walk, stoop, walk

the other side of the hill.
is the road less travelled
where sun resides forever
where haze dies,
brutally with every blink
and memories arise every
new minute.

it's where you stand alone,
unabashed
with winds and hawks
singing in a monologic delight
the space bends to you
as dreams die,
in sundry reality of life

the other side of the hill
where not many survive,
not many realise,
neither the blind nor the wise
the place called the other side

depth of love is inversely proportionate to the level of dependency

the story

i have experienced the state, when i'm not comfortable in being numb. Despite of a splitting headache gruelling my enormous nerves. It's like looking up the sky and finding it immensely cryptic, when clouds seem familiar and strangers at the same time.



There is no respite because there exists no problem. There is no pain, for there is no hope. This all engulfing feeling is 'nothing' and nothing is surely pervasive today. Meanwhile jaded hands try to sync with coldplay, crooning lonely in the backdrop of a frameless mind.



Wish i could explain the point from which things appear blurred. Like a deviant shadow, difficult to discard, and dangerous to keep. The truth is i demand a lot and never give up.

This is where the story ends or begins perhaps.

oh jesus!

The town is painted red, i see stars all over the place. In the crowded mall, at the coffeebar. a tiny one on the tea stall and mostly over my head. i see humungus stars, like the galaxy hovering on tin-tin and calvin. They get me dizzy, indicative of an apparent sickness. The christmas sickness.

Amid the gala of black santa at office(black is the new white, as said by obama), i made a few observations, worthy of the space here.

1> Christmas is a polite way of spreading greed. Like an epidemic, greed envelops everybody, from the sweet old baker to a barely talking two-year olds. Going by the indian definition of gift, in the times of recession, christmas will become the fastest route to bankruptcy.

2> Many of the christmas rituals were celebrated before Christ was born. Therefore it's easy to guess the amount of truth behind the cause of celebrating christmas as the 'birth of christ'. Acoording to historians, Romans declared 25th December to celebrate Saturnia-a festival of merriment. Whereas christmas was invented to compete the pagan festival on the same date. So christmas marked the birth of resentment, more than anything else.

(look how resentment is celebrated now)

3>How many people celebrating Christmas know even the c of Christ? The ones who know, seem to remember everything but the religious aspect of it. Most of us remember it for exotic plum cakes or the flamboyant rum and turkey delight. Applying the same logic of Diwali reduced to a day of free lunches complimentary with presents.

(MERRYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!chrismas).

on the rosy side,

Christmas brings in gaiety and merriment to a lot of people. A lot of fat people get to make big dough in the disguise of the big donor, where kilograms are weighed in currency.

(The more the merry)

growing up

there, in the soft mud
i saw it sprouting,
the seed of a being
rooted to it's cause (of)
-binding freedom-
in its undaunted existence.

the harp and the arrow
failed to shelter,
for fear is hard to kill
and killing is feared no more
in the by-lanes of life
walking brave this time.

the blue night

like a whizzer,

on the naked sand

~sepentined~

in arms of disarray

touch me,

and i bite

fold me,

and i whine.

poison me,

and i shine

till then, wait for the blue night

pours the porcelain

In my dreams I'm dying all the time
Then I wake its a kaleidoscopic mind
I never meant to hurt you
I never meant to lie
So this is goodbye This is goodbye...

There are songs of pain and there are songs of ecstasy. And in between lies a moment of heightened gravity where things fall back flat, unperturbed. The song attempts to capture the visuals of the same through an intriguing serenade. The hues of grey are defined well in the melodies blurred

This one has been customarily tagged as a break-up song but i most assertively deny, for i experience the poise of the singer not seen in those circumstances otherwise. If there exists a thing called sweet pain, i am sure has emanated from this heart and transversed through the abysmal of a dense clay material.

This song is all-engulfing, in the train, on the bike and other pervasive sources of noise alike. This song requires no particular mood, to swing to. It doesn't make you wobble your booty, it it makes you wobble your heart, (coming from an avant-garde known for his house-booties jiggling on the house). It's peppy yet non-chalant, it's sonorous yet dull. It's dark yet flickeringly delightful.

I invaded 'the extreme ways' and ' flower', but came back most accomplished on this track. It's wonderfully created. and i thereby proclaim to be a moby-fan.

love bestowed

uphill,
the shrine of insanity
i stand seeking.
the virtue
which translates clouds into sheets splattered
and wind into the dreams woven underneath
atop,
lies a treasure devoid of emotions unclean
surrounded by guards of deceit
selling hearts in bits and piece
and the takers queue
in the form of prayers unsung.

unearthly worm

splatter splatter

wisdom rains

in a pot full of drain

and wakes the

crawly worm.

sneaking in the landscapes

of muddy houses

to find his earth,

he calls as home

my electric blue cloud

seer at my house,
rave at my heart
fizzle of an acid,
tearing all apart.

in a flash of wisdom,
vices disappear far
engulfing me in a thwart
like a nail on a pink wall

white lies, opaque in twilight
blubbering a penitence within
clasping its drenched hands
in it's acts of rinse and rinse

and grows the platypus merrily,
in a dainty grove beneath
when it offers a warm nap
drifting the drops and dreams

sale to the horizon

on the falling raft,
as the ennui resides
bring forth my arm
to know i do survive
the waters aren't buoyant
the seas aren't still
the mist is prolonged
and the ray seems defined

drift me away from the shore of words
as i count the sand, bereft of letters in it.

the prince and the pauper, with roles reversed more than often

Freud and Hitler, two of the most influential personalities go on becoming their biggest opponents from being room-mates for years.

ravaged part II

Post the havoc caused by in humans in Mumbai, I admit of being shaken to the extent of falling to words, in an attempt to vent out. I wouldn't sound typical by blaming the authorities, which anyway has become the latest national anthem. I wouldn't tell tales of brutality, the men in the sheath of religion have concurred. For, I candidly claim of having touched by the relentless odour of terrorism.

I like many more individuals was unshamedly unaware of the terrorist attacks, until it became talk of the office and country at large. I saw people who had never, not even accidentally had stopped at a news channel, staying glued to 24*7 news ,all night in enormous grit. I however overlooked and underestimated the scenic appalling at my own TV set until I seered into the eyes, which had pain beyond explanation.

There were arms, and there were corpses, both competing against each in number and size. There was silence and shrieks both muting the loudest of crowds. It was not terror against man, it was history re-lived, cropped from incidents like The jaliawallah and likes. The gun shots turned everything to stand still, including an inkling to live. As heard from the survivors themselves.

Here are some facts which pondered me to write an incident i was waken to~
1. The fisherman Union claims of having complained to the naval authorities about the enormous RDX loading on the sea post.

2. Intelligence had informed officials, including chief minister and home minister about a terror attack in Mumbai On November11 through a satellite phone reading.

3.The NSG forces took more than four hours to get into action after having being informed of the terrorist captive, where by then the death toll had already surmounted in the hotel firing.

4. talking of unity, after the attacks, it was interesting to know that our leaders, did i say (Leader of the Opposition) L.K. Advani and the PM travelled to Mumbai on separate aeroplanes.

5.operation 'water rat'-an expose conducted by CNN-IBN to estimate security measures at our coast revealed the area is in a state of utter regress. There was absolutely no security post, which should have otherwise been strict and vigilant.

and lastly:
The pigeons outside the Gateway of India opposite to once a massive Taj, have stories of horror to tell. They not only witnessed acts of brutality, but have sobered to the extent of laying numb in there. According to the locals, the birds haven't moved an inch after the bullet exchange in the past three days. They lay immobile, engrossed in humanity perhaps.
( I pray for their well-being too!)

ravaged

in the skelet of

humanity

pinned another

wretch

corpses bleed, in the bruise of somebody

else

thunders,

applauds

and inconsolable sighs

emanated

from a fire destroying self constructed

homes

to the bearing, it was much more indeed

to the bullets, it was a sky beneath

and to the spectators, a show of higher curiosity

big, bang boom, "mom diwali arrived pretty early, too soon".

degeneration

Painting by Edson Dias

unheard voices,
sneering glances,
chained in sermons
of a convoluted self.
why do i become what i never was?
through the glamorous process
of birth, lust and mediocrity alas.

where beauty of a flower
remains trapped in rosy verbose
where seasons flutter
in the storm of thoughts
through robotics of wit,
and sarcasm, bleeding profuse,
in this ghastly 'all'

the delicately woven reverie
couldn't make it to the top
for all there lying,
was a nail bearing ball
as million faces plunged in cavity
which deepened only remorse
greying every single day

oh cowardly soul, what fears you the most
a heartless form or a broken heart in hand?

when journey makes you forget the destination

I am tired of running, breathing sporadically through my frozen nose. Yes, i have been chased since the time i don't exactly remember and I'm not talking about my unfaithful shadow here. I try to eye the enemy through semi-numb senses, which lands me into a cavernous abysmal. This fall is extremely unpleasant and no matter how much i holler (through my fully numb senses now), i have the world unheeded to my tribulation. the journey inside is dramatic, from extreme fear to extreme void. Quite transient to the extent of waking me up cruelly every morning.

Clearly this ain't no dream but the horrendous of horrendous nightmares, the ones which brutally make you realise that you're alive. Each day i see myself in this abysmal, going to a place, popularly addressed as nowhere. Here void becomes the only thing of clarity you have in your head. Each day i sweat profusely seeing this anon enemy, while shadows only foul-play occasionally. It's not that I'm blinded or daft to find out the cause, but over the time I've become a victim of my own self, my own 'fatigued self'.

Interestingly, i take pride in discerning the fact that in this treacherous journey, i seek great comfort in crumpling the stones i meet on my path. 'Anger', 'Jealously', 'Indifference' are bleeding bruised, while their scars are clearly visible on my body. Deception is one thing, i strongly don't believe in, which is why the enemies always manage to spot me from a distance. Their footmarks trail along mine, while the difference is categorically seen in the end. Where my footmarks lose out to the magnum space, i receive in the void. It is then i begin to feel alive, floating to the loose shreds of my sub-conscious. To it i surrender a lot more than just the senses.

shine on emerald (a dedication)

Give me a word
Give me a sign
Show me where to look
Tell what will I find ( will I find )
Lay me on the ground
Fly me in the sky
Show me where to look
Tell me what will I find ( will I find )

Oh, heaven let your light shine down (x4)

Love is in the water
Love is in the air
Show me where to go
Tell me will love be there ( love be there )
Teach me how to speak
Teach me how to share
Teach me where to go
Tell me will love be there ( love be there )

Oh, heaven let your light shine down (x4)

Im going to let it shine (x2)
Heavens little light gonna shine on me
Yea yea heavens little light gonna shine on me
Its gonna shine, shine on me
Its gonna shine, come on in shine
...................................
shine-collective soul

How sweet!

"These candies appear tempting, i plan to flick coupla them"(a bunch of toffees which would remind you of those 3-year-olds running across the field in the hues of electric blue, pink and yellow)
"well! they're all expired, i believe"
"oh, so why are they are here?( boss, we're at a candy manufacturer's boardroom, what else do you expect?)
"you know the country is facing a strong economic recession and may be the client has something in mind", says the servicing chick with an einstein look on her face.
ha ha ha... (bosses are always known for their amazing sense of humour)
"huhaaaaaf past three", i say it in a musical yawn only to conceal my dumb silence.
"our stuff is great, i hope we sell them this time round", meanwhile i am told, " i expect you to be 'sweet' to the client which means speak as little as you can".
yes boss!
...............................................................
"and here is the mind-numbing, eye-grabbing, scintiallting, oh so riveting(while the client is lost in checking out vivek oberoi, semi-nude in the thought blurb)..........................unimaginably witty creative"

SFX: drum rolls out

"it's nice, it's naughty(no the brand is not the pink nokia phone priyanka chopra is promoting), its cheeky too", replies the client biting her lips(she must have gone in the pool as well!!!)

but.......my only concern is it's not 'sweet'
i grin at the boss innocently(note- i'm still mum)
"Ms.. i beg to interrupt, but the brief was 'funnnnnnnnnn"( trying hard not to concentrate on the remark, the servicing chic just made)
"but you must remember at the end of the day the purpose of our product is to spread sweetness", replies the client
(and crash them into inconsolable diabetes, you fuck-face, i have to speak! in my head of course.)

"'i think our personal favourite is this route"", said in chorus( i wonder if these servicin chicks have been sleeping together or what)
the client seems to ignore that as always

The next creative is presented, "It;s a story of a guy.....and see the title of this story is 'how sweet'', while i grin away to glory
"well now you have no reasons to complaint i presume", making it clear obvious that i am the writer on this.
"hahaaa, this is funny", the client looks at me.
haaaaaaaaaaaaaaahaaaaa- the servicing chics in chorus again
and i am smiling sweetly to the former ofcourse.
(by now the boss has gone into an identity crisis)
"hmmm...,
i think my fellow here would like to sleep over the idea, and get back to you", curtly says the client
"now what should i give you?", shrieks the servicin chick in her usual tone
"may be an expensive bed and pink sheets", winks the other one.

hahaha, " you know what's the scene on this Dubai film, i think.."
"oh come now you;re digressing from the agenda madum", snaps the servicing at the client.
(while i am saved from visualising the client on those pink sheets with oberoi now, i would choose Obama, not that twain have a remotest co-relation here)

"alright then ladies and 'a gentleman', we shall get back to you in the evening", quite evidently the client seems to has given up on morons like us.
meanwhile i checked my watch it was 4.30 already.
"sure, it was nice meeting you today" (servicin, i heard you guys complaining of cranky clients who call you for a job meeting every hour)

as the meeting comes to its finale, i said "ok then, hope you have a good sleep", sweetly.
followed by a ROFL by the client and a mourning back in office.

un-wind

today i plod on winds,
unflinchingly
for it bears an incense
purantic.
what's been in the air for sometime,
is legible only now
i colour no more,
for the space is already mine.
and this possession
is no price for the freedom it
yields,
electrical like the blue sky,
eccentric like the cuckoo's nest
beauty in peace
and peace therein.

Angry young(and older) man

anger is the second name for 'inflated ego'
anger is the hazardous black which ignites the matchstick, burning homes
anger cannot be controlled. It makes you loose control,
anger is not a tornado or a low tide, it is but a cumilation of both, on a moonless night
anger equals to destruction, anger is anti-peace
anger is the bullet, injuring wisdom
anger cannot be CHANNELISED, it burns all the routes,

i stop here, i don't think anger in any form can dispel any of the above stated. so venting it is out of question. it's more like a treadmill, the more you pull it out, the more it comes to you. Most importantly it hinders the foresight, rupturing your very faithful sight for that matter.
Having said all this one cant really stop treading anger, but be aware of its destination. 'awareness' is conspicuously essential but comes with a twist here. The more you make the world aware of your anger, the more will be its repercussions, which would mean instead of burning four windows, you burn six now. Anger becomes an Achilles heel, faltering your own steps here.

Those who say that anger is momentary and is good to vent it(the 5 minute volcano active-volcano dies policy) for it's very good riddance is nothing but casuistry. Because they are the people who ignore the implication of that 5 minutes of untreated fire. Anger breeds in the periphery of your conscience and when you channelise it, you allow it to grow. It must be killed at the point of origin itself, that's where awareness comes into picture. Anger cant be defeated, it has to be depleted. Go, angry young man, kill it before it kills you.

ice-breaker

together,
we swanned,
in the rosary of winds
which unfurled truth
of 'you' and 'me'

while it was cold
and cankerous,
before you fought with the sun
with a rage overpowering
for 'me' and 'us'

and 'you' melted thereafter.

hole in the pot

in the whirlpool,
of fleeting glances
i swim,
drown,
alternatively.

one moment, you flash
as a galaxy
dressed in a thousand stars,
and other
you frizzle like a dust storm
maverick.

but then,
i can't blame you,
for your uncertainty
because i was the water
unstoppable, undefined.

off words

"i look into spaces,

and find blemishes

when you ask me

to read between the lines

i follow the words

and run away from its meaning

when you ask me

to read between the lines"

...........................................................

today, i leave a blankpaper alongside you, let me know you!

change

what will be,

from what was

is change.

Atop

In the most trivial of conversations, i was interrupted(for the good) and told that life can be explained in as simple as three sentences -
1. when you see a hill and call it a hill
2. when you see a hill and not call it a hill
3. when you see a hill and call it a hill

to my shock, i didn't bear the trademark 'confused' look, which is clearly the look to hint out that i unapologetically doubt other person's normalcy. However everything made so much sense this time around, and to my shock i saw myself nodding (again)to the explanation of these sentences

stage1: when we see a thing as 'it' is, as per the norms and conventions. That is 'A' for apple and 'H' for hill. Where we most statedly adopt the baggage of our ignorant ancestors and remain in convenient bliss.

stage 2: which statistically me and my friend found that only a handful of people enter into, where a hill is anything but for a hill. i mean the mere reason that it bears a pointed conical top, or coloured brown in their sketch book fails to justify its occurrence as a hill. in other words it's the 'why' stage, where questions form a pile of square, tart, box anything but for hill.

we also mutually came to a conclusion, that it might be hard to get to this stage but it is multiplicatedly harder to move ahead
a. it brings in lot of instability
b. it tempts you to loose focus at every nook
c. if a hill is not a hill, it is open to a subject of debate, it can be a stone which is pelted on him time and again, which creates a ruckus followed by dismay.

chances are that he might be lost, at every seeming turn and keeps on moving round and round around the pointed, conical land form.

Stage3: not even handful of people make it here, but those who do need no explanation of what it feels like to see the same hill now. After having seen a hill, perceiving it to be anything but for a hill and accepting it to be a hill. Mind you, the word is acceptance here, by the virtue of interrogation, unrest, introspection, experiencing, inference and more, a hill is so placidly defined as a hill. and these are the people who know a hill is more than a conical, pointed land form-enlightened attained, gone through purgatory.

i am travelling each day to make my way to 'the top', 'a hilltop'.

the maggot

dormant
behind the curtains of time
reviving the relict
forlorn, forgotten
having lost its sight
to gain only vision
recuperating
in a self-inflicted
ailment
some call it derision
i call it hibernation
the time beseiged
is soon to fly
and spread colours myriad
doubt no more
oh, passersby
a butterfly is to be born
right here, within.

love

'love is a corollory to SELF'

the purpose of my life

Is to be able to experience heaven on a breezy night
to hold hands of my love, the day it rains
to fall asleep in the nursing sun
to grin at the nasal sounds, i make on a cold evening

to describe butterflies in myriad colours on Feb afternoons
to write a sonnet, in the memory of fallen autumn leaves
to look into the eyes of a straying pup and say 'hey i care for you'
to wake up each day and question myself 'what is the purpose of my life'?

hope

the best definition of hope, i get is when i see the eyes of a shuddering bare body, touched by the first sunlight or an insomniac nearing sleep.

snow on the sahara, quivers my heart

Only tell me that you still want me here
When you wander off out there
To those hills of dust and hard winds that blow
In that dry white ocean alone
Lose out in the desert
Ou are lost out in the desert

But to stand with you in a ring of fire
Ill forget the days gone by
Ill protect your body and guard your soul
From mirages in your sight
Lost out in the desert
You are lost out in the desert

If your hopes scatter like the dust across your track
Ill be the moon that shines on your path
The sun may blind our eyes,
Ill pray the skies above
For snow to fall on the sahara
anggun...............................................

these words bear the sound of rain, to my quenched ears. I dont know if it's the voice of anggun, or her deep felt lyrics that kindle a sense of freedom. there is an uncanny truth in the lady's voice which lets you travel to the inner trenches of your heart.
i conveniently put this singer at par with the avant gardes-enigma, evanescense and alike.

shine on lady~

and the paradox dissolves

Post torment i feel 'what can break you certainly makes you stronger'.

paradoxical

"the lamp which flutters incessantly, becomes the source of your stillness and the thing of stillness, that is you becomes the source of my torment"

elusive

the path to stillness is ever sullen with noise,

what fades to black becomes illuminant all of a sudden

in the eerie of nowhere, moonlight appears frigid

and guides me to a conspiracy unwritten

the moment that was, and the moment this is,

enamoured by disloyalty and indifference

even the scented wind carries an air,

and pretends to have known me never

in cognito

"there is no smoke without fire they say, but according to me what's important is the residue, a witness to both smoke and fire"

quivering

the wind is mine

the breeze is yours,

while we remain distant,

we shall forever be close

'hops and leaps and stretches and frowns and squirts and prances and pounce,
corny and cheesy and molly

where is my bunny?
the straight hare wants a bunny now now and now.

winter has arrived

erratic reveries,
comforted under wools
of time
bear a chill, exuberant
under the closet of spine
~winter has arrived~

Behind 'Time'

10, 9, 8, 7 , 6 , 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...

'your time has come lady'.

'your time has come'. followed by what? will the freebies fall upon me amid the paparazzi or it simply means i am gifted a rolex oyester spedking, for being on time. but hey i am never on time and i don't understand the fuss created over time.

even in the changing times people don't shy away from slyly putting 'Indian standard time', as a justification for arriving late in an event . And then there are deadlines, which clearly is the time for men at forty, to behave like fourteen, taking an inherent pride to break them, and experience the same joy time and again.

A survey conducted in America reveals 'time-out' is the third most popular phrase used by the whites after 'shut-up' and 'fuck off', which outshines than the fact that 98% of kindergarten stories begin with 'once upon a time', this is a clear victory, presuming you have by now joined me, in my race against time.

'mam may i got go the toilet'

no! this is not the right time, i wonder why kids don't assertively reply, 'time and tide wait for none', which is likely to piss off the the teachers though.

in a timely advice, once given to a friend, i realised the gaping significance of time in our lives. from birthday's to death anniversaries, everything is dictated by time,

'harsh times', 'good times', everything falls categorically into 'time of our life'. who invented this legendary time? but then talking about legends who came, saw and conquered at one point of time, would be a consumption of your precious time.

at times, we feel a sense of liberation in saying 'i don't have time', brutally honest it may sound, but is highly effective. And glaringly simple, i want to avoid you, so i don't have time, while time has scored brownie points already.

Centuries have passed and more shall, but the war between man and time will nothing but timeless.

chaos(ed)

entangled threads shrive the verdict,

of a reckoning self

' black is black and blue is blue'.

while light cuts brutally the truth.

there in noise,

and whispers that clamour,

where stillness adopts the motion

and travels across

the familiar walls of mind

to 'unlearn'

and 'unwind'

and experience

complacence dwelling ever since

from the bird's eye

capturing,
environs of liberty,
she fists the infinite.
envisioning,
matter and its anti.
A horizon with remnants
of nothing
but the 'absolute'

now and within

On this wayward,
Where do I go?
Where do I come?
The light cornering the street,
Fades to wilt,
The air descends to gravity
Bereft of its warmth
The roads don’t want to know me,
The paths choose to ignore me
Ennui resides, hope adjourns,
Apocalypse is here,
Now and within.

what's up?

"dancing with words, and writing rhymes"*


this message has been issued to answer the most recurrent question "what's up", p.s next time it would be "the blue sky, or the squeaky fan"

You know I Can't Smile Without You,
I Can't Smile Without You,
I can't laugh and I can't sing,
I'm findin' it hard to do anything.
You see, I feel sad when you're sad,
I feel glad when you're glad,
If You only knew what I'm go ing through,
I just Can't Smile Without You.
You came along just like a song
and brightened my day,
Who'd've believe that
you were part of a dream
Now it all seems light years away.

And now you know I Can't Smile WIthout You,
I Can't Smile Without You,
I can't laugh and I can't sing,
I'm finding it hard to do anything.

You see, I feel sad when you're sad,
I feel glad when you're glad,
If you only knew what I"m going through,
I just can't smile.

Now some people say happiness
takes so very long to find.
Well I'm finding it hard
leaving your love behind me.
And you see,
I Can't Smile Without You,
I Can't Smile Without You,
barry manilow- played 120 times and still counting..

hermitage

with the usual
sepulchral eyes,
you ponder and plunder
what lies deep to be dug
in the outskirts of disdain.

the chromium voices echo
your abysmal,
as you lay complacent
in the aurora of
your burning self.

chirruping the essence
of living in the
most doomed monotone,
where silences reckon
what lacks in the blaring world.

a falling leaf,
questions
no entity,
but rejoices the
brevity of its fall,

where trickles only freedom
what world describes as loss.

the leper

soiled in,
drudgery of imposition
the leper shreds his
'self',
freed from impervious,
laws of mankind
he bathes his,
'naked self' .

the moment

cologned in synchrony
this hour,
this pulse,
as moments gush
effable,
take my hand
as i reach out
to grasp the chroma
this moment.

pearled

here ,
in the ambush of
incoherent thoughts
i study the stillness,
of the reckoned silence
like a falling pearl
singular,
enlightening the mind.

winds of same

across the jammed doors
she pleads my heed
bereft of the belonging,
i rake in her
screening memories,
of the unsolicited past
through a lightening
oh, it's apparent flash.

loo(K) who's thinking?

lying timid, in the absolute absymal
most comfortably lost
in the salvaging thoughts
of moths and flies
including the one
which savours my blood tonight.
befriending the voluminous stink
of fa(e)ces and the faceless
churning from within.
moving in circles,
not just the flush water
a mindful of filth
mom, please dont see me in this
and say your usual thing
"shit!"
"what have you been upto?"
coz, i have my usual reply
"i've been thinking...."

incompetence

hollering winds, shielded they stand,
against me,
against my breath.

in the stormy night, stranded i am,
mocking birds,
mocking at me.

cornering the silence of this existence,
i run,
i run for cover.

chased by the cryptic stars,
beaming loud
beaming the misfortunes.

in search of discreet directions,
right! right!
what is right?

a flight of endless steps
prancing,
prancing breathlessly,

wayward impulses, wary of nothing,
disappearing,
disappering noticeably.

enter the state of turmoil,
mist gallores
mystic indeed

in my dreams, yet another day
i compete
i compete with the self

deja-vu

same shadows,
diffuse in tonight
it's essence is you
enrich a new light.

old paths,
come alive
as gazed before
brew a gush redefined.

leaves wither,
to bloom yet again
its fertility unknown,
till the parched rained.

smells delectable,
only fragrance changed
what remains now is,
what was left untamed.

clouds foreplay,
under the bubbling sun
steps sync in
and together we run.

vision blends,
vigour begs to defend
stranded the same way
walking the same highway!

survival

from the embers brazen,
i recollect
what's lost
and found
in the ashes beneath

under the moonlight tarnished,
i paint
fugitive shadows
trepid,
in redeeming its self

waivering winds witness,
incantation
unobstructed today
forlorn,
of the dead wanderer

gelid

sneering the caprice within,
i touch the incongruent winds
embalmed by its cold
as quivering hands reach out

refuting the laws of gravity,
i rise up audacious
with the sheath of deceit
caught in the eye of storm

awake

a fistful of memories, stolen from moments
a ghost, an angel in the remnants of time
a desire once, to burn in your arms,
a desire once, to experience trance

a fistful of anticipation, in your homecoming
a longing, a negligence dwells and deluges
a yearning, discreet, to open up to you
a yearning indeed to foget what i knew

a fistful of tears from the dry eyes
a fistful of bliss, dissolved in black
a dream painted in the sheer dark
a dream never completed the arc

a fistful of vengeance, hollering the mirror
a fistful of nudity clads the bereaved soul
a morning when i woke up 'awake'
a morning shall never be the same again

off the scars

concurring voices, of the understated misery
shrieks and shrieks
disappear into eerie

look atop,
the shadow eroded
pilfering peace
preyed beneath

tasting venom,
from the cynosure
whats looks elegant
is nothing but insinuated

beheld effigy
of a loathed leper
shredded to unrest
in halted breaths

a name forbidden,
a direction mistaken
a clamouring night
alas, disturbs silence

(un)knowing

letters inscribed on the sea sand

of grief and esctacy,

grit and chastity,

bathing it's shore everyday.

with the fervour of a pirate

his incredible dexterity,

and unmatched mobility,

he writes and writes all day long.

looking up the crimson sky

he draws and paints,

and brushes the stains,

with musings from heaven and hell.

a conforming smile infuses his mind

for answers are typed,

and queries are snipped,

once a sand, becomes a closet now.

blessed with the knowledge of the world

tranquilised dreams,

in bits and reams,

he's never had this sleep before.

'hey there young man'

who are you?

where are you?

peturbed eyes now look downright.

trailing the other end


a blurred horizon

or blurred vision?

he hears a quaint sound.

and extends his hand to the strand

stop!!!

wait!!!

while the letters float, far away.

rhapsodic

quivering hands,
flinching feet,
we swoon and surrender
drowned in eternity

rhythm flows,
to and fro,
a tickle feeble
a touch anon

lines jar,
shadows elope ,
floating my way
catching the infinity

and the chase begins,
ranting beat ,
catching up with the feet
unison of a kind

delirium unleashed ,
etched ecstasy ,
alas encore
as i dance out.

shine on

bestowed by the grace of thy lean,
the moon sprighted with cheer
picked by silence
caressed by clouds azure

ts shine grows and diffuses
swaggering to the tunes of zephyr
as i watch it in my darkness
in complete sangfroid
~the star afar~

to the lamp and its light

with a flash of smile,
and seven words to be precise,
darkness sheds
to the lamp of my life

eyes met,
after having met on several occasions before
what matters is the silence
and music it whispered

familiarity reckoned
eons of knowing, while we remained strangers
coy and lost,
given into the seeking

directions faked
running in circles, as we went straight
what seemed a dream
is now a moment lit

thoughts crystallised
and once a liking, now becomes a longing
dispelling notions
of virtues and vice

taken away
to the fancied air of instinct
like a trail of beads
knows no more a thing.

We'll try to stay blind
to the hope and fear outside
Hey child, stay wilder than the wind
And blow me in to cry

Who do you need,
who do you love
When you come undone

Words, playing me deja vu
Like a radio tune
I swear I've heard before
Chill, is it something real
Or the magic I'm feeding off your fingers
Can't ever keep from falling apart

At the seams
Can I believe you're taking my heart
To pieces Lost,
in a snow filled sky, we'll make it alright
To come undone now

We'll try to stay blind
to the hope and fear outside
Hey child, stay wilder than the wind
And blow me in to cry

Who do you need,
who do you love
When you come undone ...

duran duran-obsession partii

I got a pocket,
Got a pocket full of sunshine
I got a love
and I know that it's all mine

Oh, oh, ohDo what you want,
But you never gonna break me,
Sticks and stones
are never gonna shake me

Oh, oh, oh Take me away
A secret place
A sweet escape
Take me away

Take me away
to better days
A hiding place

i got a pocket,
Got a pocket full of sunshine

There's a place that I go
Where nobody knows
Where the rivers flow
And I call it home

And there's no more lies
And darkness is light
And nobody cries
There's only butterflies,

NATASHA BEDINGFIELD- ze current obsession

A testimony to living

TO*,

blogspot.com,
technology hailed (coming from a tech jerk).

Uncle sandler's soul,
his taste worth an oil Baron.

givson strings,
and duran's crooning(truly notorious).

mighty sentosa,
oblivion to the skinny chinks.

forrest gump,
running my thoughts(the current favourite).

Delhi's rain
wetting not just the body.( needless to say this)

epicurean Goans
perverted beauty (along with prawn curry).

black tee's
and faded yet fitted denims (Levi's rock).

the journo fascination,
sold now to advertising.

long island ice tea
(f)attributed to kick ass reveries.

enigma's sadness,
sprighted reading at Oxford(did i say reading people).

morning walks,
now a thing of past.

The maggi mania,
plate licking good.(sandler's ghost is now in fury)

and the journey into the wild,
curiously inspired by eddie vedder's solemnly tracks.

a quirky encounter
with a quirkier persona( accredited to different ear rings in my seemingly similar ears).

a humpy relationship
with a camel like specimen. (Dude i have started liking Rajsthan ).

scribbles and scribbles
of childish poetry( i scribble no more, thanks to technology).

The prudent grey,
for his timeless philosophies(closest to understand me).

Edgar Allen poe and Lord Byron,
about them you know ofcourse.

uncanny travails of a white goose
proprietor of unlimited booze(also pocketing my little booze)

favourite destination
the air conditioned metro (sans those shady stalkers p.s).

going green with envy on most of the occasions
pardoned for his exhuberant vividness(it's unfair to mentions somebody;s horniness here)

and mother of all insanity
teaches the entire world but couldn't teach me.

*i owe my existence, living and much more.

through a blurred vision

through a blurred vision,
runs down an ephipany
of what's transcribed
in the epilogue of time

through a blurred vision
the words seem so close,
just as betrayl decends
the ever sinking thoughts

through a blurred vision
i enter the forbidden
and forsee manifestation
of an obfuscated self

through a blurred vision
sight looses stride,
and procreates anonymity
reckoning for a while

through a blurred vision
i rejoice the blackout
for the acquisition
remains effectively personal

through a blurred vision
light of the day corners
the conscience of mind
soldering the abstract

through a blurred vision
i therefore see, what lies
digged and to be discovered
in the epilogue of time

introspecting

adulterated black,
filthy white
-the grey-
a drop of salinity
in the dew
-the waterfall-
silence disturbs
clamour resonates
-philosophy purged-
sleep irks,
wakening ashamed
-comatose-
repetitive knocks,
answered with indifference
-rationality-
incognito,
the shadow jerks
-introspecting-

beach diaries

a walk by the stars,
a reverie in the eye
fluting are the words
flutters the heartbeat

its shine is opaque,
its touch forbidden
and the charisma drawn-unbeaten

dreams of dust,
golden as they seem
living it today
and leaving it for days

a walk by the stars
a reverie in the eye
enticing till the last breath
to go further than what memory finds

reunion

a blink talks to the silent air,

a blink questions the grey sky,

a blink watched by creatures of the dark,

a blink gives a nonchalant reply.

a blink fretters tonite,

a blink troubled by the gusty wind,

a blink oblivion to its clear companion,

a blink now seeks a perspective.

a blink wrestling its monotone,

a blink wants to break free,

a blink to rest its search,

a blink thinks it just cant.

a blink to kill its fatigue,

a blink will finally make it this time,

a blink cease to exist anymore,

a blink till it melts to slumber.

arrival on the job

There;s no particular reason for this errand, i'm not in love, neither embracing any kind of suicidal tendency. For advertising is much virile than either of it. You create advertisements for a condom when you;re a virgin( not that i seemingly proclaim a sense of pride in sharing this fact) and jeopardize some shady brand of toothpaste, fortunately eluded to the neighbourhood guinea pig. Which also includes advertising yourself, in the most inane manner, for all it's required to become a copywriter is the thick line of delimited insanity you've vaulted in your life. With due offence to my Creative director, who signed me in for my dotty travails, i redeem a sense of cockiness to write this blog, as a dedication to him and the fancied world of advertising.



A for 'arbit', happens to be the seismic 'A' in advertising, for those who have a nano clue about this, are more than welcomed to apply in my agency (for details contact ogilvy.com). Henceforth you remain in partial dementia for dictionary.com fails ruthlessly to squeal the word. Once you managed to enlighten yourself, you;re more than kicked to use it for nearly 189 ads you study in a span of seven days. i fetched well, with a whooping 167.



one must comply to the statutory of steering away from 'cliches', until this statement becomes one or you're diagnosed with Chronic Otitis Media Eustachian. Think out of the box, in a par miniature of a box sized room. Did i say room?? how scathingly i forgot i'm yet to have one and so remains applicable to my immediate boss, and his boss and and so on and so forth.



If advertising is my living i must sustain to the best of my gaming. and please we aren't talking about corrosive mind games . The first week, was spent in learning the quirky Quake3, a remedial truancy, to spurt the angst against your boss, in a multiple arena by simple firing and gun loading, as a curative preparation to my forthcoming days in the agency, how i wish i could master.



There weren't many rules to learn, but to break as much as you can. Which distinctively means, no official working hours, where a 'meeting at 4.30' doesn't not specifically imply 4.30 pm, and nothing is more fetching than a sound sleep at 17'c under your very own workstation after some delirious brainstorming. Which reminds me the word happens to 'b' of advertising. brainstorming is the unofficial term used for literal vandalism, an hour of impetuous stone pelting at your ideas, not quite solely yours though.



Thereby the pelting ends, till you feel the quintessential Napolean in you, and succumb to your cerebral futility. rejoicing this occultism for days and more days to come. All this and much more rheotricalness has become a part of my daily fanning, and i have quite certainly have began to slurp this wordsworth community. After all here we don't just beautify our lies, metaphysically bombard the reality, snipe our bosses(quite virtually), revamp the deep frozen briefs, battle some ego quarrels but also create- a never heard before, mind numbing, breath-taking, extraordinarily smart brand name for a tomato ketchup.saucy nevertheless.

bidding sky

after spalsh of rains,
in the arid shore
the blithe of separation,
reckons.

clouds here shed,
to the skies of brazen singularity
as withering ashes,
settle, pours, settle.

all's clear and doomed,
in the lands of acquired chill
the rustling ends to rubble
morphed to a new season

contouring footsteps fade,
arrested by its seemless form
closer as it gets,
farther in assumption

glanicing at the zenith,
chiselled by the harsh wind
she turns his back to the sea,
and sings a farewell song

rechristened

in the distant calls,
the spaces beckon
enveloping twilight
calls out your name

the trickling seconds,
the naive memories
ring in together,
calls out your name

far away as you go,
farther than the sight
nearer you come
as i call out your name

and silences bemoan,
as the distances jarr
towards infinity
love spells your name!

dazed glory

hazed mind,
a box of tinted images
blood begets blood.
sweet taste of wrath

frettered wings,
try real hard
just as it gets near,
it seems so far

moist buds,
detest its cold,
seiges its beauty
belittles its presence

and the morning dream
deems its reality
the hope of a beginning,
crashes its existence

little drops,
on a doped mind,
certain answers they sayy
ou never find!

rendezvous-a joint composition with ashwin

A numbing fleet
Towards the infinity
Vehement calls
An obfuscate wonder

Innumerable storms
Go scathingly
Obstinate spines
Snapped into two

Is it a beckoning
Of the unknowing
A meet, at the zenith
The blaze amid fog

Or is it a yearning
Of the bereaved
A jaded fall,
foreverParched at the knell

And the azure dawn
Overcast the crooked sky
A gala of clouds
Yet again rejoice

Sun-birds flutter again
Gliding into eternity
We sit and await
The moonrise

awakening- a joint composition with ashwin

My eyelids are heavy,
But sleep is yet far
The remembrance is engrossing,
While the reality is stark

And faraway in the undertow,
Heresy lights a fire
Shrugs a hundred sparks,
Pins the dewy grass

Breaks the shackles,
The crux of hope
A plunge into indolence,
The scent of raw scar

Pervading the senseless oblivion,
anon afar
The delusion shall strike
at Verpers Nine,

A sweeping tide,
beneath the skin
Pierce the heart's sole purpose,
Realigning the languid night

Seeking a new rise,
When submerged aswift
And deploying a helix,
When arisen beyond morality

enchanted

shriek sullen,
aliby of timec
lamoured today
synthesised now

the notes pierce in,
a couplet will follow
tonight i am me
playing with my how!

the burnt leaf,

the burnt leaf,
bleeds its end
scavenged to anonymity
powered by deceit

lasted the mystic woods
enamoured by its profanity
softened by its touch
been ripped to rupture

roots they say
soil it forever,
fumes they brave,f
or days together

alas brevity
beats it to death
shaken this time
from green to red

distances across
tattered to fall
that one swing
and the final rop

the bleeding leaves
calls no mercy
carcasses its individuality
this autumn, sheds only fatality!

a trail of seamless beads

together we move,
in the threads of singularity
isolated at each core
suspended like never before

a pull from the heaven
a push to the gravel
sinking into an absurd glory,
untamed, this story

colour, gender no bar
the lines of homogenity jar
in sync till the end
guided by no pole star afar

catapulting patience,
canvassing persisitence
together we move,i
n circles of doubt

there lies no call,
no craving, no fallg
uarded by instincts,
safest of all

will it make it this time?
the journey oh so sublime
till the darkest hour of is survival
touched by ghastly hands of man

nearer, nearer
as it gets to the far
in the rucus of this very hour
one blow and gone!

in the dark

dissolving realms of reality,
shipping myriad dreams
if its not lost,
it's not revealed in the dark

blanketing inner fears,
or a breaththrough to discreet you
if its not hypnotic
it's not chanted in the dark

sleeping woods, whistle to your existence
fading rest into an abysmal
if it's not introspection,
it's not the company of the dark

churning thoughts
as dim as a million stars
if its not bright
its not enlightening the dark

whining in the air
absorbing all colours of the earth
if it's not visible
it's not balck in the dark

an eye-opener to the tranquility
burried under the sheets of sleep
if it's not deep
it's not awakening in the dark