The Free

You are free,

On your way, with chains,

That makes you walk the right.

In your room, with darkness,

That hounds you follow the light.

You are free,

With rags on back of your skin,

That’s more of function than eminence.

With friends and with kin,

Which is love in dreadful disguise.

You are free,

On the roads of religion than science,

And in the cages of faith than of hope.

With our feathers tied up with threads,

Of custom, of democracy and dope.

You are free.

You are free.

As long as you are a slave,

Every inch of hour you live.  

-Aroon Che.

Read More

The Silence

What makes the rustle of leaves, 
So cynic in the middle of nowhere ? 
What makes the roar of the waters, 
Tremble our little boat back to shore? 
What makes the howl of wolves, 
Fill these city streets with dire? 
What makes the rattling of windows, 
Turn the rooms into dreams of poor? 
What makes the hissing of whispers, 
Poison these truths and free air? 
It is this silence we witness, 
In the minds of men with power. 
It is this silence, 
We, in times of voice, are ready to wear. 
It is this silence, 
But nothing else.

-Aroon Che

Read More

The Way

No its not that way, 
Its not the way you ought to be. 
You can be the questions that lay, 
Hurdles on the roads of crime. 
You can the answers that file, 
And blow life into the rocks of time. 
You can be the mirrors, 
To every face thats searching for dirt. 
You can be the waters, 
In every hand trying to clean them neat. 
You can be the heroes, 
Of peace at the borders of this land. 
You can be the linctus, 
To the traitor, here in every mind. 
No its not the way, 
Its not the way you ought to be. 
Silent and alone with nothing to say, 
Brimful but nothing to give. 
You pray to these idols, 
Not for the needy but for self. 
You stay good to friends, 
With fear but not with love. 
Why do you shrink, 
When you have strength to rise big? 
Why do you sink, 
When you can float like a helping log? 
Why do you turn blind to light, 
When you are expected to be a candle? 
Why do you paint your face with a doubt, 
When you asked to typify as an answer? 
No its not that way, 
Its not the way you ought to be. 
You can be, 
The clock that blends the wine. 
You can be, 
The mocking bird thats never gone.

-Aroon Che

Read More

The Growing Strong

The flying kites, 

With no hands, 

On their threads. 

The falling bricks, 

Opening the walls, 

That divide the ways. 

The molding hands, 

Making pots, 

With mud thats wise. 

The long roads, 

To the paradise, 

Blended with stone and thorns. 

The sun and skies, 

The moon and the stars, 

And this nature with colors. 

The never no hands, 

And the never sad faces, 

With the never dying eyes. 

These, make my dream, 

Everyday, everynight, 

Whirling the waters hard to swim. 

Where can I, at mercy of gods, 

Find a freedom like those kites? 

Where can I, in these lost streets, 

 Find the falling bricks of discriminations? 

How can I, amidst all this ignorance, 

 Reach to a teacher with molding classes? 

Where can I, in these rotten cities, 

Get on the roads that demand real shoes? 

How can I, with these synthetic skins, 

Feel the touch of real love thats a bliss? 

How can I, painted with masks, 

Find my own face and of my brothers? 

These, make my dream and all, 

 Everyday, everynight, 

Growing strong with every fall.

-Aroon Che

Read More

The Wake Up

"And when those distant and wan cries of a slum boy, 
 Judder and ripple the old wine in my hands, 
And when that haze from some orphan pyre, 
Tint the windows of my glossy Royce, 
I got this valiant fear, little but perilous,
I got this wake up dream, fair but vigil, 
I got this slaying oomph, that made inch but do roads,
I got myself, back from the obit, ,back from unreal. "

-Aroon Che

Read More

The Shine

The lower deck’s full,

Of people, with grimy faces.

Their eyes look dull,

In the gleam of fire walls.

The Gods that never Mull

Stare at us, chained in their frames.

They shall never help us,

For they are, to these men, mere slaves.

The lower deck’s full.

In the middle of growing infernos.

And the upper deck’s of rule,

From the ballots, 

But not from the principles,

They are the snakes in white,

To carnage us, our every right,

The lower deck’s full,

Of people, who built the roads,

Of people, who are real,

Of people, mine and yours,

The lower deck’s full,

I am here, with my comrades,

Fret not; we now chink this wall,

That impedes us to walk into progress.

-Aroon Che

Read More

I Stand

" I stand defiant in suit of guns,
With compass and comrades,
On this hill that's on the East,
Facing the bull firing from the West.
With flags and faces held high,
Our guns loaded with the question why.
We shall pluck the roots of injustice,
and Thy shall bleed in the comeuppance.
I stand defiant with gun like a seer,
With compass and comrades.
I stand defiant in this love and war,
With compass and comrades."

-Aroon Che

Read More

Bring Me those heads

Bring me those heads,
Of the lords and of the vermin,
Ruling this land of ours,
With the preamble of dying sun.
Let us not burry their heads,
For they are filled to brims, with venom,
They would breed back to lawless jungles,
Out of this damp and terrain.
Instead incinerate them to air,
Allow the smoke turn to clouds,
Of this bad blood and vapour,
To rain them back to clean the stains,
Bring me those heads,
From every cardinal, O' Comrades.

-Aroon Che

Read More

The Springs

God’s forgotten children, we are
With masks on faces and guns on flare,
Blazing under the suns and shadows,
Of these machines and democracies.
Wretches and leaders, we are,
For those men of coal and hardware,
Betrayed by the unions and capitals,
We shall defy for our sprite and burials
One day will come when the sun’s,
On the west and the moon’s east.
One day will come our labour pays
Back the rebel inside and that’s just.
You may break into our cities,
We built from our faith and seed.
You may cripple our customs,
We weaved with silks of good.
You may make us stay indoors,
And Kill our children and blot our wives.
You may swindle our sweat,
And close the factories and estates.
You may coerce our homes,
And dreams to take hold of our oils.
Nevertheless you cannot burn,
The psyche of our communist grin.
God’s forgotten children, we are,
And we will order the end to this dire.

-Aroon Che

Read More

The train to wait for

THE TRAIN TO WAIT FOR.

" There goes a train that bring me to happiness,
As I hurry downstairs to street and to the rails ;
With my heart thumping out of its limits,
I gracefully wave my hands to commuters;
And may be to some of my bygone friends,
Back in my mind, I charily count the bogies;
One by one till the train ends,
And runs out of my prospect and horizons;
I then look to my left over again,
To see if I have to linger for the next train;
My eyes go small at the floating tracks,
In that summer warmth and mirages;
Beads of sweat roll down as I stand,
Little did I know that time is not all sand;
But the patience we have in us and;
That makes the tangible mark in the end.
Grown up, I now wait for the train,
That will take me away from the pain;
To those distant lands of uncertain,
Fertile with sunshine and rain;
All I wish is to find those boys,
Like me who wave their hands;
Expecting nothing in return but smiles,
I am waiting to reply them, to concrete their hopes.”

-Aroon Che

Read More

The Lost

Among these piles of trash and prejudice,
We sit down to fire up the cold breeze.
The sun didn't show up for days and all,
To our faces that are pale and surreal.

The smell of oil and the stink of dead,
Filled in the streets I see till the end.
Children roam bare and cry with hunger,
Their mothers turned numb and deaf forever.

In the dark, our gardens sprout and breed,
The illness of science and hybrid.
And the books we read speak of nothing,
The school is now, but just another building.

Big brothers live here and there,
I bow my head low to earth and smear,
Up above, the flags wave to those distant winds,
I don't remember, to say, who are our leaders.

I cry ,in these rooms of rich heritage,
To those men who reason our prestige,
Where is the dream we all of us had?
To hunt down the animal that made us mad?

-Aroon Che

Read More

The Windows

As the windows close by, and the distant memories open up,
Into the relation of you and me, I felt the waters flowing in.
Whispering in my ears, sang the past, of dismay of nascent gap,
The doors and the walkways, shrinking to be insufferably thin.
I must say to you at this hour, our story of love and struggle,
Of our compassion and humility, of our war and peace. 
I must take you back, to where it all began to swivel,
To show you those baffling portraits of fall and rise.
Behold my friend; there are no rims to this divine art,
We were just lost in this mist of finding food and shelter.
We shall not, by any way, face the heat of mind and heart,
For it shall render us nothing but moments of despair.
As the windows close by, I touch those distant memories,
I see your marque of happiness in those smiles and fun.
And those clocks that paused for us;The waves and skies,
We ran enough for the world and all, in this rain and sun.
Let the doors be open and the windows let in some breeze,
As we sit by the table with latte, watching the morning dews.
No wonder this world is a beautiful place for you and me,
The way it shows us the truth, when we trouble not to see.

-Aroon Che

Read More

The Dusk

This poem is for my friends over there who, at the end of everyday, have beautiful stories to say why they didn't do what they wanted to


The tunnels; dark and dead, 
The roads covered with mud. 
And the bells ; silent with rust,
My eyes blind with this mist.
All the day, I dream and dream,
Of love and passion I' d swim.
My legs are weak and thin,
Its hard for me to stand and win.
The head is heavy with fear, 
And my voice weak as ever.
I dare not to fight for myself, 
It was pain for me to engulf.
Into my dreams, Into my world,
I walk weak as a stranger and old.
Sorry for those friends over there, 
There is nothing I did anywhere. 
Some men born to be something,
One like me, will never begin living. 
The tunnels; dark and dead, 
And the sky, calm and red.
The birds hurrying to nest,
And the day getting ready to rest,
I am just alone at the doors,
Waiting for the end of the hours.
And when I look back into books,
My life seems just full of words. 
I never did what I said,
I was never made of what I liked.
This is me , just another loser,
Life is but only once, whats so ever.

-Aroon Che

Read More