’t a notorious student. I was good in my studies and had no disciplinary complaints against me. Had this incident not occurred, I would have completed my schooling in a few months with a clean record. My fat