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'

my new stubby

The story is pointless..and useless ..

Bylanes

At times,you can only remember your past trysts with life, the bitter sweet recollections of wandering in the bylanes of hope and despair, the deserts that you find yourself trapped in, the mirages that keep you thirsty , the grim suction of the quicksand of unalterable destiny...
Will you venture out again ? Will you ever dare eat a peach?
Time for a hundred indecisions. And for a hundred visions and revisions. ...

Freud and Gem

Out of sheer boredom and idling( being modest):
Freud and Gem .

The lazy mosquito

All right !! I admit it wasnt the most happening of nights....devoid of the usual half a dozen chicks drooling over me.( evil smile). Ahem ! I opened my window and surrendered myself to nature's enormous storehouse of surprises.

well,Someone did say that nature worked in mysterious ways to mystify you and leave you breathless ( i can swear over your life !!) And trust me, even if you are not left gasping for breath, you will definitely have something to kill time !
So, keeping in sync with that 'someone' , i bumped into this mosquito ...or rather it bumped into me.( i decide to call the mosquito 'it' after a good 2 minutes of brainstorming, whether as to refer it as a 'he'or 'she' , which took me nowhere )
..The mosquito bumped into me. It was your regular ,boring, not so good looking mosquito apart from the fact that it appeared a little overweight. And after years of experience, I had no doubt regrading its ultimate cruel intentions.

So here were we ,the fat mosquito and me.(these lines are useless but rhyming)
The creature sat on my left arm . I would have smashed it with my right hand out of natural impulse,but decided otherwise.I was hungry...NO...i mean since i was hungry and i knew exactly how it felt, i thought it would be a holy thing to let it have some of my alcoholic blood as a goodwill gesture towards the mosquito community or rather as a gesture of consolidation.I might have been a little lazy too...but thats not the point.Now,i was waiting for my mosquito friend,who will henceforth be mentioned as 'Dave Mundane', to have his share of alcoholic beverage and leave me with ..maybe a feeling of content for doing a noble cause and making this world a better place to feed in.
But to my shock and amazement , Dave Mundane wouldnt bite. It just sat there idling. what a jerk !! Here i was , trying a to make a difference in this selfish world, and the bastard woldnt bite. I waited a few more seconds ...and then ...there it was..the end of my freaking patience. Dave Mundane had had his time..it was time for the fly.Screw the noble cause! . I shooed it away with my right hand. It barely managed to go up a few hundred millimetres, and to my utter surprise again made a perfect landing on my arm. I was pissed, but decided to give it another chance.
Dave Mundane still wouldnt bite. Bastard simply refused to bite and chose to sit there as if i were one of those extra soft mosquito sleepwell mattresses. Suddenly , i felt a connection with Dave Mundane. It no longer seemed to be a hungry intruder. I shooed it away a couple of more times, but it would keep coming back. Dave Mundane was exponentially cooler than i had imagined. We were friends now. I could totally associate with Dave. I decided to have a little chat, i did most of the talking, Dave occasionally buzzed. Eventually, my eyes blurred and unconsciously pulled over a blanket ,driving away Dave.
The next morning, had no recollection of our conversation or of Dave Mundane , for that matter. I was only reminded of Dave when another of the lousy species tried to take a chunk of me. Dave was gone, but his memories will continue to linger ...for a long long time....

This one is for you Dave...

Cold December

There are times when you see and feel things that are otherwise lost - the never ending pursuits of life. These stark realities hit you in the face, leave you with a feeling of helplessness and guilt, a tinge of sadness.

----------
i feel pain
when i see that fading kid on the chilly road
oblivious to the beauties around
what has he found ?
acquiescing to fate
succumbing to the ways of 'his' master
beholding the quench for a life
the prolonged strife for survival
the brutal denial of life,being his way of life

i feel cold
when i see that grey old lady
crouching beside the garbage can
struggling to figure where life betrayed
if only 'her' master had different plans
doubting any purpose for existence
she fights still, to breathe , to live

i feel sad
when i see that sick man wrapped in helplessness
for whom the farthest glimpse of horizon is - tomorrow
the starry nights mean nothing to him
the wind only makes his heart shiver and sink.
a loaf of bread , a piece of blanket
means love to him, means life to him

i feel so sorry for you
when you ask
what's beautiful about today ?
what's there to live for tomorrow ?
i feel deep blue
as i walk through this cold december night..
things hit me in the face , they hit me hard ...
as i walk through this cold december night ....

(dec '07)

haze

don't look back down the road
we wont be there
its empty
for few dread to tread on the untreaded

infatuated to the brinks of horizon
and reasoning with the intoxicating haze
me and my guys will be playing all night

beholding sweet fragrance
of the days that've slipped by
dreaming to dive in the vastness of zero
smashed by the traits of mortals surrounding
paralyse us..but we are not stopping tonight
me and my guys will be playing all night

(oct '07)

Something Strange

(I wrote this when i was a kid)

i find it hard to breathe an all efforts in vain
smell there's something wrong
as my strings shriek in pain
though the sun is red and the sky is blue
..birds dance through ..the morning dew
the mystic way..nature work
there is not much left to anticipate
but there is something strange..i wish i knew...

i feel the morning breeze ,cut through my skin
swiftly blowing away but its not that real
there is something strange.. i ought to find..
the difference between.. two outlooks of mind

through the tainted glass, ..i see the summer rain
though it falls down straight ,
for sure its not the same
i watch the sun go down, on the rock as i lay
but it scorches me, at the end of the day,
i can nothing do, as i lay in dismay..
there is something strange
..i wish i knew..