Stuck!!

Nights take eons to day,
days take ages to die.
the breath has forgotten to breathe;
like an elevator in an old edifice
something is stuck somewhere.
a sigh of succor comes to me when
my breath gets entangled with yours.
when my forlorn eyes rest upon
memories worth clinging to,
dreams worth dying for.
someone is stuck somewhere.

Smoke, flies and confinement

The window says there is a happy breeze outside
but how it evades me!
escaping the rotten odor that emanates.
someone has died inside me.
efforts to cremate him go in vain.
the smoke of a cigarette doesn't burn him
it doesn't even suffocate the inhabitants of my heart.
instead they run away and take shelter in my memories.
the gut rumbles and twists in pain
indicate years of suffering ahead.
it is still not my time.
every minute wounds, the last one kills.
as for this moment what is left is helpless waiting,
all that is left is smoke, flies and confinement.

kill

After living under this misconception that time heals up all the wounds of the past, i came to realize that all of this is a fallacy. time is a cheat. it doesn't have all those miraculous healing powers which it boasts of. it just covers up everything by the dust of the present or maybe it sweeps up everything and pushes it under the carpet. to think that the pain has subsided will be foolishness because it never does. it is always ready to pounce back and get you by your neck in an unguarded moment. time is in fact a great murderer who enjoys seeing its prey writhing in cold blood. no fun for him if the prey dies quickly. it waits. yes it waits till the time you believe that you are happy, and then it comes in front of you baring its fangs and flexing its paws. all those memories come in front of you in the form of drool, dripping from its dark mouth. it makes you taste its poisonous secretions. when you are sufficiently incapacitated by it then it hovers around you. watching. watching your contorted face. all this while making you suffer and beg for repose. and then? then what? it kills you? no. it doesn't kill you. it is not in his power to kill you. it makes you wish for an eternal sleep and when you have conjured up enough power to call on that beautiful angel of mercy then it fights.it fights death. fights a fierce battle. never allowing her to come near you.that is why, if you ever noticed, it is so hard to die when you require it the most. god bless lady death who finally manages to cage time and frees us of its pain. it takes long but ultimately time is defeated. mercy!

A Word

By the way I just wanted to add…given my present circumstances, suddenly Salvador Dali’s ‘Cannibalism in autumn’ has become my favorite painting. Watch it, admire it and beware.

Rise of the Phoenix

The day is falling in drops of red. It’s shaded with the fears of isolation…for ever and ever. I think it’s time I celebrated the dawn of a new era in my life, a new era without hopes, without friends, without relatives, without desires, without love, without care. An era which braves the world, the new world. Welcome to the new world, my new world, which leads me to a never ending quest of finding my shattered fragments and fragments of that flint which I wanted for me. The wall which fell on me for the want of that stone. I wonder if its fragments are lying somewhere along with mine. How I wish to whack everyone in my way, how I want to pour that boiling toxin on them which is brewing inside me. I’m afraid that it’s so toxic that the new world will not sustain it. I’m not that ruthless, I never used to be, I’ll never be, even in my new world. I will pour that liquid drop by drop into the unconscious ears of humanity. I’ll rejoice as I see the world melt in front of me like I saw the old world melting away last night. As it flows away I’ll search for my scattered fragments buried somewhere under its happiest places. Beware! You unsuspecting new world! Don’t say that I came without a warning! In the meantime I’ll go to my favorite haunt where I can smoke on the terrace, all the while seeing ignorant fools having coffee together and looking forward to their happy lives. After that I’ll get stoned, never to wake up from that delirium again. Yes I breathe fire! Beware! The phoenix is rising.

The night i didn't dream

My computer acts weird. I try to open Microsoft word but it doesn’t. Feels like it’s saying that it’s no use writing anymore. I look at my cell phone; it stares back at me listlessly. Inanimate piece of technology. I feel like vomiting, but I can’t. Feels like my body is saying that there’s nothing left inside. It really bad when that happens to you. I go to the terrace and watch the skyline languidly. Rain stings on my shirtless form. I smoke a cigarette and throw the packet. Wait! What have I done! Maybe there was more in it! Unfortunately it’s not coming back. It’s lost in the bushes below, dark and the entangled like the human mind. I close my eyes. I take a drag and grip my waist with my inert hands. I breathe in and feel like expanding with every drag I take. I grow and I grow to the limits of elasticity. Limits unbounded by human reasoning. Then I explode in splinters. My parched flesh flying with lightening speed over the skies. Some fell in the pond, some even traveled distances and fell in the cantt and some fell in the otherwise bustling city malls. Whole night they were stung by rain. Smelling a known smell the fishes swam with expectation and had them as their breakfast, only to spit it due to its bitterness. They are not used to this. They were fed with sweet bread of affection daily. The dogs used to love flesh, but they spit it out, it wasn’t even human. The bustling city malls trampled it under their clueless feet as the pieces writhe under them, not with pain but with their negligence. Don’t they recognize their own kind?

They failed

Blood shot eyes of sleepless nights,
Screaming for help with silent sighs.
The bid to explain, a state so wane,
Crushed to pieces by the hands of vain.
The demise of sanity the death of want,
The fickle ones snicker, still doth taunt.
The ship of fancy, never it sailed,
They never tried, thus they failed!

demise of a madman

One day I told somebody these lines I had known… "I’ve found both Freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety of being understood." Somebody found it to be a great idea for a human being and preferred to make me mad and gave me loneliness of thoughts and emotions and ensured that I’d be never understood again. Sometimes we dig our own graves and lie inside wondering if we started out by digging a palace for ourselves. We wonder if these graves could have been the foundations of a palace if only we were allowed to dig deeper. Unfortunately humans suffer from an acute deficiency of patience. I hope they’d recover soon and when they understand this then maybe they can put a red rose on my grave for all I believed and dug for.

Yes I plucked the loveliest flowers

Yes I plucked the loveliest flowers,
Yes I picked the prettiest pearls,
Yes I fancied the farthest dreams,
Yes I heard the sweetest speech,
Yes I sang the sublimest songs,
Yes I dared the scariest dreams,
Yes I touched the warmest heart,
Yes I touched the coldest flint,
Yes I suffered the daunting misery,
Yes, I loved with all my heart,
Yes I lost, and yet I won!

Long you are gone

My fears my follies strummed in a song,
I sing alone, long you are gone.
Embedded like a shingle, I wear my moan,
I sing alone, long you are gone.
Like the lass who feeds the fawn,
I sing alone, long you are gone.
Amidst the rye, like a farmer’s son,
I sing alone, long you are gone.
O callous one won’t you hear my yarn?
I sing alone, long you are gone.

Absence

Meet, depart
Lonely heart.
Whispers, silence
Gentle violence.
Joy, sadness
Sanity, madness
Crave, reject
Trust, deject
Despair, long
Lovely song.

How I Loathe Your Earnest Prayers

How I loathe your earnest prayers
And how I dread those are mine,
They might mean a world to you
To me they spell decline.
The moon will go, the stars will die,
The sun will show his might;
But what of the gloom you left,
That seeped through the night?

back to dystopia

Dystopia to Utopia and back to Dystopia. This is how it has been. Hahaha! What illusions we kindle in our hearts knowing all the way that they will never bear fruit. Maybe being in Utopia does give you a sense that you have conquered fate, that you design your future. Utopia gives security, may it be a false sense. We are so engulfed in the dream that we forget what the wise men have said through out the ages…and I quote;
"Agahi, daam e shunidan, jis qadar chaahe bichaaye,
Mudda, anqa hai, apni aalam e taqreer ka."
And so I bow to thee mighty Ghalib, may I be guided by your principles throughout life.
May I revel in the pain of hope, lost and found, just as you did. May I spend my life in the memory and search of my ‘incessant hope’. God give me strength and I ask nothing of you.

Gibran lives

This is like some verses of Gibran, quite catchy so I put it here:
Have mercy on me, my Soul.
You have shown me Beauty,
But then concealed her.
You and Beauty live in the light;
Ignorance and I are bound together in the dark.
Will e'er the light invade darkness?

My fav poem

This has been one of my most favorite poems of all times so I thought I’d put it here.
It is a poem by P B Shelly. Here goes:

I fear thy kisses gentle maiden;
Thou needest not fear mine;
My spirit is too deeply laden
Ever to burthen thine.

I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion
Thou needest not fear mine;
Innocent is the heart’s devotion
With which I worship thine.

Through the rye

Flying hair, robes asunder,
Beads of sweat on her lips;
Runs and runs through the fields of rye
With hopes eternal of eternal bliss.
On and on she goes endlessly
But doubts of sate linger on.
The gentle raven, blackest of all,
Caws to her from the highest stall.
“I view the fields wide and clear
And trust me for I see in rife,
I see no rye on the path you step
That serves you through the life!
O tender lass you look inside,
Those barren fields of yours are lush.
Someone stole into your heart
And stealthily planted ample rye.”

She never came

The eager azure skies look at the shrine,
The toils of a versifier to receive his anodyne.
The heavens shine, the saplings twine,
Anticipating a unity they sway.
The still waters glistening with all their might,
Offer him a world only dream would delight.
The rain washed lounge welcome the smitten
Dedicated servants to yearning and desire.
The winds of promise, so fragrant, so sweet,
Wonder if they sense the meet.
She told him that she’d come on wings
Of silver clouds and the breeze that sings.
He waits, waits for the moment he craves,
For the moment does the zeal he save.
Forlorn and weary it left him in pain,
He waited and waited, but she never came!

states of mind

this is something i wrote in school...so read likewise
I sat down to write some verse
About my life on a swinging curve.
But not a subject could I find,
To symbolize my life and my kind.
I tried to write about the darks
For the trouble and misery it marks.
I tried to write about the haunted
Like the evil in my life leaves me taunted.
I tried to write about the hope that shone
On my now shattered wall of stone.
I tried to write about the little hamlet
Where peace prevails, there’s no sign of sadness.
I tried to write about the small green hill,
Where the rainbow peeps;
Behind the wooden mill.
But then all my thoughts went drying
And left me alone with nothing but trying.

caution!!!!

in the words of floyd.......i quote......
"........don't get so frightened/this is just a passing phase/
one of my bad days....."

THE EPITAPH

Here lies the slave, the poet,

who never listened to his heart.

Agreed to it once,

Threw it towards a star,

died when nobody caught it.

Tell me your dreams

Won’t you tell me, my child?

Won’t you tell me your dreams?

I’ve been there with you,

With you in you darkest nightmares.

I’ve been there with you,

With you in your hardest struggles.

I was there when you smiled,

Smiled on the flight of birds.

I was there when you adored,

Adored the mingling of colors.

I was there when you dreaded,

Dreaded the harshness of the world.

I’ll be there when you cry,

Cry on a departing blood.

I’ll be there when you seek,

Seek a ray in a crafty verity.

Won’t you tell me my child?

Won’t you tell me your dreams?

PLAYING DOCTOR

“Doctor I’m having a lot of problem these days”, he said. “Go on son, tell me everything”, said the doctor. “I have these nightmares where I see that I don’t have any thought in my mind, I can’t write anything, and I’m a poet for God’s sake! Do you understand how much trouble this is? There used to be a time when silence was so loud and so deafening but now it is lost somewhere in the noise around. Please help me for there is no other motive in my life other than this, stolen from me unfairly” he said.

“How long have you experienced this?” asked the doctor.

“It never was like this, I don’t know what happened today” said he.

“Were you on some kind of medication earlier?” asked the doctor.

“Yes I was prescribed two pills of pain daily, but the druggist is a very cruel lady. She denies me those little tablets which are so easily available to her”, he said.

“My child I’m afraid you are suffering from an incurable disease. You are addicted to pain and the cure you will get from that druggist only”, said the doctor.

“Is there a substitute doctor?”

“I’ll give you some medicines but the results I’m not sure of. These white pills are the substitute for memories on which you have suffered so long. These little pink ones are vitamin-Hope. Now, in addition to this you will have to get your heart checked. Tests will be done to find out how much of it can be revived”, said the doctor with a worried look.

“Thank you so much doctor. In the mean time I’ll try to persuade the druggist, who knows she might not be that cruel!”

IGNORANCE

Scalding steel, scorching earth,

Burning flesh, blistering heavens,

All cry and call for relief.

We, the fools, roving on earth

Know not the smitten emotions

And ignorance names it sin!

TO GHANTAGHAR

We never learn anything,

We are just reminded.

I’ll come to you for comfort,

I’ll come to you for wisdom,

I’ll come to you and you’ll teach me,

For teachings are made of memories.

You’ll bring me back memories,

Of times when I used to lie,

Under your magnificent tower

In the darkest of nights.

the toy

one twist, two twists, the yellow face is done;
one twist, two twists, the green face is done;
one twist, two twists, ah the green is gone!
one twist, one more, the red is done;
one twist, one more, it's yellow again;
one twist, one more, ah the blue is back!
amused and tired and i wonder,
when will He stop playing with my Rubik's Cube?

muse on strike

well people it seems that my muse is slightly dejected and angry with my behavior so she has stopped giving me any ideas. so i thought that since i am here i should atleast put up some more posts. as a result i have given two of my poems in the earlier posts. this i wrote when i was in school and started writing initially. they may sound childish and cliched but they are really close to my heart and i'm really proud of them. in case they r not to your liking have patience...the worse are yet to come....muhuhahahaha

solitude

lying on a hillock, above a valley so green,
the happy streams of water, glistening in their sheen.

moist petals of red spring near my feet
the moist scent of earth, it's oh so sweet.

down below i see, the water logged fields;
with people toiling hard and sowing seeds.

they talk of life, of work, of needs;
but i can't hear them for the sound of breeze.

the hamlet is lively, but at peace,
the sweat of people has made anxieties cease.

the adjacent knoll looks green and gay,
a desultory tinkle in the herds, as they play.

the stagnant movement, stillness doth cause,
all my thoughts did settle to a pause.

so calm, so pure, who cares to brood?
oh i love this tranquil solitude.

can i be..?

oh how blissfully happy i am,
but what is this vast emptiness that i feel inside?
is there any identification to it?

that man i see in the mid day sun
for want of food toiling his fingers to the bone,
oh for that enduring struggle,
can i be him?

that small town boy, far from his folks,
desperation in his eyes looking for a living;
in this mercilessly big city of mine.
oh for that losing hope,
can i be him?

o mighty king, awed by all.
majesty in your eyes.
only to be betrayed by the one
you trusted your life.
oh for those questioning eyes,
can i be him?

run, run you tiny one;
your hunter comes right behind.
death is imminent or may be not.
oh for that uncertain heart,
can i be him?

days without water in the vast expanse
scavengers circling over his head,
do they predict impending death?
oh for that desperate calling of faith,
can i be him?

that dying old man,
leaving his wretched old lady
alone in the harsh world.
oh for the want of life,
can i be him?

that silent sheep with moon in his eyes;
knowing he might not see it again,
oh for the love of another night,
can i be him?

he sees his son on the ground,
innocent witness to the mob's madness;
oh for those helpless hands,
can i be him?

perspective

small drops of rain pattering on the visage
one deep breath and it falls into perspective
people moving around suddenly slow down
it falls into perspective
blurred vision yet a focused front
it falls into perspective
the constant chants of a smith's mallet
falling on stone ears
it falls into perspective.

when do you feel alone?

when do you feel alone? when do you feel isolated? not when you are stuck between two mountains living away from human society...never. you feel isolated when he only thing you do is talk to a goddamn piece of technology and expect it to talk back where you could have easily talked to the multitude around. that's when you feel fucking alone.

i wonder

why do we feel the things we do? how does a touch communicate so much without even speaking a word? how do we identify one kind of touch from another? how can we tell the touch means caring, it means affection, it means patience, it means hope or it means coldness, plain cold? how does a kiss on a hand differ from one on the forehead or from a kiss on the cheeks?

guzzling on

guzzling tons
guzzling millions
guzzling people
guzzling the abstract
guzzling everything we come across.
guzzling is all we do.

muse 'vandana'

The vagrant,
without motive.
wasting away the gift.
dreams of neverland
nurturing in a frittered intellect.
haunted by a fear
of running through the gauntlet,
in the course of his wanderings
stumbled upon a harmony,
never known to man.
the twinkle of bells ,
the twang of an arrow.
the dark locks of wind,
darker than the darkest night.
flaming skin, menacing eyes.
those satin robes of burgundy
playing with his mind.
assurance of a flare,
still lingers on.
lo and behold!
the muse dances on.