Sid-O-Scope

Its been a while since it happened, and whatever happened was not good, yet the spirit on Mumbai is not shaken and Mumbai still stands foiling all the plans of terrorist. Salute to thee the city of lights, still standing erect amidst all plight. Poem written as a tribute to the mumbai city on 26/11/2009 and to that every individual who dropped a shed of tear for the wounded and shaheed Indians. Their day begins before the sun rise, The young, the old, the strong and the wise, Their feet bound to the clock’s tick, They start each day with a strong kick. They are the mumbaikars, the busy bee, Why I salute them you will see. They always climb the local trains, In the sun or even in the rains, They race against time, And with the clock their feet rhyme. They are the mumbaikars, the worthy lot, Living in the city humid and hot. Every one has his own life, With arrogant son or over smart wife, They bear mean bosses or bad teach...

In a small hut located in a little distance from Kurushetra, a great tension was brimming. The greatest warriors on earth were holed up in the small hut at the edge of Kurushetra. Bhima was quietly eating his rice with Krishna, their advisor. Next to them, the giant mace that would soon slay more than hundred people in a single day was resting peacefully waiting for the opportunity to attack. Krishna had no weapons next to him, he simply kept his flute and the conch on the dining table and enjoying the rice. Arjuna was pacing across the room nervous the bow and arrow that infamously had pierced every target his eyes had set out for was resting on the floor, calm and peaceful. "What are we fighting for? And who are we fighting against?"Arjuna spoke nervously, "Our own Pitahma? our grand-father? Our own teacher, who taught us warfare and our own cousins?" "Should we be excited, should we be worried, should we be happy?" Krishna quietly gulped anoth...