A slow draft

You come not as the autumn leaves on the birch
Gently swirling down into forgotten piles
But as the spring break
Welcoming in its soft harshness.

You appear not like the orange sun on those
Early summer mornings beset with tepid air
But as the dewdrops on the green
Breaking the light into a multitude of hues, except Indigo.

You smell not like the quenched earth on
A drenched monsoon afternoon
But like a bouquet of carnations handwoven
By seers atop the lofty plains.

You radiate not like the strobe lights
Furtively illuminating our deeds
But like the face of the clay idol
Feverishly worshipped by pagans and atheists alike.

You stand alone
Not like me.
But like the sky
Blue, pristine and unharried.

You I call my own
Not like the pages of the novella I flip
But like the beat that
Resounds inside me.


This is for my agnostic friend, and the influence he's left on me.

Visceral Ideologies

Firstly, I have not posted in a while, and was getting itchy to type in something. So here goes.
Got up this morning to the humble rantings of a slobbered Homer Simpson, screeching me out of my morning happiness. I sat down with my cup of tea and enjoyed the episode in which Lisa goes all out to protect her school from becoming another parish church Sunday school where they abolish all scientific theories in favor of the greatest theory of 'em all: Creationism... In short, it means: Balls to you Darwin!!!!! In the end, as always, better sense prevails and the Creationism theory is dumped in favor of its more scientific counterpart, but not without the help of an intelligent Marge and an animated, albeit simian Homer who wrestles his bottle of beer like a Hollock Gibbon would wrestle an Olive Baboon, establishing the fact that we have, infact, descended from apes. Thank you Lord!!


Got me thinking. The Bible, the Gita, the Zend Avesta and every other conceivable 'Holy Book', including the one by the psychosomatic Heaven's Gate, all say the same thing: That we are the creations of a Higher Power that we can never ever gauge, but can only revere, sometimes blindly, as most people do. What is religion? "A religion is a set of common beliefs and practices generally held by a group of people, often codified as prayer, ritual, and religious law. Religion also encompasses ancestral or cultural traditions, writings, history, and mythology, as well as personal faith and mystic experience. The term "religion" refers to both the personal practices related to communal faith and to group rituals and communication stemming from shared conviction.".. Focus on the words 'mythology' and 'tradition'... Essentially means that religion is for the masses, of the masses, by the masses. So much for that Lincoln.

Thereby we come to the concept of superstition. Edmund Burke once said "Superstition is the religion for feeble minds". Although the vice versa of this statement is not advocated by me, I agree with him completely. Religion has been sown, harvested, reaped and exfoliated meticulously by our seers and politicians alike. Religion IS to opiate the masses, gather them under a spell wherein their cognitive and rational thoughts can be diverted for a lesser cause. When I say this, I do NOT intend to demean Hinduism. For all I know, Valmiki and Ved Vyasa are two of the greatest literary icons India's ever had. They wrote two epics which had their foundations in history, with a generous dose of imginative fantasy thrown in so as to make the perfect recipe for an epic omnibus. The issues and the thoughts potrayed through both the semi-biographical epicas still find relevance in our modern, somehow dystopian world. The sad part is, the theories and ideas the two great poets wanted to convey has been, over the ages, barbarically misconstrued, boiled, ringed and served with garnish to appeal to the masses, who, without a single second thought, will grab the shovel nearest to them when anyone says that Ram was a mythological figure.. for God's sake (yeah :-P), he was!!!!

Over the ages, we've had numerous instances, as history has been a witness, where eminent individuals have had their heads cut off, or their faces maimed, or their families wiped out, because they chose to reason scientifically over following religion hypnotically. We've also had instances where civilizations have been wiped out for want of 'Holy Land', temples, churches and 'Holy Water'. Blood has flown without remorse, hatred, bigotry and racial disrimination has thrived without check, and mankind has spiralled way beyond his control. Pretty scary.

I still believe religion should be practised, by anyone who wants to. It's his/her fundamental right, no matter where you reside. It is the one thing humanity still takes refuge in, like a placebo that helps ward off all evil. I only wish that humanity extracts the fanaticism that somehow embodies the religion of today. Suprisingly enough, religion , which helped theorise Creationism, has effectively been successful in establishing it's own credo. Because if we were ACTUALLY evolving, would we be the way we are?

There you go, the solution is the problem.

So long.

Acid House

The girl from the Far East sits with
The man from the Far West across the
Bar serving redwood liquid in cut glass dinnerware.
She breathes in the array of aroma
Penetrating the joint belligerent with
The smoke of the defeated as they file through
One at a time for their ration of Scotch.

He relaxes in the plush leather kept innocuously by the
Table the bimbo seats herself on,
Catching rude glances at his suede jacket and impeccable table manners.
He sways his head to the rhythm
That The Who lays down through the Onkyo speakers
And sways his mind to the rhythm of her legs between his, hidden under the table.
He thinks of calling but the transmission device he owns
Seems to have developed an intelligence of its own
As it refuses to be found.
Or so he tends to believe.
She's asleep by now.

There sits the expat with his H1B visa
Busy filling his face with the charms the New World has to offer by way of
Pork chops in gravy and the obvious Jack Daniels and water.
Soothed by the sight of another lost soul across the mahogany table
Feeling enclosed in their conjugal loneliness.
"Never taste the meat that they serve you there,
It's as sour as it is sexual"
Were the words his albeit spiritual matriarch had infused in him,
The latter of the above 2 quotes implied and not spoken.
Independence finds flight in ignorance. Just tonight.

Looks like she's from the Tinseltown of the poor,
Accompanied by the Olive baboon past his prime
In shirts strictly made for Hawaii or Bermuda.
They seem lost in time, space and the 4th dimension
As they regale in the purple resplendence
Of the certain calming hysteria
Caused by excess suffusion of cocaine. White.
Far from pristine. Far from joyous.
Rapture encloses them this dusk as they lose the shackles that their 23 year
Age difference brings to the fore.

I sit with friends across the scene that tells me a million stories in black and gray.
We drink our liquor, strain our necks to speak , lose our sight as we light our
Cigarettes in surroundings as dark
As the porthole of a ship on a cloudless moonless night.
We came for our fix this night.
Found way more than we bargained for.
Realized little.
Accepted nothing.

The sun rises, Orange hues in an azure sea.

60 Eons

60 years of Independence. 60 years of freedom from oppression, tyranny, fear, strife, poverty, hunger, backlashes and many other epithets. 60 years of a nation that is centuries old. And what have these 60 years brought us?

It gave us democracy, another subtle metaphor for a family based autocracy. It gave us the Right to Equality and the Right to Free Speech. It gave us the nuclear bomb and nuclear power. It gave us Air India and numerous other small time operators jostling for public space. It gave us Tatas, Jindals, Mittals, Godrejs and Kelvinators. It gave us the Maruti and the Priya scooter. It gave us our own space program and the midday meal scheme. It gave us Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, Mahalakshmi Iyer, Prestorika and The Superfuzz. It gave us IIT's and IIM's. It gave us caste based reservation. It gave us the(and still gives us) thief/dacoit/rapist turned politician. It gave us the Indian Cricket Team down the ages and the rather unknown pugilists who won us numerous Gold medals and numerous other world meets. It gave us the most beautiful natural scenery in the world and the most violent racial/communal violence the world has ever seen in a long time. It gave us the appreciating Rupee, and cost many of us of our Saturday beer. It gave us Khajuraho, Uma Bharti and the Majlis Ittehadul Musilmeen. It gave us bigotry and the Mandal Commission. It gave us the Khalistan Movement and Operation Blue Star. It gave us ULFA, Naxals, Veerappan and the Communist Party of India. It gave us Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose and Jyoti Basu. It gave us Special Economic Zones and Singur. It gave us domestic violence and the most alarmingly increasing population. It gave us Delhi - the prettiest metropolis in the country, Mumbai - the richest city in the country and Dang in Gujarat, where cows have more to chew than most people there do. It gave us a plethora of medals at the SAF and Asian Games, and the absolute lack of them at the Olympics. It gave us Aryabhatta, C.V. Raman, Ramanujam, and Harshad Mehta. It gave us The Alien by Satyajit Ray which was shamelessly copied by Columbia Pictures and Spielberg to make E.T . And the list goes on, and on, and on.........

60 years is but a fleck of dust on the garment of what we cal India. Wish we could rinse this garment clean of its grease and grime, and have it glistening at sunrise.

Gratitude Under a Red Sky

I walked you through,
The Aisle as it magnified it's reach across,
The vast expanse of Our existence,
Embodied by the subtle radiance the Moon brings.

You smiled in twinkles,
That cascaded through the rippling water,
Under the dreamcast skies,
Studded with Stars that lit up the cobbled stones
Leading to the Sanctity of your arms.

The repetative charade that surrounds this mortality,
So easily broken by a single whiff of your musk,
Akin to the West Wind blowing in another Celtic charm
To appease the torment that seeps through in phases.

Be my Amazonian Grace and fly
Me away to the wonder that lies far.
Far beyond arms' length.
Far beyond human breath.
Far beyond sapien thought,
To immortlise my dream.
--------------------------------------------------------------------


Is it unfortunate that I still yearn?
Or just sick?

The Fall or the Utter Lack of It

With friends on a balmy Saturday afternoon. The clock strikes 12 as we enter the foyer of Koshy's on MG Road. The place has a quaint and laid-back feel to it, something that symbolises the essence of a Saturday afternoon: calm, slow and relaxed, almost disconnected. People of all ages and barriers have converged here. They need their time out - from the routine outside, the traffic, the incessant rantings they receive from their bosses, the constant familial demands that bog them down, from walking their dog just because their wives want them to do so.. and to grab that pint of beer with mates.. It's all there. That aside, there's the prime selection of gorgeous beauties, mildly assorted with freakish wannabes from the neighbouring upmarket colleges; the former basking in the rapt attention that flow their way while the latter try their best and flirt with their eyes to fish for silent compliments. Again, the former are accompanied by handsome men with muscular jaws and in shirts that seem to be tottering on the brink of explosion, while the latter have their own kennel wherein they assiduously maintain a litter of anxious and jerky boys whose jeans barely cling to their waists. Then there are the septuagenarians... trying to forget their miseries for an afternoon with friends. Guess it's all worthwhile.

And then there's us.. three flimsy boys in flimsy T-shirts with flimsy demeanour and flimsy 'attitudes'. We represent the youth gone haywire, ballistic and we remain forgotten.. Because there are a countless number amongst this population who breathe, think and believe the same way we do. And yet are different. And diffident. We're a sombre breed, who take pleasure in remaining anonymous. The things and situations we bear, coupled with the odd directions our lives adhere to, are not the hoi-polloi's cup of tea. We regale in our own brand of sanctimonious black humor. We like our music to be aggressive, mellow and circumstantial. We like our books the be provocative and thought inducing. (Camus, anyone?) We like our coffee black. We like our food clean and devoid of religion. We try to live IN the moment, and not FOR the moment. We try NOT to judge. We like to fondle with imagination. We like to see the world in grey. Black and white is retro. Period. We do not find any holistic pleasure in viewing the world the same way others do.

So we sit and have our food. Our beer. and our talk. Diverse in nature. Music, politics, social and moral apathy, degradation of culture, degradation of imagination. Degradation of human emotions, and the lack thereof. We talk. We feel light. Momentarily. And we move on until the next time we meet and discuss another diverse range of issues that no one would usually think of treading. Therein lies the whole point. Humans are, by nature, and will be, cowards. Sick and nubile cowards. They shy away. They fear themselves. They want to avoid and not confront as they are afraid of retribution. We (three) were too, at one point of time. But life has a subtle and rather sarcastic approach to everything. It exposes you to beliefs and issues just when you don't want them to appear in front of you and scare you out of your wits. It tests you. It wants to see if you're up to the task. If you aren't, you'll put your tail between your legs and cry until a good Samaritan walks in and relieves you of your worldly burden.

And if you are, then you know who you are.

We live in paradox personified. We live in December, perennially. It's always cold, isn't it? It's up to us to find out ways to keep ourselves warm without being too dependent on the thermostat.

I guess.

Skyline

42nd Saturday by Night.
Stars glance through furtive clouds
Against a sky that smells of Dahlias
In the throes of Summer.

79, and one in their heads
Shimmer with delight in the confines
Of the beleagured joint.
Speaking of things lost
Mourning for beliefs unearthed.
Contradiction serves them, dressed in fuchsia.
Appealing. Arrogant. Astounding.

Swallow with a flourish
And get to reside for extended bantering.
Smile.
Please.

42nd Sunday by Morning.
Sun peeks lazily through hazy eyes.
Command. Run.

LUNCH?


The square table sits four this afternoon.
Four from seperate paths.
Aiming to smile with the day.
Unhindered. Unwarranted.

The juices flow.
Creation beckons them with arms stretched across.
Thoughts tumble down like
Cascading white rapids on crack.
Fuelled by the twirling strands of nicotine smoke,
Harking their prescence.

Incidents are exchanged at a feverish pace.
They believe this day shall end with them.
And vice versa.
Yet they conform to the common stand adopted by humanity
To live to see the light of another day.
Another day sang froid.

Dusk sets in as the bubbles in the wine disappear.
Words are spoken without the utterance of a single syllable.
The laughter subsides. Stops short of dying away altogether.
"It's better that way", he said.
"Hope to meet you all next week."
We acknowledge in silence.

TheArtOf

And the days fo by in this rampant heat of the summer sun as Calcutta bathes in the sweat of innocents. I lie awake with my lightbulb sun hovering around my head all night.. I've started working nights, become a nocturnal predator in my own terms, dissecting and feeding on raw need as and when it arises. I've conveniently segregated myself from those around me, only answering the call of my communication device whenever it displays the name of a person long lost..

I've been having conversations.. With the Dead..Not as per se, but with people who had been lost, or whom I'd distanced myself from for my own sweet needs. We converse about things gone past, and how they COULD have remained the same had life NOT been so cruel and botched up our fairy tale plans. I seek refuge in my loneliness and listen to the volley of words hurled at me. The emotive factor in my brain kick starts and tells me to go ahead and make ends meet.. let's speak, let's converse, share and cuddle if necessary.. Forget all that has happened..Forgive all that has occured. Go ahead and fuck up your life once again, and let's see if we end up in the dry deserts of Ethiopia once again...

Too many options and too many distractions to deter us from our daily diagnoses. How will man ever survive if the gjosts of the past do NOT let go? And then we're told to give up our chemicval afflictions and addictions..

Oh, to be rid of this dipthongonian world.. where everyone recites 2 conflicting versions of the same story at the same time.

21st Century Schizophreniac

"When you're ripe you'll bleed out of control.

You'll bleed out of control.

You like attention

It's proof to you you're alive.

Stop parading your angles.

Confused?

You'll know when you're ripe.

Because when you're ripe you'll bleed out of control.

You'll bleed out of control.

You're pregnant with all this space

Thick with honey,

but I lost my taste.

You're into depression because

it matches your eyes.

Stop this faux to be famous.

Confused?

You'll know when you're ripe."

A little too much space for comfort, I'd believe. What do we do with it? Thaw it from it's period of dormancy to alleviate our present status of non conformity? To allow alien individual needs to race forward without judgement or perception, without direction or rationality. Instinct and desire play a vital role in allowing the human mind it's requisite amount of 'freedom'. It allows a man all the unnecessary axial propulsion he needs, so that finally, he'll do nothing but provide himself with a vital headrush.Little does he know that this headrush that feels so tantalizingly amazing, orgasmic and calming, is just another in a long chain of 'duds'. He gets hooked onto it. We all do. We all have our own personal meth tablets hidden under the crack on the carpet floor.

It's a common human need, the crutch. How you manage to use it varies. You can put it to literal use, or you can use it as a weapon to ward off detractors, and junkies who'll come begging you for more crack... That's when we realize he need for a symbiotic relationship. Give to recieve, if you want any. And now comes the tricky part. How do we determine where to stop, and where to resume? How can you still have this relationship that takes a little more than the actual bargain from you, and leave you with less? Is it a combination that works?

We all abso-fuckin-lutely need pain to see what pleasure is all about. You need to see the sun set to know that it'll rise the next day. You need to get hammered on dope to even remotely realize what it is to be sober. You need to get screwed out of all your living happiness to know that happiness exists.
Twisted way this cosmos works.. In all it's shenanigans, it's more of an
psychologically primitive system. It's not justified, hell no. But it IS the way it will remain nonetheless. The Creator was/is one psychosomatically enhanced S&M addict, as much as I hate to say this.

Asking for space in life is like Oliver asking for more broth. He knows he'll end up getting shit, but he'll take it nonetheless, because he needs it to know what broth is NOT like.

At the end of the day if you have a bunch of compatriots who share the same inane, fucked up zeal about life, regale with them and look around to check what the moment carries. It carries with itself a dose of functionality and self-healing. It serves as the watering ground for us hyenas running around in packs of 5 and laughing our hairy asses off. It alleviates. It soothes. It helps subside. Smile one more day without having to know that you have a duty to perform, without having to know that someone, somewhere is judging you, without having to know that you're answerable or for that matter, redundant. This is not the same thing as being ignorant. Not at all. And neither is it about
avoiding. The inevitability of our mortality hardly allows us that privilege. It is the parallel universe that we carve out for ourselves. Accept it or deny it, it exists in all of us.

The best liquor is the one that gives you the worst hangover headache. Trust
me.

Paid in Full


A lucid posture
Admist broken skies
Black with the Tar
From the earth.

Old man ponders with intensity about forthcoming drought
Of locusts in the corn fields
When tis season of the Ripe
Harvest seems red this time.

Turn the stone
To water, He said
How, He did not
Leaving the hands caught in
The Grapevine.

Meander in his waltzing glory
Giving up need
Bohemian times require rapid measures
Of self construction

Bron-Yor-Stomp

This DEFINITELY has been one of the best weekends ever.

Given the fact that a friend of ours had to cancel his birthday fiesta because of unforseen catastrophic divine interventions, we postponed it to Friday night as we had to get back on saturday for our compre preps. ( It's heart breaking!) Started off with beer and small talk. Then we decide it's time to bring in the booze. So onwards to the car, where we pile in with organised chaos and we're off a decent place where a good scotch is warranted. And we pick up a bottle of a concoction called Black Dog. Hadn't ever imagined we'd get this poison in Mysore, but the again, God shows mercy in the oddest of ways. Price notwithstanding, we buy it with desperate grins on our faces.

Back in the car, and this time we arrive at a common consensus that we need proper glasses to enjoy our drink. KD Road to the rescue, where we bought 6 glasses for as many people, got ice and got back home. And then there was no looking back.

Thinking of it now, I can exactly remember the look on my Dad's face when he used to cherish his glass of Chivas Regal, and I, flummoxed, never made sense of it then . Now I do. It's a connoisseur's dream to palate such a creamy liquor. All six of us, happy and contented, in our rampant moods, have never had such a peaceful time. And then hunger struck. US Pizza never sounded more blissful than on that day. We hogged on those delicious meaty pieces of heaven. One particular flavor called 'Punjab da Puttar' caught hold of our taste buds, so much so that even the only resident vegetarian among us could not resist but pop a slice into his mouth. And believe me when I tell you this, he's become a convert.After all had settled down, the night ended with a drive down the highway to Ooty at 140 kmph, stopping at a deserted place on the way to take in the breathtaking sight of the horizon with white clouds penetrating the black sky, and nothing impeding our vision through an immense open landscape.

This is a memory.Sad part is I'm back in my lab at 3 in the morning on a saturday night finishing up on a module for my stream compre.

De-Prozac

Futility.
Ripping at the seams of,
A breakdown of consequence,
Mass produced in the hyperventilated
Mind of the Sapien being.

Dare.
To Unscar the flesh that,
Binds you in Absolution.
Trigger the calm fury,
To unleash the war within.

Unscathed.
By the Laws of Lust,
Forever defiling the emotional sanctity.
Remove doubts that grip your Soul,
Crucify this cycle of Abuse.

Undulate.
Through the amber fields,
The Velvet Underground caresses your feet.
Feast on the golden orbs of the midday Sun.
Inhale the essence of existence.
Flow on the languid wings of eternity,
For your time is not now,
To depart into the lateral darkness.

ABSOLUTION


A white stained porcelain sink,
Supported by rusted turrets.
Against a crumbling wall,
Peeling off paint from eons before.

The cracked silver from the shattered mirror,
Illuminates a ghostly reflection ,
Far from human.
Far from driven.

Ashes of empires burnt long ago,
Mixed with the omnipresent polluting dust,
Reside on the tattered carpet,
Where the flowers have withered to a deranged spot of grey yellow.

Limp bodies from the week before's revelry,
Lie unattended on the cushy mattress.
The stink of methanol pervades the infertile atmosphere,
Preventing the ether from taking over the town.

The creased rays on the Sun muscles its way through,
Into the muddy waters of the dead morning.
An eye creaks open with a hideous glare,
To draw the last threadbare curtain on the emerging day.

From 'Hysteria' by Muse


"It's bugging me, grating me
and twisting me around
I'm endlessly caving in
and turning inside out

'cause i want it now
i want it now
give me your heart and you soul
and i'm not breaking out
i'm breaking out
last chance to lose control

it's holding me, morphing me
and forcing me to strive
to be endlessly cold within
and dreaming i'm alive

'cause i want it now
i want it now
give me your heart and your soul
and i'm not breaking down
i'm breaking out
last chance to lose control

and want you now
i want you now
i'll feel my heart implode
and i'm breaking out
escaping now
feeling my faith erode"

It's an eroding state of everything out of the ordinary. Days pass in a stupid haze, rowing on endless glasses of vodka and expansive music, trips down memory lane and drives up Chamundi hills to smoke a few in constant company. Predictable crap that seems to have garnered a strong hold over my otherwise nonchalant life. I'm metamorphing into something I dread. This life less ordinary, tripping on adulterated choices of wisdom that most definitely all of us would like to avoid. Slogging in a corporate world where all everyone's bothered with is signing into work at 9 and signing out at 5:30 sharp. Fucking predictable creeps.

I feel everything of the song above. The head reels in concentric patterns at times when I've managed to completely lose control of everything I hold/held dear. Spiralling down a bottomless pit of self ignorance and loathing that freaks you out. Friends are an image of what they should be. No one, absolutely no one feels like my friends from college. Fucking posers in a materialistic world, drinking Blender's Pride through the night, discussing Black Sabbath and newer methods of smoking weed through the bucket..

Where the fuck am I stranded???

I'm turning senile!!!! Mind does not comprehend the subtleties that it perceives in the extraordinary psychedelic hues. Fuck. I wish I was dead.

RED


Taunting.
The deceiver knocks.
On your doorstep he beckons,
You to step into his mistake.
Congregated sorrow, overwhelming misery.
All converging in a condescending glare.

Outstretched fingers.
Seeking. The unfaithful.
Apocalyptic. You ride on.
The wagon stumbles incessantly,
On pins and needles.
Move on. Far beyond driven.

Hungry heart lusts for more.
Conscience a deterrent to this masquerade.
Eyes flee in blatant ignorance,
To realms unforeseen before.
Praying for luck to give way to intentions,
The soul hardens. Locked.
Transition complete.

Load for a new destiny.
See afar. Limited vision.
Ashes left behind on the wet grass,
Sizzle as they fade away.
From memory.
Into a dimension to be gathered until the journey is deemed done.

The link has collapsed.
You are now another.
Tears brim at the edges as the Sword cuts at flesh again.
Never-ending saga of deception shall continue.
Insatiate.
And the pain shall pass

SHTICK


Chameleon colors lurk in the shadows.
Obscured by the coming night,
As they impale the foreign senses within.
To project a claustrophobic sight.

Straw hats in the bullion market.
Waving forth to beckon the wind.
Change engulfs a searing nation.
Distraught with fright and homophobic dreams.

And the nonchalant enemy leers at the prey.
Wiping his wipsy yellow mouth dry.
Contemplating his kill as the moon rises tonight.
Amidst black clouds in the smoke filled skies.

Angry fists and hoarded shouts.
Barrels a land of scholars nigh.
Retribution in blood is asked for again.
Deliverance shall be a matter of time.

Evil hides in the shadows it breeds,
Pregnant with schemes of domination still.
Crush the vermin with the feet,
Of Humanity.
Man triumphs again,
At will.



Sick and tired of this reservation crap. It's swaying the nation by the day and an oppressive government, with a de facto prime minister, who literally sniffs the feet of his leader, is trying to clamp down on rights of the nation. We must be heard. This technical evil needs to be stopped in it's tracks , otherwise humanity will become the veritable political bait for our croked politicians who will do anything to further their idiosyncratic needs.

And herewith lies....


What is it that maketh the man? His pride? Demanour? Attitude? Disposition? Or the subtlety at handling daily ordinary chores in a not so ordinary way? I'm a human being with many a weaving down my back, and it hurts at times when I try to keep myself straight. I'm crooked. Intensely crooked. At times, I purposefully loathe myself for having deranged the life blood inside me. It makes me cringe, and then comes the pitfalls.... I realise that I'm not what I want to be. I just am not.

Very few of us are blessed to be granted a status in life where our prescence, and opinions, hold a certain value. We all crave for that point in life where the aforementioned might happen. But in reality, how many of us ARE really that blessed? Are we just pawns, at the vehement mercy of high society pricks who view us with nothing but scorn? Or are we individuals with a dire voice, just waiting to be listened? I'm one of the latter. I'm waiting to be listened. Grant me an ear and I shall regale you with the necessities of life. My Life. And we'll all find out that in someway or the other, we're not really set apart. Just a few pieces missing, that's all.

I need souls around me.Rehabilitation is not easy and it comes with a heavy price. I need to drain the listless life force inside me and forge it anew. Fast. I need help. Listen to me. Judge me. But I suggest, do not impale me.

GIVEN TO FLY



Waiting at the footsteps,
Of a rocky courtyard,
On a fiery April afternoon,
Anticipating the calm the wind will bring.

Looking forward,
Into your eyes that reflect the seas,
Capturing the elegance the moon bestows.
On the creation that is your face.

Longing,
For you to lead me away.
Into the desolation that,
Shall be my grave. Eternally.

Moving forward with time,
Your remembrance causes you to flutter.
As the clouds spell my name,
When the oceans shall be kissing your feet


Talked. Face to face after a gap of fourty days. She has passed on and I want her to. I'm too banal an individual to do any good to her. She will reside in peace and happiness, away from my lunacy. My longing and love may never diminish, though I have been asked to let time heal me. And she may remember me as anything she wants to remember me as. Because all that counts is her remembrance.