I am better.I am convalescing.I shall soon walk my old strut,and talk my old lingo and appear non-crazy normal again.
'Soon' is the word.'I will' is the mantra.
Keep reading.

Yonderland (the song---to you from me)

This is where I go,
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.

Little-Miss-Cadbury-Queen

"I had everything I ever wanted, and I let it slip
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.

Rock

Did you know I can steal?
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.

Tenth Sentence

Upon the clouded number of spurring nine lives,
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.

Good Morning

The day I saw him for the first time, I was too sleepy to really register all the details of his face or what he was wearing.But I do remember that look on his face.A haunted, sorely humbled demeanor.The first words I said to him nearly made him jump out of his dark-tinted skin.It was impossible to look away, yet my very stare seemed to frighten him somehow.
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.

Sound

My lungs take in the langruous midnight terrace air.That memory is a stab of November goosebumps.
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....

Fuck you.
In every way.

That's all I got today.

Twilight Clouds

You mouth to the twilight clouds

 Gasping for breath,

  You beg them to hold very still,

    Till your swing should come to rest;

     You cut the blue sands

      With your pink scrawny toes

       And you thank them

        Blessing them,

         The twilight clouds of the heavens.

On your way out,

You would stop and stoop

To shake a pebble out 

Of your balloon-printed shoes,

And leave the twilight forever

With their blessing to reap

A small gap in the clouds of November,

An eternity to your crib.

Girl, give me a lie,

A shame,smeared with your tears that dried

To hold me in peace

For the days I sigh,

A breath, full of rain from the heavens that dried

To hold me in peace

For the seconds I died...

Girl, give me a reason to smile.

Bread Crumbs

You speak to me
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.
Nothing.Nothing
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...

He isn't like you.

He's rugged, brilliant, older and with-a-past-and-a-story-of-his-life.
He's somewhere making more of that story of his right now.
And he's not you.

And I don't know him either.

Same Boat

I could never tell light from dark too well,

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.

There is a painting of mine,from when I was 10.It now hangs in a corner of my room,literally cobwebby.It portrays this girl sitting in semi-darkness, her knees folded to her chin.The thing about the painting is the very technical flaw in it.Instead of appearing that one half of her being is illuminated, it seems like one half,the other half, is bathed in an eerie blue blackness.

Yes, I always was a little disarrayed about the very basic concept of light and dark.

Still am...

I still don't know whether every mind is originally pure and is vulnerable to being consumed by darkness.Or whether it is basically a dark room with a desperate calling for enlightenment.

Or whether THAT is the very basic difference between the good and the bad.

But then...we're all same.Eventually.

If the Light is the Destiny of the Dark and the Dark is the Light's Fate...we're all same.
Nothing matters.
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.
Courtesy---dream diary!
Phew.

Overdue

Shouted at a bunch of representatives of the testosterone-loaded imbeciles of the type "male" in the human genre.Sometimes,I think only women evolved...really! I sound immature? Like some crazy 15 year old chick with major daddy issues and a crush who never looks at her?Maybe.
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!
Conclusion?
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!)

Checklist---The Nine Circles...Circled.

1.Cellphone switched off. 
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.