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.


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