The Fenced Wood (First Draft…First Installment)

Time stood standstill, yet the desire for the eternal servitude drives the lost soul for a lifetime. It was late in the night and little early for an early morning walk; she was alone seeking company in the mirage that reflects in the far away firmament, for she has never been part of it. A sudden rupture of emotional outburst compelled her to take a hiatus, a break from the daily routine of self-assessment. She did perform all sorts of self-awakening exercises, indeed, to reaffirm herself that she is still alive. That very moment, she wishes to halt a bit so that she could nourish her soul, again, so that she could count another moment as her own.

My dear, life, when it seeks unknown reasons to testify the living, many a gratitude seems minute and irrelevant to count. There, she was alone counting every single second and letting the moment pass by for the grandeur that we called life. In fact, she wanted to thank few. She wished to express her gratitude to all. But there were none. At times, it seems shadows were all she could communicate with!

And the usual glimmer that she got to see in the far away realm of fenced wood, looked like her lost companion. Though it has no definite shape yet it reflects an image that her heart yearns to see. Sometimes, the very sight seems forbidden for human senses. And it is only the heart that knows the recluse. Whenever got the chance, she tried hard to make a glimpse out of the outline so that she could conjure up her favourite image that she desperately wanted to see. But it was like imitating her lost faith. It hovered there, just a glimmer. May be that was the only glimmer of hope!

The fenced wood, that divides the gap between two lost worlds of her solitude and unbound prospect of companionship, never allowed her to settle down. It’s not that she didn’t try to make it more profound, but it never happened. Every now and then, the thirst for the unseen quest drove her inner self to becalm the senses; it was like embalming the decease and asking the body to react at every single thrust of the incisor. She was confused.

She still remembered the first meeting. She wanted and even tried to forget but the first meeting is first meeting, always. It lingers too long for a lifetime. It was indeed the flame that burnt her world. And she was still there among the debris, collecting bits and pieces of the past. And of course considering herself one amongst them! No complaints though. She knew it well that she allowed it to happened; and happen it for the worst. But deep inside her heart, the pain that culminates from the constant reminder of the separation resides heavily. It knows no sympathy and she knew no compromise. May be it played its part yet asking for more.

That day, nothing extraordinary happened. Morning was calm as usual and everything occurred to routine. May be extraordinary was waiting for its chance. While composing a note on the daily chores of being a lonely girl, she wanted to take a long walk and talk to herself.

Time was 5:00 in the evening, perfect for a lonely stroll. She did. Happy she was with herself, thinking a walk and little soliloquy will do wonders to her rather mundane life that barely produce sparks. The beauty of a burning flame and the occasional sparks that poke out randomly, that’s the sight she always wanted to see. A bonfire, she thought would be perfect for the evening and susurrus of falling leaves in the backdrop. Life, when alone, needs sparks and rhythm of heartbeat to rejuvenate it. Yes, the lull, the gap, the break, it all have their say. But what is life without occasional turbulences. This was how she consoled herself. And in her case, turbulence was, most of the time, not within her control. Now she was alone; being alone is also a form of turbulence that might engulf better part of the life. She talked to herself. Fire needs fuel. The very next moment she was collecting woods and unknowingly she was collecting fuel for a fire that she might not be able to douse in her lifetime. The moment was ripe and she was alone.

Something struck hard in her forehead. It was bleeding. It cannot be just another fortuitous accident. Blood cannot bleed by chance. Something has to disturb the flow, external or internal. Blood can ooze out, it can drain or even it can just drip. The rate may vary, but it’s for sure, the life giving fluid is leaving her at its own will.


(Will Continue…)

Now and Then!

Then,
I was a small kid,
With many a wish for playful evenings!
I had time and
Saw the Sun goes down
And the twinkling of stars;
Just before bedtime.
It all happened in a moment,
And today,
I am in the brink of another childhood
And wonder,
How long it will last?
Yesterday night;
It leant on my back,
And I did posed like a chiseled statue
In its pursuit for eternal recognition!
Much to the dismay of its own stature,
The seesaw
That saw children grow up
And withered with time,
Was leaning on me
And was crumbling by itself;
May be my childhood was tumbling again
Onto myself,
But not to sure about the changes it had brought upon,
With the changing of time:
Now,
The seesaw wants another shoulder to lean on!

Smell Of Flesh!

That was unusual:
The smell of flesh,
The sight of charred bodies,
And the numbed senses;
I hate that!
Some glorified paths
That followed whims of unknown fanatics,
And the sermons of reconciled souls;
It seems:
Everybody sees it and
Enjoyed the chagrin
To the lamentation of each day,
It seems:
Everybody repents knowing enough
The forbidden truth
That we ought not followed!
Today,
As I pray a while
All the roads lead to the temple of the Sorrow,
All the souls cry a curse for jealousy,
And in the midst,
I see chariots burnt to chars
And the God being heaved for religions.
I hate that.
My heart was pure
And body pious;
But today,
While I was praying,
Everybody cried:
“Bloodied hands,
And soaked cloak”,
And I couldn’t bow.
I shouldn’t favour the countenance,

But my heart said:
“You are still a kid
And kids don’t pray”.
But everybody swears by God!

Ten Or Something!

“Ten or something”
Very fragile,
In perpetual hunger
And no dignity;
I saw thus!
I had the age of ten
I was once fragile with hunger.
And today,
Dust and fume
And hatred,
Thus he is fragile;
On the roadside,
I saw thus!
The canopy that hump overhead,
He sees an umbrella,
A shade in the heat of civilization
And he counts the feeble grass stalks
That stood with the soot
And compares in grudge
Every leaf with his tender finger”.
When the vehicle screeched,
His eyes galloped to my jaundice sight and
Representing both infidels
Asking the reason for the hunger,
Yet I was alone,
On my way to office!

Death!

I was single.
No shadow, nothing.
Today, I have a truck full of enemies:
Each one ready to grab my thirsty throat
And slit with the hatred that laughs
At my faith!
There will be mimicries
And hoarse complaints;
But I will be an imitation on life
And the faith will be a parody.
The conviction that preaches
The ownership of life and its purpose,
Sometimes paints the inevitable
And asks:
“Are you afraid?”
I have no answer.
I was alone and
Shadows will betray the faith.

Demise!

She came calling me
And asked about the parenthesis of life;
I had no clue and hugged her a lifetime,
The moment seemed an eternity.
May be that was a period.
There was a time, spent with laughter:
She was around and beautiful abound.
After a Period,
Everything was vociferous and without colour.
May be that was also a period.
I didn’t know that she was tired
And wished to rest a while,
I didn’t know that she was engaged
And wanted to live a while.
But I, as usual selfish and
Ignored her the shroud that shield her world
From countless wheels that lurk like time machines do!
I was cruel,
Not to let her feign a life
When she always wanted was love.
Her tired body and the eminence of engagement
Did release me from the whispers she brought
When I remember her!
But the cremation and betrothal,
They trussed my age in her shadow.
She came calling me
And asked if time will still stand still
When I wait for,
And asked if I will still clutch her
When she wishes to fly?
Now,
Time is freak and doesn’t wait for a period.
May be this is the full-stop;
The end of me
While everything else’s all her reminiscence!

Lyrics Of A Lonesome Soul!

Gazing the ever spreading night
And its deafening darkness,
I was alone…
Feeling the far reaching arms of time
And the consequences of being a conduit,
I was alone…
Few lyrics of a lonesome soul
Few drops of isolated tears;
And the night,
They all conspire in allegiance
Only for a life,
Less lived and compromised!
Illicit contempt
And scornful disgrace;
How well they portray the ally
Who stood inside the disdained mirror?
A committed opportunist
And a fragile coward;
How well they favour the scandal
That minced every piece of sermon?
Falling stars
And whispers of departed souls,
They disturb me “my sojourn”
Indeed the night is deafening!

Another Epithat On Life!

Shadows walking like simulated phantoms
And trails of never ending thirst!
How enduring a faith could be,
That asked for each soul to relieve the phantoms?
How fascinating a proposition could be,
That promised each shadow redemption?
It stop a while;
That stop a while.
Collectively they make a moment to cherish!
When you don’t know how to quell the thirst,
It certainly counts like a moment that stood still;
When the age-old promise withers
It may instigate the age-old believe of hope.
But everytime,
These shadows walked past me
I condemn myself:
‘Another epithat on faith’.
I know though
That was obviously unknown to me!

Alone!

When I was alone
Nothing did shone
Along the fields that left me unknown;
When I was lonely
Everything did fly
Along the galleys that invite me unseen.
On the whole,
As an incurable faith
I was destined to live
Live a life:
Life of inseperable destitute
Amidst unbound fortune of trust.
When I was alone
I did promised a million servitude.


But,
Once I was left bereaved,
Those promises often tease me
Saying:
“A curse,
Of being loved
And a million trust”.
But,
Nobody knows:
I was alone,
Alone,
All these while.
Now,
I am still alone
Knowing that, “Nothing did ever tempted
Other than the faith
And the promise to live”.

She could have wait till love dies…

She was no simple girl. She had dreams galore. She climbed mountains. She conquered me. Now she is gone. The confession that she is no more piles up a pressure inside me to face the tide. Tide of time and live and live and live in her love. How tough it can be, I didn’t realize until she appears again. Remembering the person who has left and the facing the same person with a different identity invites more than a living confession.

I count her the best person ever live, for me. Now, I remember her as the only one for me. Although there is no difference between these two elapsed propositions, I still think as if I am the one who has changed, unlike her. It’s like I wished to miss her and she’s gone. Had I become little more possessive, she would still be here, next to me. I should have told her: We need to wait till love dies, instead! That never happened and I am alone.

Curse!

After composing a horrendous curse on her behalf, I was about to succumb…luckily I survived.

The very next moment I was there in her doorstep asking for the compensation. We both knew, our lives were mere existence, diminutives not only with physical attributions but with both mental and rational endowments of a destitute. Like me…she too cared about things that hardly matters except few ounces of remembrance. Too much of servitude towards life. A brief!

She wanted me to curse life for letting her fell prey to its dirty designs. She was happy doing nothing. She was content living alone. Then we met…and the struggle begins. She didn’t outrightly blame me but she was astute in letting me share her insignificance in survival.

“A painful punishment
In a nursing home where dreams nourish,
Drips the captor
And the consecrated soul in tandem, thus
Testified the hoax in alteration of life!
Oh,
If you are living for life
Come join me
Let’s curse life for it’s sake, for
You too cry like me
For it’s sake,
All truth seems irrelevant with reading of time!
Come join me
Let’s abandon life for it’s own sake.”

But, unlike me, she knew hacked values. May be she wanted to curse me!

Life is filth!

Find an oasis in the desert sun,

And try to snatch a life…

Life full of hope and filth!

Yea, we live a filthy life…

The oblivion, the chase,

The date-tree, the money and the comfort…

It’s all filth,

And we called it Oasis.

Life is filth!

I am still a boy!

To survive in love, you need little madness…to dream of all the possibilities. Though it’s almost impossible to bear the HEARTACHE. But still, it seems the wish for a glimpse is enough for the lifetime….or say, eternity. No PARDON is not enough for living without her.

I was a boy. I am still a boy…A boy in the wilderness with little desires. As a boy, I faithfully proclaim to you that my desires are all surrounding you. You never know, all along…the story is you, only you. And I never get tired telling and retelling this story. Please read it once more!

A Suspect!

I was a suspect who wished to live. They thought I would be a nuance in their lives.

Anyway, I am still alive. Counting days and wondering if I will be able to mark another day in my calender as a day I lived, is a humorous misapplication with life. My living is an occurrence of sufficient roles and their alternatives. If I had to play by the norms they imposed…none of the characters would see the light of the day. And for that matter of fact, nobody would be able to blame me a suspect. But there are enuogh elbow room for everybody except me to impute that I am indeed the suspect. They suspect me for everything.

The notoriety of being a suspect has been multiplied by my consistent disbelief of me being a suspect.

I assume, I was mistakenly attributed a suspect.

Distgusting!

Stars are there,

I am here;

They shown bright

And I hide in the shadow.

While in the dark,

I dreamed about moonlit beaches;

While in the shadow,

I wonder about glowing shades of life.

Are you still Alive?

One good way to know if you are still alive is to see if you are still enamored by the person you love.

I tried! Seems to work. So this piece too.

Chances are that you will find yourself doing odd favors to prove that you are still loved and alive. But more often than not, it proves wrong. To derive a meaning and conjuring fancied images of living with love and affections seems ludicrous. But we all need it. So I assume, it’s one better way to know if you are still alive or death, than measuring the heat of funeral pyre.
Sometimes, it is good to rub salt in the wound.
This is not for you, Pasot!

Are you lonesome?

Pasot,

I have so many questions and complaints for you. It will take thousand years for me to pose them. Isn’t it interesting that we have got only a lifetime with so many strokes to be completed!

Anyway, let me start by asking: Are you lonesome? I am asking it because, I feel lonely. It seems I have nobody here. Are you comfortable counting yourself as one of them in that alien place, far away from home? I know…man evolve and migrate…but why do we need to leave behind those we love. Yes, if the answer is that oft quoted phrase “life goes on”, then my Dear, you are one of them, you are no different. You will be one of them. But I wasn’t and not. I am the only one, may be for you too!
We should move on. But along with those whom we love.

So, move into a new environ! New weather, new tradition, saying Good Morning in a new way and waking up with a new Sun and may be with a new promise. I love you being molded to adapt so comfortably and know you love doing them. But, in between, did you ever remember me? Strange questions, strange proportion, I guess! For both of us. You must be busy!

I was trying to untie something. I succumb to the knot. And you are still in my mind, every second, counting every step of mine and asking “Are you lonesome?”

Let me live so that I can ask many more questions. You will be happy for me…thinking ‘this guy is still asking me questions, even though I have left you!’

Did I ever hurt you?

Pasot,

I apologize to you for all those sad words.

After seeing your reply, I had a delightful time. The very next moment, I was back to my usual self…asking for more…Anyway…How are you doing…alone!

As I was about to sleep, a sudden rupture of silence disturbs me. It was calm and deafening. I feared if it will last forever.
Somebody calling me!

As far as I was made convinced, nobody likes to call me, even remember me, including you. And as if I were a part of your life, you were calling me yesterday night, just before I was about fall asleep. May be that was a hangover…or better say…the effect of constant reminiscence of you. Sorry, I shouldn’t disturb you. But what do you do when you know you can’t breathe without air…better be smothered with the pillow once you rested on and smell…

Every aspect of my life has fallen out of your favor, then why these reminiscences in the odd hours?

When you took the flight, I wished to fly alongside you. When you land at your destination, I wished to receive you. Is it my fault to love you?

Believe it or not, I will be taking the toughest decision of my life by living alone, all life long. And if rumors are to be believed, you will be happy if I do so.

Did I ever hurt you?

Do you remember, I cry a lot!

Pasot,

No matter where you live, I can always smell what’s going on your mind. You never knew life’s wondrous tenets like loving and caring. You seem to pretend all life long without any reason. People pretend so that it serves a better purpose or two. But you pretend, knowing you can’t pretend and for no good. And its really bad make-up you wore!

OK, when it comes to you, I pay every little attention. Don’t know why? May be you are the one for me. What will you do if you know you are of little importance to someone’s life or will you think that it’s important to be important in someone’s life. May be you knew it all!

You think you have a past and I think we have a future. I wanted to agitate you so that you take precautions.

All the sweet words you have listened along the way are mere footnotes. And I am not able to understand that you buy those words knowing that they are not from my mouth.

Do you remember, I cry a lot!

You walk in the rain and I get wet!

Pasot,

This is for you.

Life is good. And it’s good example that we have set for ourselves…you going away far away from me and I am holding back to myself. You know I have faith in love and life. Life is nothing without love, it is meaningless without love. Interestingly, for some love has many faces…like the ones you have bought in the way, in the market, in the institutes you have attended. But unluckily for me…it has been stuck where it started: a face you carry, a believe you have me my life and the name I called ‘Pasot’. What else, you knew it all!

Anyway, I realise it’s bad to force someone to do something against his/ her own will. This has been happening all life long…I was made to do what I don’t want to do and you have been doing what you never wanted to do. Then what do we call these lives…
Pasot, don’t make yourself secretly bleed with hatred…it’s a strange world where you will find all that you have wished with little tricks, acceptable or not, nice or bad. But I would suggest, don’t do that. Be happy with what you have! The moment you start asking for more, it will, in contrary, ask for more from you.

I know, you always walk in the rain and I always get wet. I have no complain, whatsoever! I don’t repent either. But it reminds me … you were beautiful being yourself. Now what’s that you are becoming?

A truth!

The other day,
I was alone!

Problem with me is: I love despair. Everybody wants me to be happy, but I am not with them. Randomly, I choose moments of despair to relive them, because I know I love them. When people talks about optimism, I yelled about fate and when they calm me with their love and I asked for despondency.

What's this?

Life is always preferable to death. Living has always been the forte of the soul and it’s servitude towards the body.
Despite knowing this fact, I look for an alternative to it. It may be death. Or, it may be something else other than the life. The resolve to live and the pursuit for it’s values has long been the delicate intention of living. But the body and soul, and the person that I have preserved ever since I came to this world seem to long for something else other than life. It’s hard for me pretend like living, while most of my senses delude me. I really don’t know if the sharp edge of a blade has better purpose than the words I seek to refuse.

If you were a rose!

If you are a rose,
I would like to see you in my garden
And I would like you to lay above me,
In my grave.

Do I really want to live this life?

Do I really want to live this life? Asking such a question (to myself) is like looking at the mirror and pondering over the reflection. Most of the time I am sorry for myself being not able to grasp what’s there in the reflection: me or someone else? The same has been with the life: am I living my own life or am I trying to portray something else? It’s not worth giving a thought about being ‘originality’ of ‘Me or the reflection’…but at certain moment, I comfortably place myself for a wild ride to think about it. By and large, it offers me occasional calm in rather restless hours.
What will help me reveal the true self? Looking at the derivatives of what I do daily, frequently, it seems I am one of those fobs, always worried about how he looks! It’s like a pretentious effort to describe myself looking at the mirror. A loud lie!
So my life is all about lies and pretentions. I fake life. I fake love. I fake my own being.
Someday, I would die without knowing who am I or even so, without realizing why I lied all my life long. I think, it’s the norm here. Somehow, it seems to me, I wasn’t born with the courage to be myself.
Do I really want to live this life?
This may be one of those funny questions I hate to ask myself!

Most truths are lies.

Most truths are lies. Every day they came up to me and divulge a truth or two. I know most of these truths are fantastic lies. But we are made to believe thus, slowly and gradually increasing the level of believable factors. I was a kid then, there were no barriers to love. Now, no love without barriers. Love was true then, now it’s a lie.
Once in a while, I comfort myself to hear good lies as obvious truths.
May be these lies will help me unmask me.

She Lived!

They asked me:
“Did she ever exist?”
They asked unknowingly seeing me clasp her image.
They don’t know the silence
And obviously,
They don’t know the turbulence
So profusely blooming in my existence.

That’s a fact,
So I didn’t ponder much;
It will stay a fact.

But,
How do I explain,
The recluse that she is?
How do I maintain,
The repose that they performed?

My shivering tranquility
That carried her composer,
They see it my frailty
That buried the sinner;
Committed while observing the obligation of faith.

Not knowing her faith,
They asked its exhibition;
Yet she stands in allegiance unabridged
And I know:
She is pure!

They don’t know,
“Pure has it all”;
The acceptance of faith
And the respect of belief.

But,
They will ask me:
“Did she ever exist?”,
Everytime I breathe her name,
Everytime she becalms me.

And that’s a perpetual quandary
For “My breathe is her name and
Her being me”.

Alone!

When I was alone
Nothing did shone
Along the fields that left me unknown;
When I was lonely
Everything did fly
Along the galleys that invite me unseen.
On the whole,
As an incurable faith
I was destined to live
Live a life:
Life of inseperable destitute
Amidst unbound fortune of trust.

When I was alone
I did promised a million servitude.

But,
Once I was left bereaved,
Those promises often tease me
Saying:
“A curse,
Of being loved
And a million trust”.

But,
Nobody knows:
I was alone,
Alone,
All these while.

Now,
I am still alone
Knowing that, “Nothing did ever tempted
Other than the faith
And the promise to live”.

Here Comes The Scarecrow!

That really looked horrible!
Tried to becalm my senses
And the canvas of senses
Nothing did really entice
And it was still horribly seen.

Once,
There laid a carcass
Stock firmed and subdued
How did it grooved
And how did it gropped
It still reverberates.

Now,
This becomes the body
Body of a pious soul
Asking to redeem the lost faith
But,
It still looks like a horribly painted potrait.

Ok,
Why do you need to interpret it
Why do you need to feel it
Why do you really need to see that?

The images that we see ‘horible’
May they be a hundred questions on instinct
May they project a distinct imagery

But,
Still they all look like pirates
Waiting for a crow to squeak
And say:
Ohey…here comes the scarecrow.

Span Of A Hog!

Possibly, I was right:
The unpleasant sight
Purchased a span of hog
And create, to contrive
A clinical Coventry.
Anyway,
It negates my scheme;
Anyway,
That’s what customs demand!

Possibly,
I was empty:
The bulge
Praised the whole soft-bed
And the cunning inclusion,
To conceal what’s certain.
Anyway,
That’s fairly good-looking;
Anyway,
That makes a getaway,
Ostensibly!

Diggers dispose,
Diggers plant;
And wish for a good delivery time…
Something to keep up to!!!

You Are No More!

A tired body,
An exhausted soul
Never imitates you.

No,
It’s not a jeer
Neither a jealous trail:
“You shine
And the proud shone along.”

But,
All along
I praised the moments.
But,
I usually cry
Every single sight,
At evry single sight.

No,
I cry not for the predicament.
I cry,
When I see you.

You,
You are no more.

You Are No More!

A tired body,
An exhausted soul
Never imitates you.

No,
It’s not a jeer
Neither a jealous trail:
“You shine
And the proud shone along.”

But,
All along
I praised the moments.
But,
I usually cry
Every single sight,
At evry single sight.

No,
I cry not for the predicament.
I cry,
When I see you.

You,
You are no more.

But A Wound To Her!

I was a humiliation,
A wound to her.

She makes her humble moves
And brought starry serenity
But the night was mine,
Alone,
In the dark!

Those nights are still audible
With certain imagery,
Imagery befitting decors
On a royal boutique!
And voices exonerating her beauty,
There it proclaims my misfortune.

For I was blind,
A curse which invites a diffuse guilt
And a consumed sorrow!

This, however, is not to be complain,
Instead leave her to the Tormentors.
With an unequalled insight,
Listening how she moan
Amidst mercy-laden taunts…
There,
Warding-off outrage and shame,
Don’t ask me, How?
Yet my ambiguous sense,
A deeper sense of humiliation pervades
While her presence
Being odious to all
And I,
A defender,
A wounded defender!

Always A Question!

Dawn or dusk,
It never ceased to follow my whims.
That was the time,
You dictated my concience.

No reason,
No repentance!

But today,
It seems I am standing alone,
Waiting to be crucified.
Crucify for a reason that never exists, at all!

So poor I am now
Even the reveller didn’t aske for penitence,
Little wonder…
They called me a walking shadow,
All of a skeleton!

What else is left?
I say HELLO and GOODBYE, the echo!
I never complained nor you demanded.
But why so much confusion,
For a word to form a chape?
I,
As you have christened,
Will always be a question!

Another Relocation!

I am proud
Because I know
I have my humility.

I am proud
Because I know
I have my guts.

And I know
My arrogance has its humility
Though in defeats,
Uneasy defeats and submission!

When I met her
I flaunt her flowing tresses,
I flaunt her tempting smile.
And of course,
I flaunt her enduring faith.

Now,
My humility was long gone,
My arrogance was long deceased.
And those routs and capitulations
Rag me
When she relocates!

And the barbs and bullets
And her hair and smile
Though not the finest of mates
I was deemed lyricist
For her lost Native!

Hey babe
This is another confusion
Bound by your faith…

So don’t you worry,
If you can’t cherish my fickle image
Or even if
You can’t visit my abandoned garden!

When you leave your paradise
I too relocate my stable;
When you fight another occupation
I too die a generation,
But when you cry for another Native
I arise for the garret
With guns and bayonets,
That’s my Humility
That’s my Guts.

And faith
That was your lost freedom,
And love
That was your broken dream
So, I am still here…
Deemed a lyricist
For your lost Native!

The Funeral Motif!

Once,
We stood by a pious body
But he lay motionless
And our small hands
Trembled enough
And the Principal got his silence;
Seamless white flags Fluttered in the silence.

And mourned
An early kindergarten showcase!

The pyre
That burnt both the “innocence and
The frailty of a kid”, reflects
An atmosphere of horror and savage grief.
But the pious body
And his threatened vengeance!
Today:
A conjugal manifestation of desperation…
There were lurid flames,
There was angst of unbridled thoughts
And there were dried tears.

Here,
How do I relive
A nursery funeral march
For a friend wasted,
Wasted in false Patriotism!

This is how:
Pyres of dead are numerous,
For numerous were lives.
But the funeral motif was single,
For we cannot live.
And still the same!

That Was The Tradition!

‘My unknown song’
She calls me
With a name unknown
And I respond
With a feeling unknown.
Whilst,
We endure the tradition,
The tradition of calling by names
And the tradition of living by tradition!

One evening,
When I was home
She was alone
Waiting for me
Feeling awkward in my presence, though;
Hiding the beauty
That long endured my thirst.
There, the crack of a mirror
And the sound of a moan
Contradicts my believe.

So cruel
That was my faith.
I asked the song:
‘Had I wronged the name…
To the name … I borrowed?’
“Not really”
‘But why this proposition?’
“That was the tradition”,
The final blurt.

My Hunger And Her Trait!

She told me:
‘Thank you Man?’
I was happy
She too seems pleased!

Then,
In a chain chariot
We drove down…
Further down
Came barricades
Welcoming the shackled wheels.

She arose again
And enquired:
‘Any other way?’
I, in the midst of chivalry
And chariot on the ordeal
Confronts ‘Yes’ and ‘No’.
But I,
Bent enough and
Brought new valour:
‘That was the moment’.
But the hunger and trait
Breathe foul
So thus the moment.

The hunger:
That was her body.
And the trait:
That was the voice
That told:
‘Thank you Man!’

And the proposition:
I was only a mere human,
With tweaked casing
And a makeshift core.
That doesn’t help either
As I sold my soul
For her hunger
And the trait,
That bewildered my religion.

My Freedom!

Something is seriously wrong
Believe me
Something is seriously wrong
When I called your name,
Hack, such a feeble echo!

Bridges built on believe
And lame cross them,
With dream tenacity.
But who cares if…
The bridge last his dream
Or if…
His treaty conquers the amputation.

Something is seriously wrong
Believe me
Something is outrageously wrong,
When I pinch your butt
Unlike my fantasy,
You give my liberty a thrash.

People play mad
Though unknowingly a crowd;
When they jam
Cramp my experience
And borne another crime.

Why?

You were playing
And I was in your image
Then, we together
Without ‘You’ and ‘I’
Asked the wind:
Will the world be ours?

In some distant meadow
Those songs echoed
Often asking…
How long…how long
In the barren meadows?

I couldn’t ask;
As if…
I was bound by the tears.
Why?
And I don’t know why?

Today, once again
In her lap,
I try to play
But I couldn’t,
I don’t know…why?

Confuse,
I ask her for the trace
Instead I find
A face…she often bore
Like a heavy dark cloak
Shielding scorching summer;
In her face…
Unfulfilled queries queue;
And in her eyes…
Shattered dreams mirror.

Sometimes I wonder, but
Her crumbling chateau does invite
Into that realm of oblivion
And I don’t know…Why
I follow her dictates?

Only A Day Left!

Only a day left
Another day will past
And it follows my past.
The same laugh with the same silence
The same raze with the same blush,
Your face being the sole difference.
But,
Neither you change
Nor I…
The same you and me!

I am not deaf,
That’s what I was made sure, though
I didn’t hear anything from your mouth.
I am not blind,
Does it need a blink to prove, though
I still hide from your face?
I am not a dumb,
Every time I utter a word, though
They were my faults, you never move.
So to say,
I enjoy my days, but
You never touch my heart!

Then my story begins…
“Yesterday evening
She was with me
And I was alone!

I do knew:
‘This day will be same’
Yet she played my queen
And you all laughed at me…”

Period…

Do you know…
Who am I?

Another period…

Often did this question reveal me
It’s dark, though
Still my story goes on.

“And,
I saw her in the dark
While the wheels move
She sparkles.
I realised…
He too teases me! But
Only a blush.
May be for
Once she said:
‘It’s the colour of victory’.
How could I betray her
And I dreamed another victory!

‘I’, a little desire
‘She’, the whole world. Still
I caress all the differences
Waiting her to fondle my desire.”

Rejoinder.

Leave it!
Never wait a look from love
Stroke her,
Pinch her,
Tease her…
I should suggest?
Yes, yes
She knows how to freeze!
Thank God!
Ice do chill like any desire,
That’s why I shake
Shake my feet without any rhythm.

Does she really know:
‘How to freeze a heart’ Or,
‘If she likes me to cry?’
I would like to know!

Sortita.

“Yesterday evening
She was with me
And I was alone.
And I saw her in the dark…
Through the tinted glass
Then I wonder…
Was that reflection of the yellow?”

But only a day left!

Pain Of Life!

Poison and the Pain;
My Memory and Victory
Playing cushion and
Quail the treaty,
Treaty of a frail frame
With a furnished reason!
Avaunting the cannibal,
Feed on the stew atonement
Hiding in the regal attic
Further down the volcano..
Volcano of the Life
And yet unfinished...

Fallacy Of Patriotism!

Fallacy of Patriotism
Warm my instincts
And welcome a beast
And remind the rhyme
Once “forbidden”,
Singing tip-toe,
Without a balance
And ofcourse a tune..
But that was the rhyme.

The fallacy of rhyme
Warn my age-old education
And borne a fence
And count the boundaries
Once “demarked”
Swinging the tap
Without a ruler
And ofcourse a royalty..
But that was the boundary.

Wait: I wait; Smile: I cry.

If these broken pieces
No, no these unfinished lines
Have to meant
A thing or two; then
‘It’s only you’
Only you, if you allow.
And my imaginations,
Like your glowing eyes..
To escape this wondrous gaunt..
‘Head to toe…only me’
Air to ground…only you”
To your freedom!

But a thing or two
Names like his..
Situation like hell..
Never sprung any surprise
Though they are my grave.

If this is my fairy land,
To win you..
Surely grave that of mine;
My citadel where
Your glowing eyes reigns.
But here..
That name, that hell smother.

Push me,
I brave your smile.
Curse me
I dream your smile.
Kill me I caress your smile.
What do you need..
A smile, it’s enough, so
Glare me and bathe me in the steaming heart.
That’s what I get
When someone smiles?
Wait: I wait,
Smile: I cry!

That’s My Manipur!

You never be worry
That’s my Manipur,
Hang on ..hang on
Like an entwined victory
After many a deluge..
‘You never be worry’,
Will wrest all the glory.

That’s my Manipur
With its flocked seasons
Will permeate the essence of victory
“The high of cliffs,
And the low of blurbs’,
Yes even if you see
Streams meeting awhile in the blood!

Yesterday!

Today,
As you gain me, I
Embrace the pages,
Once you snubbed with your taunts.
I knew
How cruel those dreams were!
Every word bathes in your scent
Every page deeps in your colour, then
I caged my diary, ..
I feared: ‘The world might halt.’
Dismayed to light my darkness
I pierced my pupil with your smile
And I laughed at the mirror,
Not knowing: ‘You are my image!’

Today,
As you spell my soul, I
Echo my foible..
Once you exploited with mercy.
I knew
How vulnerable those days were!
Every morning arrives with your reflection
Every night expires into your dream, then
I censored my dreams,
I feared: ‘The world might burst.’
Devoted to adorn my life
I smashed my heart with your smile..
And I cried,
Not knowing: ‘Tears are yours!’

Road To Heaven!

Crowd is too filled.
I don’t know what with..
But it’s sure, it’s filled.
Filled with faces I feared,
Drowned with cries I feared.
I agree,
I did fared for many..
Many dreams and
I feared these are not.
It starts with your face,
I command so much..
Today you followed with such muticiplicity.
Then His face,
I charmed every moment
But his consent wasn’t there
Then it’s from them
I hated most..
With curses I shelved in my heart.
Is this the way,
If yes..
Why so much with faces I burdened..
In my path to freedom?
Does a singleton make your pride loss,
Or is it someone else’s curse?

Like One Day!

If these orbs follow you
Why don’t you complain?
Now the images permit me,
“I don’t know why”
To cross the boundaries
Once you marked…
In the bleeding flow of my silence!

Innocent you look so
‘Never dart any’
If I weren’t wrong,
Though the wind blows only downwards,
I still fly in your blows.

Like one day,
Today,
Another bitter truth!

You know…
I was brought up
In lies,
Incessant lies.
And now,
You invite me
In this barren hell
Not even a mirage here!

Never Say .. What’s In Your Eyes!

If you see
‘Eyes with flooded pictures’
Never ask..
What the pictures are really:
“You might be one
Or might be the only one.”

Night is dark and
You know, it will always be dark.
And the crowd,
Only in the dark
Though they jam,
“There will be no light.”
So I say:
Never say..
“What’s in your eyes?”

Rituals Are Mine!

I died a death of opprobrium.
That was when,
I was a small kid!

I saw images
Images crop from the crops of worry
Images snap from the span of worry
And I cherished them
Like a harboured ship in the wrecks!

Then this death
Death of countless names
Names of alliterated identities
Thus this obloquy of disgrace!

I died a death of opprobrium
That was when,
I was a small kid!

And came the funeral
Still following a million rituals.
Then,
I silently ask:
“Why rituals for death bodies?”
Again,
I shout:
“Rituals are mine
For they know
‘I am alone’!”

Innocent Beast!

That innocent beast,
My eyes saw:
‘With a coupled bosom
Heaving side by side.’

Not now
And never be!

But the whole clan,
Mouths wide open
Never touching nipples, though;
Where nectar sprinkles
And drench
That innocent beast!

It passes by
Whipping my humanity.
There arise the beast,
‘The coupled bosom.’
I touched there…
That innocent beast!

Never be now,
I know now
She wasn’t innocent!

Garden!

Garden,
That was mine
I saw giglets play.
Garden,
That was mine
I saw my heart flaunt
The ailing body
Like a chiseled statue from the museum.

Damn!

I have a broken leg,
I have a twisted arm
And I even got a pierced pair of orbs.

That’s really good.
I visualise thus,
And I put on the robe
And robbed all the colours of life.

That’s one evening
And a gale I harp often
Brought diamonds studded coal.
How heavy…
Oh! How heavy were they:
My broken leg,
My twisted arm;
How desperate were they,
And glitter that pierced my blind
And jealousy that compound my frailty?

Then there,
My mystics smile
That I learnt long ago
Temp another Mona Lisa;
Yet my vision,
Still flicker by truth and love
Seek succour.

But there,
My dreams and her beauty
All crumbled.

Your Junction And My Step!

The naked mother
Shielding still daughters;
A million scratches
Peeping through hollow phalanxes…

Then I saw:
Pictures being wrapped
By dripping hands
With veins teasing
Outnumbered breasts.

The naked mother
Shielding still daughters
Mimic the pictures
Sucking the veins
In a destitute vengeance.

Million scratches
Peeping through hollow phalanxes
Wears again
Numerous shrouds
Denying cold pyres
For another innocence.

The Naked Mother!

The naked mother
Shielding still daughters;
A million scratches
Peeping through hollow phalanxes…

Then I saw:
Pictures being wrapped
By dripping hands
With veins teasing
Outnumbered breasts.

The naked mother
Shielding still daughters
Mimic the pictures
Sucking the veins
In a destitute vengeance.

Million scratches
Peeping through hollow phalanxes
Wears again
Numerous shrouds
Denying cold pyres
For another innocence.

I Swore!

I swore,
I swore.
Never to shed a tear
Seeing a crying baby
Feeling the still body of a mother.
I swore,
I swore.
Never to alarm my conscience
Seeing a rape
Rape of unknown virgin.
But today,
The day I was borne,
I can’t swear again
“The days I left behind,
To my unjust humanity”.

I Am Waiting!

A track, a river;
Both parallel to my nerves,
Both conjugate
And consummate,
In a swirling mount
Asking my long lost answers.

Then arises my mound,
To a new infinity
Asking me to touch another firmament.
Na, I said.
But one more heap,
Like my enduring hump,
Asking me to curtail another sky.

The track and the river,
With new lorries
And with new streams
Circle my web
And I stand
Waiting for my mound,
No, my hump to go straight!

What I Say More!

Oh!
All the reasons,
All the victories,
What I say more…

Nothing, nothing,
A gaunt
And a ‘no-name’
What do you say more…

Those branches I shook
May be… they know:
The name of the ‘no-name’,
Leaves holding lives, still…

Those trunks I rubbed
May be… they feel:
The warmth of this gaunt,
Ridges hiding lodges, still…

Oh!
No more,
No more:
Reasons and victories
Hiding in a gaunt,
Seeking a ‘no-name’
May be I no need more.

What I say more…

Touch-Me-Not!

My exploits in the heaven
My confusion in the hell
My elation for a second
My saga of illusion…
How all that embark on?

My Romeo,
My cupidity is you.
A million stars did shone bright
For your empty body
And the world counts her
Though, Juliet was the name.
But I wonder
Did she adorned her lips
With my name.
Once you did submit
‘You are mine!’
Do I need to say again:
‘Love potions are poison
Poison, the elixir
Doesn’t seclude you from me!’

Roses are no more Red
Thorns are no more Stern
Gardens are no more Spring…

May be these swaps
Entwined those deeds of mine
With your persistent make-ups.

Then,
I say:
Poison tastes bitter and
Poison do seclude you from me.
My Romeo,
You are still my cupidity.
But Juliet,
You never knew
‘The world is round’,
Of being Rose, the plight is!

So don’t say
‘Let Roses bloom in your heart’
I will instead
Plant a touch me not,
“Touch-Me-Not.”

Why So Late!

Steaming hot tea
And there
Nothing more than your image.
I only,
Only look that way,
Where an image not so clear
Not so dull…
That was all I saw that evening!

So I ask,
Was that really you?
Or,
That same old charm:
“Oft’ spell my soul” of yours?
But, every time I try,
Try to clear my throat
All those confusions
Clutched my throat, so firm
I only cry the confusion.
Don’t know why,
If I were to commit something
Or, I were to play them
Why they wait all these evenings?

So again.
I ask why so long,
So long for a spelled soul to repent.

If these steams
Can redeem me
Or something more than the thirst
I will,
Yes, I will definitely ask
Why so late?

“fcuk”

“fcuk”.
In the closest proximity, this few letters smell something audacious to SPELL in the right sequence. Don’t do it, in reality it sounds much obvious to think about: a brazen thought that inherits what we had actually wanted to ignore … letters or word.
“French Connection United Kingdom”, I don’t know if “fcuk” rightfully deserves to represent the previous words. But it surely arouses the buyers. And I wonder how someone could spell the right acronym for “French Connection United Kingdom”. It was strange, on my part, to try and read and then find a sense of it. I have seen it quite regularly these days. Some are so prominent; I can’t resist the enticing font and the letters, obviously! At times, I find it odd trying to rearrange letters in an order that my mind can inculcate.
There are few labels that seem noble and readily acceptable. But “fcuk” is strange. I know people buying stuffs that have a label “fcuk” in it, only for the sake of “fcuk”. Sometimes, I doubt if…Is it ONLY me who is uncomfortable seeing this label?
To shed this inhibition, I have recently bought a shirt that has a label “fcuk”. Good stuff! Then I try putting it on and see myself in the mirror. The label’s more prominent than I thought. Reading “fcuk” on my shirt, err on my body, it sounds something else. I am not that bold.
But I still have that shirt it reads “fcuk me”.
And I still remember the piece that I left at the store: “possibly…the best fcuk ever”.

It’s going hayware!

I ferry my dreams to my living world. Unluckily, most of them hardly translate into anything tangible, except speculations of getting more and more such dreams.
More often or so, I was stopped by the patrol of my own admiration of life to the excessive. Every time I try to pursue something, life’s fuzzy concepts clutter me and left bereft of the very idea to pursue ‘that something’.
Now, I gave away the thought of ferrying my dreams into reality. Instead, I am trying to portray myself as a tireless character and subvert the verisimilitude of living in a dream world.
What I do now is, doing what comes naturally to me, like assuming myself to be alone and planning for that inevitable.

Trying to be busy!

My fellow beings, I have problems living here. I hate people calling me by names and looking at me for the same response. It’s better to be a shadow than a poltergeist, who makes all sort of noises only to manifest his/her presence. People run riots and see if the sky and heaven have the same purpose of being there. People look up to sky and sigh: “He is seeing us and having a count of every misdeed.”
Last night, I was trying to be busy with myself. Something slipped into my mind and I was somewhat shy about being myself. “Look at me, I spoke to myself, how poor this person is? He breathes. He eats. He wishes… (These were few of the nonsense in my mind)… And he is so idle, very idle even to dream.” I sneered to myself…jeer myself only find that I wasn’t alone at all. By my side, there stood my shadow, in total silence. He must be thinking if what had transpired this busy soul to mutter in the dark! Did he wronged to others or somebody has just gotten to know any secret of his?
Fair enough, I complained again to myself: And forced myself to go out and walk among the trees. This is how I kept myself busy, alone.

Lately/Recently

Recently, I got to know what certain ‘words’ really mean. I still pick up words, here and there and make them my own. Some words that I got to used never really meant what I actually wanted to mean. There are words, so imprudently seem to mean another word from another circle. At times, I used certain, very particular words only for the sake of it because, I don’t have any other word other than except (that) to help me exclaim when I feel like (that). In fact, I am devoid of words, I am poor without words. Wanted to say something and they mean something else!
================================================
Lately, I came to realize I am still alive and yearning to live.
A brief dialogue between self and shadow - whether for the confirmation of a reconciled life or the mere projection of a life preoccupied with wishes and responsibilities - bring out this transfiguration in me. More often, these dialogues proved more discordant than respectable. These dialogues ensnare me into life.

A day I wan’t part of it!

Today is just another day with a new beginning. I woke up early, in the morning. Perhaps, it may be one of those defining MOMENTS of life, to be able to wake up early in the morning. Nothing suits better, if you can jog a while, talk a while and have a cup full of tea while pondering over day to day happenings.
With such a splendid morning to beckon a day, it was almost impossible to turn back to where I was yesterday night. The previous night abandoned me to my own comfort and provided me the solitude I desperately needed. It certainly provided the shelter but the dawn was more fascinating, an impromptu precedent for the day.
So, how the day went on? By the noon, I thought I am actually blessed. I was able to identify myself more passionately with the surrounding. People around me seem to laugh. Everybody appears as if all of them are here by their wish.
The final impression of the day was, even if it wasn’t contrary to the reality, I was happy. It was not a perceived notion, but rather an alibi borne out of me being somewhere else. I was not here.

Grave Digging!

Nothing to say, nothing to write: what a life!
All agog with the new found zeal to write, write almost about anything; I tried to dig a grave. It has always been a place of my infatuation, wanting to know what’s there and why we erect tombstones …

I wasn't there!

Sudden overflow of ideas, acceptable or not, does not merely make one sick but also reminds that he, himself has not been of USE, lately! Something like this happened. And I see every valid point to make a point of everything that got to see.
India and its populace, God knows what’s the duality in it, complements each other very well. We have a big country, we are proud and along with it, we have all possible calamities, natural or man-made at one ‘time’ go. Here in your northern belt, you will have the bitter cold and in our south, you will have to shed most your attire. To complement it, we have a population big enough to overthrow any virtual empire … in the battlefield, given that it’s one to one … barefoot! A population which defies every logical conclusion on human reproduction! Once, I was said that China’s population growth is indefinable but India’s population GROWTH was termed an EXPLOSION! So obviously we have poor and rich.
I travel everyday in certain roads. These roads have different connotations for rich and poor, like the weather down south and in the north. What tickles my little, tiny brain is the very sight of beggars, walking like a crown King and proudly asking for alms. Sometimes, it looks like a well orchestrated ’documentary’ on human behavior. Further, the sight’s made even stranger seeing a well feed women spitting, may be targeting that ANOTHER soul.
I don’t know if I was there, at all.

It's an obsession!

I have always wondered how someone could laugh at Life! Life is treacherous. It has no definitive course. It hardly communicates any intelligible dialogue. And there, strange people with strange humor return the same favor to it.
I forgot the actual line. Somebody did say something like this: ‘Nothing is funnier than unhappiness … It’s the most comical thing in the world’. And undeniably presumed that we can rely on death. Actually, I was reading an obituary. Art Buchwald died on Wednesday, last week.
Now, I cannot think obituaries will come as a joyful acceptance of life, but the believe!
Death should be like life and it should be treated like life.
One of my friends is worried that I always talk about death and sorrow. I don’t blame. I am only worried about his worrisome trait. I am not, in fact, worried about anything. But death and sorrow, they are my obsessions!
We live and talk about so many things. But the very mention of death scares away most of us. I am afraid too. But why we hide from the inevitable. It will happen, that’s for sure. It always comes in handy if we do the groundwork well in advance …
Who says … we know what happens when we die!

Useless!

Knowing that you are defeated
And cornered,
But still wanting to live…
It’s like smearing the truth with rot
To atone the obvious!
Every now and then,
Treading amidst the ruin that harbored dreams,
I tried to rescue the truce
And extend the servitude,
Servitude, that we called Life.

I wonder about Happiness too!

Was thinking what constitutes happiness, happiness in life? All of sudden, the guy next to me yelled out something strange, maybe he was shouting about something irresistible in his own language and heartily laughed out! For a moment, I was jealous, not able to digest what made him laugh but not me, though we are in the same place and time. As the proposition itself, he starred directly into my eyes … didn’t know what he felt and said: ‘Don’t try it when you are alone, you may think yourself mad!’
Next moment, when I was alone, I tried to prove a counterpoint. Tried to laugh alone, without nothing; sad or happy! But it didn’t work out.
There, I came to realize! It was nothing more than a illusion … my constant pursuit … my non-existent self.
Now, I whole-heartedly realize that being happy has nothing to do with me and my being. It is merely a reflection of what I see. Or, probably what I feel! Illusions cannot be photographed, I fully understood now.
Don’t try to laugh when actually feel like crying!

Favorite past-time.

While it seems I have nothing more to do, a fair and handsome thought invites me to try once more! In such a raw age, it’s not acceptable to surrender … At least, I can try once more. So I started with the noble thought of writing what’s there in my mind … anything that comes knocking in my mind … about the early morning or rather erratic schedule of Call Centre life to the choice of knickers. Most of them are unreadable… need to decode to understand what are actually there in the form of letters and words. Quite interesting, though!
This not so important task of self assurance to carry on another day has become my favorite past-time. In addition to this, it has consumed most of the free time. In fact, killing time is worth. It allows me to wait for another day, though unknowingly. It’s becoming the purpose of life. Now, I spent most of the time, thinking what I have just written down.
Every time I feel uncomfortable doing so, I double dare myself. Challenge myself … Ask myself if I have forgotten what has happened with ME? Nice or nasty, everything is worth jotting down, at least for myself.
I do know LIFE has magical charms. But when the hoary past became prominent in your day-to-day life, it becomes rather nasty … And like any other mortal, I do buy the thought that ‘we need not exhume the past, it stinks like any other corpse!’… But, it seems to me somebody has assigned LIFE differently to different people.
There are pessimists and optimists. But most wellerisms of life have been copied from somewhere else, and luckily or unluckily we don’t know where from!
When I write, I usually forget the first sentence I started with. Seems, the same has happened here.
Let me write more!

Another Blurt!

I have known the truth,
Thus uncertainty prevails
Disparaging enough for the truth!
It’s wondrous to decide:
‘To Live AND to Die’,
It’s hard to decide:
‘To do the same and both’.
But the truth is for me,
So I continue to exist
And I die every second,
Thinking truth never dies!

These are few other lines that hardly mean anything to me...

They Came Calling Me, All Along!

Then…we met!
Meeting old friends and talking about things we did…that’s quite an achievement! It happened to me and I am proud for this ACHIEVEMENT. It helps me do some introspection, not that I was devoid of those fond memories.
Some memories are so fresh; they remind me ‘I am still me’. In between, I thought that I have changed a bit, here and there…but the moment I see them, I wished to rewind…wished to turn backwards (in those days). But everything got stuck with the present when we start talking about present. No wonder, everybody has become something or other.
But our pasts have the strength to rekindle the friendship. There is not even a slight change in the meaning of Friendship. Now I ask to myself, was there any prerogative for being a friend to a friend.

First Post. Without Love.

Read many posts. And thought of posting some! Never materialize.
I was dreaming about her. May be she was somewhere very near to me. Tried to reaffirm the truth that she does not exist but!
Anyway, this is the first post. There will be more, mostly pieces borne out of my confusion.
Recently, I have started to believe that we can live without love. What to love and whom to trust when everybody is happy ALONE! This may be one of the valid reasons for such numerous blog rolls and scribbles floating here. People talking to themselves and pouring out all that can’t reside inside and seeking succor.
Though I am happy too, thinking I am also part of it, without love.
It has been imperfectly known to us that we can’t live without love. But the AMUSED incredulity of life scandalizes love. Love or no-love, we do not cease to live. And I believe, we can live without love!