Mr.Selfdestruct

Meaningless and faceless
A little listless
typing away the ticking of
the merciless clock
I sit,waiting.

I sit waiting for a resonance
an inspiration
scars of beautiful laughter
to adorn an expressionless skin
a skin pale in color.

A skin pale in color,and blood
An everflowing blood.
Shall we wait to eternity
for a grand happiness to decend
An everlasting happiness.

An everlasting happiness,illusion
Of a monstrous kind
Blank sheets of numbness cover
the silken sensations of love
Into a galaxy of memories.

A galaxy of memories,of concrete
scattered like stars
Piercing the soft feet of the angels
ripping apart the flesh of present
And the story continues.

Lonliness:An Ode

The world of illuminate lights
soft cushion winds,endless nights
The time is right to fly
into the distant blue skies.

Roll away the whispers,dear time
of unformed words and soft chimes
flutter my eyelids,clear liquid eyes
porcelain skins bleeding crimson sighs

A dream--hush! a dream cries.
painted canvas fades and dries
shadows of smiling eyes lift and rise
merge into the laughing sun and dies.

Unmoved I sit,another dream to paint
empty canvas empty eyes so faint
these lines will sketch a new song
these trembling hands will ring the gong

And yet she will not stir
She will not stir

No one

Eroded sand dunes of escapists dream
are washed.
On infinite waves of destructive time
we float.
The depth in the eyes of a newborn baby
it drowns.
And no one sheds a tear.

Softly they speak the golden words
I sleep.
Shadows on walls feast in contempt
their lonliness.
Murky depths of disfigured emotions
it smiles.
And no one says a prayer.

Shed the skin of solitary sadness
she withers.
Carpets of stars light the still waters
they tremble.
Filter the soul a million times
zero.
And no one understands my poem
still ....no one.

Birds of Prey

Everything about life is so fragile, and the slightest variations concoct such vastly different conclusions. This disturbs me terribly, and has me focusing all too frequently on the details – and the details within the details. It’s difficult for me to take a step back and look at the bigger picture, as ironically preoccupied as I appear to be with it.

I change strains quickly. Now I feel a dreamy haze descend upon me as I’m emerged in a sleepy sense of obliviousness. There is so much going on around me of which I am completely unaware; so much too that I have, somewhere along the line, made a conscious decision to block from my consciousness, yet which my subconscious remains privy to and is still deeply affected by. I simply no longer know what it is that affects me so. Vague, indiscernible hurts that most probably stem from compassion. Compassion I am not using at all productively. Compassion unused is compassion wasted, and turns toxic in one’s system when it is not channeled into a creative outlet. It becomes tainted and turns inward viciously, causing psyche-soul blockages as it bogs one down in a quagmire of personally self-serving despair. Hence the ‘poor me’ complex. I wish it were easier to focus on the just, intrinsically good things that life has to offer.

The Coocoo bird (not sure if that’s the spelling, but it’s the sound) migrates from New Guinea to certain Australian coastlines [ours being one of them] in springtime. Many of them find good potential homes in the nature reserve that our house backs onto, so we are offered a front-row seat to the strange behaviour of these huge birds. They’re BIG, very big – like large, clumsy-looking dogs. Coocoos’ scour the tree tops for suitable Magpie and Currawong nests that they can utilise for their purposes, obviously being too lazy to make their own. When the Magpie/Currawong mother and father leave the nest to search for more sticks or soft things to cushion their homes with, their eggs are left exposed to the alert eyes of the Coocoo, who then descends upon the developing babies and tosses them out of the tree. The Coocoo then lays its own eggs in their place, and the Magpie returns to see a group of eggs it believes to be its own resting peacefully. She sits on them for the next few weeks and waits for her babies to hatch. When the eggs hatch the babies are giants, soon larger than their Magpie parents, but still as hungry and helpless as most infants. They make a wailing sound almost identical to that of a human baby crying, and they chase their parents everywhere demanding food and attention. The twist to this story? It often goes that the Magpie-mummy is so thoroughly exhausted at having perpetually met the demands of this hungry baby, that by the time the Coocoo is old enough to fend for itself, the Magpie dies. Bizarrely cruel but evolutionarily genius, eh? The Coocoo is essentially killing two birds (or several) with one stone [mind the pun]: It eradicates the baby Magpies, and shifts parental responsibility onto the Magpie parents who it ultimately kills by default, its own chain of production kept in perfect tact. The baby-turned-young-adult Coocoo then flies back to New Guinea only to return to Australian shores a year later, in order to repeat the process yet again
.
Is life not utterly insane?

Fissures

Fissures.That's just the right word.Fragmentation might have been close and Schziophrenia might have been techincal,but fissure is apt and poetic.I am talking about the gulf between what we are inside and what we tend to reflect outside.It's survial instinct.But isn't 'instinct' what we associate animals with?.Not men.Ofcourse man being a social 'animal' nothwithstanding,aren't we humans supposed to be one step closer to Godhead.Maybe it's just a vanity.Vanity of the crowned species who can walk and build railroads,and yeah I forgot..who think they think.The surroundings as I see it ,I can't entertain a thought of celeberation.I see people being happy,or atleast trying their best to drown their sorrows in the grey,murky,formless confusion around them which they,in all their innocence,or stupidity if you please,take to be 'everybody -else-is-happy-so-why-can't-i'.I have seen the eyes of those who are 'happy'.They are either intoxicated with the wine of dreams or the alcohol of past glories.And sometimes it's just good old fashined whisky.Rarely I have encountered happy eyes fixated on the 'here-now'.I don't want to be a part of that drug called hope.I am cleansed of it.Apathy is what I live in.It's by choice,so save your 'oh dear me!' and 'urgh cry baby' to yourself ,whosoever read this.

On second thoughts..keep 'em rolling.

Silence of the Gods

It was raining outside last evening.From the glass window of my room in the hotel,the serenic beauty of the glittering asphalt looked enchanting.The reflection of street lights made the concrete assume a lusture which was more endearing than most things natural.I felt warm and happy.A lopsided smile.A neon sign,was flashing intermittently on the huge billboard.The lights in my room were rather dull.Intentional ofcourse.I always found rain to be a little dampening.Never mind the pun.

Sometimes,silence reaches the great heights where the philosophers and meditation masters always talk about.It was such a brief moment,but I sensed an absolute stillness in myself.It was brief because as soon as my consciousness touched it,the silence was gone.I had two options..to either scream like a manic at the loss of that beautiful silence..or to reflect upon what grace it brought,even if in passing.I decided to paint silence.A black backdrop and a solitary candle with a fragile flame.Nah that would be too in-the-face.A pair of eyes,expressionless and a mouth that is filled with a hint of a smile,but just holding it.Well that was too complex.I was drawing some lines on the paper when the phone rang.A shriek.Montonous and echoing.I picked up the phone."Please be okay son.You worry us...Why are you silent?..You can talk with me,please...i am your mom.." click. My mother is so gentle.She is a wonderful soul.She wanted to comfort me.I wanted to tell her that I am okay and that I love her.Words just didn't come.Silence had smitten me.

Death becomes Her

She was breathing.I am sure she was breathing when I raised my head,and looked at her from my semi closed eyes.I was lying on the floor,and she was resting peacefully on the rug.I had a psychological breakdown due to not taking my medicines and indulging in one of insane excesses of self destruction by means of alochol binge.It was ring on the door or maybe it was the phone,which stirred me.It was evening.I must have been lying on the naked floor since morning.No food,no water.And she? She must have had her food atleast.She learnt that living with me isn't easy.One has to be self reliant when I am such a lazy and moody punk.A thought probably floated through my mind-- she didn't raise her head at the sound of the ring as she always does.She must be tired too,or must have learnt the indifference from me.I thought that and put my head down again.

Some hours...

It was night when i came back to consciousness.She was still sleeping peacefully.Almost TOO peacefully.The calmness of death has already draped her in it's rich trapestry.The shock of this realization was sudden.Sudden and pointed like ice crystals tearing thru the skin.I lighted a ciggerrate.My hands prolly were shaking as I dialled the doctor.I could only utter an incomprehensible 'come fast' i guess.And then i waited.I was still looking at her peaceful sleep when the doctor came.She pronounced the obvious.She might have thought of some extreme reaction from me.My coldness,nah my stoicness shocked her.I asked her to leave.

Tzara now lies deep inside the ground.A small flower tucked below her neck and her body lying in a spacious shoebox as a coffin,my Tzara sleeps eternally.

~~Breathe,keep breathing.I can't do it alone.~~

Slumber

In the deepest slumber,in swoon,in death,even in the grave all is NOT lost.Else there is no immortality for men.Arousing from the most profound of slumbers,we break the gossamer web of some dream.Yet in a second afterword(so frail may that web have been) we remember not that we have dreamed.In the return to life from sleep,there are two stages:first,that of the sense of mental or spiritual;secondly,that of the sense of physical existance.It seems probable that if,upon reaching the second stage,we could recall the impressions of the first,we should find these eloquent in the meories of the gulf beyond.And that gulf is--what?.How at least shall we distinguish its shadows from those of the tomb?But if the impressions of what I have termed the first stage,are not,at will recalled,yet after long interval,do they not come unbidden,while we markvel whence they come?He who has never swooned,is not he who finds strange palaces and wildly familira faces in coals that glow;is not he who beholds floating in mid-air the sad visions that many may not view;is not he ponders over the perfume of some novel flower;is not he whose brain goes bewlidered with the meaning of some musical cadance which has never arrested his attention.

Driftwood

It's easier to cling onto self-generated notions of depravity of the universe than see the real thing.It's monstrously different,and yet it's just another mirror image of the disgust that one always had in one's mind..delusional or hysterical.I can't but ponder over what might be the state of mental balance of the lunatics who are 'cured' and are asked to leave the asylum for a 'wonderful world out there'.Wouldn't they feel heartbroken?Or would they never feel anything.Just a spacious asylum,maybe.

I feel happy thinking of their confused state.It gives me a sensual pleasure to imagine their shattered dreams.

Am i cruel?I have been said I am many times.I just smile.A bitter smile,a smile of sarcasm.of self mockery.

You cannever unravel the complexity that I am.I have tried and failed.Now I try no more.

Friends and Lovers

Once again Boredom rears it's ugly head.And yet again i meekly surrender.I heard a Zen proverb somewhere----~~to win completely,surrender completely.~~ How paradoxial.Boredom has now seeped thru my skin,tearing thru my flesh,has reached the spacious emptiness of my soul,where it echoes the mocking laughter with it's cousin--indifference.Indifference had already created her dwellings in my heart shaped cave.The two rejoice in their festivites.Poor ones,they don't know that all festivities are meaningless.They would one day be tired of 'em as well.I smile at their carefree play.Kindness fills my heartcave.They smell it's sweet aroma and rejoice.I shall befriend them one day.One day when Tiredness ..their soulmate joins them..we all will meet Death and have an orgy.And then we would melt into each other.And then we would dive into oblivion.