Twisted Nerve... (draft)

Twisted Nerve...

So cold—yet he baptizes himself under   winter’s skin

A wanderer forging his pulse on the anvil of becoming.  

Eve has misplaced her faith in Darwin’s patient equations,  

Though evolution still murmurs its verdict beneath the dust.  

Fossils gossip in the lockers , 

Hollow trophies of a world that worships glitter over gravity.  

And sympathy drifts like a tired comet,  

Searching for true companions on the event horizon  

Where black holes weigh the sincerity of every soul.  

He is still learning the alphabet of walking,  

For childhood shell‑shocks rewrote the grammar of his bones.  

Demons now breathe comfortably in daylight,  

While gods sketch drunken constellations,  

Planning their next celebration instead of salvation.  

Imhotep scans the dunes for an heir,  

But we are busy sculpting sandcastles  

That surrender to the tide before the moon even rises.  

We measure distance from perihelion,  

Yet drift further from the rightful sun we were meant to orbit.  

Still—he waits for his appointed hour.  

He knows blood is not the syntax of victory,  

Yet he has fallen silent before the Bald Man of peace,  

Hoping someday he will witness  

A crimson bird ascending the red sky. 

A sign that ambition, struggle, and destiny  

Have finally learned to share the same breath... 

Vipul Arwade

13.12.2025

The Lantern & the Library of Life... (Draft)

The Lantern & the Library of Life... 

Within the kingdom of thought and flame,  

Neurons weave each fragile name,  

Threads of memory, dreams that rise,  

Goals and ambition in human skies.  

But the Lantern of Endless Night will burn,  

Its restless fire bends time’s return,  

Gravity pulls the mind astray,  

The Jester laughs, and sleep decays.  

Beyond, the Library of Vanishing Pages,  

Lost in black holes, silent ages,  

The Thief of Names steals hope away,  

Turning bright words into gray.  

Yet society is hands that hold,  

Hearts entwined through young and old,  

In bonds of care, in love’s embrace,  

Ambition finds its rightful place.  

Then comes the Keeper of Dawn in flight,  

Racing faster than beams of light,  

Through rivers of time he mends the scrolls,  

Restores our dreams, renews our souls.  

So though the night may bend and hide,  

And black holes swallow stars inside,  

The dawn will rise, both bold and bright,  

Together we guard the human light.  

P. S. Insomnia, Alzheimer, Society, Love, Human Being & relations

Vipul Arwade

29.11.2025

The Seed from Bengal...(Draft)

 The Seed from Bengal...

I came not with sword, nor plague, 

but with whispers stitched in time. 

To warn a land of golden grain  

of hunger’s quiet death.

In Bengal’s womb, the monsoon wept, 

but harvests vanished. 

Promises kept  by none 

who ruled from distant thrones.  

The boats were full, the markets loud.

The priests sang hymns to rising sun.  

I walked through lanes of woven silk,  

a stranger, seen by none.

I found the poet, the merchant’s wife,  

the child who danced with threadbare feet.  

I spoke of silence, creeping slow, 

of girl dressed in heat.

“War is far,” the King said,  

“Bengal shall feast, as it has done.”  

Yet still I placed a seed of truth  

in the hearts that beat like drum.

And when the grain betrayed the soil,  

& coins grew sharp, and mouths grew dry. 

Stomachs bloated, mothers wept,  

with no breast milk left to cry.

One boy listened with eyes like dusk,  

He held my hand and asked me how.  

I gave him maps, a path to flee,  

Before the rice turned ash somehow.

Now decades pass like drifting smoke,  

& still I walk through time’s grieve. 

A traveler with no home or face,  

who saved one soul. 

But still dreaming the terror  

of starvation in his eyes.. 

Vipul Arwade

06-11-2025

P. S. A time traveller, Bengal famine of 1943

Paranoid Android...

                   Paranoid Android

  

He was never sure about the dream,

But surely he was there and staring through the gleam.

Still alive with point-blank shots,

Yet dreaming the dream he never forgot.

A monkey clung since he was small,

Orbiting him, unshaken, tall.

His eyes evolved, genes run twisted, they cut through lies,

Seeing truths the world denies.

Great empires fall, their lessons fade,

Their histories lost, their debts unpaid.

They teach the young with blinded eyes,

And bury the truth beneath their lies.

Heliocentrism left to rust,

Da Vinci’s demons turned to dust.

They scream of warming, loud & proud,

But forget the soul-eating mushroom clouds.

Did the Führer fall? Or merely hide?

He & Fatman still laughs on Samurai’s land.

And what of Mars, when breath is clean?

They’ll clone the ghosts, repeat the sin.

Bosons, leptons, quarks all crave to sing,

But colours, tongues, and gods have drawn their lines.

Walls are drowning in Save the trees, save green!

Beyond the walls, they are crafting more banners with careless hands.

How can one feel the scars on souls,

By walking tall on beasts untamed?

His all makibishi swallowed by dragons that fly,

Still he roars, with a broken sword raised high.

He longed to return, to turn back time,

To feast on liars, to cleanse the crime.

To drink the blood that poisoned years,

And silence the echoes of shattered fears.

Vipul Arwade 

01.09.2025

Ship's Biscuits.. (Draft)

                                 Ship's Biscuits 

He was wandering so far from land and lost in an endless journey.

Where day and night melded with no direction, just the vast, unbroken and endless horizon.

His old guiding & shining stars were started blinking slowly.

They were setting early with more and meaningful silent good byes.

But the mysterious bright and new moon saying hello again to keep his soul awake,

and sound of waves whispering carpe diem which helped his heart beating.

He stopped counting frozen days and measuring length of heavy waves.

Sharks and silent darkness were tired from their own echoes and his spirit.

He didn't fear them as he knew they won't break him anymore.

Now he was fighting with his own soul to keep humming & whistling.

Devil's medicines and ancient fog helped him with somnolant breathing.

Some of prophecies of pirates already gone wrong as his blood was smoothly flowing in the bone chilling cold,

and the bloodstream was full of adrenaline.

He always wondered that how those boxes of Ship's Biscuits found on his ship.

Decade ago he has forgotten the hymns, mesmerising chants and meditating stones.

He never seen the god but may be the broken satellites in the dark were the hands for the hunger.

He started to hear the laughing kids and voices of love, and may be seashore was coming.

He knew the magic of a dark and cold hypnosis aficionado,

but he was happy as he would loose his golden cage forever.

One sunny day, he was wondering about his own diary on the bench of the garden.

Hallucinations or truth, ha ha.

He laughed at red teeth of the sharks and shining pearls of mermaid which were on the deck everywhere.

All became real when he saw the fresh hardtacks in the vintage trunk and clay vessel which was full of warm raindrops.

And the rebellious captain headed for sea again in the search of holy grail.

Vipul Arwade 

04.02.2025