A day in the life

"It's cold",he thought aloud.The neon-lights of the stores dotting the streets flickered and presented quite a contrast to the monochrome images in his brain.He was wearing a tshirt and faded blue denim jeans.It had been his habit to wander aimlessly in the streets;it lifted the fog out of his brains,a bit,he thought.Normally he wouldn't smoke,but today he didn't mind,or didn't realise when he lit up a ciggarate.

There is nothing more lonely than walking on a rain-drenched pavement,wanting to see someone,anyone.The streets were deserted,as it was pretty late in the night.People were either inside their beds or in someone elses bed,unmindful of the light drizzle that was making the asphalt streets shimmer like a mirror.He was hearing a music in his brain,some Radiohead tune he loved.He had always liked music.

But tonite he wanted to talk.He knew that not many people understood what he meant.And he had made up his mind early that he would not talk much with people.He had kept his promise.But sometimes he found people who did understand.He took his phone out,dialled a number.He heard a Dire Straits tune.No one picked the phone.

He thought to himself "it's cold and it's late too" and walked on.Neon lights were flashing,the streets still getting washed.The tune in the head was Dire Straits now."Romeo and Juliet".

A Painter paints tonight.

A white paper stares at me

accusing glances,sometimes mixed with tenderness

I sit--cold, blank and at sea

the pencil in my hand shakes.

No words come to my mind tonite

just pictures,of purple faded petals and dried leaves

sounds of churchbells, ancient fight

the obituries of dreams are hard to paint.

The demons,born in my brain

wild children they are,my own.

rituals they follow,my energies they drain

and drink to health.these insolent leeches

Drops of crimson stain the whiteness

and a beauty emerges on the barren paper

colors are the solvent of greatness

my skin is cut.

Spheres inside spheres

Slow moving orbits bring casual remorse
and desert sings refrains
I am in the midst of a epoch
wishing something can change
New moon brings a sudden delight
black dwan brings back pain
A new day someday will break
and I'll be free again
Slow moving orbits bring causal remorse
and desert sings refrains.

How difficult is it to be 'good'.The many layers of fake existance have utterly scarred the beautiful face of truth and reality.It's almost forgotten,but like a trace in the brain of certain memory,a certain very dear memory,it sometimes haunts.The overidentification with masks has now become a survival instinct.How depraved is this form of living and how easily people live and accept it.And how tormentous is it not to accept it,to always feel suffocated inside a mask,to lie and lie until lies are perfected.A perfect unreality.Who would want to trade unreality with reality?It looks monstrous and unreal,but it's as real as a dream to a sleeping man.Maybe oneday we all can shrug off this sleep and open our eyes.Wipe the fog off our eyes and can witness the grandeour of truth.And 'know' that there are absolutes.Like the surface of a 4 dimensional giant sphere,whose axis of rotation is the plane we live on,and which encloses our universe,ever expanding it's boundries,inflating on all 4 dimensions--this giant,absolute spehere.Moving slowly in orbits,sifting the sands of deserts,reflecting gold.