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)

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

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.

Fair friend

what better way to start the year than to summon the hidden plaque of romanticism , than to add a few lines of Shakespeare,

''To me, fair friend, you never can be old

For as you were when first your eye I eyed,

Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold

Have from the forests shook, three summers pride

Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd

In the process of the seasons have I seen

Three april perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd

Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.''

PS, update: due to mismanagement , the stolen poem couldnt be delivered with the flowers. But then half done is well begun or so they say !!

When dragons cried

your memory

comes in the way of my memory

the hearts divulge, it is

their subtle art of treachery

the last stubborn leaf

on a windy autumn night

simply wouldn't let go

how many seasons more

will it cling

through glimmer moonlit skies.

invisible splash of shimmering white

on the blackened canvas

rendered across a starless sky

i lived the day , when dragons cried

a flutter of emotions , the missing heartbeat

been ages last i watched you sleep

couldn't help but smile

that passerby

was the stubborn love that shy

touch didn't last one kiss

blink of an eye, ceased to exist

the frequent hoist

on a sodden roof so slippery

your memory comes in the way of my memory

the hearts divulge, it is

their subtle art of treachery.

A young monk in red.

Wanted to share this beautiful poem written by Shubham.

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

A young monk in red,

burns on the street...

beside your house.

You watch in silent amusement..

as his prayer wheel spins and spins,

still sending out prayers,

of peace and love...

Love is all he asked for

peace is all he lived for

truth is all he persued,

right from childhood...

even before he'd known what it meant..

his brother too lies on the street..

in a pool of blood

from the bullet's wound..

(he'd not seen a gun so he hadn't feared it).

They had taken away his home..

they had killed all his family

they'd even chased away his God..

he had lived beside you,

and he had loved you

although you never knew..!

and how could you..?

you were too busy in your daily problems..

which never actually were,

so you hadn't seen their pain,

like you do not see the burning neighbourhood...

But you will...soon,

'coz he lived beside you, remember..?

and the flames he burns in, will touch you..

eventually..

when no one will be left to run to.

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

Turbulent memory lanes

While searching for some book through my shelves , i stumbled upon this small familiar diary which was covered with dust and had long been forgotten. This was a special diary. I had carefully bought it some years back from a gift shop across the corner where i lived, after having considered and rejected many. I had counted the number of friends i had, the number of pages each one would write and added a few more pages for photographs and cuttings, and had come up with an approximate figure for the total pages required. I had ended up buying a sissy, dark purple, floridly bordered , nice looking diary, which could have been a perfect gift for a girl, to say the least. Anyways. I had known then that it would stay with me for a long time. For i was, then, truly a sucker when it came to cherishing friends, life and the wonderful times spent with them. I had wanted something through which i could relieve those days, picture those times, and remember my friends.

I dusted it with a cloth and sat down to have a look at it .

The diary had been titled 'A plunge into the turbulent memory lanes.'

On the first page was a paper cutting which read : ' Friends are not born , but made, for a lifetime remembrance.' So much for it ! It was followed by a few meticulously cut pictures and many pages of scribbling . I read them, often pausing in between to recollect where the person was at present , what he had wanted then and what he had gone on to become. There were some who had been lost. I read what i had written many years back. Came across a funny hindi song that had been written idling around with friends.I smiled along. It wasnt nostalgic but exuberating, as though a preplanned jaunt on a pre destined path; just that at every other corner you'd try to forget what was to come next.

Its raining outside , i wonder how it used to rain a few years back.

(The credit for this pic goes to sameer.It was assembled from the first and the only reunion trip we had. Good times ! Great friends ! )

No Fancy Name

Ridiculous . You ignore the first time , laugh it the second , third time is a pain , frustrated by the fourth ,angered by the fifth , retaliating the sixth time .
Foolishness and cowardice disguised . Horrific self righteousness. Shameless pretence. The sickening madness. The sadistic acceptance. Excruciating anger and the deafening silence. Humiliating the soul , agonizingly embayed in the darkest corners. Existence so hollow.

Pray i don't shout, because if i do , you will shudder with intense disgust.
Futile is the explanation , for the meaning shall always elude you.
Pray i don't stare into your eyes , then, there will be nothing left to say, no one left to blame.

Beautiful things destroyed. In so subtle a manner . Futile seems the purpose . Futile .
Times killed . Heartlessly . Killing you , killing me , killing all we had.

Something in my flesh , to turn this day in a hideous night. Something to relieve me of the sickening madness. For then i wont care if you live or die. For then , i shall see again, the beauty in a fallen leaf , a deserted road , a hopeless life and a dead soul.

defunct brain, inflated vein

surrounded by visions, and visions surrounding
he reminisced the toast of an unalterable sight
'its time to let go, its time to let go'..those screaming pillars
little the fools knew, long ago had he set himself free
what tragic ignorance, these lifeless walls
all the while he ran and laughed and cried and sang

delirious arachnids grazed the skin
hours secluded, days wrecked in his chimerical room
time deflated. gushing inflated veins
his tranquil , his throne, why invade ? his guilt, parade ?

welcome to the wasteful reckless extravagance
of hopeless lives and mocking lies
invidious little maggots watched the show
'complete fiasco or fatuous or pretence', they mumbled
'keep musculading , you maggots, why dont you bite and go'

he had no conundrums,but maggots wouldnt leave
a ribald repartee was to be indeed ?
wambling and running and laughing and singing
he begged for some peace, let silence be bestowed
last glimpse of sanity, processed by a defunct brain
'dont pity me , you losers, your hideous face..dont you conceal,
go look in your eyes, go wash your feet'