Random Thoughts---5th August, 21 days till I am reborn.

Realization 101---

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*

Cycle of Dust

I rant away,

Under the monsoon peck,

Halogens burning,

To illuminate our wreck,

I clap a sudden

Whisper to camouflage,

So I keep my crisis

Under careful check.

Good dust and bad dust grab our feet

We trip, we sway, you lean on me

I clasp your neck, I drag you down

We complete the cycle, round and round…

I hum away,

Your eyes cluster mine,

Ants traipsing

From around and behind,

I forsake a tryst

With my perfect kiss,

I hide my fury

With this perfect night.

I know I remember the hail cutting the air,

Heaven bestowed, and clinging to your hair;

I clasp your neck, drag you down

We complete the cycle, round and round…

I freeze away,

My limbs, my nose gone numb,

Melancholy melting

In the sweetness of being mum,

A twist in the tale

If I die under your wide-eyed gaze,

So I keep my vanities

Inside the last, missed tram...

I can wake again, if you touch my temple,

And raise me from my death rubble,

Because

I shall remember

Only the living strains of this singing fall,

Because

The good happens more

Often than the not…

When I clasp your neck, drag you down

We complete the cycle, round and round.

Happy Friendship Day---1st August, 25 days till I am reborn.

~.~.~.~
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. :)
~.~.~.~

Dry Rain...

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.

Word (This is for you only.)

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…

Leave,

But never leave me

Alone.

When I come back...

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…

Cups in the Sky

Living on the rues of shattered cups,

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...