Monday, July 30, 2012

Ditty Titty Shitty City


Washed up, like dried fishes hanging from the stonewalls of heart
There’s a sad war-song playing somewhere.
It’s nothing. Just the silence. And me leaning back
And and appreciating the splendour of doom.





There’s a road there’s there a there’s love a love in shadows and reflections
Swaggering, stumbling, careening along the shores, white shores
Creatures with white bellies, rotting, spotting a dot of yellow
in caravans. The finest fuck, the finest wine, all fine
everything’s okay everywhere’s okay just that this road that there is is bending through body through mind through numb soul is tying city tying mountains rivers in knotted meshwork
floating balloons, oh, o touch my fingers and submit to meek submission. Dogs bark at horizon. Cold night falls. Creatures of night creatures of cold make merry. Joyous heart, rebellious heart
hears trumpets
hears dogs
smashes through the end-points.



Dear child, you were not as mad now as you were when we first met



This fluctuating what
This, fluctuating, what
Flukchuate fluk flipping fallacy
Gasoline linoleum bowel
Fuck suck dick
Kant can’t cunt
Can’t Kant?
The motherfuckers are closing in on me
Bullshitting our heads twisted glands glans bitter minds glands glancing at plump dancers
In chiffon slurp. Prehistory rages storm strom strotrrrm scrotum. Dream’s mother. Dream’s splendid women bending down, showing ass, showing eternity on asscrack tickling scrotum with tongue-tip
It all ends in shit.
I’ve noticed that it feels better to slump a thumpload of shitty shit solid slunk shitpot flush down like flushing down sad memories of separation on shitpot of heart with alcohol than to write poetry and pretend poetry. Poetry is bitch. I’d rather masturbate.   






 Hot dogs hot bitches red hot hot
Hot tigers in fury hot lions in kingly savage rage
Hot heating heated universe hot all hot shit hot vapours of total absolute unqualified annihilation of the self.
Hot pain on getting shot in hot ass.


Go, rue
Arraborra arra starra
Go, rue
Other spillens have spullen
Authored by one big iron hand
That vanished yesterday
Today, nothing
Arraborra
arra
starra
nothing left
ruins, chewchew, formaldehyde
arraborra blurra blarra
spillen spullen angst
smitten by ebb and flow
of ever-changing conceptions of the All
eaten by eternity vlod
vlad
vlaha
perceptions fucked
arra
nothing
no reason to mourn
child, child, why?
Arra, starra
Nothing
So
Go,
Rue.









Big child playing big child lost
Where’s your room, child?
Who’s your mom child? Who’s your dad, child?

Or is it just this evening
Coiling up
inside?


Big child playing
Big child sad
Big child in clouds
Scared of city
Scared of roads
Scared of decay
Like hemlock. Like Hamlet. Like an elephant brutal in passion.




Wining with long haired women dining with brothers of love
Hatred suppressed, love beats forth. Stop. No further
Sadness dangling down jackets hanging from socks
Stuck to shoelace sadness choked smiles masks omelette oollala







We’re told to be patient even if they’re doing shit to us
As if respect to shitters is due.
To worship the ill-spending of lives, to live for other people
To be denied the choice of denial
is, supposedly, the way to go.


Advertisements good advertisements absence of pretty women presence of misery
Party was good we sang we danced vodka was smooth absinthe was hard passed out before having scotch puked on carpet on vanity puked on boobs of cosmos party was good was good good

Touch the sword a flower blooms
Pull a switch the flower wilts
Humping the horror
Tribulation of the masses
Fatigue and decay
Fall and death
Individual lives long fucks short
Masses repeat
Cock throbs pussy throbs rain throbs rainbeat whores and piped windmills throb throb in patterns of definite congruence.


Mother i can’t associate with this sanity anymore







Tiger jumps
Edge, sharp.
Jumps!
Eighteen defeats loom
Eighteen climes of doom
Urban days, fertile nights
This is a game
Of deathless life
Tiger jumps
Cliffs smoothen up
Rivers flood






Beyond this city these roads these buses and trams and automobile fumes beyond porches driveways slums sewers all beyond mountains forests broken pianists violins in fury beyond all beyond
words and spaces
dots and dashes
ditty and turbulence
soporific fixation of repetitive beats drum heart fuckall world there’s
this
Terrified silence, something great, like a heavy voyage this loveless cruelty cruel love it looms
Something big and brutal.
Maybe this perception is of a ship carrying unspoken thoughts to the realm of unspoken thoughts. Wonder who rules over there. I’d love to wage war against him.

Or maybe it’s just the night rolling down some mountain of darkness pressing me down bending my bones bending my mind.

Whatever, it’s still out there somewhere. Very big and very scary.  Like the king of wolves. Or the queen of whores.





 

Dying by own hands is preferable over contingencies
It’s like, i don’t feel like being here’s worth it and so i check out.
Society fucks the elements up
Death of one may not have got much to do with society or any such shittyshit
For me, sitting here and waiting is not worth it.  
So i’ll get up and i’ll search for something sharp
And the guards will be stationed such that they’ll get to see the first light. An ocean in stormy turmoil. A city of inane sanctions. Wherever pointless junk pointfuck bloodshot aim revenge turmoil.
The average won’t feel this.
They’re too busy losing and loosing. They think that they’re winning. they thing they’re tight.

Saturday, July 28, 2012

Brittle Damnation



Red cherry
Red ass
Laughter and temples
Daughters of the sky
past the hour of love
past the naked domes
stoic kittens shot to silence by good-will and automation
the king of hearts still makes merry
pink frogs laugh out loud.


Dance with me, nice little fuckers
Dance with me
it’s all going away
And i can smell the earth rotting
And i can smell the sun burning
And all the leaves are curling up
And it’s all going away
Like a dog
Like a delightful summer song
Like death by some blasted waterfall.

...............................................................


Bullfight
Bull fight fight
Mad bull
Fight
Mad fight fight bull
This be the arena
Raw furore
Red eyes
Red blood
Fumes from nostrils
Panting. rage,
The audacity absolute decimation
Poeting downfall of gods
Poeting all brutality and madness
Man fucking bull
Bull fucking man
Asshole tears up
All in the arena
You. Me, down and out
Too weary to contemplate escape
And the raging raving bastards out there
Hooting for a good fight
Rooting for victory or defeat
Pumping hatred from the depths
Will tear you up, tear me up
if you-me attempt escape.

..................................................................................

This mind in iron chains
This mind in boulevards
All in a haunted place
Ghosts point and laugh
Coz mind’s in chains
And boulevards
And sunlight with sharp edges
And moonlight with bitter honey
Aim straight at the heart of mind
And days and nights in lined up
Agony and linoleum
All fall down
The body of this mind
Browbeaten
Till it’s a gooey mass
of flesh blood balls guts and irony.

...............................................................................................

Shooting arrows at breasts of blackbird flying straight to surrender
Ripe soft cherry gulp heart down in beat monotone
Cows moo
The sky is blue
Again and again
That nasty train
Here i am: wholesome, turgid, uncompromising
And there the blackbirds are, flying away from one misery to another
Sorted people, fixed people move
from event to event, job to job, women to women, death to death
and tides ripple in merry May
like aging whores taking medication for flatulence
like this savage city of flat-tires and flat-beers
there’s something waiting something bad mad
something calmly gruesome
the hemlocks and hammocks and ants and flyovers and ovaries and butterflies and soldiers of the world will go on till they stop going on and then there’s nothing more to this
and there’s nothing left to live for
blackbirds shot dead dying floating on lakes on rivers flesh bitten off by fishes blackbirds don’t mind being dead though thy mind dying.
This, from a deathbound voyage
I see you
You see me.
Nothing more   

Nothing less.
guess god meant it all to be like this.

...........................................................................

Long ago there was a demon called kindness and a mole called love
I don’t know what has happened to them
Last i saw them, they were fighting
And both were losing
And the great big army of the enemy that swarmed down streets of blood
Were way too busy fucking little virgins with smooth backs and slender arms
To care about their fate.

.........................................................................................................


You are not good to me
I am not good to you
People are not good to each other
We beat
We are beaten
We shoot
We get shot
And this goes on till the great big loneliness that rolls down like avalanche
presses us flat against the roads.

Chained to boulders from hell
Whipped like hounds of blood
Gutted like colossal pigs stuck in muck
We stay. We lack the choice to choose. We were sold
even before we knew it.     

...............................................................................................................

  
This sorrow is so great that there’s hardly a way to describe it. Objectivity be damned. Damnation be damned. I love you.


.....................................................................................................................

Music from Spanish bordellos
Schoolgirls raped in broad daylight
Proscenium razed by flying bombers
Inside the palace there’s a secret staircase that leads to a playground where fresh children play and wrinkled sex-freaks stare at them and smack their yellow lips with their sweaty brownish tongues ready to lick little droplets of blood and puss off the tiny scratched pimples of children in tears.
The doors of this palace are locked. Priests loom large with stilettos.
Thieves and doctors discuss iodine and God
Poets hump barber’s wives. Politicians smell own armpits.

And then of course there’s this bunch of sorted out people with ready smiles and little distress
Playing cards, buying cars and women, cowering at the idea of lunacy, poverty, solitude, defeats, Revolutions, thunderstorms, whatever. This demographics is here to stay. Conceptions gather moss. concepts sink in own void. Mind and body decays, and the idea of being here
withers away.  

..........................................................................................................

Bust life bust shit bust candyflames
It’s still not raining here.
Bust like a bullet in the ass
Bust like woebetide pamphleteers
Crawling through wilderness of the city
Spitting at death-smeared faces of lives
There’s a pretty girl
Go to her
Lift her skirt up
Unzip your flyer
Heave hip forthright
To know
That it’s a mannequin without pussy

The understated understanding
Of desolation,
Misery
And overwhelmed silence
Is too bland for a second glance

Hence
All that bust
And the doom
And me here
Smashed
Brutal
Brutalised
Free within doom
Waving beer bottles
Stumbling from room to room
Of this great dark castle upcliff
storm rages outside
seas with Fury on waves
flinging hair out at skies
lashing out at the trap of pointlessness
bells tolling
me here
bridges, burnt.
Rubicon, crossed.
...................................................................................................
  

Friday, July 20, 2012

Lucknow: Rambling Through a Lost City


College was over, i was broke and an opportunity of getting a job came by. And thus i found myself in Lucknow. The station was crowded and dirty and it was a damn hot place. I’d got a tiny shack for myself off Faizabad Road. It wasn’t quite a place but surely it was a quiet place. The good part was the cheap Beer Joint right outside my window, the bad part was that electricity was a luxury and spending ten straight hours in the beat summer-scorch was a part of the whole deal.

Office-work was okay. All I had to do was teach law to a bunch of nice little brats who reminded me of myself. But let’s not get into that. I’m not here to tell about how i moved my sore ass around in office and you are not here to hear about the same.

Like all bums and all the members of that great lost tribe who keep on rambling without caring about destination, heat couldn’t deter me from roaming around. I like busy sidewalks and crowded marketplaces of unknown cities where one can safely hide and can observe the maddening tumult of folks strutting and tumbling around to procure food and a place to stay and to keep themselves clothed, with sheer awe that comes with the objectivity of being invisible. I felt like being this phantom haunting the streets and slums of a big city just for kicks.  

And then of course, there were these country liquor joints throughout the city. I would sit there for an hour or two and drink in silence, with bits and pieces of stray conversations of the fellow worshippers of Dionysus-in-His-desi-avatar bashing against my eardrums and falling flat. And when all these bored me, I would trudge back to my room. By the time I would reach my 15-by-15 room with pink walls which had faded with years of indifference and lassitude like all pink and red and green and blue and yellow and white and black walls do, i would inevitably be:

a)      Drunk
b)      Hungry
c)       Horny
d)    All of the above


Taking care of Option (c) wasn’t possible. I hadn’t got my paycheque yet, the city had no brothels and the tawaifs and courtesans of the Lucknow we get to know from books and movies are lost in the quagmire of apathetic time because of its attempts at globalisation and because of the junkload of morality that is being heaped upon the heart of the city by politicians of every colour since independence. There were no kothas, no tawaifs, no shayars and even the music there has been butchered to death by Bollywood and its lackeys.

Inside my room, i was pretty much cut off from the world. Telephone and internet bored me and i stayed away from those. It was nice in a way. I’m not a sucker for solitude and neither do i hate it. To me it’s just one of those inevitabilities of life. It’s there like other stuff. I remember those sultry summer nights which were so lonely that even the dogs refused to howl. I would lie on my back, and listen to the crickets for hours till i passed out. There’s a blasted poetry in life and you get to feel it when there’s no one you can reach out for living or dying within a physical radius of around a thousand kilometres and a virtual distance worth the effort of a pressing a few buttons. Sadly, the allure of reaching out gets to us eventually. And I’m not sorry for digressing.

Mornings were painful. I would wake up, often in a pool of vomit and reeling under a giant hangover, rush to the washroom to clean the bedsheets and my body. Luckily, i believe in nudism for convenience and in a power-cut prone place where the average day temperature hovers around the mid forties and the night temperature hovers around late thirties and given that i was staying all alone and all by myself, i had acquired a proclivity for my flabby hairy birthday suite dotted with juicy red boils. Hence, i didn’t need to wash my clothes – washing my puke-stained body would suffice. Nevertheless, bathing was a sordid affair. There was no shower and bending down to scoop out water from the green plastic bucket with a red plastic mug and pouring the same over me was an enterprising endeavour for which i was too lazy and way too much in pain. Even the water was hot. After pouring a mugful of water or two, i would stand there and itch and press the boils and feel droplets of puss oozing out, and i would stand there and observe ants moving in nice straight columns across the washroom walls before pouring water on them and scrutinising the frenzy as they drowned like the inhabitants of Sodom and feeling godly in a way because i was relieving them of their misery. The world’s surely a bust place when it’s this hot and when you can feel real blood smashing the walls of those arteries around your forehead and temple in brutal rage, seeking to burst out and devour what that’s left of you like a pack of hungry wolves.  It was on those enlightening minutes and seconds that i learned what being deadbeat is all about.

Sunday mornings were different. There was no compulsion to get up early. I would lie in bed for hours until the power-cuts, the heat and the screeching and honking of automobiles got to me and then i would get up, and indulge in the following activities:


1)      mutter curses aimed at the world at large and at the god of electricity in particular
2)      light up a crispy bidi,
3)      sit at the loo and spray rum-shit and whiskey shit all over the shitpot,
4)      feel good about that
5)      wash my ass and flush the shit down
6)      clothe myself in whatever cloth appeared closest to my reach
7)      lock the doors and get the hell out to face the first blow of searing gust 

I would naturally be more hungover on Sundays than on weekdays and that used to perk me up to fight my relentless duel with the blaze. I was constantly walking and riding up and down the city, constantly swearing at the heat, challenging it to throw me off the burning avenues and bleating alleys, to get the better of me. My eyes would burn and i could feel gallons of blood mixed with gallons of alcohol rushing up to my head, but i was tough enough not to buckle. It was thus that i got to know the city.

Folks are similar everywhere, pissing on their own lives, making a mockery of living and dying, existing for someone else, enduring through all sorts of pointless dump. They are all the same, just like mannequins.

Then again, each city has its own smell and Lucknow smelled of harshness, fuel, kebabs and gutters.

It had its own say in history: there were bullet holes from the Mutiny on the walls of Residency, and the imambaras and mosques and clock-towers were there too, all stone and concrete, and there was this sturdy dark passage where morons and tourists get lost and pay the guides to show them the way out. The idea of the lost ones paying someone to find a way out amused me. And it still does. Suits all morons and tourists I guess.  

The city has eaten all its history up, digested most of it and has crapped, farted and belched away the rest. Now all that remains are the towering structures which might well have been at some other place without making much of a difference. It has become like a canful of stale flat beer, beyond all grief and compunction. The gardens were nice.    

Despite everything, when a city affords you good cheap food, it’s hard not to grow fond of it. I never care for the big and famous eateries because they don’t offer that real deal which lies in those small shacks that sell food for the street-folks. And having those kebabs sold for 20 bucks a plate from near the Railway Station was one of two the things i used to look forward to after weary days spent slogging it out so that my employers could get richer, the other thing being returning to my room and drinking myself to sleep.

I’m back in my hometown now. I haven’t quit my job or been fired yet. I’ve been transferred. I hate attaching the load of worth to things or to experiences and all i’ll say about my one month out there fighting with life, hangovers, the heat, and with the inevitable necessity of jumping into the bandwagon despite being fully aware of the pointlessness of everything is that i was there, i was alive and that’s about it.      
         

Monday, July 16, 2012

Mother of all Constructs


Look what we’ve done to ourselves
We weren’t supposed to be here
But now that we are,
to fuck with it all.

I’d rather lie down on my belly
and rub my cock against the bed
and be indifferent
to passion and pain,
than this.

I’d been to these fabulous banquets.
I have wined and dined and slept
with these splendid women,
shaken hands with their husbands
and discussed Orson Welles with investment bankers.
I’ve seen dogs dying,
Cats screwing,
Horses running in moonlight.
As if any of these matters.

This wishing well
is a nice dream
These children
will never become kings and queens.
And the women
don’t love
And the men
don’t exist.
And worst of all,
The boxers don’t dodge punches.

This is a sad place
Dying of tedium and lassitude
Dying of wretched indifference
The mountains have moved away
The oceans have dried up
The dark that once was an idea of pure marvel
stinks of pee and puke from ordinary human perception,
worn out with thirst and want of care.


We were all on our way to glory then
We are all stickers on beat windscreens now.


I can’t choose between beer and icecream
I can’t choose
between being here
and not being here.


Sunday, July 15, 2012

Blues Booze Whatever You Choose


Roaming throughout the city in heat,
Beat and mostly drunk. Bridges burnt down,
Ideas of life and love bedamned
This life, is an eternity
Tall electric monsters wailing from the skies
Rats scamper through the depths of heart
Rats die but unlike me rats do not think of death.
..............................

Waves bring pirates closer to heart
Roach infested heart. Big booming heart.
I’ve seen wolves sniffing at the stale sky
I’ve seen wolves scraping meat off the floors of this chamber within
Even the wolves of the world are going crazy
Surely, these are dark times.

..............................................................................................................


Dogshit all along the street from here till where the sun sets
One thick Calcutta, thicker than my reddish brown flesh
Showing its ass at god and gasping like a huge whore
With tits pressed against the earth and against the dogshit
On macadam.
In and out of this sinuous monstrosity we wander
We’re bored. We kiss because we are bored.
We rise up to meet the sweaty rainsong skies because we are bored.
We’re all bastard children of boredom that bore us till it got pissed and hurled us out.


This city is bored as well, way more bored than us.
It lies, indifferent to the sweetness and to this pain.

........................................................................................................



No dope or alcohol can benumb the soul so much as boredom can
Echelons of fiery whores raped into eternal silence rage through the mind
Trampling the roses of the heart
Ravaging through the virgin tracts of brain
The mind that was once an old wisdom-tree
Shall no more be
What it was.
It’s all a hazy blur of blue
And it’s all so fucking true.

The phonecalls have stopped since a few weeks now
Butcherknives get sharper every passing hour of mourning
And guts get ready for that pure awful battle.

I get goosebumps every now and then
But i’m too strong for all these, i know.

Crowds of fake poets with false teeth and long hair
old lechers with their shiny yellow eyes
staring at little girls who chase butterflies.
The gods should’ve killed them off long long ago
The hookers are chasing my heart down instead
And this fucked music keeps on whirling across the skies
In blue electric fury –
Roaring and ready to unleash hounds from behind the clouds of glorious doom.

Come to me child, let’s forget all these and let me paint you a rainbow instead.   

The bottomline being
If this boredom doesn’t get to you, you will get to it soon enough.


.....................................................................................

This strange sound coming up from the centre of the earth
In dreary blue fumes, the sharp bright monotone that gathers pitch
As oceans borrow speech from purple reptiles
And statues loom above rivers
And rivers shoot through neurons in jets of electricity
And before long, spreads throughout

It’s as if festive revolutions have erupted from the sidewalks of the stars
And sidewalks of the moon have burst out through these toxic veins
to wash all the venom off.

 So, then she called and then there was this beam of fresh white light like white flowers in white mornings meeting the darkness of black flowers on black nights and zeroing it all out to get me here, static, with sore bums sore heart sore status quo all puss & blood oozing out and sore boils getting poof! And poof!

(honestly, it feels like being inside a thick fat Tolkien and taking shots at objective neutrality)


Soon, notwithstanding the last kicks and jerks of the light that changes colours and one huge frightening God shakes it all and gulps in all down God who gives all takes all takes all.

And lights were dim
And then the lights were off it the birds came back
And their wings covered even the stars up and sad peace rested on rooftops and sad rain fell on sad streets foggy and deathsome and terribly cold.     

And then there was i and there were the birds a thousand a million birds all silent and ominous just like peace is. Or maybe this is just the fear of burning out speaking.

Whichever it is, i don’t care.
I’m here
The birds are here
The stars are not here
She is there
She is not here.

And then, all is silent
Zenith reaches nadir
Foxes and rabbits sleep between flowers
Flowers have fangs.
Silence freezes the skies up into dark chunks of ether
And it all starts freezing out: roofs, walls, floors, bars, chains: all.
It’s all a massacre, a rebellion, a broad declaration of incensed insolence.


I’m here and I’m living.
And then i’m here and I’m dying
And then i’m here and i’m dead
And then i’m here and i’m not living
And then i’m not here and i am dead.   

.............................................................................




 This sure is a strange world
The disgusting ones get disgusted
The boring ones bored
The frustrating ones frustrated
And the maddening ones pure fucking loony

There was a time i used to cry because of this
And then the time i used to laugh at it

And now it’s all chicken shit and i don’t give a flying duckling.

..............................................................................


Jamboree puking out glowing green love
Senses shitting their load off inside the skull
It’s a like celebration of karma culminating in sacrifice of the soul
The soul, that smells of urine,
and is trapped within this framework of mind body and senses,
notices a little crack on the walls and rushes to get out
And dashes against the walls and everything starts shaking
and bells start tolling and me, trapped within this fatal doom
observes: detached, burning, cold.

Before long, we’re all back to square one and we’re all neurotic stoics
reaching out for photon-life, binary-throbs and magnetic pulsation
oblivious to the creatures with sharply burning eyes that observe us from the murky forests all around with fixed gaze.

And then the anti-loop
The town and the sky changes positions
And moon leans down over the ocean
And it’s all upside down,
Frog-tongues roll forward to let loose an army of flying insects that cover up the sky and thunderclaps roll backwards in fear and awe.
Frogs of the world are fighting against the universe
and are triumphing like a garrison phenomenal heroes. I see them and i grow strong.
Soon it will be my turn.




.....................................................................


Roll calendar roll
Tigers on lemon trees
Postcards for hearts of love
Shaken in pure delight
Taken in by blunt assumptions
A train moves inside my brain
Isn’t that a mighty allure?
All the beauty of the world makes me weep.
Thinking of sad women inside lonely palaces
Beauty to me is associated with a sense of loss and with all the sorrow of the world that perches on the roofs of my heart every night
Ugliness of the world makes me feel like being a part of it
There’s no sorrow or dejection or desolation involved here
Ugliness and me: we’re good friends and we have beer together and we whistle at the nude girls and we get smashed and we feel pretty good about ourselves.
And then of course we shake hands and part ways.

Next, i’m on a homebound train
The train moves inside my brain.

...........................................................................................................................


Thursday, July 12, 2012

Gods Love Me Naked


This from a homebound cab
Too much light
And way too many trams
Love shines bright
Amidst all this traffic
Seeking to capture a bit
Of this voluptuous city of love
Where every damn thing shines bright
It’s like  a bloody conspiracy
To hide the blank numb pain.

This city is a big black gutter
That shocks us into silence and aversion
And a breeze that smells of dried up skin and puke


And the cab’s moving, roaring,
Fast forward.
Wish life was like this.

..................................................................


Carnival carnival it shakes
With lack of real causes to celebrate
......................................................................


This mourning is for the lack of time
Green. Red white and yellow
Glasses, trees, leaves and lots of skin
Smooth shoulderblades for desire, no boobs in public
Hypocrites and stale beings
All falling short on the imagination front.
It’s all on me. And the shortcuts that make us smile
And happy beds for happy penguins
And all of them are happy
For absurd reasons
That bother me.
Because what’s killing me is exactly what’s making them live.

............................................................

Love.... wait i need a drag....
Ahhhh
Yeah,
so love
is shit.
.................................................................

Tedious city
Crabs and sharks
And infrastructure under roaring indications of my indictment

Damn!
Mother,
I feel so fucking sexless tonight.

.......................................


In the heart of springs in the spring of hearts
Flowers boom at the sun
It’s a war of the heart and intellect everywhere
Psychology be damned, morality be a whore
I exist tonight.

......................................................


Angry gods ready to bring the skies down now
I say, it’s for the birds with fiery wings
Four worshippers on four corners, one big river

Too much sound. Insanity wages war against mediocrity.
Much detachment tires the soul out.
This, i know
From experience.
...................................................................

To die in her arms, tonight
Is like getting a way out
From where there where there’s none
Is like a respite
When the many others
Are baying for your blood.

I remember, quite clearly
One steady step, two. And she was still looking at me
And by the seventh, she wasn’t,
And neither was i.
It’s as if someone with a broken spine
And shot through the overestimated heart twice
Is getting back on stride.

The whole concept of me,
Being there, then
Made me happy.

And this was way long back.

......................................................................

Emotion be damned, it was an hour of maddening eternity
And all i remember is
Looking into her eyes and thinking
That she’s trying to gauge mine
With hers.

Dunno whether she found any reason or resource
To believe that digging into this heart
Will be easy and comforting.

I was there, and i wanted her to believe.

I am here and i want to pass out, happy and indifferent.

As of now, all i recall are her eyes
Trying to peep into mine.


It was good. A few stars had died that night. We did not know.
Even the guards of heart didn’t.
.............................................

Kill the sharks, kill the stars
Kill the haters of this heart

The tragedy of this hour,
as we all know,
is baseless
And the monsters keep on getting bigger
And the toxins more potent
Until they are all elements
Too fatal for love
And too damn nasty
for
this
reckoning.

I am drunk. And i do not care.

................................................................................