A new level

No more the stars shine bright
in the icy waters of hope
and strangely dark are the whispers
that rustled the ancient leaves
mockery of exotic memories
flagging in a mere static of a vast,uncluttered
universal mind of a sleeping baby.
One wonders what lies beyond and more
the alternate truths.
and the immaculate,absolute lies
of glistening lips and seducing
ebony eyelashes;enchanting aren't they?
myrid foxholes and closed alleys
just a flicker of my eyes
and i sense a murder,a betryal of soul.
no two pages fold exactly alike
no signs of life.no sighs.

Megalomania

The stellar heights are intimidating and so are the sacred depths.A wishbone would be helpful.The dark secrets of the ancients always facinated me.Secret societies and their facinating rituals have an allure of their own.Either this or the simple cleanliness of machines.I love huge factories as much as i love ancient castle-relics.A walkdown in the factory of my dad when i was 7 is still vivid in my mind.The place looked so beautiful in the night,with sky high roofs and lines and lines of machines.The place that looked so dead in the night would be throbbing with sounds and click-clacks in the day,throwing out stories and predictions and encapsulations and all.The smell of the ink was beautiful and i wanted to hug everyone who invented any damn machine.A world inhabited with machines seemed a perfect utopia to me back then.I have grown more selfish now.it has to be just me,me and me and the whole damn space.

Envy

I am envious of anyone who is better than me.Anyone who looks more handsome and there isn't any resemblance with me,anyone who can write better,anyone who can make music better,anyone who can invent,do math,make beautiful paintings,or have more balanced(or even more eccentric)behaviors,is like an enemy to me sometimes.Those are the moments of lunacy when i want to be ALL.they don't last long,but they do come and go.it's strange and confusing.

Look ma! No sun

Anything which is sad has no right to exist.Anything which is ugly must die,without rotting.I am in a state of mind of peace and my thoughts are destructive.The world,if I were a giant,would have been my playground and I would have loved to kick and annihilate buildings and people alike.I am tired of poetry as it seems such a waste.

The winds blow with a dead ease
a wicked calm seeps
and forever the echoes scream
a long deep well.no ends
Where are the heavens and hells
and where is Christ
hanging loosely in Gucci underwear
a passion thats wasted.
Techicolor leaves which we crumble
everyday without remorse
a large buffet is laid
without heads without thoughts
Beware my masters I am tired
and I will explode the myth
on a dreamy sunday,i'll kill you all
and never wake up from my unborn dream

I like writing bad poetry sometimes and I still can't botch it ALL.I am not displeased with it,it's just in my blood not to mutilate something completely.A sudden thought just came into my mind.What if there was no sun.There must have been life,somehow from where? I don't know but lets say there IS life and NO sun.I would be so happy.Beautiful sunless afternoons.Let people die of cold.The bodies don't smell foul when they die like that.

Balloons

When the designs of a greater God imply we must flow,who are we to resist.A thousand helium balloons suspened midair without chords.The utter uselessness of such existence!.And such tranquility.Neither the great journey upwards now the limp decent downwards is liked.To break a perfect synchronity is ugly.But the ecstacy of being free is beautiful.The trajectory maybe wayward and the end near as the helium esacpes,but the abandon is worth it.Eventually the lone balloon will fall down and will be scorned by the assortment who never fell,never feel and never flew.They however will never know the pleasure of heights.It's not the point.The point is,breaking free is ugly.The gaps make the bunch look ridiculous.And unity is strength.No wind shakes the united.They stand proud,protected and secure.

Farewell my love.

For all the golden silences
don't you sit alone and stare,too
visit the rumble again
and again in the mindfields.
Poppies flutter and dust flows
vast arid landscapes
where many a green memories
and discolored photograps sleep.
Razor sharp stains,deep and red
I think I heard a laugh
a lovely crecent,reminicent of love
When love turns to stone
and stones to dust,a shadow flies
halts and decends and cries
A weeping child a brooding man
an eclactic mix.
Vibrancy is the state of my mind
and madness is abandoned
For all her shouts,the disowned
bastard child must die a lonely death
A death she planned for me.
Goodbye old lover.Good riddance.

Lust and Love

Feels a little safer now,soft cushion safety.How many lies lurk beneath the ultimate truth.And every smattering of a libidinous desire confronts a dead end of unquenched thirst.Is that someone i'd bed tomorrow too or i'd be too bored?.Is this a sign of life or a sign of deadness,to not want?.Love still sits in her shrine,a dark glow around her.She is innocent in her virginty,the pure of her blood staining her from the insides.And she is dull,restless and beautiful.Almost fragile,except the fire in her which makes her a little quirky.Ofcourse they would misunderstand her.The Gods would be clubbed with devils.Thats what they always wanted it.The line between God and the Devil to be decimated.Slowly she raises her eyes and I see a look of laughter.She mocks at them and confides in me.I kill myself everytime I go for such casual adventures and with an expertness of experience,I make it appear happy.Such lies i am capable of.

In motion I looked under the stars
Sheets of dark stain,moist
are they the acts of love of war
or venting pain the vacant eyes hoist.

I suck at rhyming.But they make sense.to me.And thats the only thing that matters.

The great wave

Sand-castles are perfect,arent they.Beautiful,transient phases finally crumbling back to where they originated..sameness,dead sand-sea.The moment that hurts is the last near-perfect image of completion.Something grandiose in it.And wistfulness at the imagery of what might have been,could have been.Until a great wave comes along.And then you look back at the remains and can still see the castles you were building,which to any other passerby would appear as sticky deformed mud.A tear drop in the eye,prisms the sunlight into multi-colors and the movie rolls back..flash-back,or just life flashing before your eyes.Is it time to go?.But you do want to hold on.The incompleteness hurts you.And you know when completion happens,you would want to go.The castle would form again,but then the picture of destruction is what you can't escape from.And yeah,you can build something thats destroyed but what of the image that still haunts you--of destruction,even when rebuilding is over.

Guess whos back

i am back.It has been a most demanding month for me.To finally feel that you've come to the end of the road and nothing but a deep pit awaits you,to suck you in.. and then to return.It's a great feeling.Something like being reborn.Am I talking like some new age Christian?. I don't know.maybe.It's not religion though,which I am talking of.And Jesus certainly didn't appear before me to tell me "Son you are gonna be saved".It's just that..fuck it.
I am sick of my anger.And its so confusing.I am the calmest of the people at times and sometimes the blinding rage grips me.Those moments are short but they are disaster.there are answers I seek.Infact I feel i know the answers,it's the lack of character in me to implement those answers which infuriates me.There is so much thats wrong in me and I am still not perfectly wrong.This is what I always wanted.Perfection.

I am having an escapist dream these days.To run to some place..some Buddhist place maybe.Tibet ..where there aren't many human beings and be a monk there.Or maybe a samurai.I don't want any attention.I am thru' with my cravings for it.I always despised attention in a way.Because they don't understand.Not those who watched the shows and shout like mad for an encore,saying"ooh Kurt Cobin/Jim Morrison's angst..",nor those who would read a poetry and exclaim "beautiful! sadly beautiful." and most certainly not those who said"ah! another young rot shouting for attention".I kinda sought the truth..maybe there are many truths.

And yeah I missed you all.

After forever

Age is killing life's magic. I don't want to look at life this way. Things fail to excite me now. It all comes down to such trivial, mundane denominators. The human-animalistic senses and subsequent urges: hunger - more food; thirst - more drink; tired - more sleep; cold - more shelter; libido - more sex. And these trivial senses become distorted and exacerbated thus leading to greed in the extreme and compelling people to do things like drugs, murder, rape, corporate whoring, prostitution in every imaginable sense of the word and cosmetic surgery. And the worst part is, I can understand it, but my empathy isn't empathy per se as it lacks the essential ingredient of compassion. And empathy, as far as my definition of it goes, is understanding with compassion. I understand the implications and the urges so well, but I simply feel sickened that others are reduced to these states. It's like, I want more from them all... From everyone. More than I could be. More, so much more than I am.

Seaside echoes

I watched this sad movie sometime back(the name I can hardly recall); a true story about a Spanish man named Ramon Sampedro; a quadriplegic who had wanted to die for years and was finally euthanised with the help of some friends. He used to write, and I transcribed a poem of his which had been translated into english. I found it beautiful.

Out to sea
Out to sea and in the weightlessness of the deep
Where dreams come true
Two souls unite to fulfill a single wish
Your gaze and mine over and over
Like an echo repeating itself silently
Deeper and deeper
Beyond everything that is flesh and blood
But I always awaken
And I always wish for death
My lips forever entangling in your hair

Fade on forever

I woke up late,being tired
and rolled out the faded leaves of winter
obscene are the green tinges
which still hang on;a foetus love
an aborted childbirth.such mutation!
Love,love,love my bitter pill
antidoting the morphine sweetness
winds of gust and hate
the leaf trembles,quivers and slants.

To stand rapt at the nostalgia
of the fluttering flags of defeat,a paradox eh?
but so is the happy laughter of childhood
Thanksgiving meals included.
Inject in me the liquid of calmness
a coalblack syrup to make viscous
the emptiness
fleeting like a ghost-child.
crumbling dead leaf.
Smouldering edges of my name.
Ashes to ashes,dust to dust.

O Heart! O pera!

It sleeps and wakes and sleeps again
the tune in my head
sounds whirls,in reclusive twirls
fast-paced;ticking of a Swiss watch.

Heavy armoured headiness
and the words come bolting out
You are so beautiful.My fragile angel.
lunar globes;charming and waif like.

The flicker of eyelids,pale and spacey
saucers in white nightsky
The veins of the sky,crimson and thin
only if you look; deep and closely.

And a thin smile surfaces,a hint
incompletes are profound operas,and sad.
There are no characters save one
and no audience;not even the one.

Skies

The gentle sting of the outside rain; a silent hymn,
lush lullaby, imparted by this our sky: Infinite and
encircling, shared heaven.

Porcelina of the ocean blue

The locus of all things tangile are shimmering.And in the earthly nights,I touch stones with my naked fingers.The chill of the fog-wetness on the smoothness of the stones permeates my bones.And she rips open my ribcage,moving into my heart.A porcelain statue,wearing an emrald necklace,she is the angel of all things darkly beautiful.White in her purity,the darkness around her eyes seem unreal.A gothic eyemakeup?.But it's real.As real as the crystal mirrors on the heartcaves.The ocean-flower blossoms and sleeps again.A fragilty which can't bear reality too much,even underwater reality.A transient reality,like the smell of incense.Nah,not the smell but the hint of a smell in the smoke.It moist my eyes and the lovely smile almost breaks my heart.A small crack,which makes the heart look all the more vulnerable but all the more beautiful.It's time to dive naked into happiness.Drenched in the dewdrops of happiness,a mind is born.A parallel mind.Two rail tracks,parallel and moving to some unending destination.I shall rest when the journey is over.I'll sleep like a baby.In a canpoy of sweet lullabys,I'll sleep until the world ends.And then I'll love the taste of this earth.

Echoes of carelessness

This is something which i wrote when I didn't take my meds for a day.It makes no real sense and my writing was all scribbly.I am at horrors at the dependence we have on medicines.Sometimes it seems easy to throw the towel.But oh well,just another med and I'm okay.



and why should I even care?

The whole ridiculous motion of universe has its own trajectory.Motionless are the drops in the crystal glass of lifetime.Why do I let these teardrops collect?Maybe blooddrops.And the scars of a sharp pain remain.It's a disgust to contemplate the banal motion of universe,but it's less boring than feeling the weight of one's eyelids and wondering why a skin tissue might someday feel so heavy.A cotton-soggy heaviness.A wet heaviness.

but why should I care?

Period.

I will

The Sound of Eyes

Our eyes will spill the secrets of our strength,
reflected and viewed only in the eyes of our 'other'.

Each other.

Our love only ever momentarily wilting in the shade,
until the sun of those open eyes shines again.

Crime

There must be a point there besides the open window where freedom lies.It glides and sithers into turmoil. A slippery road.I've fallen many times I know. From the vantage point I deliberate and let the sun drip it's dark shadow.Drop by drop. And I drink it.Open mouthed. Like a newborn sucking the milk of numbness. There are so many windows and so many roads,beyond. And I'd gladly walk If the shade of love canopies over me. Alas! I ask too much. Love conspires with the sun many a times.And leave sunspots. Ugly and unmaskable. And still in the moonlight of lonliness. I look at them lovingly.My children. They,of untamed joy and serene happiness.A constant reminder of my crime. I killed 'em. They were newborn.

No more

To move into a slow phase
I rather stand at the gates

And no one can see thru
locked are the soul-mirrors

Rough boney fingers,streching
and a little more,for a grasp.

When you take everything out of nothing
nothingness still survives.

For such is the effect of love
and such is the effect of wine

Casually I send spiralling puffs
tracks of long lost years they leave.

Steady the ocean which heaves
in the eyes of the beholder

No more I care for release
I surrender to my abode

I hold my head high
where the silences shriek and hopes die.