Poems by Varun Rustagi

A Game of Basketball
Intro: This is what an 11-player team basketball game on a hot day can engender. Enjoy!

With the mighty suns rays, penetrating the clear sky, in an energetic mood, we decided upon a game of basketball.

The game, its rules, the team, their orders, all set upon, we began.

Shoot, fouls, steals, free throws! the heat turned upon everyones mind, and played as we did, we ourselves ricocheted with the basketball.

And soon dear chaos, tongued through the order, a stable instability, a familiar unfamiliarity.

And now as I stood aside, I shuddered, quivered, at the sight so grotesque, so beautiful!

Go figure.figure this out..

The Walking Man

Intro: I dont quite like this poem compared to the other ones, but still, it was one of my first ones (in the last year) and therefore is valuable to me.

The man walked, and kept on walking, as they said, he kept on walking.

He heard a voice inside, echoing inside his mind but it seemed absurd, any message was hard to find.

It seemed, a ricocheting of random words, incoherent words, with no meaning, and he ignored them, why he shouldnt? they have no meaning!

As he walked on, forward one day, he fell; some say he was bound to

it was a deep injury, but not physical the words echoed again, this time profound.

They took up a shape, clear and crystal, the man realized them now, and what to do, he ran back, towards towards himself. He had forgotten his real-self locked in a zoo.

This was a machine, just a machine, all life devoid of it, all mind devoid of it, it seemed to him now, and thus he rank back, the words still in his head, go fetch your life!

Poem 3 (Unnamed)

Intro: Like the other poems, I wrote this in a bout of emotion, and under the urge to write. A name didnt present itself to my mind, so Ive left it unnamed. And as you will probably notice, this one has a rhyme scheme.

I often feel an urge, my heart, it baths itself, in a surge, of emotion, of wanting,

to do something, to play, to love, enjoy, the vast, the surreal model of clay the world around me.

It does me no good, they say. Or perhaps its just the paranoid, the cynic in me, in a way, that gives me that illusion.

Poem 4 (Unnamed)

Monotony, monotony, monotony! Dwells in every heart, red, blue, grey, yellow, tries to tear it apart!

Beneath liveliness, there lives dread, an exhausted mind, skeleton, both barely standing intact, under this dreadful weight of a thousand tons.

O Monotony! Why do you dwell? Is it the sin we committed? Or it, as the dark depths of a glorious ocean, is an inseparable part of every being?

Poem 5 (Unnamed)
Intro: Darn these depressing, pessimistic poems. But they describe a part of me completely and were written almost in an uncontrollable urge, so I have no issues with it.

They do not know! that keeping us apart, is a cloud, which is like a shroud, upon and around me, after Im dead, and I lack the will and strength, to end this penitence.

For my weakness, Thou art a part of me, tearing me and crushing me apart, yet you constitute so important a part, of me: you and I are inseparable.

you, a constituent of me, inexorably reducing me to dust, yet you somehow enrich my crust.

When the core is blown out, and the crust lives, what remains, is a hollow statue of dust!

Poem 6
Intro: Id love to give this a title, sometime, someday. But I havent yet. This is by far my favourite poem out of all that Ive written.

I see you speaking to me, I hear you looking at me, For what else but you, would ignite this desolate heart?

You whisper in my ear, grown tired of hearing else, fill me with a liveliness and surprise, that I had long longed for.

The word plays, the pages scroll, the statement runs, to enthrall, tis you which restores me, before I fall.

A symphony thy voice is, full of beauty, brimming with elegance, that makes me live, with the knowledge that I know thee, and still do not.

It is an odd kind of romance, perhaps what I wanted needed, for, stealing a glance of you

whichs the only thing once can really do I know and do not about you, and it fills my heart with everything nothing.

Im no one, but being with you, endows me with the sense, that I have everything.

When the weary traveler, reaches the destination, what he sees the vision, is enough to ward off the tire.

7 Poem (Demannu)
Supposed this funny to be is : Intro

Can really distort I the sentence? Wordplay little with a?

just words here tossing and there, them scramble, sense make still and?

For decide to I am who? Selector only I am the. Possibly permutations twenty and seven hundred are, and only to choose I am here one!

That is all for now. I have brief paragraphs describing what I felt I should, but that is all for now. Thanks. :)