What are you upto,
They all ask,
Like all questions
That you never asked,
You have no answers-
But you do reply,
You stick to ypur path
And hear them laugh.
Why is a man answerable
To the society's jibe
To be turned naked
Before others eyes
When self respect dies
How can someone survive,
Let a man live the life he wants
Or else -
Let him die
What are you upto
They will ask again
Like all questions
That you cant ask,
You have no answers
So do not reply,
Just stick to your path
And let them laugh.
Prabal Philip
GOD’S OWN COUNTRY
Well After 8 Years
And my fathers demise
We Travelled back –
to Gods Own Country
Blessed with Abundant Greenery
and Long trees which
stand line after line .
Here People wake up-
from Yesterday,
My memory seems to recollect –
of what I know –
the sound and smell
of Uncles and Aunts
and cousins
and a few dead relatives .
Large Houses stand in huge
plots of land –
Declaring a somber and grandiose view,
Some without any inhabitants
rolled up in archaic shrubbery and plants
as time eats away memories –
still dancing in its courtyards .
Busy buses run on
snaky routes
and with sharp turns –
it throws you off balance .
But todays there’s a Strike
and the roads look empty
while dogs roam around
looking for a new leg to bite –
No buses run,
No shops open
this is the third one since last week
While the New
Plan to emigrate ,
The Old ones
get buried –
in church cemeteries .
8 Years back-
I Came with my dad
and travelled these same
routes
on The Shaky buses
which went zig and zag
he pointed to me
all the places he remember
and explored as a child,
and we visited his old cousins
At Kiliroor
But Now
-that he is no more
what this place has to offer –
is tapioca and fish –
chicken curry with the stretchable bread,
And a few Cold hearted relatives .
In Gods own Country
the land of memories
Where my predecessors passed away –
I lived a month and a half
And Left again
catching the springy bus –
to the Kottayam railway station
and back to Delhi .
PRABAL PHILIP
Beloved
Dont absorb me in your thoughts
Oh Beloved,
Wherever you are,
You can reveal yourself
Through the unravelling of time,
and with only days left-
I will come to you
And in our secrecy we shall
Fall in love.
Neither do I miss you
Nor is there any impatience
To hold you,
The only thought
Rises through the distance-
Between us,
With one stretch
I shall reach you -
But lets wait
Until that time walks to us.
Prabal Philip
What makes a City
What makes a city,
Is it the People
Or the way you feel about it,
What makes a city
The thought in your eyes,
& the way you want it.
It is hard to figure out,
The whole city melting and mixing
In your mind,
And then again rising
For what they are,
Building after Building
Shops after shops
Homes without shelter,
Cars pumping smoke
And blaring it all,
And then the circle of your journey.
I have known cities
Through the cubicles i viewed them,
I have know the city
Where i lived
And grew up,
The Muscles in my body
Pumping their juice,
Their roads which ran under
My feet,
Their people who made me
And i who made them.
There were cities
Which i lived and left
With my briefcase,
In those cities-
Which mimed other cities
Greedy for prosperity
Then those cities
Left me and I them
But what makes a city
You might never know,
As they change each second,
They give you -
The gifts of prosperity
And then darkness of reality.
PRABAL PHILIP
Some Mercy on the Poor
Dont judge me by my looks
Sir,
My dirty clothes,
Or dark skin -
Standing in the sun for hours-
Has baked me,
But yes i do it for you sir
So that the roof
Over your head
Could be your sunscreen
Dont judge me sirs,
I have had a long history,
Of living in a sad neighborhood
Where food was scarce-
To even steady my senses Sir,
Where the kick of your boot
Put me to my place
And some food on our plates
The going has been tough sir,
But by your benevolence
We are surviving Sir,
Please pay my last weeks wages -
You had promised-
you would today,
My kids are hungry
And my wife's anaemic -
And in our small hut
Just down the filthy lane -
They are waiting.
A poem on the gross inequality in India between the haves and have nots, which seems to not have dwindled even in this 21st century. The poor seems to be grovelling under the filthy system created by our politicians and a few of their flattering bureaucrats.
Educated Fools
There are beautiful people
In this world,
Who hold books high -
And read out loud -
They create laws-
And then break them too-
Its these beautiful people -
Who own homes with many rooms
But none in their hearts,
These beautiful people -
In their well tailored clothes,
Their English tongues
Which wags on and on -
About whats right and what's wrong,
They visit Parlours-
Where they paint their skin-
These beautiful people
Who read books -
Then become racists
They drive luxurious cars
And look down on those with smaller ones,
These beautiful people
Who study in Universities
Are the biggest idiots-
Any education can produce.
Prabal Philip
Dead calmness of Night
The pale Evening sky,
Lights up once more,
Dragging sleep into our lives.
While the lamps are turned out,
And day dreams vanish-
To nowhere,
What remains-
Is the dead calmness of night.
What did the day leave ?
Which we carry with us to our beds,
What did the night promise?
Which we will wake up to-
In the morning.
Its all a lie
Even the wishes-
you dream of,
Its all a lie-
even the lives you live,
The truth is-
The dead calmness of Night.
Prabal Philip
नया इंसान
डरकर थम चूका था,
कितनी दफा चलते ही,
पीछे हटकर गिर चूका हु,
सोचता था की मैं काफी हु,
सोचता था की बिना उनके हाथों के
खुद चल पाउँगा,
लेकिन हर दफा गिरना ही पड़ा
पर अब जब गिरकर उठा
तो एक नया इंसान था,
जिसके जज़्बात और थे
जिसका नज़रिया नया था
रुका अब रहना नहीं चाहता
गिरने का नशा जो चढ़ा है,
तो सिर्फ गिरना चाहता हु.
प्रबल फिलिप
Desire
Holding a pen -
And writing beautiful verses -
Will not mean anything
Until you realize
That pen is a source of joy,
And the paper it's ambition
I have written a hundred verses
But my heart is still sick,
And my days melancholic
My verses couldn't change me,
What did -
Is the burning desire to write,
Until my days die.
Prabal Philip
Freedom
I need freedom-
From this aching mind,
From this frail make-up
I wear each day,
Freedom- to feel myself-
And the freedom to live -
As I like,
When freedom sits right
before you,
Why search it in something
Which has always evaded you,
Why search it in insanity,
When sanity is what freedom provides,
Freedom- is not a drop
It's an ocean too deep and wide.
Prabal Philip
prabalphilip 
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