Seeking Answer to Madness

I have seen a bit of me in you I have fought myself with you Seen the grass grow from green to blue Skies turning from blue to red I have hit the road when  The asphalt was still wet I have quietened down my murmur To keep your lips from burning red I have thrown the rain drops away When my hand was not yet full I have kept their wetness with me still So our hands could stick from falling When the walls are being painted black With shadows of covers, clothes and cosmopolitanism I have kept the black beads of the pearl to Still catch some of the lightness of the rainbow Why is it so hard then to build a house For two dark souls and with a thatched roof? Why is it so hard to just let the sunlight Catch a tiny glimpse of the raindrops? In my hand, just once? Just once? So we can sleep on a quiet hay of Rainbow and murmurs? Just a tiny bit? You must be wondering… What the hell am I talking about! And I wonder… just wonder How long are we going to wonder… Am I too bold? Am I too right? Am I too sharp to see through That these lines are not ready for this world? Am I too hard to get through? Or am I just plain intelligent enough to See that two extraordinaries are caught In one ordinary world trying to find A flick of rope with a label that will say... We are not Mad!

Soldier Seeking

Wall consuming brick and mortar 

Cementing in the last ounce left in you

Files and dot coms,

Myriad numbers to fall in line

Taking the cudgels of the cause

To feed the money grinding machine…

And let the deserted field see one more season

Of the grazing ground, fast fading into 

Cracked wrinkles of the desolate earth.

Gather around, fall in line!

Don't look down, don't look up

March to the Temple where the

War for redemption will swell up

Hut! Say Hut! Take that crutch and take it to the Temple

Where you will redeem your Medal!

Grovel in mud - Attaboy! Grovel harder!

Beg-steal-borrow. But don't let that crutch go!

You're a soldier with no redemption

Nein sorrow, nein pain - nein Fear.

You're going to be brave 

Pushed into the alter of martyrdom.

No pyre, no statues, no rewards waiting

Only an unending war of the worlds

Till you seek for redemption

Outside the Temple, 

Into the grazing wild.

Don't know what to name it. So I name it 'Dilemma'

I'm ready to breathe out in the open

But stifling me inside the air goes out

Taking my fear, my sorrow, my trouble,

While i'm sitting here by the edge of the world.

I'm aware of the space outside -

But know how short lived it is;

Tearing through my veins is the burst of breath

Of a galactic murmur that's unheard, that's dormant…

What is more painful than the sound of heaving leaves

And panting breeze outside your portico;

Your portico of gasps and gashes,

For this is where you started to breathe when you were born

And this is where you will be - when you're gone

©

Today

Today the sky broke

The lightning struck 

The thunder faded and yet

The stench of heat remained.

Words pelted and thoughts groaned

Eyes shuttered, lips smacked...

But the sky remained pitch black 

Croaking under the blackness

Of the shrouded cove

Tries and trials clashed 

In their eternal marriage of

A vagabond life;

Where no peace, no hope, no light

Can enter the orifices of pale words...

Today the world spoke,

The earth shook, spat and curdled

And anti-death woke into anti-life

As night slithered into day.

Monologue of Dominance: To A Woman

Lady, you're in my parlor now -
Come ye most precious and fair!
Let me put some pins in your hair,
Bead them up and shine them bright
And tie them up to the dark night


O come hither my darling, to me,
My arms of dazzling delights,
Come here and you shall find
Fair weather blossom kissing them
To woo the gentlemen and the knights


Come my lady, let me lay a hand on you -
Let me, O let me add a blush for you;
A blush made of fire and blood,
O let me pour them on those bossom
of heaving souls, young and old


Hark ye the slander, the soulless
Voice of defender, blindfold thy
Heart to hide the secrets meandered
For I've got the scarf of disguise
To wrap your Lady Consience to demise!


No my lady! Don't be so startled
Question your inner quiverings
And you will find, the ageless
Cravings of sqeezing spasms
That runs this world asunder


Kind, O how kind my lady's eyes are,
What a blasphemy in the scene 
Of this hour. I'll put my potion
boiling at once! And begone those
Seeds of dunce. 


And here we are, my sisters at aid -
Shame, Lust, Sex and Power: My slaves.
We stain the warps of Time and Minds
And feed the reaps to the foetus of
my Goddess... for she's wilfully blind


Blind and Beautiful! Hail the deity
Of the infinite divine,
The eternal bind of Mankind!
Builder and sustainer of 
Hearths and sanity


I toil for Her Godliness
To reap and feed her seed
Blood and fire, brothed out
Of the constant myre of greed
Born of the stain of Time


O how sweet is the taste my dear,
Of thy pure femininity! When I
extract you at Her pyre,
To help the earthlings go
About their frivolity -


Now, now, my lady do not fear,
I'm Greatness incarnate, not a liar!
I toil to be the reason of all reasons
Procurer of the Need and Treason,
My son is Survival


I am God to the Creator, 
Harbinger of elusive Hope,
I keep the illusion of the
Fabric you earthlings cling to
Where you hide and grope


My meddlings keep them busy
And my precious deity
Thrives on the fumes
And fears of the low-lives
That keeps this world spinning


To this you shall aid me woman
For time eternal and serve
To my behest; lend me your strings
To keep men falling, falling to
Grovel and become Orcs 


Orcs of Society - who worship me,
With enslaved sense; lay prostrate,
Before me, my ever consuming holiness,
For I am the Rule by which they survive -
I am Dominance.
©

Waiting the Call

There's a path of stones
Strewn with flowers for you
To be tread when you hear the calling

When you hear them spring up,
Call for the living,
Breathing with their bones,

Tell them I'm here...
Here for the hearing, and
I wait with the vessel bearing
The wind of soul

And here I sit to spin the beads
Of toil and fear with the wind
To steer it adieu..

Adieu with the light of your eyes
and begone the gust of your breath
To give my vessel the god-speedness

And I await, my tongue tolling the bells,
With the bait of hope and haste,
Counting the time on the clock of
Future, starting with foreverness
©

Procrastination

A wasted morning
A concrete street
You and me sitting here
By the roadside - we're hungry and they're rich


No no no, not homeless...
But a brick and mortar roof we have
That trickles of black sin every night
When we sleep and dream


Of wasted lives, of wasted wars and wasted spirits,
The blackened-sooted-embroidered curtains of our
Painted walls flutter and close in


Do we hear them? Do we hear the the whisper of the
Yonder trees cackling out with the age old shriek -
The call for help that spills over with their dried
Leaves and gets crushed on the concrete


Skylines of the city? Can we feel the stench of the
Their blood that was spilled last night? Can you?
Ah but this is a guarded secret that lay outside and
Not inside these four walls! The guarded secrets!


So well guarded and protected away never ever to
Let penetrate our perfect worlds of wonderings -
'Havings' 'let's haves' 'why nots' - fucking social gatherings!


But why does that stench get to me only?


That ah that I must be insane! These are only bearable to barbarians
Such as me who sometimes lets temptation close in to take a peek into
That neverland of world without walls and punctuations!


A stench is a stench - a disgrace of nature! Shoo them away with a
Man made fragrance! There! Sweep those leaves away and close the
Curtains. That's better now...


Calm... peace... silence... no unfamiliar hauntings of the green-blue nature;
No cries of penance for the spirits who're trapped within


Let's Party, Let's Dance! - I can hear my friends calling: 'Got errands to run tomorrow,'
'Have to shoot somebody tonight,' 'Need to rape my conscience - I'm busy,'
'Get me a drink for god's sake!'


You and me gather ourselves, we walk into the halls to greet the floor,
The wasted people, the wasted crowd, come ye hither to make us proud,
The stench goes away, the leaves swept off -
The only place for salvation is
No place at all.
©

Writing my Wishlist

A crumble of bread

Crunching down our throat

With milk to swallow it down

And trickles the sweat of time

With patience to swallow it all.

The morning drum starts and so

Does the grind of clinching fists

With tapping keys and glassed eyes

I look for bread butter in the inanimate screen

And you look for salvation

For the unboxed mind

Where you are the orator of the stage

You seek the Godot and the Phantom

And grip on the fine thread from a

Street play given to us on lease

To weave the dreams of us in a

World made of voodoo puppets

Eating of processed pamphlets

Of flahslights and elite pens

Take a peak on the racing time

Out of the iron fence

And I see our tapping feet and soaring voice

Breaking the what-should-bes and dimes

Dreams we've seen together and the

Items we've listed down...

Crawl back to us like doting toys

As we run unbound

The crumbled bread soothed with milk

Will win the test of time

And break into the light of the

Wind of change to phase the winter mist

Putting each dime into dime

Turn it into bread n' wine

See you scissor the ribbon of your dreams

That's my Wishlist... and here it begins.
©

Dragonfly

Sitting by the window

Against the twilight,

The last shimmer of the rainbow

Fades into the night -

Out in the garden

Flowers of the last season,

I look at them

I’m looking for a reason;

And then I see it, as it flies past me

The dragonfly riding the wind from the sea.

A season that was past

Where the blue-bells hung

The primrose shoots of love had sprung

The Wind then had prayed the Spring to last

For the tender shoots tied to the mast

But too barren was the soil to hold the mast of yearn

And the Ashes of the dragonfly buried the Earth to burn

This evening, the fluttering wings I can hear again

Like the voice of an ancient miner calling my name

Deep down from the valleys of a heart born and bound

Ever locked away from the world where light was found

I’ll weed the wilted flowers -

The rendition of my toil,

Sow new seeds in the seasoned soil

The Spring can’t last

But new seasons will come

That’ll nourish the flowers

For the Dragonfly to return

Through the dimming twilight

I see a silver line,

Wings rubbing the wind – a familiar sign

Relinquished the knot and ruined is the mast,

Shackles of a season that was past

As the dragonfly buzzes on with guilty delight

I want to cry,

I want to pluck the wilted flowers goodbye…

Not a fenced garden

Walk a road untrodden,

I want to sprinkle new seeds on a path saffron-brazen

To cherish what will remain,

I’ve to be born again;

I’ll scream, I’ll climb to find the me in me

And then I’ll know what’s it’s like to be free

Will you come then to carry the wind to the sea?

I’ll wait to paint my Kingdom of Oz on the canvas of the sky –

I’ll live, I’ll die, I’ll pray to ride on the Wings of the Dragonfly

©

Entry from my Diary: November 13, 2008

This is a strange night. I can see the lights outside but there are none within. And Life just flashes past me with flickers of memories leaving faded sparks of futuristic blackouts – just like this candle.

My sleepless drowsy eyes look on and the candle burns, is burning, and the wax is reaching its end while the wick of it keeps elongating every moment, bit by bit, slowly, trying hard to make the flicker of the fire longer - the tip of the fire inadvertently as if trying to reach somewhere, a hopefully hopeless height…

Lit in the dimmed light of the candle are pictures around me clinging on to the walls; the pictures too get dimmer and dimmer as the wax melts and melts away slowly – a set of pictures that can define your life. Though the room will be dark in another few minutes, they’ll remain illuminated in me – and I can again see them at morning against the sunshine.

Books, clothes, pictures, few official papers… all strewn around, flickering in the flame of the candle will vanish in another few minutes – all that tell who I am. But they’ll come back again with the sun trickling down from my window pane in a couple of hours and the candle makes me wander on…

A momentary glimpse of peaceful sense of loss – that I get everyday when with beckoning sleep; peaceful sleep; balmful sleep; is snatched away today. Tonight, the burning elongated wick has prolonged the night a little longer, prolonging the comfortable chaos that I live in, that I have cherished so long, slogged for so long, craved for so long, breathed into so long. Tonight I know that every night when I sleep, I think everything will be forgotten and at morning I’ll find a new start, a new morning, a new me, a new hope that the chaos will find me joy someday.

But Sleep is just like a wearing candle, whose elongated last flickers just is so much good as giving a momentary sense of illusion that there is light. The comfortable chaos that had defined my life till now, is just like the pictures that remain on the walls no matter how long I shut my eyes, or how long darkness pervades. Take them out, and still they’ll exist in some part of my room, my existence, my blood, in the same way, just as they were – and they’ll never change. They’re a part of me now and they’ll never let go of me. It’s just like the fire and the candle. They exhaust each other, there is death in their co-existence; but they’ve no identity without each other too. Separate them, and they exist as individuals – whole and happy – but there’s no light unless they burn each other – light is from their dying together.

Such fake is the light and yet we need it to clear our vision; such momentary pretence of peace is sleep and it’s a sustenant; pictures… can be thrown away; and yet mind clings to them – they define all that one has given and craved for – all that the thirst of life is for – love is for…

I give these pictures a last glance, as my candle struggles to stay alive and I wonder – these pictures will cling to the wall for their existence; their lifelessness beckons another futuristic set of them in a futuristic past; they come and go in every person’s life and they never ask – who needs the pictures? Do they need us or we need them? Why the initiation of light has always been a resultant of the exhaustion of something? Why do we need light at all when universe itself is dark? Why can’t we see the real without the fake illumination of light? Why do we want to forget over sleep when nothing changes? Why do we need sleep at all for our survival when it means nothing at all?

Why the hell do we live a life that’s so damn fake?
©