थोड़ा और

इस इत्तेफ़ाक़ को थोड़ा और परख लेते

आरज़ू में ज़िंदगी बिताई 

थोड़ा और ठहर लेते 

कुछ इस परवाने का भी हाल समझ लेते

Fragile Glue

hung their baggage,
upon a branched high tree,
on the corner road,
in a far away city.
travel light now.

scenes from a distant past
and the dreams of a distant future
both,
called upon to bide some time,
ironically,
'twas running all the time.

the longings having turned
into an uprooted sense of belonging
the heart doesn't, skip a beat,
now, when their eyes meet

as they meet and depart,
carrying with them,
chunks of their broken hearts
carefully glued, by a thing, maybe, two
look at them;
poor guys used a fragile glue.

Perfume

On my way back home, i happened to share a cab with this lady. My humble guess is she must have been, perhaps, a couple of years older than me.  
It was almost sunset and days were already getting shorter in this part of the world. A few birds may or may not have been returning to their nests.  Nevertheless, as i sat blissfully enchanted by the bustling traffic outside, a sudden wave of fragrance swept me off my feet!
Not that i never had had the chance to admire the scent of a woman before; just that this particular fragrance, which i do not have a name for, seemed insanely  familiar. I had already lost track of whatever-not-so-exciting-world-domination-plan i was conjuring up and my brain had started wandering the convoluted memory lanes trying to remember that smell. The harder i thought, further away the answer went.
To add on to my misery, every now and then a fresh wave of the same fragrance would come sweeping down from somewhere with that re-circulated air. I hammered my head for almost an hour but to no avail. It killed me.

Even a dissolute me couldn't come up with a shrewd/brilliant idea to ask her about the fragrance. A flash of genius had told me that asking could be creepy.

Though i don't see myself sniffing around women, asking about the perfume they have been wearing, any time soon, i still wait to magically dream about having spent time with that fragrance before !

Coffee, Wilson.

And i asked myself- would it be too bad if she just agrees to make hot coffee for me for the rest of my life ?
With twinkling eyes, of course !

I have no maturity to speak of. If only i could read out to you the letters i wrote. But that would be wrong on so many levels. Also, i never really considered keeping a copy. If you give it a thought, why would one think of keeping a copy in the first place ! That would just be sad.
True that.

I am a huge fan of Steven Wilson and i am deeply intrigued by his obsession with trains and women, the subjects in many of his songs. A musician poet kills ! For good.
During an interview, with reference to the ubiquitous gloom and negativity in most his compositions, when asked if he was a negative person in real life, responded that he was quite the complete opposite and in fact shoving out all that despair and darkness through his music made him a much more positive person. Food for thought. I would like to believe that too for as and when and if, ever, i write super-gloomy-sadist stuff.

My little imagination has stopped taking me too far these days.

I tell new people about the highway  these days.

Haunted

Stream of incessant thoughts, blissful whispers, haunt me
Its early morning, too early a morning, might i add, a haunted one too
Images flash, those from an unsettling era, when its way past midnight
All the ironic abstractions that language could not articulate
found expression in my achingly active brain
Vivid, quite vivid, certainly so
A tempestuous adulthood, unfinished business, a rather cold man
Or just another empty sleepless night?

Climbing out and gasping for breath,
the heart pleads the brain to cease thinking
An apologetic cry for a little mercy, perhaps
But a carnage was too likely on the cards. The odds, you see

of a helpless creature, winning a battle in a tenebrous fight
I am an insect, without the brain, maybe not even that
Outwitted, and hideously so, when its way past midnight

एक गुज़ारिश

बादलों ने उस रात एक साज़िश की
मिट्टी के घरों पे बस बारिश हुई
सर्द हवाओं ने फिर खिलवाड़ किया
बरसात में आसुंओं का था नामों-निशाँ कहाँ
बेबस कांपती निगाहों ने एक गुज़ारिश की

अगले जीवन में ऐसा धोखा न हो
मेहनत से परहेज़ नहीं,
संघर्ष से गिला नहीं
पर ज़िन्दगी 'जीने' का एक मौका तो हो

-

Third-rate comfort

We need to talk. We need to shout, yell at one another. I need to be angry. We need to say worthless things. You and I. Nasty things. Give me reasons to hate your living guts. I will give you plenty to hate mine. Let ugly things be said, be exaggerated. Let things that make no sense be said. I need you to scream at me. Tell me how useless, pathetic I am. Tell me what an asshole I have been. I will tell you what a bitch you have been. I will tell you how you disgust me to the core of my deranged existence. You tell me how you get repulsed by the mere thought of me. You need to laugh at my sorry state. Let me be thrilled by your miserable life. Let's get hysterical about it. Tell me how big a loser i am. Tell me how rotten my jokes are, how appalling my touch is. Offend me.  I will tell you how numb your brain is. How fucked up your thought is. Let's be angry. Let's be agitated. Let me be sickened by the sound of your name. Let's break a few things. Let's dance in the gloominess of it all. Let a million strangers be amused at this spectacle. Let the wretched broken thing be crushed to dust. Let it be thrown in the dirt. In the dumps.
Let's torture the memories. Let's kill the wonder. Let's disgrace happiness. Burn it.
Let's be ashamed by the idea of one another. Let 'vain' be tattooed on our foreheads. Let's do some lasting damage. Let's be monstrous. Let's be free.

all that's left - spock's beard

So, these people wrote this song before i could :P
Anyways, no hard feelings- tough competition, must say :P

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8mWvxlRLCO4&feature=related

In dreams I reach to touch your perfect face again
In dreams you never cry or walk away
But I wake to the truth like daylight streaming in
I never found the way, the words to make you stay

Photographs and falling leaves
Scattered dust of memories 
The poems I wrote I still believe
That's All That's Left of You and Me


I found a flower in a book you hid away
In better days that seem so long ago
I tried to touch it but it crumbled in my hand
Just like the future we would never know


Photographs and falling leaves
Scattered dust of memories 
The poems I wrote I still believe
That's All That's Left of You and Me

Echoes of a better time
Ring forever in my mind
Where I'm going where I've been
Different places in the end


Photographs and falling leaves
Scattered dust of memories 
The poems I wrote I still believe
That's All That's Left of You and Me


- Spcok's Beard 

The girl with a golden smile

across the woods, against the breeze
the scent of something beautiful, rushed through my mind
if only i could tell the whistling breeze
it had just been with the girl with golden eyes

she was the fragrance that swept
the feather of joy, the freshness of  dew
if only the poor ignorant roses knew
the world had other beautiful, more beautiful things too

her smile could could have dwarfed
the morning sunshine, the evening rain, the stars shining bright
if only i could tell the summer night
the girl with golden eyes, had walked by my side

more vibrant than a musical note

she was the song, i had always wished i would write

if only the oceans, the fountains knew

they would have merrily drowned in her eyes

strands of hair, glazed her lovely face
she was the poem hath the poets forever craved
she was much more than my verse could fit
she was spring, she was autumn, flutter of life unseen

Silent Gunshot

His life was abruptly interrupted and thrown off to a very far away land by an inevitable piece of news from a very unlikely source. Even in a state of unpreparedness, there was a moment of articulate numbness.
It was over within a few seconds, much more casually than ever thought of. More like a sudden death by gunshot to your head. Painless.
They had been walking all the while, and now climbing through the familiar staircase, heading towards a dingy small room.
"Hello! ''
"A drink ? "
" Neat. "
It was quick goodbye there and they headed back towards the people who had in the first place dragged him out of his house, denying him the privilege of solitude. Another quick goodbye.
Slow. Subtle.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Young Man came to the Old Man seeking counsel.
I broke something, Old man.
How badly is it broken?
A million little pieces.
I am afraid I can't help you
Why?
There's nothing you can do.
Why?
It can't be fixed.
Why?
It's broken beyond repair. It's in a million little pieces.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Down Remedy Lane

Am I ?

Closure

I need closure from the disorientations that i have. Relieve me, of the latent lingering gut-wrenching pain, of endless moments of desolation, of the brain's fancy to connect, re-connect with human life, only to find disproportionate sorrows. I am horrified by my own tragic contradictions. I see futility. Trying to mend the irreparable. You cannot bring a slaughtered lamb back to life. Can you?  I seek liberty or shall i say the cold detachment, from you, from them, especially you. I have been running around in self annihilating spiral circles. Cant you see how dead, how broken i am from within. Blood refuses to flow. If only you could see and feel the anguish, the scent of stagnant blood. I desire to surrender my abandonment of right and wrong. Set me free from this whimsical obsession, this pathetic desperation, this delusional hope. I ripped myself apart just to feel that blood drip, drop by drop. The nauseating sound. I cannot even gather the strength to write a fitting obituary. For a man incapable of hate, deserves one. Dont shed pitiful tears, for you had drained his blood out. A man who lived here, somewhere closeby, died. He was cold, numb, and on his behalf, i seek that cold detachment from you, from them, especially you.  

Queen of Hearts

Not long ago, in the island of destiny, along shores of life, bright castles in sight

In the play of inane silence, emerged in red, to the Knight's delight - the Queen of hearts.

Hath not the knights and noblemen glanced before, on shadows of such beauty still

And the Knight beguiled the epiphany of romance, an unseen, unarmed, unambiguous romance

Rising, he hoped, beyond illusions, delusions, beyond dunes and mirages of the desert behind

Imagined, the knight, an augmented reality, but the Queen was a cryptic, enchanting engima, vanished that night

'Knight ! Beware!!, the Queen is just passing by.' But the magic, alas ! there was no love of tomorrow

And, on the altar of wishes, tonight, the Knight was seen, clasping hands, smiling under city lights.

so long, and thanks for all the love

Good times- the last month or so; the kind of time when you often catch that glimmer in their eyes which says-its going to end soon, but not yet- not so soon. And you know that they aren't just people passing by.....

A distant sore

a crime was committed in your face, you think so and believe
you might be right, the treachery too harsh, a stinging nettle perhaps, 
might seem, could be, i didn't see, i wouldn't have a clue,
i don't know one, lest both sides of the tale. 
You retaliate in your self righteous ways, human, human, so human indeed
mild subtle  retribution could've been too harsh,
the terrible morbidity in retaliation, the aura of gloom,
would you care to give the accused, little forgiveness perhaps ?
Another chance to reflect, restrain the demon and acknowledge the fact
and let hate not control every soul, every heart.
for the true nature of crime, however dark, is human, human, a human deed 
we are all humans capable of sinking to depths, committing misdeeds 
should repentance not be given a chance, vengeance not repressed ? 
the lords creation not easily be denounced, soul cleansing a prospect ? 


the robbery, the shooting, the fleeing, the prison, the saving, the crying, the living, the dying
we are all pathetically, human, human, ambit, human indeed 

Up-stream, ex-dream

I don't wish to be here any longer
I have loved and lived here too long
I await the frail goodbye,
To casually bid farewell humming another song


Traipse a bit more ? i wouldn't
This is  up-stream, ex-dream ?
I don't know what. A fading screen ?
A lackadaisical streak ?


loved this place, loved this life
missed so much, guess i missed much too
I have nothing much to do, nothing much to say
Let it be, dont people always part ways ?


As i take the last few walks, i stare at every soul and every tree
Some give sidelong glances and pretend to not see
I would still wave and smile and bid good bye.
See you again, or maybe not ?, on the other side.


I wrote letters to my young sweethearts, on paper napkins, as I
Drank rum to rock and gazed in whiskey bars
To the tunes, the grooves of jazz and blues
So many a times, that I now know a song or two.


Like lighting the last cigarette, on the lonely drive
to the concert stage in the middle of night.
How badly you want for it to burn, a little longer, stay
Only to take it for the stroll, on the grass, to the stage, from the car


I would have wanted to stay, day after day

Or atleast for a day, another hour, few minutes, a glimpse, to quench this hopeless heart
Alas ! Funny, hopeless romantic, Sigh. Deep sigh !.
I don't wish to be here any longer.

I have loved and lived here too long. 

I await the frail goodbye, each day, each day when i walk back with dreamy eyes.

Dark Tranquility

Wiping out everything & everyone, obliterating every conundrum, discarding every compromise, stretching the boundaries of a terminus existence, i think of you. Did you even exist ?
With eyes dead. Drifting across the disjuncture, i try to recollect the voice, the smile, the lips, the touch. I try to feel your warm breath,  that moment, that rush. The unprepared passion, the unrestrained desire, the unhindered embrace, the unquestionable faith, the unambiguous tenderness, the unavowed love. Glimpse of vanquished souls on uncushioned concrete. 
Your hair, your scent, dark tranquility through glittering night. Time stands still. You are beautiful, more beautiful than a prolonged sunset, than a cool summer breeze. I die a hundred times, each time you smile. Your wonder eyes, your glowing skin !

Tired

In our small, tired world, there's too little space for anything. And then we cram in terrorism, recession, traffic jams, politicians, elections, pink slips, pink chaddis, accidents, climate change, crop failure, ... (courtsey: Taaq)

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One small glimpse, one beautiful smile , is all we need

In our tired tired world

Or so they said, and i had believed..

We talk fancy shit, think brutally fanciful, agony is pleasure, shallow fun

We feed on misery, on life, like parasites, undying quest for desolation?

Does everything have to be perfect? cliched rhetoric?

moving in spiral circles of ubiquitous despair,

Is that living? or just hanging there, to be strangled and suffocated

by the life you had been feeding on, like parasites

We are animals, retarded animals we are. On second thoughts arnt we?

dissecting, analysing retards

Wheres the fun? wheres the beauty? wheres life.?

in our tired tired world..

One small glimpse

should be good enough, to wipe all misery, all dirt, all hurt.

One beautiful smile, to erase the past, to vanquish the present, to surrender.

simple enough ? or so i thought..

But then, we brutally murdered simplicity, didnt we? butchered it long time ago

such dissecting, analysing retards we are.

Retarded arrogant butchers. On second thoughts, arent we?

in our tired tired world

Ran short of complications? needed more pain, more misery, more retardedness?

in our tired tired world

A tired man, i have become, they say

in my own small tired tired world.

Too tired waiting for that small glimpse, for that smile

that was to vanquish the present, erase the past. Instead it slapped

why? i used to wonder. But then 'used to', I said

No more. Tired souls dont think, not the slightest hint of it.

I tried, didnt I ? I did. I did and failed, not once but twice and thrice

seems like a zillion times, each miserable

a tired man, I look, they say, or so I heard

tired

i am

Defunct

Had the entire universe conspired ?

A lot had already been said , and it seemed pointless to even begin trying to explain or figure out things, it just seemed futile. The opinion was deeply ingrained, overthought, reinforced - the opinion that it was a bad idea. Taking a moral high ground was more important . It struck me how every drop of purity, sanctity and every inch of trust had been sucked out. It does hurt, if you ask me. There was indeed no scope for spontaneity, no scope for freshness, all that was left was a big rut. It had been dragged by too many people for way too long to leave any sign of charm or innocence. Too many souls had had their say.

One feels as if being weighed, measured, judged and found guilty.