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