Wednesday, November 26, 2014

My Smile Will Sink Down Into Your Pupils


I'm going to smile, and my smile will sink down into your pupils, and heaven knows what it will become.
 Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit

Sometimes when I see someone laugh
I wonder what the reasons are
Satisfied with the act or it's just an act
Are the reasons fair
Had better I care

Reasons, precisions or timeless seasons
Whats, whys, when and hows
Are those the nimble lips
Or they are just curved
Bent somehow

I ask not, dare not to be precise
What if it sets off smile's demise?

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Singular Heart Loves and Hates


You know these things as thoughts, but your thoughts are not your experiences, they are an echo and after-effect of your experiences: as when your room trembles when a carriage goes past. I however am sitting in the carriage, and often I am the carriage itself.
I am a man who thinks like this, the dichotomy between thinking and feeling, intellect and passion, has really disappeared. He feels his thoughts. He can fall in love with an idea. An idea can make him ill.
 Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra


Can this all be translated ?
All of that I see around
So many dreams, hopes
Beauty, art, love and love lost
Right words I can find
Much I can write
But it's all fleeting
And I forget to stop
A word only writes
And life goes on

What does all this mean to me ?
So many shapes and size
I try and fix designs
Should I open my third eye
Roam in the attics of my mind
Soon everything's so vague
To see a pattern
Of a lantern in the dark
Eyes only see
And life goes on 

I love the words and I hate them too
I see it not and I see it too
Same road, but it goes two ways
Singular heart loves and hates.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Exile



Give me the waters of Lethe that numb the heart, if they exist, I will still not have the power to forget you.


Where shall I take refuge?
Bereft of all I love
Is it possible
To go some place
Love anew
Is there a common thread
A safe passage to tread
How far can I walk beside walls
Is there an end
Or I just started
A long and a never ending walk
What do I save
Is there anything I can crave
World is in front of me
What’s in the world for me
Everything’s a mess
Shall I take refuge in the mess?

Saturday, September 27, 2014

Oh me, Blasphemous me


They won't listen. Do you know why? Because they have certain fixed notions about the past. Any change would be blasphemy in their eyes, even if it were the truth. They don't want the truth; they want their traditions.
 
Isaac Asimov, Pebble in the Sky


Give me some magic pill, some God
To get away from this maddening world
Let me slip through the cracks
If few of them still exist
Once they catch up with me
I’ll be tried, will be pried
Chained and scrutinized
My friends will watch from afar
Earthly concerns enchains them too
They are wildlings stocked in zoo
Too little, so brittle
What in this cosmos they can do
There’s no pill
Such whispers I hear everyday
There are far too many Gods
For me to pray
I never pray
I’ll rot in seven hells for this
Oh me, blasphemous me
Some might say
But I feel better this way
They never listen
Have ears just for show
Why call?
When I always get to yell at a wall
It’ll crumble in time not before
Methinks my way is right
They think otherwise
For me it’s all hypocrisy
They charge me with heresy
For who is right, who got it all wrong?
Is it you lot?
Or is it me and my blasphemous song?


Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Often A Disquiet


My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while. I’m two and both keep their distances- Siamese twins that aren’t attached.

~Fernando Pessoa, Book of Disquiet


Often a ray
Calls my name from where the Sun sank
Often a ship
Sailing too fast strikes the river bank
Often a river
Overflows right in front of me
Often a fragrance
Dances and plants kisses on my cheeks
I sit down
No matter where I am
And often I fancy
Some strange shapes and forms in debris.


Often Moon rumbles
Deep in my pocket it turns and dribbles
Setting Sun, sinking slowly
Eaten up by some speck like squirrels on a tree
Often wide world shrinks
Fits right in my hands like my favourite cup of a tea
I get up
From wherever I am
Often Night
Like some Ants comes crawling cautiously.


Often a laugh
Like some cold-breeze blows
Often a glance
Pierces like a spear’s pointy edge
Often a trivia
Stands tall like a peak of Mount
Often a silence
Adorns my noisy bare body
I move on
From wherever I am
Often a disquiet
Turns quietly into a fulfilling journey.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Sailing Unto the Storm


The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore.
 
Vincent van Gogh

Sea may spew some poison
For me to shock and halt
Waves may play some tricks
Break me young and clear all
But, a storm’s rising within me
Look, I see a storm in the sea
I’m sailing unto the storm
Beware you Storm

Hear me roar feel my howls
Spunk in me knows no bounds
Shout loud you Waves
Roar as much as you can
Sweet, embrace me hard
Delve, go deep in my heart
For miles and miles I’ll cruise
Forever I’ll cruise

So what if endless are your shores?
I’ll keep rowing in this little boat
To meet you face to face
You’re fierce I’ll be fiercer
Stay put, don’t you dare run
Please, let me have some fun
For I’ll lay adrift as long as it takes
As far as it takes
  
Oceanus you are so mighty and strong
I’m not going back on our engagement
Till my heart roars and beats
No bowing down on your feet
Your might makes me stronger
Every day I sail a little longer
For I’m sailing unto the storm
Beware you Storm.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

For In Time To Remind


I always walk
on the broken step, the
others all avoid it,
I walk on it
to remember.

~Barney F. McClelland

Forgetfulness is an easy choice. Some memories are best forgotten. Buried deep down they are safe and far from bothering me again. Yet I cling on to some not because I want to savour or treasure them but for a careful remembrance. Each time I face it there’s comfort in knowing that I won’t be doing that same thing again. Why do I do that even when I know that it chips off a part of me? I’m not eccentric and am not insane either yet some blunders or mishaps are worth retaining. It doesn’t hamper my present activities, never deviates or confuses me or dulls my senses but it does add a hint of forbearance and savoir-faire




Letters you gave me I kept
Tore them apart in my eyes
No longer have they smelt sweet
Reeked of rot and lost trust
Forget I must
Never saw them again
Not with these eyes, but
Sometimes I recall all those lines
Which you wrote me in my primes
In scribbled gibberish
I could hear your rummy voice
They were destined to be ashes
Forgotten inks, pages in stasis
I kept those forgotten pages
For half-remembrances
For in time to remind.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

When it pours at night


Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before--more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle. 
 
Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

When it pours at night
Heavy, but there isn't light
No Sun to make me see
All I hear are sounds
Drops dropping, dripping
Sogginess is all I smell
Can feel the wetness abound
But, there isn't a light
Moon isn't there
How can I see?
Amidst this noise I lie awake
There’s dissonance within me
It flirts; it rattles paces and settles
It has a voice, it crawls passively
But there isn't a light
No one’s there
To make me see
And then there’s pouring
Not from the skies
and I sleep in the warmth
just glad that it poured tonight.

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Be Like Water


You must be shapeless, formless, like water. When you pour water in a cup, it becomes the cup. When you pour water in a bottle, it becomes the bottle. When you pour water in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Water can drip and it can crash. Become like water my friend.
 Bruce Lee


When water gushes 
nothing halts it, not even walls 
passes through pores
rises upside, changes form
never it stops
wish to flow like water
and never do any harm 
short life is
Why bother ?
Why stop at all
 ?

Monday, May 26, 2014

World Is Too Full To Talk About, Is It ?


Never miss a good chance to shut up. Too much babbling can mess with our gray matter. On the other hand silence is a silent killer, a sweet poison. Leave a thing unsaid and there’s a hole in someone’s heart which will last for eternity. It’s the silence against sheer injustice that makes it more painful than it already is. Profuseness of words around us helps us to forget things that are once said but, when there’s lack of it. Who knows?
As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment.
 John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men

I sat here
You sat there
None of us moved
But distance furthered

I asked nothing
You said nothing
We talked for hours
But minds were locked

I waited for you to tell
You waited for me to ask
None of us said the word
Like that generations passed

I’m guilty of not asking
Your guilt was not to tell
Ohh, it eats us all the same
Wondering who’s to blame

I had a way with words
You were a talker too
But we chose quite
Over being vocalized

Words are powerful people often say
We live and survive every single day
Sometimes we shower words
When silence could have sufficed
Sometimes all we need is words
But we think our silence is justified. 

Friday, May 16, 2014

Born In To These Carefully Mad Wars


There's a war within, a mad war, a bad one. Road on which he's travelling is full of conflicts. He's got so many battle scars. His mind is full of bittersweet memories of the time that’s gone. He sings and dances, he cries and writhes in pain. He makes mistakes, commits blunders. He sprints in marathon and drops down soon only to get up and think hard.

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.” 
 T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets



Some wildest of all dreams he's had
on a hilltop when it pours he'll parade
walking barefoot alone in midnight and gaze
to where he's running, to what he's gunning ?
which seed is inside that's growing ?
can he figure out the tale ?
in the end, when lights go out
will he have a story to tell ?

Sun's a thief
moon's a killer
he's ever engaged
with freedom's cage
under sunshine
he's in battle
in moonlight
he wages a war
with the world
he was born in
roads he roamed in
people he loves 
souls he adores

life was suppose to be easy
it's what he saw in movies
stories he's read were crazy
songs he liked rock-metal-heavy
and now everything's in real-time
failure sometime feels like crime
now he's running in his primes
tagging with good ones and rhymes

there's no point
fearing and dreading
he's going out to kill
all fuss and confusing
draining the sun's shine out
dissolving silvery of moon
and climbing that hilltop
dreaming of that roof top
marching in rain to parade
gazing in mid of night
shedding all charade
one day he will sit
down to tell the tale.

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