Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
I will pull my braids,
Hold onto a red-hot curler
Get a pen and paper
And pretend I'm tired of all the thinking.
I have a reason.
The letter did not come,
I'm sick of the sound of heater
And the doorbell's musical and it's still ringing.
I have a question.
When will the chocolate melt,
What is that patch still doing on my pillow
Where is the goddamn river
And how do you take photos without blinking?
I have a lesson.
The yelling does not help
I will never grow taller,
The skies are the opposites of mirrors
And the dog will always bark when I'm talking.
Here and there,on a virtual or real scrap of paper,they're all jotting down their quintessential inklings of what a resolutions' list should resemble.As I would myself.A pen,a scratch and a trail of stars to rate the priority of each n-th mostly-yet-unfulfilled resolution.A quintessential bridge of procrastinated and dud leftovers that will be recycled into the list for the next next year...and the next...till a year,perhaps like my 2010-11 should be staged for allowance of those void resolutions into a final reckoning that they'll never happen...they'll always retain that bad habit or that emotional quotient that will make them who they are today...are and to stay.
And perhaps I don't want to become a changeling to the mother of my brainchild...
So,my only resolution this year?
Can't say I'm a perennial river and neither does life follow a path etched in the sands...
So...Nothing.Nothing for me...New Year Santa.Nothing this year.
N.B:~*oh,but I shall try to be better to myself!I promise.Amen!*~
Monday, December 20, 2010
A path of their own;
Slower the night will fall
Sooner music will be gone.
The drumbeats will recede afar
And the snowfall will never begin,
This city will always be
A dumbbell's call to the heaven.
Will there be a day to pass
Without it passing you first?
Will there be a second to last
Without it lasting a second on your past?
There will always be that day
When the days will turn
And nights will wane,
There will always be those nights
When days will burn
And nights will pray...
Pray and pray,
Pray till the day
The sofas and the beds
Are buried under their own weights
Pray and pray
Pray till the night
The tables and the chairs
Are scorched for light....
We'll pray in that light.
For the day.Till that day.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Golden glassy-eyed rays,
Mist-breath on mirrors and glass-panes,
A ripple of goosebumps at the very end...
Call it December again...
Where my story began.
A phuchka everyday,
In A-line skirts,and wrinkled hems
Long-awaited tamarind sprinkle to my name
Everyday, the last bell
A cue to the man who made our dreams
Livid enough to colour in the edges
With our hard-earned five bucks
And perhaps an extra phuchka
With salted smile to tear-stricken pages.
The weathered frays of that sidewalk has left,
No more are the hoarding ladies
With their graffitied marker-pen specs,
Yet our feet still knock on the craving doors
Of a loose pavement tile,
A new pavement tile heaven...
But the man of our dreams does live on....
Another face, a deviant tamarind song,
To new many names, and more faces...
But the haven is still our haven,
Of December dreams,
Of innumerable school shoes
And cold forget-me-not feet...
And A-line woes.
Almost as if...the new December man
Knew we would return
With a broken heart,
Or shreds of a name,
Too broken to be broken again...
To call it...our December again...
Thursday, December 2, 2010
If there is something wrong with our thinking and we cannot change, it means there is a clown trapped in our head.
Bottomline, to live better you gotta let it all out.No perversion intended.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Just take me ashore,
I'm living in the middle of a wonder.
Washing old clothes,
Tuning this battered radio
I am gone from this town forever.
Haven't you known me long enough?
Is my time here not yet over...
I've always known
You wouldn't even try
To follow me to my place of thunder
That is all I need,
My commonplace destiny,
Just spare me a lift to my yonder.
Haven't you known me long enough?
My time here is over...
I'm going away...
Through the back door,
To thy Yonder.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Right from my fingertips"---she said.
Bleary-eyed, misty smile,
A candy in hand, Cadbury queen;
Dare she pries open her mind
To see beneath the curls what sings
Chalkdust-smeared cottonball cheeks
Wriggling chalk figures on floor obscene
With the life she breathed into the streaks
When night would dawn, they would speak
To Little Sleepless Cadbury Queen.
When the morning would pass,
She would grieve the early demise
Of her limbless dolly
To grow up once for one first time
And play no more, her time to bid;
Years later, playing with her life,
Mindlessly caught in a slow bus-ride,
She would dare to open her mind
To wonder how she let it all slip by,
The Everything she thought, she lost each time,
Each time she lost, came to life,
For a flicker of a second as her whole world,
Then soon died...
To become something she merely lost...
Tonight her sleeps intrigue a new chalk or a new doll,
Or a new candy, a new ad song,under her curls to sing
For Miss Little, very Little Sleepless Cadbury Queen.
That I can take what won't kill you and be indebted with no interest?
Did you know I can lie?
Lie like a paradox given to a last wish or a death sentence?
Did you know I can rage?
Like the north winds down in the south with no altitude?
Did you know I can lust?
Like a priest in search of god's hands of gratitude?
Did you know I can fall?
With the rain into the inconsolable Red Sea from above?
Did you know I can hate?
Hate like I could torch you with the fire,they call, the fire of love?
I have crimed, I have wronged, I have sinned,
My hands tied, my head hung, my pride redeemed.
I have crawled,
Crawled under a rock
To let Life pass me slowly by,
As happily ever...After...
There would be no more mistakes
Nor better goodbyes.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Miles above the nine times that she was tried,
She stood, a wrecked flower-tub on the edge of a terrace,
Caked in moss,in the light from the eager heavens...
Waiting for the wind to hurl her...towards spot-revenge...
Waiting for...a tenth, impossible sentence.
The glories of her life, insipidly forgotten,
The stories of goodbyes, in black woven...
Duties of her footfalls, serendipitously held imprisoned
By the calls of her past, a long-drawn burden.
But the night shall reap the sleep of the walls,
When all is quiet, her heart shall quaver,
In her quivering bosom shall be found
Secrets of nine lives and flesh and bone dagger.
Waiting, with its breath abated...
Waiting for a tenth, final sentence.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
I didn't know anything about him,then.I was barely even interested to.I just knew his name.Johan.
He gripped the sides of his chair as I moved closer, as if my unceremonious appearance posed a threat on his otherwise very familiar morning serenity.I backed off---already thinking about the immediate challenge of dragging myself to college, what I should wear and whether my best friend would come....the usual rant.,in short.
Little did I know, that Johan had a hole in his tiny heart.
Or that at the age of five, he was mature enough to assuage his mother,recently deserted by her husband.Who would have known from that scared little facade the courage with which he was battling the plagues of his disease and poverty;that every night he would tell his barely literate mother to let him go to the angels, to pull the plug on the treatment costs because in his holed heart he felt he wouldn't live to see too many tomorrows anyways;that the night before he died he asked his mother to accompany him out of the house, have a last dance with the one and only woman in his life...under the moon, in the still, almost succinct 3pm air.God really has his weird ways...
The next morning, it happened...in the very arms of his 7 year old sister.
And...all that remains is a grave that will expire after 3 years, because that's all his mother could afford.
Even his grave,with its facsimile of 'rest in peace' hopes will only see the morning of peace.Like the last day of his life...
Like his short 5 year old life.Quite unlike the first two words I ever said to him, the words that delivered him to some unknown fear---'Good morning'.
Now it all makes sense.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
My eyes are sleepy.That face is a splash of cold water, arousing me and evaporating into nothingness.
My fingers are bruised from the nail-biting.That name is a disappearing act through the cracks of my clenched fist.
My heart is a memory.You are the inferno kindled within me,its tongue growing with every step I take.
Tick-tock goes my feet.
Pitter-patter runs these tears.
Lub-dub beats every second I get closer to beating you at your own game....
Monday, November 8, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
Through dark circled eyes,
And tired late night smiles...
A procrastinating tap on my shoulder
As you make me tea,to leave you...
You spoke to me
On a late Diwali,
When the candles had burned down
To mere nothings
And the chill in the air
Felt like sugar and cold water on my teeth...
You still speak to me
Like a child,
When I've bitten my nails to bleed
You would scold me,
Then hold me
Till the pain recedes...
You don't speak anymore...
And I'm believably sold.
Nothing in life
But stale bread crumbs now...
Chafing under the mild hold of my palms,
Chafing to lead me home.
But your procrastinating tap
On the smoke rings and vapour laces
From a cigarette and a cup of roadside tea,
To leave you and leave me...faster...
Without another word.
But not unspoken...
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Never could shade the exact colour where the black strokes would fade to nothingness in my sketchbook...
Shadows always fascinated me for their beautiful travel of light through the rings of penumbra,
Then on to nothing....again.
Didn't you have a wind-chime, that cast a playful,seductive shadow on the walls of the balcony as it tinkled and danced...the shadows that seemed to exude the music of the winds more than the tangible, colourful instrument itself?Didn't you touch its shadows and play your fingers along the restless edges...
Sometimes the light was nothingness...and sometimes...it would be...the darkness.And sometimes...something entirely different.
It's the same boat.Take it or leave it.
At the end of the day...you're alive.The boat is Noah's Ark.You've just eluded the tantalizingly fickle end.Each day is 2012.
And being good as opposed to bad isn't so important on this ark.
We're all an impossible, unfathomable being.Sometimes darker than the deepest wells, sometimes brighter than sunshine, and sometimes...a tinkering shadow on a windswept wall.
As for me,I have to be neither good nor bad.Just the effervescent me.That's my lesson.
But at least, maturity is relevant to me.Men on the other hand...never even learnt that word to begin with.How many guys look for maturity in girls?No,wait.They do.But that only lasts till upto early teens when by 'mature' they just mean a girl who can pick up his not-so-subtle hints,and acquiesce to satisfying his adolescent carnal needs.There's your reason for 25 year old balding creeps picking up 12-13 year old cute and bubbly juvies.Even today!
Anyways,as I was saying...yeah...so I shouted my months' worth of bottled up abhorrence-phobia-hate-distrust-pity,for all the men out there who have ever hurt me,off at these perfect samples of that class of humans.Plus,they had it coming.They were shouting the typical rant of eveteasing catchphrases, and I think giving them the middle-finger, together with 'Oh shut up and why don't you go back to your mother and fuck her.' was a little too much for everyone else on the road to hear...but...oh well....shut them up,dinnit?And..well, I felt damn good about it too!
I'm a humanist and a part-time tomboy.But I officially hate everything men stand for...in general.(and that's just saying I love my daddy!)
2.New books ready to blot my sordid musings.
3.Text books...well,less readily so.But ready..nonetheless.
4.The idiot box is not so idiotic to the closed mind.
5.Computer, internet (minus social networks).
6.Music to dilute the freshly fallen snow.
7.Food, lots of it to swallow myself in.
8.Dream-diary to grab this golden opportunity to identify these instincts better.
9.Bitterness...to keep me at it...no matter what.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Stumbling and awakening a little pebble
With my little left foot.
Scooping it up and petting it,
Lulling it back to sleep...
And pocketing it,
Praying Ma will miss it among other things...
Knowing little how she would miss it more than me....
Then there were the other times I would wake up on a birthday,
Ready to see sunshine..even through rain...
And close my eyes, letting it all happen all too soon...
Day after, I would wish
It was yesterday once again---
My birthday with the sweet plastic smell of balloons...
Remembering with a shock at some neighbouring kid's birthday alone...
I miss taking home and taking to bed
My new pair of shoes
Cuddling and falling asleep
Dreaming black and red
It would be a love-hate thing
I would have loathed and cried over it
Earlier that day in the middle of chuckling adults...
But come the end of the day,
It would be my new ugly pair of shoes
Whom I would love and marry anyways.
A perfect ending for a yet to begin Me....
No,a stab of nostalgia over a spilled cup of tea...
Praying everyone will miss it among other things...
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
1.I am still alive and capable of humor.
2.I can't relinquish who I am.
The otherwise stable frame of my mind will never fade away just like that.Never give away.It will always cling to its I-am-right justifications and no matter how loud the other voice in my head screams back lessons that we had all learnt as kids, my vices, my eccentricities will always feel justified to themselves and hence...STAY.
Hence,here's my theory.
The ice-cream cones melt faster when you start slurping up its yumminess.In the absence of anyone to devour me in any way---good or bad--- in the so-called solitude...I can refrain from the inevitable meltdown longer.
Loneliness is good, solitude is constructive.
When there's nobody to fray it, the mind can hold its peace.In peace.
In a plastered room
Where the smell of paper never quite dies.
These rueful water-flecked hushed words
Will never be heard, I know...
One day they will die too.
Drowned, with the deity...
Yet the secrets that years ago seemed so magical
Down to a feisty firefly on a hurried dashami twilight...
Doomed to become invisible.
Caught in the scorches of screaming rainbow lights all'round...
To die down ...long before its death...
Long after the dhakis had left
These heartbeats fail to sleep...
They live, awake,aware and rapid
To the world that has died---once---
With the scarring, chaste beats...
And all I can think---
I had lived once...
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Implications of truth.
A red-eye moment
Of falsely high-pitched 'cheese',
And a single, miraculous moment
Of one pained smile.
No frame to drain
The glint from their eyes,
But a chalk of finger-prints...
For running over the faces...
One too many times.
But Time is a ghost,
Bellows and grows,
Until it blows
It all away.
I have no home,
A small reason perhaps...
But the smile,
The single, miraculous smile.
Mine, still mine,
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
In the hindsight of certain mumblings
On a hoarse midnight wave.
I tried to redeem
The need to hush
The echo of the fork...
But it stings the underneath
Of my parched eyelids.A vein throbs...
Have I lost a battle, a leg or an eye...?
What does this mean...?
A part of my goodbyes
Bidding me to hide,
Hide in rose bushes,
Sleep under the stars,
Give my favourite star
A goodnight kiss,
Something to take pride in and
A taunting dream
Of a dramatic farce...
That lies come true...too...
When I slowly cease to dream
Of you every night,as I lie drenched,
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The songs of the melancholy seek me out and forbid me. The playlist never ends---it is on a repeat mode.
There, there...they say.You didnt deserve this.So you shall conquer it.Never shed tear for those that knows not its value.
I know the why's...someone tell me the 'how'...
Either that,or make Time stop.The relentless tick-tocks are waste on the stubborn doldrums of this heart.
And the wind never blows either way..
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
An isolated case of frayed edges...
A braid of smaller ropes,
Almost identical to the Others
A singed carbon resolution
To stand its test and bind
A lonely, archaic bid
To stay strong, to not come free
To hide the strong, to hang the weak
Spineless when undone;
Not entirely a hopeless thing,but
And I have been, as I have been
Coiled in on itself
Hanging from the ground
Into a stranger's tug-of-war...
His world,His Life.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Ok,so if it's my birthday,does that mean i'm allowed to feel happy/free at the cost of someone else's pain just for today?I did it to mom 22 years ago...just wondering...
Yeah, lizy's a mean bday girl...and that's all I got today.Sorry,blog.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Poetic broad skies,
And languid sleepy eyes
A frozen dream,in the rear-view mirror...
A growing dot behind.
A new dream being born to someone ,somewhere
And another demise;
New city horizons,
A driver's cautionary tale,
Homeless bum dragging a plastic-box along it
And a dead dog,by its dead tail.
A hinged, narrow-mind
Livid with cropped notions
Stymied, suddenly, in the faded bus-window...
Hoarse from the brimming
With walls and lines,
Brimming with the hoarse
In the little,cropped scrap
Of the impassive sky.
And a concrete-and-coal-tar road seemingly so alive,
Lets the sky breath, and humans too
And drowsy weeds in its hindsight;
Why can a thought, a mind then not be...
Beacon to the blind---
Be this dead, speechless road
Basking in twilight?
A poetic broad epiphany
And languid dreamer's sleepless new eyes...
An erased mute disk stands in my doorway
Wistfully staring me down,
Hunger in its soul-less resolute of charade,
Thunder in the way it pronounced
The words that hang so seemingly in despair
Like a telegram lost halfway
In the change of times
A lost soul, an urchin by the name it goes by…
It has had its time. Time…to say goodbye.
I have had my time,
I have had my chance,
I have had my run
And my cold mary romance…
All that walking and
All that remains
Is the phobic walking
Far away from shuttered plans.
I pause; I breathe a wheeze of black breath,
I wipe my mouth and breathe again…
No noise this time, maybe a silent prayer
To the ghosts of me, shadows in the air.
The spray of pollution still hangs in there…
Like a frozen mile of crossroads to hell.
As I peer through the grime
To the hairpin curve
The urchin of mine
Cannot but laugh away…
In the distance of the portrait of illusions,
It smiles as it stands unmoving…
I take the pen and sign my own name
With the neurotic hand of the old beginnings,
I come back around the black smoke
To my old nerve endings…
Where lost time is but a tunnel
Of inane, blank euphoria!
Where my urchin does fade
Into violins and boxes of molded nostalgia.
And my urchin can be yours
If you promise to keep it good,
If you promise to let it stay...
Happy with its insane solitude.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
To biting nails, to not taking showers, to procastination, to wearing shoes without socks, to having watched porn( 5 minutes do count), to judging and detesting beautiful guys in less than 5 seconds, to lying to my favourite two people on planet LySS---my parents---day in and day out, to being a spoilt cry-baby and pretending I cant cry, to being a brat and not owning up and saying sorry...(ugh!), to clandestine affairs with my hair, to nicking food post-3pm, to being a traitor regarding last-minute studying, to carrying on intellectual discussions on a completely clueless mode(!), to being hypocritically hypocritical ,to having the occasional crushes on some ethereally gorgeous girls , to secretly hating booze, to being a partial racist ,to knowing my dreams of writing is a wasteful fantasy, to loving him too much to tell him everything, to resenting my friends for making me so weak and needy at times, to cursing and 'god bless u'-ing Kolkata all at the same time, to being a perfectionist and spontaneous... at the same time, to having too many grey areas about everything that matter and overtly simplified ones on those that dont...to the utter and absolute chaos that is my petty little life.However... I am fearless, this is my battle and I will fight. Because this is a dawn and this is my land.There is either glory of freedom...or only defeat.Jai Hind.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Clutching faith and a brown paper-bag...I wonder if I should cover my head with it so I won't have to see...
May we all survive the crash.Amen.
Monday, August 9, 2010
I know you would say I must share blame...
In the mishap that tore us apart, but you see I'm ready...I'm ready to burn the bridges now...yes,I am ready...
I will forget, that is how I will forgive.
The bridge will be burnt and so will the cliff...
There will be no sharp edge to smooth over,
There will be no parts or points to go over...
And there will be no reason for more blood-spill.
I write my closure in the ashes from this burnt bridge...
It is my pleasure to declare you free.
Fly away...till the world turns over and you face the underside---
That familiar, musty smell of your old bed.
Sleep, my dear, my darlings of Fear...
Sleep till the morning outshines your pallid, humorless pokerface.
Is the best you can do for me.
While I take my leave.My closure.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Life is just mundane when you're a goody two-shoes...especially if you have been to the dark side and back and forth.I mean, no offence to the proud goody two-shoes out there but...its like the upturning of a soup bowl.Once spilled, its non-edible...unless you're accustomed to feline ways,that is. Likewise, if you have once turned the sand-clock upside down and let time take its toll while you go from good to bad and bad to worse,and once your life has identified itself with the all-smartass concept of 'being bad' in a good,correction--- great beautiful-sinner kind of a way, a few days of being in the elegant platform slippers (metaphor...NOT) is like straijacket from hell, only that hell is probably spelled 'hea...'.Either way, point is...the reason I'm writing this is that I'm bored and missing being a nuisance.Period.And I wouldn't have 3-4 years ago.Wow, 3-4 years of constant wrong-doing!?Not bad...I should just treat myself to good booze just for that.Except...*sigh*
Good dust and bad dust grab our feet
I hum away,
I know I remember the hail cutting the air,
I freeze away,
I can wake again, if you touch my temple,
When I clasp your neck, drag you down
Monday, August 2, 2010
It is where introspection becomes ice-cream discussions, crossroads become one-on-one basketball shots, arguments become pillow fights and destiny becomes the untiring habit of secretly texting in class---"whts up wid d face?sumthin wrong?"
Yeah, whether you have it or had it, miss it or are waiting for it...it has taken and will take up parts of you only it can replace.No one and nothing else.Not even you.Those are the alien bits of us, which has been abducted outside the realms of your understanding and can only be governed, studied and understood by it.
This is my homage to the quasi-eternal, forever-everafter, universally-unique answer to all our questions---'becoming friends'...and to all the idiots who have taken that risk with me.
You know I love you all. :)
Friday, July 30, 2010
A redundant spot resonant trial,
Like a flood in a cup of scarred lessons,
I tried, I failed, I rose vigilant,
More vigilant to chorus all these prayers---
These prayers for glory…and for the fear I reap.
If it was a mere nail-hole in the wall,
I could hang a picture of old classmates,
If I knew how to fly with my feet
Deep in the ground, I have sunk so deep…
I would stand tall. Head held high
I would rise to the price of an utter closure…
But I have sunk, I have sunk so deep
In the muck of bleach
And would-be crystal-clear water.
It is a deafness to hear noises austere,
Cacophony of a past poised array of voices…
Voices from memory that still sings so vividly
So blithely now...even when I’m running…
Running with the wind in my ear.
The nauseous ride on the underground train,
Still lingers like water left running,
Oozing and seeping from an uncut vein,
Holds me in my moments of livid, rapid, lucid rain…
I have held myself long now,
When the others finally let go,
On this virgin morning I rise
I rise to finally wake,
To reach out in their dawdling wake…
To touch the invisible faltering rain….
That patters softly, fluttering the leaves
Surrounding me, and the ghosts in my eaves
That I can hear so clearly, flooding my ear,
Drying my eyes, whispering to me my sweet dreams…
Sweet dreams come, sweet dreams go,
Memories remain, burdened on tow.
I can catch the wind, rustling the leaves
Surrounding me and the ghosts in my eaves.
No rain, but wind I can hold in my palm
As the morning dream trickles away…
And the fear of glory is long gone
When the end of trial is slowly unchained.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
If I fall, I will fall on my knee
Before you can whisper your apologies,
If I drown, I will drown to the bedrock
Before your last breathe is wrought…
I will dream your nightmares,
Drink poison to your good health,
And I can Lie, if you will me to,but...
If you promise me...before Life bows...
Promise me the breathless 3 seconds of death….
And not one second more…
But never leave me
Friday, July 9, 2010
Discarded memories turn to deride
Some forgotten ones on a back-bench day,
They starve on futile, hostile roses
Those grow too late and before no days
Come to pass…pass by any longer…
Nauseous guilt and choked repentance,
And the memories lost run on
Rain adrenaline alone,
The raw, wet hive of sweet ignorance,
Thrive on a frozen besotted pillow—
An attic avalanche,
Despondent to soulful, tearful eyes
And resplendent to the ashes turned to dust,
When memories go senile…
But I shall be good, I shall love
I shall be kind and faithful at last.
When the winters will plead
The trees to protect the earth from cold
Under their swath of leaves
I shall come back
Brighter than gold
And sing to you forever
Of tales untold.
A carved name still embellishes
This bark of our old mango tree
That reminiscently falls through air and lands
Safely on its own swath of wrinkled leaves
Now crunched to mere dirt in their wind-games,
A race to the top of this Hill,
A good father’s pledge, a good nurse’s creed
And all that was left of good wills...
When all is lost in a burnt page,
When I can merely sit and pray---
Let them be good, let them love
Let them be kind and faithful at last…
Monday, July 5, 2010
Trembling hands and clumsy trust,
Lashing out at the smallest prudence
In the hope of a never-ending hush…
No cracks or cackle shall disarray
This tryst with hypnosis, we’ve all come to obey.
Where it began, how it grows
A flightless beanstalk or a rabbit hole,
Beyond knowing where it goes…
We all agree to slither in pursuit…
Where boulevards all come to meet,
And twilighted sunset reclaims the weed,
And our stolen thunders collide mid-sky…
Our shattered cups do fly…
Hanging computers, dysfunctional phones,
Isolated captives, distractions alone…
Soul-mates, many, who never yearn to kiss,
A smile, a surprise before we begin to wish…
Nothing falls apart…because everything does,
Nothing has to heal…because everything does.
When the stars do begin to finally fade,
These cups will ascend and take their place…
High up in the sky...
Wondering what we were.
All in a day’s work,
The hearts do heal.
A pat on a back,
And a repaired heel…
And it all reverts
To seemingly unreal.
Only a chosen thunder
Chase our lightning trills...
Saturday, July 3, 2010
My heart beats faster than a bullet in mid-air.Pump more blood and maybe it will swell large enough to accommodate this overwhelming fear.Swell! I'm not cowardly.But then what is all this palpitation about? Is it the taste of anticipation on my nerve-endings? Anticipation of what?? The end? Let me look, lift the curtain a little...let me see where the road bends away...forever.
I shall miss the clutches of the shadows in the night.
But it is time...to uncork the bottle of Light.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Find her...find her...
The consciousness grows near,
With the distant calling of hawks,
Like a defiant storm in a rain-shadow,
It crafts its way on the rocks…
It glides, it sways, it bends away
Where it fears a crouched stranger
And ricochets off the Himalayan eyes
To remain deep under forever.
Though the floundering eyes
Know all the signs
Of the approaching thunder,
It will not shriek and cower
Inside the stark fault-lines.
Pity in the long run of yards,
You knew so little that you knew her...
She gave you life, she gave you trysts
And you gave in for her...
Stone-headed with hope this time,
Your rhymes all merge to slurs,
They dim away like a frigid star
To die to give respite to a million desires.
They keep awake the consciousness still…
Tip-toeing across the moist grass,
A little girl with a basket in hand
Of morning twinkles and scarlet flowers...
Two lines, that never rhymed
At the age of four...
Two times, the word repeats---
The last time she shone!
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Mud-pies in the rain
Shall be washed away,
Snowmans in the snow
Shall crystallize alone…
I hear the deranged birds of the sea,
Cooing to the waves to slow down,
To cease in their relentless footfalls,
Where they bury the turtle-nests…
Almost extinct now, like the innocence
That somehow missed me, and I miss it too…
Hello, I missed you…
Was there a night, a slurry diary night,
Polluted sheens in the skies I would cite,
As secrets were still secrets and lies were lies,
When I would miss crouching on the window-sill…
Staring into space in a direction I would feel
Slept my first love…
Yet…I missed you…
There was a girl, who sat next to me
Who spoke with her eyes, but couldn’t cry.
She left her books in a tidy pile, and one day…
I wrote in them my unflinching ‘goodbye’.
We met again, we sat again…
But her eyes never spoke to me,
I missed the page, which she should have missed…
With my ‘sorry’, written on it…
Oh, lonely, drenched evening kites,
Forgotten, tangled and estranged slights…
Home of joys, now homeless by night,
Who will miss them tomorrow?
Sighs. Their quavering, articulate sighs.
That held them afloat all this time.
And as the rumour goes, mimicking these kites
Time also flies—not in the wind, not with the birds…
But time does know how to fly…
Till the ink runs dry, and sighs expire…
And second chances become extinct too…
Chances that somehow missed me at first,
Hello, I missed you too.
I am walking behind a queue today,
Waiting for my turn…
Patience runs low seldom,
Though man at the counter is slow…
The ride to here was on a one-way road
It was raining, it was rain-washed
I missed a few signals, yet the ride didn’t last…
I missed a few turns; I missed many road-signs,
I missed them all, but time still flies…
Mud-pies in the rain
Shall be washed away…
Snow-mans in the snow
Shall crystallize alone…Castles in the air
And runaway trains...
Shall always remain...
Sunday, March 28, 2010
I know the Gods are crying this time
For their blessings back,
Promising this wretched urchin a soul,
No fingers crossed in that…
But this urchin just wants to drown
And take the city along,
Smirks and sways in its last raindance,
Laughing its last rain-song…
I am that urchin without a soul
Clawing and feeling my way,
Craving for space between your restless eyes,
Wishing you would look away…
Distance and time fall short with me,
As I chase my conscience,
Distance and time run on stilts
As you chase my confessions…
When the fault-lines around my mind
Give in to rabbit-holes,
You shall fall and disappear
With only what you know…
My laughter will ebb,
So will the tears…
And the rest of my raindrops;
But who shall pray
For this wretched urchin now…
When you’re crying with the Gods?
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
The reason is all up there.
Well,God knows where to find me...
I'll just be sleeping on my bench.
It smells of fresh red paint,
Reeks of burnt cigarette memories
Of sitting on it, waiting for someone...
Till I'll give up and fall asleep on my bench.
Birds gather all around me,
Frisky little things they are.
'Used to be so scared of them once too....
Now I let'em wait with me
On my bench.
My bench is old and its rickety...
Its freshly painted but still...
One day, they had to move it
Now I sleep on it in my sleepless dreams....
'Cause I'm not sleeping on my bench
I never found God,
He found my red bench
Monday, February 8, 2010
I’m finally drifting away…
Into some null kind of place
Of washed-away innocence;
The last shred of hope,
And culmination of doubts,
Fire to the last of my broken fence…
I have no home, I have no sight
Left in me to grind to light,
Despite all I had to begin with…
All that innocence…
I’m in a new place now…
The crazy limbo that I’m in,
That led me into dreaming…
Of my old fears and cravings,
The dreams of endless fallings
From two inch-high sidewalks
Into the death of the dream---
The mellow awakenings…
Just when I was getting used to
The frequent getting-losts
In the next lane
Of my childhood neighborhood…
In the map of my old dreams…
The once-nightmares,that is…
Fears that grew fond of my dreams,
Are leaving me along with the dreams...
Have I forgotten the need to fear
The little dire things of life?
Or am I simply walking, not drifting…
Into the burst of growing up...
For one last time.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
I live in a heartless summer-town,
Of sultry chills and wintry moons
Blanketing secrets in its slothful
Wakeful, sparkly silver hues…
I see you down the half-bridge,
Drained of the last speck of afternoon shine.
The sun is secure beneath the walls
Of bricks and buildings and you die..
To come to life in the shadows
Of my bed inside my quilt...late at night.
I sleep with the trees,
As they shall be…
Witness to dry winter kisses,
I have failed many hearts
They call me lucky
And that I’m fooled or simply blessed.
But I am no labor in respite
Of rain-drawn wind of hill-stations,
I am no humor looking for
A laugh to moist my sleepy eyes…
Leave me here and take me in
Curled in the tattered pillows of my long,slow nights
Make me your burnt and buried beautiful girl,
Your one-legged armor-less soldier
Make me your winter's spring-butterfly.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Circles of glass in the floor,
I have fish-eye views of not much more;
I prop myself up on my two elbows
And cork my vision, unscrew my nose.
There is not much more to see
More in this pit hole.
If you are trapped, I am too
But I’m not thinking on my own.
On my own, without a torch,
With no blind-man’s third eye at hand
You’re on your own, all alone
Grasping for hold on melting slow-sand…
My hand is near, but your lone thoughts steer,
You away and your beliefs grimly hear
Only hollows in the dislodged rocks…
It is dark here, and airless…
But I fear, my only fear….
That someday you might realize
That I was there at your side…
Feeling your last breath trickling away…
Because I’m standing on the circles of glass…
So you might breathe as they will break…
So we can both breath…
Even if for just one second.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
I laughed and didn't care if my teeth weren't perfect...or if the sound of my laughter didnt tingle like windchimes each time...or if the joke was even worth laughing so much over!
I met some of my oldest friends...one in particular,I go back with to nursery but hadn't heard from since class 9.
So,yes,I was hysterical.
Can't even remember the last time I was so hysterical...!
Suddenly the world deems as a much more interesting place...a haven crawling with the essence of curiosity and serendipity...and even love.
I feel 15 again...burning with an enhanced and long-forgotten lust for everything.The Howrah bridge,Stephen Hawking and Steven King,recyclable note-pads,3 o'clock sky hues,shapes in mosaic floors...even you...
There was a time….
There was a time when I blinked more times in the sun
But tilted my head upwards to bask in the omniscient heat rays,
Apathetic to the darkening tan in the cells of my façade…
A time when the sun and nobody else endeavored to darken this face…
There was a time…
There was a time when I ate powdered milk out of cupped hands,
Hid plastic gem-stones in mud-sands
And hid in seamless shadows thinking they could hide my shimmering little frame…
A time when no shadow in the world could hide this little frame…
There was a time…
There was a time when I was afraid of shapes in the night,
Would cringe from blasts of wind through the trees
And cling to Ma’s chest thinking there was a lock where our skins would meet…
A time when no one tried to cleave me from my imaginary locks…
There was a time…
There was a time when I lied about homework,
Bland food and how the school-skirt got wet
And prayed to god, I never understood, to let me redeem my fate…
A time when lies were paler than white and my fate was god-redeemed…
There was a time…
There was a time when I felt guilty about not liking grandma’s cooking,
About 13 seconds of dirty thoughts at thirteen,
About wanting any new toy or clothe, and sneakily using Ma’s nail-polish,
A time that was guilty of oblivion to the secrets of guilt’s consent…
There was a time…
There was a time when the rains would make me shiver much more,
But made me laugh much louder and longer,
When I lived each day for the night
And the two hours of lying awake
In bed---a child insomniac,
When I had fewer friends to think about and no lovers at all…
A time when my mind was clearer than the rain and I could love much much more…
There was a time…
A song, a ghost, a crime to my present,
A time when I was too short to open doors…
Yet somehow always found them wide open …
A time when I was good,
I had nothing to begrudge…
A time when I was easily homesick...
But funny how it was never quite this much…
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
You came, we came, I lied, you left, I left, we left.
And ‘left’ can never be set right.
You discovered the truth, I panicked, I blushed, you understood, we understood.
‘Understood’ stands over us now. Tall exclamation points here and there.
I lied again.And again. And again. You overlooked…
‘Overlook’ still looks down upon us.Dotted with dots and dots and dots…everywhere.
I connect them.Like fireflies in the sky.And stars in the backyard.
Like fireflies and stars.And you now.
I can see you in the dark, squint an eye, reach out in my mind, but remain satisfied with only connecting the little points in the sky or backyard where you all are.The little points in my life where you were.Where you all were…the twinkling points of light.
So connecting dots now.
Skipping points and connecting all over again.And Over.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Sceneries whip by
A deserted lore,
A two-lover whore
Of undesired memories…
Slink in the dark depths
Of her sweet-smelling hair
And she is sanguine
Knowing it’s a past affair.
Her devoted mind
Is always nostalgic,
Of broken bricks
In the wall of memories…
That moistens her throat
On sultry days
Leaves her thirsty,
Knowing it’s a new decade.
Her heart does throb,
Her ears are vigilant,
Her wrists do tingle
With the abated breathe…
For new memories
Her body does pine.
Her past is in the past,
And everything of hers…
Everything she was…
Is now a feisty temptress,
A chaste semblance
Of a new time.
Her sweet-smelling hair
Singes in the chemical fire…
And her breathless voice
Slows down to a noise,
Just a noise now…
And her dreams crash
Upon a new asphalt road
And cobwebs of concrete
Where she’s lost in the crowd…
And picked up again.
By a hand in the subway,
A hand that brushes away
A singed lock
Of her sweet-smelling hair…
Casting the shadow of a memory,
A memory burnt to ashes with the bricks;
A memory born again to her lustful embrace
In the light of her disgruntled desires and dreams,
And she with her singed hair and broken voice
Feels beautiful yet again.
Knowing it’s a new affair…
Knowing its not the old year…
Knowing its not the same here