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.

10 Commandments

It's a tough task.For me to write something which is humourous,is as difficult as asking Pamela Anderson to get viewership with her boob job de-siliconed.I shall try however.I have been asked to write on the nuances of the dating game that I have been a part of.I have been lucky(??) to have dated handful of girls atleast.The recollection of the disasters and the obvious adventures which had gone past was amusing.I hereby present a brief summary of what I percieve girls want .I shall warn the readers of this piece that the points I assemble here aren't a gurantee of sucess with 100% of girls,there are 1% who can see through the mask.My own opinion on these points are a subject of another writeup,If i ever feel upto it that is; but what I can assure is I have seen countless girls melt by these superficial acts of wooing.With utter disgust and amusment of myself...I bring to you-

THE TEN COMMANDMENTS OF THE DATE GAME

1. Thou shalt be rich/famous or both.
A merc. and an armani suit would take ya places.But the not-born-with-a-silver-spoon-in-their-mouths kids needn't frown.The rent a car and borrowing Versace jacket from your wealthy childhood pal would be a good idea too.If she tells you that she cares a damn about money and just loves the person that is you, tell her that when you guys go out you'd be taking her out to your favourite eating joint that serves food to all the truck drivers and the-like and it gives the best value for money(your 100 rs note),you'd know the difference b/w said and unsaid words.

2. Thou shalt be goodlooking.
Yeah we know looks are relative and all that crap.So relatively speaking you have to be better looking than the girl's best friend's lover.If not..tough luck dude.

3. Thou shall seek to understand first.
Yeah thats the complete commandment.Don't even think that there is a latter part 'and then seek to be understood'.And so what if everyone says that a female is the hardest thing to understand after Theory of Relativity(some think Relativity is a the close second).

4.Thou shalt not forget.
Birthdays,anniversaries,your first meeting,the first time she said hello to you,name of her favourite flower,animal,uncle,cousin,color and the list goes on and on...

5.Thou shalt compliment profusely.
Borrow from the latest movies,songs and some ol time poets of the romantic era.The more times you say that you love her and need her more than the desert needs the rain(and don't start thinking about if deserts get the rain they wouldn't be deserts anymore and ultimately loose their identity..just say the words)

6.Thou shalt not compare.
Don't tell her how different she is from your ex or how your ex used to react/act in the same situation as hers.She would smile on the front but in her head she'd be saying 'the clown is still not over that snotty b*@#h..they deserve each other'

7.Thou shalt not bring work home.
Don't tell her how your number crunching/analytical thinking saved your company from a financial diaster.She knows that the show does go on.And she knows that you've done a good job...big deal?She herself is swimming with the sharks in the office.

8.Thou shalt not be judgemental.
So you think the dress she's wearing is too skimpy and outrageous? Get a life man,thats what the fashion channels are showing and whats more that trend is just catching on.And if on the other hand you think the dress is too old fashined..well..the old values are what one should live by.Transient fads are for shallowers.

9.Thou shalt not be jealous.
All the male friends she talks about are her 'good friends'.How narrowminded of you if you think otherwise.And if you however tell her about your female 'good friends',there must be something wrong with the world..two-timing was a thing to be ashamed of in the good ol' days.

10.Thou shalt follow the 9 commandments religiously
~Amen~

Distorted Visions

The flutter of eyelids; drooping tired eyelids has an almost sensual movement.I feel spacey in my head light in my spirit.It has to be the Vodka in my lemonade.My eyes are beautiful.They have been called voids of infinite sadness by someone who knew me intimately.The duality of voidand infinity is beautifully demonstrative of the superficial facts of existance.I float in my own world so soft cotton clouds and feel hurt by the spikes of the rugged mountains of grim reality.I like the silence of the treetops as i linger over ya'll.If i were a giant i would have stomped ya'll from life.Death in huge numbers,would cultivate the fodder for the flowers of beauty to bloom.I would love the flowers...i just hate you all.Why don't you die? Why ..

But death is too beautiful.And beauty is not for ya'll.Rot,and rot until the carcass of your moth eaten dead body withers in the blazing sun.I shall feast and rejoice,and bath in the holy aqua of tears.

Core

This day is spiked with heat but no warmth can thaw my icy centre. The all-pervading emptiness reinstates its authority, focusing its intensity on what now feels like my coreless core.

I feel lost, wounded and meaningless. I can’t envision my own story. Hope seems hopeless, but a strand still says it can’t be. All dualities merge in this singular track of tears forged down my cheeks.And this salty stream may represent hope, for salt is always representative of hope, so goes the saying: “The cure for everything is saltwater – sweat, tears, or the sea.” I forget whom it’s by.

Though it reminds me of one of my own, alluding to a balsamic moon that bleeds as I thread my love through pinhole stars and weave light over darkness. Stark dualities and this strange preoccupation… A search for oneness, wholeness, Truth. Pelted with night’s dark, morbid kisses that fall like starlight but sear black holes into my soul. It’s as if Heaven had been approaching from a distance for so long – at first too long, but casting a luminous flame of hope on the horizon. As its presence neared its beauty became clearer to these eyes, but the closer it got the harder the sheer extent of the beauty was to take in. When you’re not ready for beauty so extreme, it blinds you. And so when Heaven was literally upon me, I had little choice but to stub its dreams out on my core, leaving the deepest part of myself with welting sores. Holes of gaping darkness – voids – where I had been touched by Heaven… Spaces where ecstasy and wonderment should reside.

This strain of melancholy is intrinsically pertinacious, and while I hope to be rid of it in a matter of moments I realistically consider the likely alternative; that is, a succession of days at least. My pestilential mental vacillations are certainly becoming more extreme, abrupt and lasting now that I’m older. Fuck all of that though.

Crushed Glasses

Cocooned by infinite space, these planets, these stars… these fragile fires, are but embryos formed within the womb of God. Our dark maternal universe, perpetually birthing multitudinous manifestations. Eternally renewing its hermaphroditic divinity.

I was always so preoccupied with describing the state beyond depression – the state beneath it. The most intensified emotional experience and paradoxically the least: that of emptiness, nothingness, and absence. The seemingly least significant and yet ultimately the most productive and ennobling experience of them all. To plumb the depths of that dark, downward route to Hell is to travel more deeply than one’s capacity for emotion. Hell isn’t society’s notion of pain; it’s a void, and nothingness the sharpest pain of all.

I am not scouring the ever-upward thrusting air of a never-ending pit at present. I am enduring a docile state of sorts, whereby I await oncoming storms and the tornadoes of existential vacuums with my ears sharply pricked. This fish-womb senses it in the peace of her waters before the torrent hits. I feel no reverberations at present.

Though I do feel slightly subdued. My many moods and I… Many friends, or enemies. Who knows? It’s hard to know who to trust - moods excluded. In fact I never trust my moods, they’re less reliable than most people are. It is only their flippancy that I can rely upon.

Requiem to a dream

A shameless narcisscism.I am tired again.Yeah I have decided to let go of music.Music has been a special friend to me all this time.It's difficult to let go of friends,but sometimes when you can't seem to enjoy the 'soul' of something as mystical as music,yoou should let it go.It's unlike life,where even when sometimes there are moments of despair,there is always a hope of joy.The limitless deserts of life have oasis of thirst quenching waters.But music? it dies in one's soul.It used to burn in me,crying withing me,exploding out of my vocal tracts and guitars.But now,i feel a icy stillness.The ashes burn with smouldering light and a pristine light sometimes ignites the few streaks still unburnt.Still..I was asked to perform once again.I accepted and then again,the night before I found myself writing this:

Heavy thoughts due to tiredness still strained enough to be disjointed. A lazy kind of erraticism. These eyelids weigh heavily upon my soul, and with their every silent flutter I feel it move in agitated resignation. When the windows to this soul shut I pale from consciousness, succumbing to the darkness which I no longer adventurously plumb. The stasis now draws me in like the sea, entombing me in quiescent solitude. I am beyond questioning, and instead choose to sit in silence. No will, no care. No energy left…

And that was the writing on the wall.I ,with a heavy heart left my friend ..the music into the infinite consciousness from which it decended on me.I still might play,the flame might still ignite.But as for now..R.I P my beautiful friend.

"This is the end Beautiful friend
This is the end My only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes...again "-----Jim Morrison

My Poem(another one)

~~In the name of Love~~

Hold on ,the rustling river flows
whispers of sacred lullabies
float and die and float again.
The great pity of a soulful lament
agnoy of a beautiful smile
merge into the limitless skies.
Are we born--untamed and unkempt
the chants of the ancients..a warning
we stand ,we dither and we are frail
we dissolve in the murkiness of oblivion
are you with me?are you gonna laugh too?
The candle sighs it's last breath
and the untamed beast in me lurks
for a soft petal to touch and to smile
a dangerous,foolish,delicate beast.
The drops of love are few and far
in this lonesome desert of pleasure
and the cactus and the carcass of the dead
reminds us--of festivities..forgotten
Are you with me,my wonderful friends
the ashes of my past fly astray
and my future laughs a dismissive laugh
a many hued butterfly of thousand wings
flutters among you,and touch my lips
and the poison of it's sweetness
makes me shake away the deadness in me
I stand proud,erect and ready to crumble
And you won't let me..in the name of love.

this is the poem i wrote in the backseat of the car,last wintery evening.I think fog is so beautifully creativity-inducing.I have a very vivid imagination and i could actually SEE this huge butterfly. and the wonderful friends are all of you in IT,who bear with me despite my obvious madness and quirks.

I wish i could hug ya'll.But I wont----Lyane Staley (Alice in Chains)

Fury

Thinking ,and I mean clear and logical thinking does not come naturally to me.I have several cobwebs in the brain which are utterly monstrous and filled with pathos,sometimes meandering into the abyss of the flowing darkness sometimes taking me into the heights of oblivion.The mercurial temprament notwithstanding,I do have occasions of blind fury.A sudden stab of a clod slithering anger pushes me into the place where everything is molten.a white fuming metal,flowing slowly,aimlessly..destroying everything in its path.A complete annihilation of everything.Anger is such a purifying agent.Yeah I think it's more of a cleansing agent.Destruction is such a vital force,a steping stone to creation.From the ashes of the destroyed world will arise the phonenix of beauty.

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.

rainy reflections

Shall we not rejoice that another day has passed.The glimmer in the distant star that's fading in front of my drowsy eyes make the approaching daylight more poignant,more mysterious.Speechless,I often wonder,are the hours before the daybreak--heralding a day filled with activity and choatic murkiness.Not every silence is so beautiful.I wonder why.Maybe the stars that are dying as the arrogant sun raises his powerful head in the horizon,are singing a sweet melodious tune.The fading moon orchestrates a requiem.There is a subdude vibrancy in this hour.Death of another day,and the birth of a new one.The cycle is neverending.The small raindrops are the tears which the clouds shed.Too heavy their hearts with the infinite melancholy of the turgid earthlings.Amidst the little droplets that flock to the glass of my window,obscuring my complete view..I witness my own face.The little droplets seem to be my own tears as I stare blankly at the glass.it's a face unadorned with emotions,a tired face is what I see.And I tremble with fear in my innermost depths.The tip of the ciggarate looks so alive in the glass reflection.A small fire reminicent of the fire that glows in me.A small fire which is slowly consuming the thin package in which it burns.The ash falls.The glass window is too crowded with the tiny droplets now.I can't see my own reflection anymore.There is a silent drop which just fell on my hand.I am startled.It came from my eye.

A love letter(visit me in dreams)

Their icy glares mean nothing. Meet me in dreams as sleep runs through our veins, and we will traverse worlds that lie beyond the shadows of these tear-stained skies and scar-scattered skies. Where with hearts as full as moons we will soar to songs made of eternally sparkling spires, carefully etched with the truths of our universe and with the unspoken sonnets of lasting love. We will find infinity in small spaces and we will understand previously concealed meanings with the kind of lucidity once believed impossible. We will dance bathed in light as the dark and dilated pupil of night watches on, in cold and distant silence.
And we shall dance,rejoice in each other.Two solitary dancers,or one?And then we would lose ourselves and be the dance.And the infinite gazes of the million stars would watch us in wonder.Draping our naked flesh in their soft milky light and we shall feel safe.Safe in each other and the light will kindle in our hearts,warming and melting the ice that would eventually drown us in oceans of love..those frozen pieces.And then will you come with me flying to a new territory.And we shall break our chains even from the stars.And find our home in pitch darkness.Where I would shine in your light and you will shine in mine

I shall visit you in the morpheous of dreams

Withering Flowers

There is a sense of irony in what I am going to write.The happiness which is so sacred to all of us,always brings with it a sense of clinging.And I wonder what great longing is there amongst us mortals over this slippery delusion called happiness.It's so touching and so beautiful--our longing.I always find people loving flowers.Bright cheerful flowers which are adorned with dewdrops in the morning bring involuntary smiles in the hearts of people.I was passing by this garden this beautiful evening.The flowers stood in their grandeour,proudly looking at the sun--sun which was obscured by the clouds.They looked pretty and arrogant.And I seemed to love them.And then I saw on the edge some old flowers..yellow in their age and brittle in their wisdom.Bowing heads.Those beautiful withering flowers.I loved them even more.Their bowed heads were not bowed in shame.It was an understanding that pride just hurts one's neck.No one loves withering flowers.Someone has to like them.

Someone has to find happiness and more.

I choose myself to be that ONE.

Contrasts

I am tired.And yet in my tired state of consciousness I am typing at the keys of the computer.The cold weather always has this aura of making me tired.I think I am just finding scapegoats.Oh well,weather seems to be a nice pick.It won't be pointing it's fingers at me and shout "It's your fault."...did i hear a thunder outside?.The strange lethargy that has engulfed me also gives me a hidden sense of comfort I reckon.As I look around my room,the dim lights and the strange soft and almost whispering music of Pink Floyd and the marron colours of the carpet makes the light coming out of the computer screen stand in stark contrast.I like to look away from the screen from time to time,soaking in the hues of the enviornment and the music.How desolate life would be without a contrast.It's only the sharp glow which comes from the screen makes the surrounding appear more soothing than they really are.The absolute tiredness makes the dream of a fresh morning all the more lucid.The seemless allpervasive apathy makes the few stolen moments of happines linger all the more forever.I love the contrasts.

The clouds are thundering again ..almost cutting down the voice of Roger Waters singing ~~ who are you and who am I, to know the reason why.Some men born and some men die,beneath one infinite sky.There be war and there be peace.And everything one day will cease.All the iron turn to rust,all the good men turn to dust.All things one day will mend,so this song will end~~

And so this piece ends.

Catty Smiles

Sometimes it just takes a very small gesture to feel loved.And come to think of it life is full of these small moments which go unnoticed in the blur of activites our tiny brains are thinking up.And suddenly a jolt comes,which shake us of our mechanical zombieness,makes us realise the interconnectedness of our beings.I was watching my little cat playing cheerfully with a small ball in my living room.I was sitting placidly on the sofa,smoking my last piece of cigarette,and thinking of things.I was being envious of the abandon of the little creature,eyeing her with growing discomfort.I threw the ashtray at her,the glass ashtray breaking with a violent noise and jostling her for a moment.She looked at me,as if surprised at my anger,and I could see the fear in her eyes.At that instant I felt a limitless remorse..my heart going heavy and dark and angry at myself for interrupting her joyful playing.She didn't move and kept looking at me.I wanted to pick her up and sit her on my lap,saying sorry to her.But I was dead tired and exhausted with my manic-depressive attacks.I kept sitting on the sofa.She moved slowly towards me and before I could move my hand to call her..she was on my lap,licking my face as if telling me "I know you are one angry,violent and stupid man.i love you still".My eyes almost welled up with tears.Such moments are so rare.I had a good sleep last night.

man is the dream of butterflies

Behold
Behold the wonder of a sweet smile
the sunshine of the Gods
and the twilight of a fading life
no more are the tears--of pain.

Awake
Awake to a dream of fancy
where the lullabys are soft
and the realities of the deep wounds
shimmer and mingle into our deepest pasts.

Dread
Don't you feel a dread too?
The scents of a barren land
seeth into the webs of beauty
and I breathe,still smiling--sweetly.

Dance
Dance to a tune of a distant festival
and the glory of our spirits
drift into the flowing rivers
awash with the freshness of a start.

And then when it comes to it all
it's all a great circle
the endless rivers,the ceaseless murmer
the golden memories,and falling butterflies
wings torn,and yet they look into the sky
to fly,to not die---to smile
.
Aren't we all falling butterflies.?

Poem in E minor

Along the swirling trees of lonesome pain
A leaf glittered and sighed
Without a raindrop of salty tears
The weeping willow cried
Come hither now, you sacred one
The oceans roar and shout
The seagulls look in lazy ease
Behold! my soul it flies.
And free I roam--above the stars
happy as a dream
fructured lives and bleeding pasts
in cocoons of the mist.
For all the angels and all who're not
I clap my hands with glee
they sing a song of cheerful mirth
their tears float in the winds.
I will not drown in apathy
I will not burn in flames
I will rise from the newborn ashes
I will be happy again