Did I make sense?

You know, people, on general, are the worst things to get addicted to… they never stay…as a matter of fact, nothing has its permanence in the world… Even if it has, what purpose shall it serve? Above all, even we are not permanent…we are all a collective mass of transience. We are transitory and this world is shaped through our perceptions.


So that implies, even our perceptions about the world are momentary. With us, they too shall fleet away. May be, the perceptions of a few greats among us will remain…they might hold a somewhat firm ground through books, through literature, through handed down philosophies.


No matter how much we philosophize about life and its transience, about attachments and their futilities, we still can’t convince our mind that “we” actually doesn’t exist…its all “I” that is of paramount importance. I am not talking about being selfish…it’s the individual existence that counts… Only! People who we love or rely too much upon shall leave one day… Death is one of the reasons… there are several other reasons too…


Man is a social animal… He is gregarious in nature and he can’t live for long in isolation… But, is there any guarantee that if a man lives in association, he shall stay happier? Is there any validation? No, I suppose…


I have seen or heard about or read about men who hurt themselves equally when in association. There are attachments that man unknowingly forms and attachments do not always work in expected ways… They work unexpectedly ..
Unexpected things may not be always pleasant.


Why do we hold on to memories? Memories are the remains of something long dead…they are barely some redundant remnants of a whole that had its presence in the past. Clinging to memories is another futile activity that we subject ourselves to. However, can we live devoid of memories? Can we live entirely for “the present” and let the bygone things be matters of the oblivion? No, I suppose.


Unknowingly, there are some futile things that we do to impart meanings to our life. Sometimes, these insignificant things form the basic foundation of life. Does being “Pragmatic” always make sense? To see practically, is it always wise to be wise, to be prudent, to be pragmatic? Had it been so, we would have never clung to memories or held on to people who were deemed to leave us … But, we still do no matter how much pragmatism we may advocate.

“Blues and Melancholy” drove me to such a dismal stupor… I blabbered something that I have no idea about… I retched… I am relieved!

The curtain falls....

An existence is a mere shadow
on a background curtain
called Life.

A shadow, we are, that grows,
attains its peak
and then fades away.

The curtain keeps wavering,
the shadow also wavers
along with it.

And then the curtain falls,
the shadow vanishes
somewhere in the oblivion.

Self analysis....

When I am home, I find some way or the other to keep myself engaged. A movie, is always palatable. I have a hunger for good cinema. If not a movie, then a good book.A good book that entails some hours of contemplation. I analyse.I over analyse, to be precise... Then, if I have nothing to do, I flip through my old diary...

I flip through its stained pages, through those scribblings that once made so much sense, a few newspaper cuttings that lie in between the pages, a few excerpts, quotations that were then my "pearls of wisdom"...

Sometimes, I wonder with awe "have I written this diary?"
While I go through the writes, it appears as if its a stroll down an oblivion lane, where memories are lying comatose. Memories that haven't withered but drooped with time... I sprinkle some water on them in the form of my recollections and they flower once again...

I intently observe my handwriting... I used to write so lavishly... my words were expansive, voluminous...they took ample space... Only 5-6 words could fit in one broad line.. I generously used space...

My letters were so legible, so very cursive. My "t"s slashed elegantly, the tail of my "y"s coiled perfectly... like a long prehensile tail of a chameleon, my capital "A"s drawn with an artistic , reckless yet perfect flair, my "S"s shaped finely etcetera... It looks as if I took special care to perfect my letters, as if I had no dearth of time, as if my letters were my ballerinas and they danced to my tunes...

Now, I see my handwriting...Its dismal... so business like... There's a certain hurriedness in it, a chaotic disorder... words left incomplete... words acronymed, shortened and thus killed... No one can savor their taste or smell... Letters seem to scuttle throughout on the pages... They go off the line, here there... somehow just scribbled... Now, i don't squander space. I write my letters small, my words compacted to fit in 9-10 or even more in one average lengthed line...

Well, that was a too intricate, an analysis...

Getting back to my old diary... I saw few solitary signatures... One page that is completely given to a proud signature of mine... A megalomaniac's signature... A sign swelling with pride,with recklessness and with an artistic elegance... Ceative signatures,those were!

I come across certain "words of wisdom" mostly penned down by me and a few borrowed from the greats like Einstein, Gandhi and Ford... I wondered if I could still imbibe wisdom from those... They didn't ring the same way in my ears as they used to do then...

I came across this little piece, that I still admire (though not THAT fervently as I used to, but still)
"Sometimes, you want to masquerade behind a veil. Sometimes, you want to assume an unknown identity to hide."

what made me write this?.. I have never encouraged pretension but this "veil" for a while, didn't bother me...

Then, I saw a few incoherent doodlings on my diary...at some lone corners... They were not bad..

Coming on to the pieces that I wrote... those writes were screaming their lungs out to say "See, I might lack on content...But my vocabulary is undeniably awesome!" wrds were forcefully stuffed and the theme died right in its incipient stages... Behind a self proclaiming vocabulary, the content lacked..Completely... Things that could be said in a line or two were stretched longer to an extent that they lost their crispness, their elasticity. They sagged...

Some contents made sense...they were quite readable...especially the "lovelorn thoughts" ... The romantic lines, on the other hand, were nauseating and sheer balder-dash!
I came across this write (that I think is "somewhat" better from the rest):-

"Like the hearth that burns
and consumes splinters of wood
in its pyro maniacal joy,
a similar fire burns in me!

A vengeful fire,
set ablaze to burn you,
is burning me from within.

I harbour fatal injuries,
unseen blisters.
I choke,
I am ash."

I have been good at such gothic themes... Gore, death and darkness have always enticed me...

Another good piece that I wrote then,
"A shroud called Life,
covers an otherwise dead me"

I find it quite creative... I envy the creativity that went behind this... but then, I have penned it! Why am I envying me? :P

Things that I used to and I still write about are very abstract... They follow a certain stream of consciousness... I endeavor to dissect out my sub conscious whenever I write a piece...
The conscious mind is disgustingly superficial... The sub conscious is deep, is unfathomable, in fact...

Yes, I found out a few unaddressed love letters too.. They were an interesting read but somewhat "over the top"... Very maudlin! :D

Then there was an unabashed post on "Periods"... Haha! That's my personal favorite...I shall post it on my blog someday...
Okay, I have been drumming myfingers for a while to type down this retarded post..I need rest...
See you, in my next

Inseparable souls

She knew her husband wouldn’t come out alive. She knew he was gone forever. Still, when the doctors came and told her that they weren’t successful at saving him, she felt her stomach sinking, her head dizzying, her body sweating profusely, the pupils of her eyes dilating , her heart palpitating as if it shall break open and come out of her chest cavity.

She sat down on the hospital chair with a thud and demanded for a cold glass of water. Her brain, for a moment, was dead. She couldn’t collect herself and closed her eyes. She drank the water like an animal quenching its long disturbing thirst. After a while, she asked herself “Didn’t I know that this was destined to happen? Didn’t I see the same scene repeated so many times in my nightmares? Didn’t I train my heart and mind for the worst? Then why is my body revolting? Why is my body behaving untrained?” She collected herself, regained her composure and with a weary face and a haggard soul less body, she went into the operation theatre.
The theatre was dimly lit and smelled sharply of something acidic. She approached his bed slowly with diffident steps. His body was covered with a white shroud and with trembling hands she uncovered his face. A shudder ran down her spine and she wondered that this body belongs to the same person, she was madly in love with and now she dreads to see him lying under that shroud! She saw his face, a smooth wrinkleless face that wore a sense of comfort, a sense of painless beatific pleasure. After so many months, she saw that expression in his face that she had longed to see while he was alive and struggling with Liver Cirrhosis. She thought how much he might have struggled in his last few hours, how much pain he might have been through.

She kept staring at him and said to herself “How comfortably he sleeps! Death has done him a favor. ” She smiled looking at that face and tears kept rolling down her eyes incessantly. She sat down on the chair by the bed and closed her eyes.

A train of his memories passed by her eyes. Their 5 years of marriage. Although it was an arranged marriage and they had no clue that they shall grow so very fond of each other. She recollected those moments when they fought, when they argued over things and reconciled within no time, when they discussed Philosophy together, shared common interests in music, literature and cinema. Moments when he read her his favorite excerpts from Thoreau’s Walden, from Sartre’s Age of Reason, Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead. Times when they watched Casablanca for the nth time and watched it with rapt attention …dumbstruck…

Times when she would read Pablo Neruda to him with so much passion and amore, times when they would make love to each other through their eyes, times when he would worry about her and take care of her when she would be ill, times when he made failed attempts at kitchen just to please her, times when they planned to have children but dropped the idea very soon.
And then, her thoughts strayed to the bitter times…when he discovered that he has contracted a severe jaundice, times when she looked after him like a devoted wife, times when he would show slight improvement and raise her hopes but in the very next day, his condition would deteriorate further, the time, when he came to know that his liver had contracted cirrhosis and not jaundice. Times, when he would strengthen her hopes and still read his favorite excerpts, his favorite poems on life and death. He would often say “Death is but a long eternal holiday. Life on the other side of death is painless, is eternal. I shall never let these mortal pains, this goddamned Cirrhosis or whatever, to dampen my spirit. My spirit shall bask in its eternal sheen.”

Such words of his would make her cry and he would console her, strengthen her and infuse in her a reinvigorated spirit. He would often cough blood and the doctors would scribble prescriptions anew and every time when he saw his changed medication plan, he would laugh at the absurdity of life.
He asked her to continue reading Neruda to him and she read her favorite “Carnal apple, woman filled, burning moon” . For sometime, when he would see her love for him in her eyes, he would feel painless , he would feel a renewed vigor to live and again his strife against death would start anew.

He was soon admitted in the hospital and his condition worsened further. He could barely speak. Once he wrote on a paper to her, “Its you who is making me suffer.. I can’t die because you’ve so firmly held the cords of my life. Release them, my dear. For once! I promise, I won’t go anywhere but shall stay with you forever. Believe me, can you? Let not this fucking ailment bother me anymore. Release me to let me come afresh and rejuvenated.”

The next day, the doctors declared that surgery was the only option left and she quietly signed the documents and completed all the formalities. She sat by him and she kept staring at him for a long time as if she bade him an adieu. He smiled and wiped away her tears. He looked at her with an uninterrupted sight for a long time as if he accepted her farewell graciously. While he was being shifted to the surgery ward, he handed over a book of poems of R.W Emerson to her. She saw a bookmark inside and opened that page. It was his favorite poem “Goodbye World!” She knew she was not going to see him anymore. Seeing her for one last time, he heaved a long penetrating sigh.

She opened her eyes soon and found her encircled by her relatives. Everyone was crying and she quietly left the room. His body was taken to the cremation ground, in one of the burning ghats. Her vision stayed affixed to his face. He was soon, laid on the funeral pyre and the pyre was set ablaze. She saw large clouds of smoke forming. She saw the fire consuming his body with an infernal joy. She saw him getting reduced to ashes and within no time, he was but a handful of ashes. She stood frozen and her relatives took her home.

That night she had slept as if she had been unloaded from a heavy burden on her shoulders. She had slept after months. She saw him in her dreams. He had come to her in white immaculate clothes, smiling. He looked upbeat, in the pink of his health. He walked towards her with his same old dignity, with his elegant panache and his handsome face dazzling .He was radiating bliss, self belief and victory.

She heard him say, “I told you, I shall come to you. See , I have come… Afresh! I am sorry , I left you alone for sometime but it was necessary. I couldn’t do with that stale , diseased body anymore. I had to go.”
She saw herself having joyous tears in her eyes, nodding vehemently and saying “Yes, I know. You had to go and don’t be sorry.”
She saw herself embracing him.

“I shall come with you. My life is nothing without you” she said.

“Who said you’re without me? I am always with you, though formless but still there and dear, I was not tired of living. I still want to live through you. I want to see the world through your eyes, I want to feel everything through your senses. I want to stay alive in your spirit. The books I haven’t read, I shall read through you. The music, that still remains untouched to my ears, I’ll hear through you. How can you come with me? You have to live for me and I shall live in you.”
With these words, she saw him being consumed by a milky white light. Her eyes were blinded by that dazzle and she saw that blinding light illuminating her. She felt a transcendental bliss, an arrant pleasure, a divine intervention.

She opened her eyes and smiled. She knew, this world still awaits her. She knew she had left her work half done, she had goals to accomplish, successes to be glorified in and a life irrigated by his memories and his unconditional love to enjoy.

She knew she had to live for both…for her and for him!

Amnesia

In a world where Amnesia is
the commonest disease,
I am vulnerable too.

I might forget your name,
I might detach myself
from your memories.
But I know, howsoever,
badly I contract the disease,
you shall linger in my mind
like mist.

Blurred,disarrayed and vague
but still there...

Mist that shall never fleet.

Feed me your venom

Serve me a saucerful of secrets,
a platter of venomous lies...
But, serve it with your hands,
I promise, I shall eat with élan....

Distances that grow

Some distances not only grow wide,

they deepen too,

forming gorges…

steep and impenetrable

Damned insects...

You know why, insects gather around a little source of light?
It is because, a ray of hope, they want to stick to, in their otherwise dark lives.

Hurt me, if you will . I know, I shall be alright

Do you derive a sadistic pleasure
when you try to
excruciate me with your
harshest words?

Have you forgotten that
pelting stones at water
does not make any difference
even if you hurl those stones
with all your might?

A ripple , they create...
a little transient ripple
and then the stone
sinks, vanishes
in the Water's bosom...

"The Wall"... Roger Waters , I owe this title to you

The wind that Bob Dylan talked about in his song was rather fictitious... His wind blew with answers to all questions possible...
The wind that blows in my little space is rather irksome...It only asks disturbing questions let alone answering them...

Every morning when I read the newspaper, I wonder "Is it the same world that I am supposed to be a part of? If yes, then how is it possible that the world that revolves around me is utterly banal while the one that the newspaper portrays is ever changing and ever new?"

I feel as if I have been shunned from "activity", from "motion". I am exiled. The world believes I have a communicable disease and it has sent me in a  quarantine thus abandoning me to deal with my ailments alone. I am sequestered by an invisible wall, in a tunnel and I have a territory to tro-fro about... A very small territory. 
The territory resembles the world that I was born in but its artificial. Artificial things are never real, no?
There are stark differences. Like for example, the trees that grow in my territory. The poor ones are green with envy. They envy their likes that grow on the other side of the wall. They are dismayed. They cry their hearts out and have confided in me that given a chance they would uproot themselves, grow limbs and run away from the sinister soil,that  they are rooted to... I pity their wishes. They can never be granted.

The sky overhead... Oh, its relentlessly blazing... burning the "spirit" to live.. Its blue like the sky on the other side of the wall but its inhuman... Its engulfed in a torpor.

I never hear the birds chirping. Yes, I have heard the deafening honking of the vehicles that rattle all over like snakes. Unlike the world on the other side of the wall where dogs bark, here people yap like rabid dogs...the dogs are mute with that helpless look in their eyes. Poor pups!

Everything is caged, motionless and banal. I was healthy in the beginning and now that I have been forced to live like this, I have contracted the disease. I tried to fight it but the disease was too smart to find that one chink in my immune system. It settled on me, firmed its grip and took the mind under its control...

Shall I be ever acquitted from this sentence? Or is it a Life sentence? Please vindicate me, I am innocent...

Stay dormant for a while , Painter!

Don’t picture me any more
in your poesies.

I see a general sense of
monotony creeping in
your writes.
The same visage
drawn over and over again,
to an extent that now my face
looks lackluster.

How you beautify me with the
embellishments of your words!
Where is the soul that I had
fallen in love with?
Its just flesh and bones.

The more you draw me,
the more haggard I become,
the more arid does your painting
turn into...
Dull and bland!

Why are the colors subdued,
where is your artistic panache,
those careless yet perfect
brush strokes?

Why do you have to wring out
colors from your paint brush?
Trust your instincts,
they shall flow on their own.

Dip the brush in
the untainted color
of your pure love.
Shades shall drip like honey,
and you shall breathe life
into me.

I recede

While the world advances
on its temporal track
and looks for new ways
to begin,
I recede .

I retract my steps back
to bolt myself in
the dungeon of
his memories.

I abhor newness.
Call me archaic,
if you will .
But the fact is,
I am still his.

I shrink

Now that a somber evening

settles on me,

my thoughts move

backwards,

to the past.

As if a force drives them back

as if a vacuum within

sucks my thoughts in

and I shrink

I shrink so much that

I become dimensionless,

and weightless…

And then within no time,

I become a complete “Nothing”  

Nothingness in Profusion

This was a benumbing thoughtless day... I didn't have anything on my mind... Except a few mundane things that I do everyday, I did nothing worth remembering...
I feel nothing... no frustration, no discomfort, no comfort either, no anger, no happiness, no sadness, no nothing... Sometimes, the mind wants to resort to nothingness... Nothingness is a state so absolute... You either have everything or you have nothing... There is nothing in between the two... Yes, I believe in extremes...

Today, I have "nothingness" in abundance... Today, I am absolute...

A hungry heart...

I thrived on your promises,

reveled in them.

Celebrated a life so complete .

Now that you’re gone and

your promises have broken,

their million shards scattered

on the floor,

I still savor their aroma.

Out of hunger, I consume

the tidbits ,

the little morsels of your promises.

But, my famished  heart , in its revolting

hunger still starves….

Blow the candle off

The candle burns
and melts with me,
diminishes as it fights
the darkness...

If ever you come to me,
and while you medicate my
burns with your healing touch,
don't forget to blow
the candle off!

Fragrance in oblivion

And how do you feel
when you see the lone
sepulcher there
with a withered flower
upon it?

The body is still fortunate,
it has a coffin to lay in.
How about the withered flower
that lies bare and dead?

Shall you take care of it?

Pablo Neruda taught me this...

Now that I see the sun kissing the horizon,

dissolving its crimson red , in the sea;

bidding the day, a loving farewell,

I peep out of my shell…

Now, that the worldly clamor

is subdued ,

I come out of my shell relieved.

I hear the waves,

dashing against the rocks ashore.

A euphonic percussion in the making.

Barefooted , I stroll along the shore,

feeling the sea kiss my feet.

A carnal desire,  forming.

As the night takes over,

I drench myself in

the lunar light.

I see the surging tides,

drenched in

their desire sublime.

Two desires tide high,

Mine and the sea’s…

2 different physical forms …

one solid and the other water,

tied by one common desire

to unite with one another.

The Lucifer

The Satan impregnated
a Lucifer in my womb.
Like a fetus , it grows,
and attains an abominable size.
Is it a Fetus or a Tumor,
I often wonder!

I breathe in,
but it is the one that
benefits from my inhalations…

It feasts on my soul,
leaving a hollowness within…
Decaying muscles and impure blood…
No soul…

When shall the Gestation period end?
Has it decided never to come out?
It gives my conscience
killing labor pains…

Once , I heard it saying ,
“Ma, I shall stay in your mind’s womb
and follow you till your tomb”..
I shuddered.
A diabolic laughter ensued…

A picture inspired this and I blurted it out

Now, as I grow old,

my body revolts.

See, how my skin

has hardened.

I wonder , if it shall

fall off like flakes.

How, I wish,

I were a snake..

I could have grown

a new skin then,

discarding off the old one.

Pity, it is… I have to live

with this bloodless,

wrinkled skin,

that emits  a stench of

dullness and  deathly pallor.

This was the same skin,

that I had once flaunted off

with flair,

people envied my white membrane.

Now, it is more like a rotten peel.

Look at my hair,

now a handful of

whitish strands

appearing like

an untidy cottony fluff.

It was once thick, rich and flaxen.

My eyes, have now lost their glimmer,

the bold glimmer of self belief.

Now, they  speak of my haggardness,

my regrets and my enduring failures.

Youth is diminutive,

it’s a phase that fleets

within years.

Senility takes over

leaving ghost memories of the youth

hovering around.

Here, I have this  

bowl of Elixir

that shall guarantee me

an evergreen afterlife.

I know, this poisonous concoction,

however, distasteful , it might be now,

shall grant me the boon of “timeless youth”

for I know that the soul never dies, nor it wears off…

Thus, it has no chance to grow old…

I added...

With time, I added years to my age,

grew some silvery strands of hair,

some wrinkles around the socket of my eyes,

a receding hair line.

Oh yes, I grew a skeptic mind,

a jealous heart,

an unshakable ego too

and a groundless conceit.

Yes, I did bring up, two children;

 untamed and maverick.

I added everything

except wisdom.

Like an Ostrich

A shelter , I seek,

in this sweltering

summery noon.

A shelter in your arms.

Like an Ostrich that digs its head

deep in the ground

at the slightest hint of danger,

I shall dig mine in your arms.

I seek a haven in you,

I shall drench you in my tears few.

Little incidents, hefty realizations...

You are given a  body with a spirit within. The primary purpose of your existence is to keep that spirit burning… For that, one needs to keep his body healthy… and when you are given a body, these pesky mortal ailments come as freebies.. You need to take care of those too…

These ailments are big time impediments, you gotta fight them any how…

Today, I have had too many realizations… too many, for my mind, to deal with… Its easy to rant philosophy…you go on bla-blaing but the real understanding happens when you are in a REAL situation…

Today, I have a fever… I feel a slight tremble in my body…I witness fleeting shivers, infrequently though.  I have been coughing and sneezing maniacally… I feel a very cumbersome load on my head.

The air of the room still remains oppressive. My roommates aren’t here… Mamma isn’t here… This is kinda my "first fever” where I am left to deal with everything alone… Interestingly, no one paid me a visit… none of my classmates came to my room… not even an "artificial" concern… Well, I didn’t expect anything of that sort,  either… But, I had expected something, a very little something from a girl named K… Surprisingly, she seemed unconcerned… That hurt me…just a little… Nothing more…

That was Realization number 1. “People , generally, are self conceited and there are people who outdo me in that front… I thought I was the most self conceited person on earth…but, no … I have some serious competitors there”

I usually, wash all my clothes on the very day itself.. I don’t pile them over…but this week, I had piled them over… Bed sheets, dresses et al…summed up to a dozen atleast... It was too hectic for me… Yet, I managed somehow…

I realized , “when I am decided to do something, I am at loggerheads…  I might complain, I might whine…but at the end of the day, I fight it…and I win..everytime!”

On account of weekends, most of the rooms in my lobby are locked… I am not friends with my neighbors but somehow, I smile when I see them every morning… We hardly ever exchange words… I missed passing that smile this morning…

Realization :- “We unknowingly get used to insignificant things”


Then there was a power cut at around 9 pm. It was unusual… I didn’t fret… I mechanically went out of my room..There wasn’t the minutest ray of light … I relied on my feet… I knew they would take me to the verandah… I went blindly following my feet and thankfully, I didn’t hit anything on the way… There is a cot in the verandah and I sat on it… The power was back in minutes…

Realization :- “ Darkness doesn't frighten me anymore.”

Then, I gulped down a few tablets… Tried to sleep…but couldn’t… *Background music:- Heal my wounds- Poets of the Fall”… I felt *unreasonable* tears in my eyes… Called Mamma and I was astonished to see myself,  bawling like a five year old… Mom was worried… She knew that I was unwell… I cried so much over phone that I was literally panting… My hands trembled… I couldn’t talk more… I kept the phone down and asked Mamma to call me in the morning… I tried to sleep.. I slept..

Then, all of a sudden,  slumber eluded me… I woke up… saw 4 SMSes in my inbox… I replied none… I attended one call… I saw myself smiling plastically throughout that 4 minute conversation…

And, now, I am drumming my fingers on the keyboard..Typing this shit!

Realization :-"There are things that you do without any clue. You do them mechanically."

My indulgence with a blank piece of paper

Tonight, I am engrossed in a blank piece of paper.
The nib of my pen longs to kiss its immaculate White
but the nib hesitates since
it doesn’t have a purpose to do so…
Yet, it sensually runs on the paper,
doodling some incoherent lines,
penning scattered words ;
some here , some there.
 The White of the paper has a secret untold,
my pen knows it...
It knows that the White of the paper
has a VIBGYOR concealed within.

The pen unearths the hidden colors
with its write.
Sometimes, it finds
a playful Violet,
sometimes an indignant Indigo
and then a flamboyant blue,
a peaceful green,
a bright sweltering Yellow,
a tangy Orange
At some times, it also renders it
a dark gory red,
a passionate red too.

At other times, the nib,
decrees all the colors
to stay in harmony
in a wholesome write…

Tear and Blood... Rip my heart apart!

Why do you differentiate between tears and blood?

They both ooze out of injuries….
One from injuries superficial
and the other from injuries within…
Apparent wounds shall heal,
the wounds “within” often go undiagnosed.
They are serious and fatal for the soul,
fatal for the very purpose of existence.

Tear is blood-- devoid of color.
Fundamentally, both are one
and the same!
Nomenclature doesn’t change
the nature.

Water, stay formless!

Water, you flow, frisk
and frolic about…
You relentlessly keep flowing
shapeless and formless…
That’s what you’re happy in.

But, once poured in a Vessel,
you submit yourself
slavishly to it’s command,
assuming it’s shape,
and strangulating your own desires.

Why do you compromise?
What stops you from breaking free,
I often wonder!

Let me put you on fire,
I shall set you free…
Evaporate like ether
and unite with air…

An illiterate heart

While you play with metaphors
to envisage me articulately on the
canvas of poetry,
I watch you intently
to color you with my
inarticulate love
through my eyes.

While you tie your love
to a meter and make it
dance to a poetic rhythm,
I dance tuneless and rhythm less
in my unfettered  love for you.

My love knows no bounds,
it gambols around,
like a child
in the wild.
It dances just
for the eternal joy of dancing,
taps its feet to the
inaudible cosmic rhythm.

While you sing a lyrical melody
in your poetry,
my heart hums a wordless tune
subtle and soft like a lullaby.

Over these years,
I could grow a literate mind.
But, I couldn’t grow a literate heart.
It still remains cold and indifferent to words,
but melts at the slightest gust
of a loving feel.

Words shall deplete with time.
Let your feelings talk,
for they are inexhaustible.

 

Better leave it untitled!

How does Time preserve a few vague memories, locks them safely in a cache and buries the cache deep in its bosom? Insignificant memories that should have been eroded out but on the contrary, they grow subliminally . When they grow big, they break open the cache and come out in an incoherent manner. They knock the doors of your “Recollection”. They come , when you expect them the least. In fact, such memories aren’t even least expected. They are never expected!

Time acts partial. Some events howsoever significant they may be, Time sends them to oblivion while some , it safeguards.

The kind of memories that I am talking about, are rather blunt. They are uneven for when they come in mind, they are scattered in bits and pieces. You need to assemble the pieces together and as the picture completes, you get a somewhat clearer yet blurred picture of the past event. The picture, usually, is distorted. Some pieces are wrongly put.

Time keeps them secretively in its bosom like its prized belongings.

Words that we once jabbered inanely.. laughs that we had over the pettiest of things.. glimpses that we fortuitously exchanged.. grudges that we unreasonably held..arguments that we unintentionally got in.. minor scuffles that we had.. tears that came out excitedly.. unreasonalbly and mushily.. insignificant places that we visited.. food that we ate gluttonously, sometimes half heartedly and sometimes neutrally .. songs that weren't particularly our favorites, yet we listened to them et al.

These aren’t the kind of events that would leave behind such prominent trails in the form of vivid and lingering memories. But, they leave their footprints, not in a continuous and in a very evident fashion though. They are rather surreptitious. They stealthily enter the mind with their noiseless steps.

All they want is our attention, our indulgence with them for some moments. For those few moments, the mind , like a conceding parent, listens to their request and grants their innocent wish.

The Road

I am a lone weary road,
less commuted on.
I have ditches in between,
ruts of wheels
and some indelible scars.

I drived my commuters to their destinations
but I lost mine... Irony, that is...
I kept going, winding on corners,
finding my way through
places impassable,
but I couldn't find the place where
I was meant to go...

I searched , I searched for long
but I ended up at the crossroads
where I saw roads like me,
finding their ways to their
lost destinations...

I am tired of journeying
sick of walking
and now its intolerable
to be trampled on.
My chest pains.
My skin is losing its sheen.
I am old... wrinkled
Now I need some rest,
a peaceful solitary rest.

Lost pearl, where are you ?

Some moments are so quick... They take time to settle in....Something similar happened with me today... I had been thinking about an apparently difficult concept... I had racked my brains over it but in vain... Then I gave up thinking about it....

But, you know the mind's subconscious is invincible...It hates defeat... It kept the thinking process on and as a result , all of a sudden, the concept looked too simple for me... It came in my mind with an unimaginable speed, electrified it and I felt an engulfing overwhelmness....

Mind was stirred...Internally, I was in a frantic, exhilarating motion but externally, I was , as immobile as a log of wood.... It was a momentary manifestation... An epiphany...

But, in no time, it went off like a bulb that glows at its brightest for a moment or two and then fuses out... I can't quite explain what happened... I felt I lost the momentary comprehension.. I tried hard to recall it but I guess , the ecstasy of a sudden realization dropped it down somewhere...

I felt like a diver who finds the most precious pearl deep in the ocean, holds it in his hands, admires its beauty and then accidently drops it down again into some deep oceanic crevice .

Here again, I start my search right from the scratch... The search of a lost pearl of wisdom!

Invincible

And what is more nomadic
than you, wanderlust Wind?

All I needed was a gust
of your freshness.
You blew past my face,
gently brushed your lips
against mine
and went away flowing,
jauntily basking in your
glory…


I wished to capture you
in one breath,
I wished to retain you
in me.
You entered me, though
and I felt , I won.
I felt I conquered you.

But in the very next moment,
you went out
with my one treacherous exhale…

I wistfully sighed:-
“Wind, you shall stay a rebel!”

"Watery eyes"

Pleading tears,
helplessly run amuck,
with a forlorn hope
to find a receptacle
in your heart.

They beat the doors
of your heart relentlessly
and pant for breath.
You open the door,
you give that wry smile
and slam it
right in front of their
watery eyes.

They wait...
The waiting continues
and they keep flowing
like an unbroken stream

And,then my burnt skin,
like the thristy sand
soaks them.
They vanish
but they flow
inside with the blood.

Living like a lie

Let me live like an
untold lie within you.
Keep me safe,
keep me concealed.
I might not be there
in front of your eyes
but the lie (I) shall stay
in your conscience…
Forever.

Celebrating desire

How does , all of a sudden,
a desire so raw
a desire so promiscuous
rise in my heart?

I die to touch you
with my eyes…
My sight shall stay fixated
to your countenance
like an eternal kiss sealed…

How I long to feel your
exhalation on my skin
like a parched paper
that dies to get soaked
in vibrant hues...!

And how I want to stay
in your arms forever
like two bodies inseparably entwined.
Come, Desire , I shall celebrate you tonight!

A filthy shadow

Shadow, how infidel you are!
You leave me in the dark
and you gluttonously devour
Light to pronounce your presence…
You promise to be with me throughout
but you are nothing but conceited.
You come for your own ulterior motives
and go when your objectives are served.

You are wretched, feeding on Light
like a parasite…
Light that could never enlighten you…
You remain dark, faceless and opaque…
Have you ever seen yourself,
how despicable you look?
Here I hold the mirror,
look into your self…
Oh , how deplorable…
The mirror doesn’t cast your image…

An infidel whim

Itinerant and wanderlust,
she was a vagabond.
Now here, now there…
Like a leaf, estranged from
its parent stem,
she flew from one pair of eyes
to the other…

She rested in his eyes
and unfurled her wings
on his mind,
she took him under control
of her vagrant passion,
of her malicious seduction
and he succumbed
to her charm…

His mind was no more his…
Soon, she left him after
her passionate sojourn
with him for her journey to
the next pair of eyes…
Their transient love affair
soon came to an end…

He knew what “reality” was…
She was a mere solitary whim… !

Trash

I am too inarticulate, a speaker… I can hardly strike on conversations and I find it pretty hard to sustain one… I barely have anything to put in… Either I agree with what they say by merely repeating their words in a somewhat modified manner, or I smile… I smile when I disagree… I gently nod my head and let it be whenever I find something too obnoxious to digest… I hate arguments and I feel correcting someone isn’t my business… However, when I am offended, I make it a point that I shall talk less and gesticulate more… The discomfort comes on my face on its own… My eyebrows knit , my nose wrinkles on their own… However hard I might try, I find it too hard to conceal my anger, at times… This happens when I accost a real disgusting situation or I confront someone who I can’t stand , at all, at any cost… Though such people are very less in number…but they are there…

I often wonder why my face betrays me and spills the beans… I find it next to impossible to straighten up my facial expressions when I am really very angry (happens seldom though)… I try to undo the knit of my eyebrows but they stay knitted… Similarly, the nose stays wrinkled… It takes an ample time to bring them back to normalcy…

Then besides these, I find it hard to “talk”… Not because of some inferiority complex or something…but because I find talking to be unnecessary… People, I find around, mostly talk about things that don’t come within the gamut of my “code of conduct”… Yeah, I have devised a code of conduct exclusively for me… I can feel how uncomfortable I make it for others… If I am reading or listening to music, I shall go on doing that for hours together and the person with me makes his disconcert evident.. Indirectly and non verbally though… He shall cough intermittently and purposely to drive my attention towards him… Its not that I simply don’t acknowledge such cues… I do… I swear I do but I fail to make any attempt… At times, the person simply walks away and I feel much relieved… not because the person has walked away and left me alone but because he has given my conscience a respite… a relief that I am no longer inflicting torture on him with my silence , that is usually taken as my disinterest or worse , as my  pride…

 These are not my whims but sheer facts… I have been told this a myriad number of times by people around… I have been berated, implored, earnestly requested to get rid of my idiosyncrasies… But why should I? I am adamant, I agree…

I don’t depend on people… I have very few friends with whom, I admit, I don’t share a very strong bond… I meet them, I laugh, I enjoy to the fullest and then I forget… I am a narcissist, I daresay and I don’t have qualms about it…

Memories don’t haunt me either… I am soaked in my thoughts so much so that there is hardly any space for a memory to nest in my mind… I enjoy my solitude… I don’t quite acknowledge what the world thinks of me… “Appreciation or criticism” both mean the same and I treat both similarly i.e.  I don’t acknowledge both..

Is this arrogance? May be… I don’t quite care…

Given and denied

We oscillate between the two extremes with an objective to attain equilibrium... Much like the pendulum, that to-froes to attain the mid point between the two extremes.

At times, we attain the equilibrium... But, the mind , while attempting to do so, becomes so much used to the "to-froing" that it doesn't recognize the stable point... It's so flustered that it continues to oscillate, again with an objective to attain the mid point. Funny

At times, our wishes are secretly fulfilled and we don't realize it...
The gift is secretly bestowed upon us and we unceremoniously deny it...

Eff.You.See.Kay

And one day, I shall prick
your inflated ego
with my silence.
You shall burst like
an oversized bubble.
Till then, stay in your delusions
and scavenge on your rotten self!

Scoundrels everywhere!

They say "people change" with such crestfallen and awful faces, heaving a dismal sigh of disappointment as if "people" were deemed to stay the same way... And then, they pompously say "Change is the only constant" with an air of intellect, pragmatism and other such embellishments... Volte face, that is :-/

Wow! What a pity man is... He hardly knows what he says... Dostoevsky had rightly pointed out that "Man is a scoundrel"... Though he had inferred this on a different context, but man remains a scoundrel nonetheless... And , you know , who he acts a scoundrel to?

Himself!

A queer blurt

Quite often, I count my breaths and feel the beat of my heart. I stare at my green veins running right under my skin and I place my fingers on them…precisely on the radial artery to feel my pulse. This is how Life manifests itself…in a pulse, in a breath, in a heart’s beat, in the flutter of eyelids etc.  Such insignificant processes chain to form one Life. And , then comes that one moment when all the processing ends, life comes to a halt. Wonder, how that moment is… Is it painful or does the pain cease to exist? Is it scary? Or is it blissful? That one moment is undefined… Nobody shall ever be able to pen that down… Some things are truly beyond the human capability.. They are impossible and some things should better  not be deciphered. May be , we live a lifetime to witness that one moment’s feeling… Let it stay mysterious and mystic. We shall all unravel it one day but we won’t be able to express it ever.  

The funambulist

I tried to funambulate
not on a rope
but on a mere string
that joined our two
lonesome hearts.
The string weakened,
I stood right in the middle.
It couldn't bear the weight
of my sorrows...
Alas, it broke off!

The whispering conscience

And how is it
that conscience
becomes a low murmur,

when on the contrary,

it should have been stentorian?

How is it
that it
all of a sudden
becomes mute,
slavishly agreeing
with the disordered world
and lying abandoned in a
drunken stupor?

A dark beauty

The sullen abyss

has a confounding charm

subtle  yet conspicuous.

It pulls you towards itself.

You unknowingly succumb

to its charm,

dive to reach its bottom

and unintentionally

cause yourself an irrevocable harm.

Why I write?

I write simply for the joy of writing…. The precious pleasure that it renders… I write to keep my thought processes working, to refrain them from putting on weight. Yeah, thoughts put up weight in the form of stubbornness , a disobedience that they show  while expressing themselves.

I write to keep that stubbornness away. “Being read” seldom comes in my mind. When it comes, I witness a strange consciousness within as if I am being thoroughly inspected by my readers. I don’t want to be autopsied. I write simply for the sheer joy of writing.

My language may be raw, may be loose but my ideas are firm and I am glad to have firm, well shaped ideas… Words are a medium of expression. They don’t make sense unless they have an idea to back them up. Words are secondary and ideas elementary.

I write for ME to judge the growth of my ideas, to graph their firmness. I can forego words for ideas and I sincerely hope that the latter never diminishes.

A missing constellation

The moon loomed over our heads

like a searchlight

anxious to expose

our clandestine tryst .

While searching my reflection

in your dark smoldering eyes,

a meteor stealthily passed by us

and you diverted my attention

 from your eyes to the sky above.

All of a sudden you exclaimed-

“Look at that!”

My vision was lost amid

countless stars.

I wondered what you asked me

to look at.

Following your index finger,

I caught sight of

a geometrical design.

And, you gaily said

“That’s the Apus constellation.”

I quizzically looked at you and sighed.

I thought how unromantic you were.

You sensed my dissatisfaction

and lovingly said

“I gift you the Apus

as a token of my eternal love”

Today, I went

for a lonesome stroll

under a starlit sky

But, could not relocate

the Apus  .

Your astral gift was lost in the galaxy

since there was no index finger

to guide my way through.

Yes, I am a dreamer

The star studded sky,
stirs the dreamer in me.
As I ambulate beneath the boundless sky,
I feel I am walking along the milky way.
Every little star sings a beautiful song
and I hear the silent symphony.
Hush, my darling! Don’t speak a word.
Hear the silence of the infinite.

Untitled

Unleashed bloodhounds
drool profusely
to pounce on her.
She unlocks the doors
to sacrifice her flesh.
...
The bloodhound thirst-
quenched.
She is abandoned
with a body- scarred,
nerves stirred.

With a reptilian briskness,
the night makes its way again.
She no more dreads,
readies her body
for a hungry devour again.

Inanimate as a rock,
she stands
devoid of fears
to sacrifice her body
in the lascivious pyre.

Mind or a malignant tumor?

You know, my mind , works so erratically at times, that I sincerely wish if the mind were an organ, a physical tangible organ (somewhat like the vestigial organs that we have) , I would have got it surgically removed.

I wonder where it engenders such unimaginably contorted thoughts from, thoughts that are sheer non sense , thoughts that creep in with such a cold, brazen impertinence.

The mind becomes a malignant tumor, that goes on spreading and goes on contaminating the entire self within. What do you do with a tumor ? You don’t store it within. You amputate it! Alas, such an operation is not possible for the mind….

A note to your inflated ego!

How unimportant you have become in my life,I often wonder! There was a time when everything in my life took a backseat...(it would be better if I say , I forced everything to take a backseat) and you were there....my only priority, my only indulgence.

Yes, now I realize, you were just an indulgence and I was morbidly addicted to you. You were a habit....a bad habit.... that I have now discontinued to practice. Though you reappear in my mind, once in a while , but I drive you away. You come like an ephemeral and wither off ....you're transient.

Now, I am indulged in me! I need you no more.

For your perverted happiness

I could feel the blistering heat of your enviousness,

the cold of your indifference

towards my tormented esteem.

My downfall filled you with unbridled joy .

To keep your mirth alive,

I kept condescending,

I kept burning in your rage

A dead life

If the stars that
you dreamily looked at,
could fall off like embers
and disappear like small burnt splinters.
Stars , that once twinkled,
now, jeer at my destituteness.

And, the sky shall once explode
under the weight of your

agonizing memories.

It shall fall down on the ground,

lay there supine.

With a sadistic pleasure,

I shall trample on it.

How can I spare the earth

on which you romped ,hopped

walked and crawled around ?

I shall dig it all over

even if I stand amidst

a mass of rotten corpses

and hollow caracasses.

May the sea shrink

to a mere droplet of water

The same philandering sea

that stealthily kissed your feet.

I enviously wish to destroy it.

Life mocks at me at every phase!
The rivers flow to jeer at my stagnancy.
And the wind, purposely blows
to air the fire that is swallowing me
inch by inch!
Is it a mandate for Life to move on?
Why can't it, for a change, come to
a permanent halt?

What if, I die?

What if , I die a silent death,

lying close to you…

precisely in your arms?

A slumberous death

with phantasmagoric images

of the other world.

 I want to know

how you would react

seeing my lifeless body

by your side.

Won’t you feel the cold

of my hands,

won’t you caress me again ?

Won’t you whisper my name

into my ears?

I want to feel

your tears rolling down

your cheeks,

making their way

through your lips

and tumbling down

on my face.

The one saline drop-

a replica of your totality.

A drop that encompasses

all of you.

I want to treasure that.

And how would you mourn

while they make me lay

in the coffin?

Would you make your agony explicit

or gulp it down

and burn within?

Would you look at my photographs

and yearn your beings with me?

Would you secretly kiss them

and place them in your chest pocket?

I want to hear

the silent echoing of my name

in your heart.

And when you shall visit my sepulcher ,

would you dust off the tomb stone

and run your fingers on it-

the same way you do

when you feel my body contour?

How will your touch, then feel like?

I want to explore it!

A blatant confession of love

She stood facing the wall and Vikram kissed the nape of her neck. She felt a chill run down her spine. A momentary fear overwhelmed her and she hobbled to the other corner of the room. Vikram turned her towards him. They faced each other, their faces hardly an inch or a two distant. They could feel the warmth of their sighs. Nisha was nervous. She couldn’t understand what the moment demanded of her. She felt she could never look into his eyes. Vikram, lifted her chin. Nisha was still looking down, her eyelids seemed to droop down for eternity and her lips pursed.

“Look into my eyes” , said Vikram passionately.

Nisha felt a weakness in her knees. She wished to dissolve with the walls. She felt frozen. Her hands were trembling when Vikram lifted her palms softly, taking them to his lips and unconsciously kissing them. He was now on his knees and Nisha’s palms were in his.


“Do I really have to do this?” , he said adding a forced nervous laughter.

Nisha could feel his laughter ringing in her ears and mustered the courage to smile.


“Nisha, you know, I am not romantic. But love brings romance even out of the hardest of hearts. I am not poetic… Too bad with metaphors, simile and other such complicated devices. So, if you wished this to be a poetic admission of love , then I will have to disappoint you. Unlike you, I can’t play with words, neither do I believe in such blatant nauseating love stories that you so ardently read about. I wonder how people need to twist and turn a simple thing into a horrible potpourri of philosophy, spirituality, psychology, sensuality etc”


Nisha chuckled. Such frank admissions of Vikram were not new to her. In fact, she was keen to know how he managed to keep everything terse, to the exact point.

“Vick, you and your frantic thoughts… Give me a break, can’t you be a bit romantic , even for a fraction of a second?”


“See, when I held your hands in mine, lifted your chin… wasn’t I being romantic? You started dreading as if I were a cannibal … and now you wish me to be romantic again? Woman, thou art the biggest conundrum!”


“Being romantic doesn’t mean showing physical affection. Its something expressed through words, feelings, gestures.”

Vikram gave a quizzed look and Nisha snapped, berating herself , “ Why am I even trying to get such concepts into your frozen head?”

Vikram retorted , “Cut it short and lets KISS!”

Nisha gaped at him. Her jaws dropped down and her eyes flashed.

“I mean lets keep it short and simple”

Neha heaved a sigh of relief and recovered her half smile. She was now quite sure that Vikram can’t be straightened up even if the whole world tries to do so.


“I want you because I love you. I want you mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally. I want you in every possible way. I feel like a small kid when you pamper me. Though I may show that I hate being pampered, but it feels amazing when you run your fingers through my hair or when you give me an unsettling kiss on my lips. I feel profound when I look into your deep smoldering eyes. I burn with passion though I subdue it somehow.

Yes, you may call me a pervert but I lust you. I want to make love to you , to make you complete, to pronounce my ownership on you. I don’t believe in God or any kind of blind submission . But, I feel being servile to you, I want to worship you. I want you in the circle of my embrace now and forever. I urge to father our children and I am determined to look after you even when you become a skeptic downright hag.”


Vikram’s uncontrollable fervor left her blank. His wild admission, frenzied thoughts , his burning passion ripped her heart apart. His words devoured her like a raging storm.
She slumped on the ground with a thud and uttered “It took you five long years to babble all this ?”
Vikram nodded a yes. Nisha continued , “Lets kiss and now I mean it as verbatim.”

He was amazed to see Nisha putting up the demand for a kiss for the first time ever since they had been together.

“Nisha, I mean what I said and I have loved you ever since we are together!”

Before he could complete, Nisha intervened , hushed him up and planted a kiss on his forehead as if she engraved her signature on him to make him realize that he belonged to her.

A dizzying mind

I chased
God knows what
and rushed
after naught.
Running in vicious circles,
a dizzying mind
nauseates its rot
and licks it again.
It engenders
a fear unwarranted,
notions - baseless
feelings - corrupted.
The soul bears
a fatal hole,
twisted, contorted
crouching in a shell,
accumulates negativity
and promulgates the same.

Yearning

Your fragrance lingers

in the crumpled bed sheet.

I don’t iron it deliberately

to preserve your fragrance

in its folds.

Yes, it looks untidy.

Why don’t you come

and chide me?

The Guitar that now stands

desolated at one corner

longs to be strummed

by your fingers.

Come hold it

and make love to it.

Have you forgotten your mistress?

Your somewhat imperfect

unstructured strumming

always smelled fresh.

Those tunes implore you

to improvise them.

Why do you keep them

raw and unfinished?

And your diary

at one corner

of your book shelf

still preserves your virgin writes

in its yellowing pages.

The same diary that

you had asked me never to read.

I am still abiding by your command

When shall you permit me

to read it?

A flower vase without flowers

awaits your arrival.

The arrival that brought

with it a fresh bunch of red roses.

It longs to be adorned

exclusively by you.

Come fulfill its desire.

Remember, the harmonica

that I gifted you,

now craves to kiss your lips.

Come , breathe in it

your symphony.

And finally,

do you remember me

who has forgotten

her existence

ever since you

went for your eternal repose?

Come to make her alive!