What are those theories again?That slow them down to a mellow standstill.Of hopeless dreams, and countless memoriesBreathing down upon exhilarating darkness,Casting light on the wrong shadowAnd making sure the cake remains unbaked.Where has the music disappeared?The slow rhythmic nonsense that spledouredWith brilliant hues of scarlet and plumAnd dancing fairies who can still hear it play!Neutralising the nausea of ecstasy while paying tribute to agonyWe sink again to limitless boundaries.Why do we find action in stagnation?The vivid blur of activity drowned in sharpnessWhen the telephone rings to engageAnd to engage we need a diamond ringSparkling, blinding, overbearing emptinessRekindling the master candle to reprieve light.Where are we now?Hovering on the tips of the deepest seaWalking along the forbidden path onto a reverieOr are we truly on the road to sublime three-sixtyBreaking apart the hollows of suzeraintyOr the zenith of servitude?
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Hi. Nice day, isn’t it? Btw, do you exist? If you do, do you know that we exist? If you know that, do you know why people hurt others so much? Why do people kill so much? Do you know that some people kill others for sport? Apparently not. Then, you would do something, right?
Without much further ado, let me get into what I wanted to say. I say that people are finally tired of dying. Yup, I am finally tired of trying to go out into the road afraid that any day I might just be sent to you for no rhyme or reason. After all what is my fault? Is it my fault that I hope to live? Or mine that I believe that you exist? Or still mine that someday that I may love and that I may have children only for them to be sent to you for fun. No sir! That is not happening. Tell you what, I need this from you, in order of preference:
- I need you to send a reply to this mail, a.s.a.p
- I need you to start killing those who kill for sport
- I need you to start taking prayers seriously
- I need you to decide between good and bad
- I need you to finally stop sleeping and do something
When you do these things, I will know that you exist; else I am sorry to say that the world will not be tolerant anymore. Your happy-go-lucky attitude has cost us a lot already, and people are not so tolerant that they will just sit back and watch others die.
Nice day, isn’t it? I hope you reply soon. And yes, since you are immortal, I don’t mean soon to be another half a million years.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
October 2nd, 2008; A. Ramadoss, the Indian Health Minister's pet project, the smoking ban in public places comes into effect. Smoking ban? Right. There is a ban against making bombs and blowing up public places too, I am guessing. Do people follow those? Apparently, not. Yet, the Government of India seems more busy to get nuke to the country and ban smokers from smoking in public places. Fat lot of good that is doing to the smokers, even the passive ones.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
This is so hard for me
To find the words to say
My thoughts are standing still
Captive inside of me
All emotions start to hide
And nothing's getting through
This is never really hard for me. Words can come and go, emotions can fly, but the walls will remain. Facade after facade after facade has made me lose what is really me, I still don't know who it is. The words I say, the emotions I feel, the thoughts I think, are they what I really say, feel and think? Or are they the outer layer's doing? Confusion can often lead to loss of identity.
All my instincts
Falling into darkness
The fading and the losing and the darkness. Failure of what really is mine can never be seen as someone else's fault. Instincts tend to take centre stage when man is in control of himself. Instincts bear through all kinds of feelings, but when the walls inconsistent with such feelings are up, instincts tend to fail me. They take forever to respond, to react! The grass might be greener on the other side, but on my side the grass is always dead to pitch on my instints, my nerves.
Tear down these walls for me
Stop me from going under
You are the only one who knows
I'm holding back
It's not too late for me
To keep from sinking further
I'm trying to find my way out
Tear down these walls for me now
The Walls are up. They surround me and I am trapped inside. There is no way out except out itself. You must tear these walls down. You must free me. You are the only one who knows that the walls are up. Break the walls down or else I will lose myself, I will lose my originality. There is still time for me...
Afternote: This isn't a poem. I would like to thank Dream Theater for writing such a wonderful song of the same name as the title of this post. Go listen to it. Meanwhile don't bother about my take of the song, it's just my take on the song.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Today is the day I have planned to narrate the story of a clown. Clowns are very lovable people to say the least. They make us laugh, so much so that we almost cry with laughter when off to a circus. So, today’s story will be about a clown. Let us assume that his name was Gogo, a name which is not his true identity, which is being hidden by the author for his and the clown’s own good.
Gogo used to work in a circus far far away from his hometown. Everyday he would come out and entertain the people of that city. He was very famous for being the clown that he was. People used to say, “Look at that clown, he is so dorky and strange! He is so weird, God, I wonder where they make such people?” His life of entertainment went on very smoothly, yet no one really saw what was hidden beneath that painted smile with varnish, and that red nose which little kids used to love to press. No one saw past his silly gimmicks, and no one really questioned them. After all, why should they? It did not concern them in any way.
Our friend Gogo was an emotional little clown. His heart yearned to go back home and spend time with his mother; after all, he was just twenty years of age. He yearned to make friends, to have a sweetheart, to feel loved. He yearned of a lot of things which he did not get. Sometimes, he smoked twenty cigarettes in a day. It was not as if he liked it, he needed it to keep his mind of the dull pain beating away with every heartbeat. Yet, he was the ‘happiest’ clown to the audience. He was the one who could make just about anyone laugh.
Some nights before sleeping, he used to look up at the ceiling of his ill-furnished room and tears flowed down his eyes. He himself did know why they came, yet he used to cry soundlessly, looking up at the ceiling, making sure that none of the other clowns could hear. His silent tears reflected insecurity, angst, pain, hate, jealousy – insecure about his future, whether going through all this would actually lead him to more despair or light is there somewhere at the end of the tunnel; angst at his bad luck, which was the only thing that never left him; pain where it hurt the most, for not being loved, for being a clown to everyone and nothing more; hate for the society which failed to recognize his true inner self, hate at himself for expecting anything from society; and jealous of all those people who get the company of they the people they love, of the people he loves.
Sadly, our clown never hoped. Hope was something our clown did not believe in and it kept him going. He never hoped to be loved, he never hoped to be back home someday, he never hoped about a better future. This myriad mixture of feelings created a balloon in side, growing everyday, waiting to burst unexpectedly, create clown sheek kebab. After all, one less clown in the world would not make a difference to anyone…
After Note: This story does come with a moral. But the author is not a preacher; hence he would like his readers to find their own moral in this story. It would not be difficult to find more than one moral in this story or none. This story is about no one in particular, but sometimes is for everyone in general.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
There was a time when I used to bother. A time when there used to be some idiosyncratic direction to what I was doing. Right now, there is no such direction, no such movement, no such definitive meaning to what is happening to my life. Helplessness grips the edge of reason, and throws all rational thought over such an edge. Right now, life just is.
I looked out the window before starting off on this, and the only thing I noticed were the dead leaves in spring, the shadows cast by the brilliant sunlight and the clouds covering the Sun in sporadic intervals. It all is very inane, very disquieting, very disharmonic , the way one sets anger lines over one’s life. Yes, I am irate, hurt, pained, angry, livid and fed up with the turns in life. It’s all very well to say that I am in a bad mood, but it is all the more difficult to say, why? Why this constant erratic changes in disposition, this absurd conduct, this coarse behaviour?
The best or the worst part of all this is that I really don’t know why. Yet it weighs me down like nothing else does. It rips a part of my heart and soul wide open and says, “You will be poignant, you will be miserable, you will be despondent!” Most of it is attributed to the fact that I do not believe in the feeling of hope. Many will argue that hoping is being optimistic, yet hope also brings us down to our knees in anticipation and when all expectation is broken, hope kills us by battering at the very feeling that keeps us rapt in attention.
It is a very thorny state of affairs. One where there will be little solution, yet more questions. So right now I shall satisfy myself by having an ice-cream. Ice-creams are the answer to most of these normative enquiries. Chocolate Chips, if you please!
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
This is my December
This is my time of the year
Have you ever felt that you want to snap away from all emotion? Have you ever felt invulnerable? I have felt both. I feel both are interrelated. If one can manage to curb and curtail, even control, one’s emotions, one has achieved a sort of mental stability. A cocoon made of steel, which cannot be breached by any negative emotions. So, that is what I did. I locked myself up in a cocoon where nothing reaches you. Anger, pain, hurt, and even despair cannot breach. Why the need for invulnerability? Imagine a state of semi-nirvana where you are affected by nothing happening around you. Not even by yourself. That has always come wanting. I could never see chinks in my armory. I was satisfied. Yet, there was always one major flaw. My December.
This is my December
This is all so clear
December, a month or a feeling where hope melts away and gives despair. Though, not that I believe in hope, I think hope is the worst feeling man can think of. It is parasitic in nature, eating away at all things that you value in life, clinging on to one single nonsensical thought. That is what hope is: a good bad feeling. Yet, I am not God. I cannot stop hoping, because hope is basic to all human beings. But this is my December, this is the feeling that takes away hope and blows a hole in that cocoon. I hate December. I love December.
This is my December
This is my snow-covered home
This is me, here and now. This is who I want to be. There are many things that are difficult to understand, and probably I will not understand what I have written tomorrow. I want to stay in December all my life. Never again do I want to breathe in the fresh air of January, because it is only December that breaks hope. It is the feeling of melting ice in January that makes you warm. Gives new hope…eats despair. Same way, my December has made me lock in all emotion in this cocoon of mine, rather than lock it all out. I suffocate on it. Especially when I can't feel any new emotion thanks to invulnerability. I want December. ‘Coz it is my time of the year. It will never pass.
This is my December
This is me alone