Death Smiles

Death is the road to awe
Exchanging glances with thunderbolts
For a brief moment
Of lunacy she had
Fields of roses gently waving
In a sea of green algae like tentacles
Much of her dreams
They make her sad
Brief static and poignant
Are the threads of life
Infinitely complex, like a wicked child’s mind
And her smile tortures her
It shouldn’t be that bad.

Love---Oblivion

Candle you burn bright, gasping for breath
Fight you hard, how valiant is your struggle
And how absurd.
The infinite darkness wishes for an embrace
A love making of ethereal proportions
He woos- a violent courtship.
Much love is lost and most forgotten
Into the complex warp of time
Into nothingness you melt, struggling
Resisting eternal love-the melting of ego
Don’t you cry O beautiful light
into the arms of your lover you mingle
into the arms of silence, of oneness,
into oblivion.

Dreams(Reprise)

Where is the torch I lit
Where went the light
The flames that die in my eyes
And the ashes that settle
On the poppy flowers
Singing requiem to another dream
Broken into million shards
Like the million stars in the sky
Are they broken pieces of
A grand dream of another psychotic
Or another sad God in his own world.

The Importance of closing eyes

Pain was sometime such a sudden rush. Now it spreads slowly like nerve gas, and builds up..inflating like a helium balloon, never rising but sinking down, and down until nothing but a dark vacuum encloses one in a tight hug and then there is no darkness. You become one with it. And the dissolution is absolute and final. And then the one winged goddess comes down. A beautiful angel who is the keeper of all things broken and tattered and yet beautiful. Maybe beautiful because of all broken lines. Like flowers on graves. Like a moonless night. Like withered petals. Like love lost. Absolute. Absolution.

Ride

we ride tonite
on ghost horses.

Strange

Exhausted—that’s how I feel. The trivialities of life sometimes seem so enormous, hiding the beauty that the world has inherently. And I do have this tendency to be blind to whatever is white and an affinity for whatever is bleak. So the greys don’t exist for me. It’s easier isn’t it, to see life as simple black and white. But then that’s the way I am. I don’t feel eccentric at all when I feel no need for long lasting human contact. And whatever they think, I am not cold. I just have sensitivities which are tangents to what normal sensitivities are. I still feel an enormous excitement when I read complex mathematics and I am good with numbers since I was little. They present a stability and they don’t talk back. They are as silent as I can be and that makes me comfortable in their company.
It’s a strange world in which we live. I’m just adding to the strangeness.

Shut up

I feel lonely. And I don’t like it. I don’t understand it somehow. I can’t seem to relate with people. I can’t seem to be close to them for long. My unorthodox personality attracts people towards me, out of curiosity presumably. It wears off soon and then they just leave. I feel the hurt of rejection more than others I guess. I would like to think that people are a distraction. They might be. But when they just walk away it leaves me perplexed. If only I could do that first. Be bored and leave. But I would tell them that. I would at least have the courtesy to be rude.

Don't even think

Sheets of black unfurled into the big void
The lust of all things shine through my eyes
Black! how scarred is life
And still I run on treadmills infinite
Intoxicated, blind, muted and blackened
For centuries have passed
And many births and many many deaths later
I am homesick of my alien nation
My purple hued nation of peace and love
And I the disposed emperor long for the return
Black! How scarred life is
And I used to care, but now its easy
To swallow the bile and shine the lust
And to run nowhere to go
And no strength to stop.

3:42 in the morning

3:18 am and I can’t sleep. Now it doesn’t really matter you see, because I am an insomniac and a black coffee doesn’t help at all. And when you are lying awake in bed and thoughts of angels with purple grey moth-eaten wings who ride on crimson clouds come to your mind you rather stop trying to sleep. And so here I am.
The strangest thing about my imagination is that it is so manic depressive. I am not. My imagination is. It fucks me up at times and sometimes it makes me happy. And I still can hear the laughter in my brain. And sounds of doors closing/opening. I see colors too in my brain when I close my eyes. Sometimes they are shining and vibrant and most times they are plain stupid. I can’t trust my perceptions anymore. I try so hard to be normal and I fail utterly. But I reckon I’m a hard nut. An incorrigible optimist. Yes..it’s me I am talking about. You can smirk but that’s what I really feel. How else can I explain the desire which comes again and again to try and improve my life? To be like..normal. Now you might say that’s not a big ask. But for me it is. Maybe I am a genius of some sort. Not understood in this century and maybe read about in some years later with a book titled “The Life of a Misfit: Lessons from tragedy”. Fuck that! That’s a bad title, but know what I don’t care. I wanna write a poem now.

Obscure are the pages
Of time in which I sleep
And you float,
In the water of the ocean blue
That hangs upside down
Moist filled blue eyes
Dark as dark as babies cry
Sleep the mighty bird
Flies in the vastness
And pages of time flutter
No sound is heard
I did not see me die.
The stage of the world
Is a disappointment
The curtain is too heavy
And I am too frail.
So look up in the sky
The optimist in I
The bird is caged
The eyes have dried
Still no sound is heard
I did not see you die.

Jesus Christ Pose

Such a beautiful thing a smile is.And happiness makes all of us Jesus-the forgiver.And I want to forgive everyone,including myself in this moment of happiness or at least the absense of sadness.The lightness gives me a high.I find that when I am happy,I don't turn into a social bird;infact outworldy i'm still as aloof as in the moments when I am not happy.But something intrinsic changes.A sense of peace comes upon,an inner quietness decends,which for sometime atleast takes the incessant chatter of the mind.How paradoxical life is,isn't it? I can appreciate these moments of rare silence more than most people who are usually more happy than me.I sit typing away at the keyboard and thinking of how great it is to be happy and at the same time how easy.The hope, which I usually have the habit of denouncing,suddenly seems to be my best friend.How confident one can be in the absoluteness of misery and at the evanescence of happiness.And how wrong.And no doubt Einstein was right about relativity of time.Misery is as fair-weather a friend as happiness,it's just that it seems to bear with us a lot more.Right now,as much as I'm enjoying my solitude,I wouldn't mind if some of you fellow bloggers were here.Including Saby.Infact this article I dedicate to him.He so wanted me to write something happy.So here I am.Jesus-the God.

I still feel profound dislocation in society. I feel disconnected from most people, and it's painful. I think I am quite tormented by the halls of hell I've constructed in my own mind. I realise it's all perception, and mine is fundamentally flawed. I fall within the dark and dangerous structures of my mind too easily, too often. Shaky ground. Rotting structures. I see most things these days in terms of decay. It's not right, not healthy. When I see the beauty of life it moves me to tears. I cry for those things lost, although when they were in the present I was unable to enjoy them due to the fact I was mourning the past past. Catch 22s and spiked paradox wherever you roam. What the hell is the key to peace and contentment? How does one so profoundly change one's perception? Inner peace must be the greatest gift...

You know, I don't believe suicide is an outlet, as tempting as it seems at times. Because I really think that if and when you take your life in such a way, you awaken shortly afterward again to your own mind, your own perception. No escape. Something you must work through, grow.

But I don't know how I'm changing or if I'm growing. I've always been these way, the morbid melancholic. Tormented as a child, and now still as a child in this ageing body. In many ways I just long to escape the body. Shirk this shell.

Shirk this hell.

Sorry for being dramatic, I'm just being too much of myself today. Life is hard. As always

The Unnamed feeling

It shall recover.And who in the turbid world of unknown looks past the shimmer of new and beautiful?.Must be archeologist of the relics or some pirate looking for the booty in the turbulent infinite oceans of gray.The splash of colors is too in-the-face againt the backdrop of black velvety curtain of blandness,and emptiness.The courage to look behind the curtain is rare because madness is hidden,a wild untamed beast,ready to pounce and shread the soul to pieces.And the lonliness of specialness is a burden more heavy than the weight of the world on the shoulders of Atlas.In the darkness of skies unlimited,thousand stars blink-soft,static and utterly desolte.The universe is so big.I am in awe.I fear.

Same old me

I am back.

I thought I wouldn't,but I am.And guess what,I haven't changed much.I thought I will,but I haven't.I still am the same schizoid,fucked up,misfit I always was.So fuck with positive thinking and fuck it all.My creative abilities have left me and I am shameless enough to admit that and still write.Such desperation!

I reckon something HAS changed in a way.I am sorry I jumped the gun when I thought that I was still the same loser I was.I can't handle my loneliness anymore.I used to earlier,now it makes me mad.Madder.

I wish for some kind of connection.You guys who used to read me,were my connection.I hope you guys don't leave me.Haha in a way you can't.cuz you aren't real.I love you unreal people.The real assholes are just too fucked up.

Welcome me back.

Turn the page

How sudden some feelings emerge.how sudden!.And take one in their velvet soft grip and transports one to a facinating ancient land where happiness resided.I use the past tense as happiness seems to be felt more acutely in the hindsight.This is like going into a tunnel of diminishing lights,the last part always seemingly brighter than the present.Alas one can't turn back.
And softly they whisper something
chimes and scents of the past
these angels and demons still exist
amidst the changes they last
So here I close another page
and here I reach so fast
I wish I could have lingered more
but the path is laid,the die is cast.

Thank you 2006.You didn't kill me.Let me see if 2007 measures up.Let me see.

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.

The beginning

The fog is slowly lifting it's veil.And the bright light that shines through seems to be the torch of knowledge,mathematics to be precise.I have always been facinated by the"absolutes",and all the societal absolutes like death and God and virtues and morals seemed always to me to be standing on a very shallow ground.I found that all my beliefs when tested came out as croppers.And I,like a manic,wanted to test each of 'em.It disappointed me and broke my heart--all the shattering of core beliefs,but I wanted to know the truth of absolutes.From whence this craving came,I do not know.It certainly wasn't genetics.And it drove me to extremes,and a whole range of medicines followed(only cuz my dad had the means).But I feel that the fog has been lifting now.I haven't found the absolutes yet,but the cravings have mellowed.maybe the fire inside which was an inferno is turning a placid blueish bonfire.It usually marks the end,isn't it?The end of all destruction when everything is broken down and decimated.But also the arrival of something fresh in it's place.I hope,and though hope has been the most evanescent of 'em all,but I still hope that the destruction is over and there won't be any attempt#15.

The Intolerable hissings of an unquiet mind

To no one else from the underearth
this is what I write
and delete and contemplate and delete again
for the lack of structure is beautiful
in music and movies
of a greyish hue,some diffused foucs
of the aperture,I guess
Some slow jazz song flows softly,peacefully
"Mr.Happy thats what I want to be",he sings
I,sitting cross legged,under many colored stars
blink-blink,they smile lovingly at me
poise and grace are the virtues
of greek statues,dead and cold
The tangents of the fishing chord
in one giant sweep will fill
the galaxies with harmonies,in odd symmetries
and new languages will emerge
from the fragrance of plastic flowers
the fields of which will house the cross
of pain,blood and purple orchids
Until some mathematical conjectures
will dismiss the hysteria
or unleash a new religion of perfect numbers
and the Golden ratios will emerge again
in tattoos on the arm of Spainards
and the snail shells of Corsica
Until then my dear mind
fly,as there is no tomorrow and
Beethoven's Ninth Symphony is overrated.

Attempt#14

A million space-ages ago

the sacred fire glowed

ruffled the dry autumn leaves

ancient memories stored

Delicate structures come and go

infinitines seem too slow

maybe the day has come my love

when the daffodils grow

And while the ocean sighs and breathes

and summerbirds sing in tow

I just think of happier days

the blade in hand I throw