One of my bad days

nothing shall disturb me from this disquietude.
this melting oceans of dismal grey
said the mirror to me,on a sunless day

peace! said I,with a little anxiety
soothe your trembling fissures
and shine your sparkle your gaiety,hey!

ugliness haunt me and death beckons
dreary is my surface and rotten my soul
the cracks penetrate,let me go my way

a candle I lit,to dispell the gloom
and spoke softly,my voice quivering
my beautiful friend,this isn't the end,nay!

Tear I saw,the mirror did cry
and then he spoke a theme a sigh
"This too shall pass,just one of my bad days"

She laughs

This is a poem I wrote for the painting I recently did.I wish i could post my painting.I shall howevere try to give a visual image to you with the words.It shows a human figure,straight lines and tall and erect,holding a hammer and it's shadow sitting in a relaxed posture,holding a rose.While the whole painting is in grey..a pencil sketch:I painted the rose crimson.Underneath the sketch,I wrote these lines:

"Need I say something to touch the golden rays
of your heart
Need I laugh like a child,mirth on my lips
to hide the pain
And what comes in the dense dismal moment;
a heavy rainbow alas
The stillness in our poignant waters
and our dreamy eyes scorned
With you I shudder in the snow tempest
With you I light the fire
entwined in the chislled dream
I sculpt constantly
And shrug at you my shadow
You who laugh,Oh the vicious laugh"

Ash Stains

I shall write in a happy mood today.I feel light and relaxed.It must be the sleep or it can be the new painting I just finished.I rarely like my work, but yeah there are times when I feel proud of myself.I have this tendency to drift into nebulous worlds of infinite spaces.I have no idea where these visions come from.They are quite unlike anything which I have seen in this world and I have travelled and seen a lot.I sometimes think that the closest I was to 'my space' was when I was in Germany.There is a neglected graveyard in the outskirts of Berlin close to an even more neglected church.I sat there under an old crumbling leafless tree gazing at the serene beauty of the graves.At the risk of sounding atrociously morbid,I must say that in that death-place I found a peace which was always eluding me in the more livelier places like the pubs and the parties.Anyone passing through the road would have been amazed at the sight of a young boy sitting alone with the stones..but they would never have imgained that the young boy was gazing beyond.Into the limitless abyss of the unknown,into the warmth of the hidden and the lap of the untravelled.
I have come to realise that my writeups sometime make people ,who really care about me, shudder in horror at the thought that I might be this manically depressed young 'un who's gonna do some harm to himself.Dear readers,my eyes mositen whenever I feel that you people have heart big enough to accomodate an unknown maverick equation like myself.I might never me in the mood of gratitude again so I just want to thank all of you in IT who care for me (in whatever way),and I want you to know that the little trust that I still have in humanity is cuz of people like you.I sound like going overboard?..I reckon.But thats the way I am.A pendulum.Swinging from one extreme to other.

Moist Clouds of Grey

My creative urges are sapping.The dim lights that used to keep my ebbing spirits from sinking into suicide and which I used to turn into writings,painting and poetry have been replaced by a sudden bright light of laziness.laziness which leaves me happy.And happiness which robs me of my creativity.I find it shocking sometimes that I can only be creative when i am melancholy.There always was a certain purity is sadness,which I find missing in happiness.Happiness is always muddled with a forboding of an unknown terror lurking behind.But i still choose to be happy rather than being in gloom everytime.I have still a long way to go before I can accept people as they are.But I am trying to mingle.And though I am drained just after a 20 min being with them(i wish I had the iggy option in real life).The cloud hangs low,laden with moisture and i can't see the sun.But yeah the light that criss crosses the grey clouds is my anchor ..is my buoy.The tumultuous waves of self destructive nihilism shake me from my light sleeps.Dreams, if they are a mirror of the subconscious ....oh! cruel trapestry of art,art thou not scurrying into oblivion.

Who the hell am I?

Are we all restless and escaping the small voice which tells us that 'this is not my place,these are not my kind of people' ..or it's only I who feels such.I have noticed that my sensitivity is somewhat more acute than most people I have come across.It makes them more adjusted and it leaves me always with a confused and exhausted state.Most people would shudder in horror seeing mass murder of thousand of people as perpetrated by thugs like Hitler and his kind,but would have no registration of any feeling seeing a flower die or earthworms trampled on the pavement after a rainy day.I sometimes am too numb to notice that our next door kid committed suicide over a girl and other times I am brought to tears at the sight of a stray dog running around to find shelter as the cold rain drops in a cold month falls on it's old and weak body.People call me 'iceberg' and some call me 'sensitive'.I sometimes wonder who the real me is?The small child shrinking in his shell,afraid to see the cruel giants around him or a mindless brute,finding himself in an alien land deried by angels who walk upon the planet.Whatever it is..oh well.