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Klash of the Konfessioners

April 14, 2008


Filed under: Uncategorized — DokSaab @ 2:00 pm 1. a state, process, or instance of combustion in which fuel or other material is ignited and combined with oxygen, giving off light, heat, and flame. 2. a burning mass of material, as on a hearth or in a furnace. 3. the destructive burning of a building, town, forest, etc.; conflagration. 4. heat used for cooking, esp. the lighted burner of a stove: Put the kettle on the fire. 5. See Greek fire. 6. flashing light; luminous appearance. 7. brilliance, as of a gem. 8. burning passion; excitement or enthusiasm; ardor. 9. liveliness of imagination. 10. fever or inflammation. Coffee Is My Poison (116)

I lit a tiny fire,

a wee lil’ flame,

to burn nine nights,
praying peace came.


I asked of Him,
watching the vapor coil,

give Dad much needed vim,

long is his toil.


give Mom freedom,

may her worries abate.

give my sister wisdom,

as she does lucubrate.


watch those precious to me,

distanced from my sight

sincerely I ask of Thee,
protect them with your might,


so I lit a tiny fire,

a wee bit of flame,
even when things seem dire,
happiness came.


I keep careful watch
use oil of sesame,
clean its wick,

sleep with an open eye……


….for my hopes lie

in the endurance of my flame
nine nights it musn’t die,

till serenity came.

Mandappa KC (98)

As the wind blew on
Scalding everything in sight
The fire flew fast
And burned everything in daylight

Black charred remains
Strewn till the eye could see
Killed everything in its path
Leaving me alone and free

Give me fire
Give me desire
Firefly, forest fires
passion and desires

we stood and stared out
everything dead and gone
we only had each other
and the power of carrying on

grabbing and touchin
wild fires from within
heat from outside and in
pure passion cant be sin

Passion and desires.

Heady Concoction (115)

Can We Have Peace Please…

“FIRE”, screamed the blood-splattered Major.
The azure sky blackened with the blasts of a zillion shells.
Faces like cats, hearts racing with pumped adrenaline.
‘Bharat Mata ki Jai’, rolled over the olive green brigade.

A fire-fly, somewhere, startled at the sudden ‘night’ flitted stupefied.
The crimson- yellow-red flares licked here and there.
Swims through the chaos, the innocent face of Kamla…
All of 3 years, bubbling with joy, screeching ‘Papa Papa’…

A salty tear trickles the eyes of Jayawant. The heart misses a beat.
A split second. Decision taken.
“You are FIRED!”, hits the retreating warrior.

Another place, fire in his belly, Bhaichung declines to ferry Fire in his hand.

Dok Saab (119)


RatatatatMy heart was burning with hatred.

I released all my fury on the trigger.

Bullets went through her.

She was still standing in front of me, unharmed, smiling and teasing.


How much I loved her.

I couldn’t think of life without her.

I had woven so many beautiful dreams around her.

She also loved me, or so I thought.

Until that day when I missed my train and returned back to the town, only to find her in the arms of this man.

“Meet Rohan, my fiancé.

“”But…””You are still my best friend, Ajay.”

The anger was unbearable.

My heart was on fire.”

Hold on Sergeant, this is only a dummy, you are just wasting ammo”

The Red Ronin (105)
Shuffling along at the devil’s paceRunning neither a marathon or a raceYet onward he goes through deserted landsConfident that all he needs are his hands.The winds howl around like bullies from schoolWaiting to tear to shreds and leave him in a poolUndaunted he ambles on treading dangerous watersWavering wilderness inviting him as his step faltersIs the nature of man that of a beastly kind or elseA gift conferred on him who chooses his destiny’s hellsFor he stands unruffled without coverage by the tellyHe is what he is because of the fire in his belly.

Richa Gupta (75)

The body resting on the pyre
The flames kissing and licking
The wood crackling and hissing
Being engulfed by the fire

When I die
Will you cry?

The loving youthful days
Eye gazing French kissing
rain dancing Moon watching
all our romantic silly ways

when I die
will you cry?

Or the slowly drifting apart
Raised voices, insults hurled
Cruel hurting words hatred unfurled
Breaking the fragile loving heart


Willy Wingfoot (120)

Hung my fate to the boat’s sail,
No food, no coins, just my violin case
And a fiery urge to follow my heart’s trail.

Bruised, bleeding, I woke to the evening moon,
In the city of hanging dreams, and sweared;
“I’ll rule the radio soon”

Cleaned tables, walked dogs, ran errands a few,
Survived weeks on raw fish and stolen eggs,
with haystacks to warm the tired night’s dew.

Years down, a chance hit to play the midnight blues,
My Lord had pressing issues I presume,
for I made music, while power crisis made the news.


Melody of the wind,
Ignites a fire within,
That consumes all regrets and pain,
And leaves an unflinching armor….
Of humor and HOPE!


A fiery afternoon
melted the classroom
She entered with shy eyes
a vision in pure white

Her brown mousy hair
oiled back in a pigtail.
The Sun’s fiery dancers
bounced off, casting lancers.

Her round earrings
sang merrily, of
golden sandy dunes,
embellished with fiery tunes.

All of a sudden,
there was a rustle.
And, my eyes fell on
the flame of her attire

The dupatta! It was made of Fire.
My eyes drank, till they could
no more. And I lowered them to
the boring sheet, once more.



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