Sub rosa lane

sway(12/11)

2012-03-14T22:33:00.002+05:30

The curtain sways under your weight
The threads hold tiny bells that
almost touch the ground

It swings to a loop
Almost there
But, not quite

Finish it up (07/03/12)

2012-03-14T22:17:00.001+05:30

In time, this time will end

In a hurry, I wish to finish it up
I haven't yet begun
Tomorrow will be the end

Lost in flimsy anguish
Wading through frequently broken promises
Promises made to thy self
Glory to the one who can behold
the agony of this effort

The one with the courage to not run away

Hide me behind your curtains
Tangle me in your words
Lull me to sleep

In time, this time too shall end
Guarantee me it's end

The summer night murmurs

2012-03-09T23:23:00.000+05:30

The night smells like it did.
The coolness lingers on
the leaves on the dark blue gravel walk around
Silently they murmur
I walk to the middle of the street
empty

I forgot to look up, almost
The white sphere of a moon swims across
The dark blue blackens the sky
I see you through the bitter fruit tree

There are whispers around

The night before the first day of school
The road in front of my house
empty
And at 6 am I must wake up
to catch the bus that would pass by the same blue road at 7:15 dot.

The essence of the night of the summer, it remains the same

But

No school reopens tomorrow
No bus shall slow down in front of my gate
Old friends
Old names
The bus conductor's face
The neighbour who shifted after school got over
No
None of that

There are whispers around
The summer breeze blows away yesterday

Today I walk back inside
To the home that has remained
The bus does still pass by my gate at a similar time
It only doesn't slow down
Because it knows not for whom

She( 11/02/12)

2012-03-06T23:21:00.000+05:30

She writes her sculpted words
Her winding letters
She is her own woman
Her grit boundless
Her smile limitless
Her aura is not built of practised pleasantries
No vague gestures fill her space
She alights in her mind; in her soul

You wispy friend( needs editing)

2012-03-03T23:48:00.001+05:30

Insanity rises from that warm deep spot
The humour that often others cannot see
Drunk and high; it revolves and swings precariously

Dancing as the breeze blows , listening to your music
Walking barefoot on the rain filled puddles
You beckon me towards your favourite animal

Slowly we discuss the dust blowing in the wind

You my friend
shall fly away just as fast and suddenly
the wispy footsteps you leave on the sandy earth
Temporary , I fear you will not be back

slip away from this mundane world
Into the one filled with the one's of your kind

Two months, a month, a week
You will be gone
I shall drive your memories in my mind
In a circle they shall fly
The eagle whose flight encircles the sky above us
Our eyes fixed to it's shadow on the blue gravelled ground.

You wispy friend

When will you be back to fill me with your delirious ways
your simply logical convictions on life
That are saying that nothing is happening ,so everything is perfect.

This song helped me write some parts of this piece.

The room with the green pool

2012-02-26T23:36:00.000+05:30

The world I figured it out.

I must receive my punishment. it shall be measured to the till.
I will not be permitted to un focus my eyes away from this reality of a thing.

As it submerges this queer happiness into an eerie green pool of water.
In a dimly lit hall of a place with no windows. I must sit in a corner, pretending it will go away.
The ceiling wails with the moving water, it writhes
Convulses so sweetly in a rhythm of it's own.

I will pass these months away sitting next to its reflection
The halo of the ripples will tempt me to dream. Dream of a time post; post this dull lull.
The green light glows in this space.

To whom it really matters, it does not exist but it will not be snatched . It shall never be offered in the first place.

What world has my mind come to? It has reminded me; back to two thousand and eight and some parts of two thousand and nine.
It trys to clog my happy years, It forces me into this acrimonious wave of algae that grows over this mellow sea.
Dreary is for me, not for you, just me.

A repetition is triggered.

Above the city of Delhi

2012-02-26T23:34:00.002+05:30

The world through a glass window; toughened glass to be specific, looking into a tunnel; a dark tunnel
It is smooth, fast; and encapsulates me into a cemented miasma

Even if it were the sky, even if I was not under ground. I am above the rest, above the humans dwelling underneath my high traction wheels of a mechanical marvel

I am Delhi, the city fuelled by the dirty sweat of a man under the wheels, and the ever renewed cravings of the master
The master who rides in this train, this train above your head;above my head and above the sapless grass

There is a feeling of not feeling the dust anymore, so pleasant one might say, away from those unholy site of faces on the road , of a vagabond traversing the streets , limping his way towards no destination in particular
Unlike you, he is not late for anything. There is nothing in particular he may wish to achieve. he trodes on and on and you never notice his limp. The limp that may have started as a slight wound thatspread to his body when he was a mere thirty of age.

The bus takes such a long journey, such a long one. The visual capacity of the window shows me this blue road not from an aerial perspective but well almost close to the rolling dust swirling on the footpath.
But I am still above, am I not?
This low floored, long green bus designed by the 'JNU' is very different in nature form the air conditioned metro. I do not see the clouds, the speck of birds. I do not listen to Ludovico in my ears. I do not close my eyes. I do not shut out the real Delhi that resides beside me.

I try to block it away, the glass doors open and shut, The tunnel is gone, I can smell the whiff of a polluted air near the once pristine Yamuna river. Pristine seems like such a wrong word used just in order to use a mighty word to impress, to elongate a meaning that is lost.

Each time I get onto that steel and alloys of iron like machine.,I silently, knowingly let go of a piece of reality.
I do not tint my glasses, I simply rise above these unscrupulous visuals that would cause much fatigue and chagrin.
My mind is comfortable to not feel my hair frizz out in the hot wind or sense the dark swarthy looks of that fume running towards my clean visage. The grays of my life are reminisces of a past, I do not live any more.

I furrow into this cool closet where I have forged a separate journey. A journey that is far away from the man that limps on the footpath or the beautiful child in her pink frock who prances to catch up to her mother. It is lost as I rise above to see clouds, they mesmerise but at the same time mock me. Reminding me of how I have distanced my roots as a human of the ground , the loam of my very life ,instead I crave for the sky. the sky that holds no benefit for my existence. The sky which if I could ever reach would kill me without even a proper burial.

A place to sit

2012-02-21T23:17:00.005+05:30

The abandonment of child hood comes back.
That afternoon in 2nd grade when I had retorted back to the leader(friend) in our group.She'd decided I couldn't play with them any more. I sat alone looking at all the girls and boys of my class play. I did not care much for the type of game or if it was fun. The 45 minute long games period was coming to an end and in that span of time I had gone from having seven people to play with to being alone.
It seems me to me now that a convenient unspoken compromise had broken between us.
I did not have a choice I did not want to be left alone
I walked up to them, apologized and they accepted.I played with them in the recess. I had got back my sense of comfort. The security that lacked love, that lacked warmth;that had come back to me. I was not left alone.
When everyone is taken except you. You know you deserve better, you are not evil or unpleasant. But you stand alone as you decided to leave, to depart from a certain comfort. A comfort you may have gotten too used to.
Then nobody wants you, because you did not beg hard enough or weren't overtly explicit.

Then you sit alone, foolishly try to run away from this predicament.You distract your mind with the colours around you; you almost succeed till you are alone with yourself again.
One cannot go back to what you left and the other spots are filled to its brink. I do not have the right to claim what I left, I do not wish to either.
They do not want to share their playing space with me, they do not need anyone more. They are content. They do regret they say, they may even console.But it is occupied they say; inconvenience regretted.

One or two will come up to you and say that if they knew that you were abandoned they would have picked you and not the other one.

The other one that is never you.
The abandonment of child hood comes back.
The others do not wish to play with you.
The game is complete without you.

Random blabber from Two thousand-11

2012-02-20T00:36:00.001+05:30

With passion I was born
But will live without passion
Die with it's regret in it's absence
..................................................

I hear my name being called

I am being beckoned so

so lovingly , my name is said out

in a sing song manner

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

You do not see what I can

The eyelids close

The grainy image of what I saw is still intact

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

The sound of incoherence

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

Far away from twisted minds.

Transport me to solitude, near a green lake.

Ephemeral memory( 29/06/2011)

2012-02-13T21:42:00.002+05:30

A wave of childish happiness.
A sudden memory of a happy moment, at least four years ago with the accompaniment of a woman singing in my head...
I forget the sorrow of the passing time, the transience of the lives that surround me. The trivial elements hold more potent the power of emotion than the seemingly large and important things.

The smell I smell right now,the ceiling fan, the sound of paper trying to flip, the red light blinking on the phone and my mother's voice coming from the living room.

I cannot hear what they say, but the surge of sorrowful love is deafening.

''The ephemeral splendour of another afternoon that would never return'' ~ Gabriel Garcia Marquez

The Ode

2012-02-11T23:17:00.003+05:30

Sad is not how I feel
It is how I make you feel

Sad, low; down, lowly sadness
sorrow explained
coherence speaks out
But I cannot stop its effect.
It spreads to me each day
I die I die

I let it extend into me
A sadness I do not run from
I walk up to it everyday
I search for you in its doleful eyes
I wish to cry in this sadness
In your depths I fish you out
I caress your endless thorns
I love thee in my deepest form

Sadden me to your aspect

Oh sad
Let me die in your stingy caress

Listless I cannot weep
Desolate I do not know
I mumble in my sleep
The sorrow I reach out to
I crave for its face, for its words.
It tries to shy away from me
Tries to hide the pain
But I can see the sad so clearly.
I do not let this wave ripple away
I go to its shore and run towards this shape
It flows in, leaving all other untouched
I breath you now.
Like musty air settling in my mind.

Abandon you must not..

Sad Oh sad
Let me be you and you be me

2 jan, 12, 11:43pm

2012-02-06T21:59:00.001+05:30

The journey, I see from the window
I miss that I cannot see the dark blue roads from above.
I want to see the bank on the second floor where people work beyond eight thirty at night.

The darkness outside, a subtle sense of the wheels making contact with the speeding road.
I am a small speck to the night bird perched near the moon.
But to me that world is the seat where I sit.

After a while, the bus starts to empty
I feel forlorn and then I think of you. the multiple variations of you.
There is no dong to suffice the day.
I want the road to not stop.

Let it be a beginning. It actually is.

And the earth conspires again.

2012-02-06T21:40:00.000+05:30

There's a dying scent in you
I can smell it.

Uncertainty

2012-01-28T19:31:00.004+05:30

There is an uncertainty
The lies in the people I met today,
Floats not just on the surface but clogs their soul
Eyes that aimlessly hover,
Never do they smile with a bright childlike vigour
It is looking for a shoe she may like to buy
or a woman she would like to ridicule,
for what she wears on the outside
Waiting to impress another of his kind

There is an uncertainty
I feel in the people I see

I cannot smile back at the day

It is like a haze of visual frames I do not understand
The circles of confusions aren't a surreal mystery
They are lies concocted on convenience
There is an uncertainty
I am certain.

Mustard flowers of winter

2012-01-23T22:58:00.002+05:30

When the winter is still leaving
The afternoons are filled with a subtle sunlight
I sit on the cool bed sheet; the time of the those old winter days
When Ma was about to come home from work

But now as I go back in my memories to the partially curtained rooms
I cannot see Ma or feel her arrival
There is no young girl of twelve sitting on the bed
The home is empty
So silent that one can hear mustard flowers grow in a distant land
A land through which I pass by alone
Without my Ma

Unabridged

2012-01-01T02:37:00.000+05:30

The year has closed
the small things have given way to even smaller instances of happiness
The glimpse of a surreal delight
that is lost among
my need to please
to appear on other's minds
I am alone,
again

But the blurriness has cleared
I am among my own
The ones within whom
I cannot disappear like a lie
But remain like a breeze

Intriguing you with my endless wit
never retracted or limited
It is me that I give to you
In my whole ,
unabridged manner

2011-12-24T18:04:00.001+05:30

Such a beautiful world this is
It is dustless, it is grass less.
It is pristine and modern
with its glistening forms of concrete and cement

But Why can I not smell the wet soil any more
The tiny sparrow doesn't ask for rice grains no more

What place is this?
It is where trees are uprooted , the soil dug up to be sold
The coal tar will tarnish that beautiful brown soil
The roots of the tree will be surrounded by perfectly symmetrical circles of cement
around it hugging the stem cutting its oxygen
Asphyxiating it to its slow death

Winter is blue

2011-12-20T19:53:00.000+05:30

I wanted to write something about you but I couldn't quite figure it out.
So I heard this song

You're like a song
Sung by that beautiful petite girl who sings of Christmas
A cold December morning where I see the gifts below the tree
The lights are still switched on
The rest of the family still sleeps
The fog looks so beautiful so ethereal
That is when you enter into the room
You peak through the snow-white window
You smile so flamboyantly
There is not a hint of stolidness
The serenity is never too severe. It is just right
I can even glimpse a lingering smile as you scold me for my foolishness.

I walk to the window the blue framed one that you capture so beautifully through your eyes
The mind in its sublime state
The calmness is not bland
It is at that state where it is brimming with the childlike fervour

Your mind is clear like your dog like friend who you share so lovingly with the ones around
Everything is in it's exactness organized and chiselled
The eyes are sincere, the violin plays a nonsensical song
reminding us to eat again and talk of nothing in particular
As we sit together
The auburn leaves fly above us
You look through your blue framed window
Smiling at us

Your loud voice

2011-12-16T21:13:00.001+05:30

I am not depressed, I am angry
I am not angry, I am infuriated
I do not care how badly I grieve you with my sharp words
You are my root, you are my centre ;you are my parent
You must live up to my expectation

You're immature unreasonable rubbish makes my mind so angry
so restless..

I feel like I loose myself in this gory war of words each time I come home.
I wished for the quite
But you're loud clamour cages my calm soul
Was I not a quite child
My eyes I like to believe must have shone bright then
Was I not a work of serenity
What am I now
What have your demons turned me into
You flush your agonized flaws into my clear crimson blood
You look not once at how my face cringes and contorts into a scary resemblance of your face
I reek of your foul breath
Your foolish anger
You're sense of pride reeks of your lowliness
I eschew your flaws
But you flaunt yours like a trophy
And then you put that trophy on a table in my room
How I pray that someday you shall accept your mistake
Even one will do
But instead you snub me
Your crass tongue sickens me so deep

You are immature like a spoilt anomaly of a child
The tantrums you throw heat my state of calm
I am an epitome of anger, vociferous
The filth from my mouth spreads through my blood
The veins sprout out a searing pain
A pain that sometimes lulls
But It shall reside in me for perpetuity

I wanted to be happy did I not
But every happy moment is marred by your loud irritating voice
I wish to leave you
Your everything that has at time disfigured my true nature
How I have despised myself at those instances

But,

Our love is so deep
I would weep if I ever had to leave you
I turned out okay didn't I
Better than the other some may say

Let it go, because I will let go of my many complaints
I shall rejoice in the happiness
I shall remember and cherish the abundant love
For now
I shall let it go and let it be

On a loop

2011-12-12T22:49:00.001+05:30

I did not smile back
I led myself into my mind
Said to myself
I am never eager
I am higher than the others

Tentative smiles is all I can produce
Hardly visible on this thin sombreness
There is an anomaly in me
Frequently it craves
But never is it doused
So It shall remain parched
I yearn to walk back
It remains incomplete, the link half made
It swings to a loop again
Always yearning, never fulfilled

I wish for the cold rain

2011-12-08T22:37:00.003+05:30

I wrote this piece under the influence of the song below.

I wish for it to rain.
The clouds in my mind shall turn into clear cold water.
It shall drip into my eyes.
Washing the past glory, submerging the anger that escapes into my clenched fists.
The rogue love still walks through the shadows of that cream coloured room
My mind looks through a frame.
Where I see just the shadows.
In the dark I see the moonlight reflected through your patterned glass window.
The opportunity lost, the love that never surrendered ,even in my thoughts.
Will they know who I am
Will I know who I am

The blue drops of paint so frigid at this moment.
The tips of my finger lust for the touch of the crimson petals of the rose.
The garden in my lucid dreams. The dreams I no more remember.
It is evil I say, the one who took you away.
The nature of the human who is so mundane and dull in all its shine,
It's fluorescent hues collapsing under the lack of a certain surge of emotions.
The surge I feel in plenty everyday.

The music takes over ,the flames dim as the pitch falls to a murmur.
I know not much of your notes, but the chord slowly untangles from my neck.
Let me free.Oh dear song. Free me from my surreal darkness.
So that I can sleep in bliss like I never have.
The dong at the end suffices my day.
I wish to be nowhere.
I wish for the cold rain.

Circle

2011-11-26T22:20:00.001+05:30

Dancing to a tune I do not recognize.
The sound is in my mind, ringing like the background score of a surreal foreign film I saw a while back.
It lulls for the moment.
She holds my hand and takes me in a circle.
The circle of wishes.
The crimson petal darkens the green on the ground.
I can hear the beats, I can hear her soft footsteps.
She sings softly
Her muffled song
Her clear chiseled voice rings in my ear lobes
The sweet elixir of childlike happiness flows throw our palms
She holds my hand and takes me in a circle
Among these sylvan beauties we play a game of hide and seek
But our palms still touch
Our spirit shines in its ethereal halo
The day starts to go away
Slipping through the song that we knitted
We swing in our dreamy worlds
Delirious and oblivious
She holds my hand and takes me in a circle
A circle of wishes

Probing, prodding and pounding

2011-11-26T22:19:00.001+05:30

http://www.thesixtyone.com/s/uhXhHEACLxb/

Excerpts from an incoherent poem I wrote when I travelled alone to college witha book in my hand. A book named ' 20 Fragments of a Ravenous youth' by Xiaolu Guo

The journey I took alone in the train to reach college.I heard the sounds I mostly ignore or simply don't mention .The faces that study me and the one I study back.
Walking alone I can hear my thoughts swimming in my mind freely. I constantly chatter with my brain. Hear my steps, can see the look on the man's face who just passed me by.

Walking into the emptiness, the purple;pink flowers look just the same, never flustered never ecstatic.But just the same.

Just passing by

2011-11-26T21:51:00.001+05:30

From a distance only I can tell, that you are an ugly one.
An ugly dog whose parents didn't look at each other's fur colour before mating.

He is thin like a lanky boy, he likes to sit in the corner of the road.
His eyes filled with a strange sort of fear, questioning and bright.
My face softens as I look at his face and had I been a little more tired I would have cried.

And as usual I regret not having some food to feed you with.
But will that nullify the sadness in your eyes.I feel sad for not doing anything
but just passing by.

THe charmed one

2011-11-24T22:12:00.003+05:30

Once you were a mystery, in its charmed form.
Now as I see you often, you seem to walk towards a certain plainness.
Remain a mystery, oh quiet one or I shall lose this feeling

THe Orange one

2011-11-10T22:40:00.002+05:30

You're the orange one, there's a line somewhere underneath.
You always write me such distant notes. words tentatively formed.
I wish for you to smile more.
The pity shall not reach you.
My eyes follow you when your eyes are down.
I cannot let you know that I look for you in the room.
Can I touch your thin shoulder and say something.
But nothing much.
You aren't invisible.
You shall never be.

I don't know you but I want to...

2011-09-30T22:52:00.001+05:30

The undone characteristics of the wallowing instance filled with a caress of desire
Moulded in a rainy lavender evening melted in an orange dusk
The crevices of the light cocoon that moment and throw out any trace of a second moment

The calender is turning and I haven't glimpsed you since then
There is no explicit pain because I know not what I have missed

2011-08-25T21:37:00.002+05:30

Happiness doesn't grow on trees.
It is found among people.
Amongst laughter and humour.A song for every hour, every moment in a day.
The song that fills the room, a song that blows with the wind, runs with the tiny feet of innocence.
Music that flows freely in our minds , its beauty nourished by our smile ,by our tears.

The time of Death

2011-08-23T21:33:00.002+05:30

The darkness of the Day,it was ten in the morning. The black endless collection of dead bodies and dead souls filled the central park.The ashes had not yet settled on the ground.There lay an image of utter destruction. The ground reeked a diabolic stench. No trace was left of the dewy grass, each blade had died silently as its sap bled out and burnt at the hands of an unknown enemy.

My tears it could not absorb.My fathomless pain it could not comprehend. I stared at my hands for a very long time.The real world for the moment was eluding me. I bent on the ground, the blueness of the sky, its stark nakedness looked down on me. I wished the sky was a foggy miasma so that death would seem more real and closer. The silence of what was around me peered at me from a corner.The earth, the soil, the birds, the wind all had hid themselves in that corner in fear of my lamentations.
I was conscious of my unconsciousness.I knew they were gone, lost forever.
I placed both my hands on the sacrilegious ground, the ground of the dead.Wading through the burnt flesh searching for my four friends.

To lull the Despair

2011-07-08T21:28:00.001+05:30

That feeling of utter despair .I don’t know when and why it comes, it doesn’t necessarily come unannounced; it always knocks .It’s in my head I can feel it ,most of the times I like to fall asleep or sleep on it and with sleep the despair dies too. And when I wake up I am reborn.

When this depression comes my brain almost stops to process any thoughts, all I am aware of is the constant gnawing at the pit of my mind telling me to end, end this lifeless existence.

Some people when they feel low or melancholy tend to think of all the bad things that have occurred in their lives, but in this case I remember or recall nothing sad or happy .I draw a blank and it is this void of feelings / nothingness that further plunges me into a certain eerie form of darkness that seems to have no inhibition of its own .It’s like being dead .Only that I know that I am not but at that moment death seems to be the only way to run away from this dull lull.

I just finished watching a movie a Japanese movie .I started watching it halfway .This girl recounts memories of a boy who had the same name as hers in school. It’s beautiful; I’m falling short of words as usual. I’ve come to realize that I use a variety of words while describing something i do not like, like a trashy movie. But in this case there’s only one word. The movie ended five minutes back and well I feel sad; the boy died .Death, closure, happiness how could they.. .Death, even the idea of death is so painful. To relate and link it to a lingering smile seems almost repulsive.

twenty third march

2011-07-06T22:01:00.001+05:30

It suddenly occurs to her .What will happen to her grandma's childhood who she affectionately calls dimma.Her childhood memories of her village in Bangladesh.The lake where the boat swam, the snakes that crawled around the stems of the flower tree ,whose flowers she plucked with her Friend early in the day.
She had left the land she grew up in ,left it for education in a bigger city. A city that would with time become part of a different country.
Her grandma is 76 now ready to live again, another life in a different form.I haven't seen her in years.The smell of her house, my mothers house used to be so distinct.I would often smell it in the evening in my own house. I can not recall the scent any more and with that it has silently left my house too.
Now it is the moment when my childhood memories will loose a place to roam around in.Her house will be bulldozed to create a more modern building. Devoid of her smell.
I shall die in my selfishness and my mother in her sense of respect.
I can smell the wafts of the fragrance.The fragrance of the shiuli flower or jasmine as it clings to the house of my memories.The flowers I never plucked.

The rain

2011-07-05T21:14:00.005+05:30

The light and the shadow
I can see
Flickering through the crevices of the tree around the darkness.

Can you smell the smell of the breeze?
The breeze of the rain
The scent of the expectant moisture ready to drip.

Love her

2011-04-13T21:19:00.003+05:30

Her pale skin turns red.But this is the last time,she wants to do her best.
Her red dress is wet, she has sold her soul for the final time.Standing in the middle of the room, she feels like a melting candle.The candle in its stark nakedness glows , glows as it melts into gooey wax.
The tears have long dried, the barren soul is choking.There's no pleasure just a sadistic gain.
'I could pour hot water on myself that would leave a scalding burn.They don't care about the flaws on my face.'
The ropes so tight,her hands are tied.She cannot break the cycle.
No one looks back at her, when it's over.

I will love you and pray for you, for a voice that will be lost, a voice that nobody wants to remember.
( written after listening to the song 'love her' by seether)

In this huge room

2011-02-01T22:05:00.002+05:30

Telling you to stop will not cease
Asking for an unsaid apology
Your pen moves through the shadow and the sunlight
Fallen in their trap unaware of being used
My gaze is red.

They forgot to plunge into their conscience
It shakes insecurely
Palpitating at the thought of being seen

Cut me off ,chop my wings
Soon I will forget to grow them anymore

You nod deceptively,nothing pervades inside your shallow self
Eyes searching as you enter later
Fearing that you know less
You have always known less
Even if you knew all, it would make no difference

I feel less and mostly nothing

The hurt I give to you; to see you flutter your wings
If not that at least go perch on the young tree
Contempt drifts in and out of you
You accept it to be yours
Forever yours

The pink and the steel gives you no brightness
You fade a little more every time the red slides on your pout

Did you look up to the ceiling
Have you not appeased all
All who are in real ;some

Silence orchestrated to an inferno
Warmth breathes in me

Unevenness and shapeless
You will always be more whole
Never complete
But cluelessly beautiful; forever till you live

Live in the hollow that connects the points
The dot that is never repeated
The questions are lies
You want to hear all and know all
To think is useless
Comes with no benefits for your kind

You are big but fingers clutch to the small
Hold them together, lower your eyes
Smiling as it fades
Tomorrow I will love you more
Then in you , you will always smile

Mouth open, confused
your helplessness mocks me
You want not to be here
legs crossed, moving to restlessness
The anger growing as I hear you
disagreeable words like a crow
But the crow too can be silent and sit still in its thoughts

Your lint less sleeve
The strange straightness of the brown hair
The boyish laughter is selfish
You are friendless
Foe less

Its all about the nine's and six's
The nails you bite
The words that do not leave your mouth

I look beyond where you write
Write to copy

When will I leave this room with your lack
Lack of words
Your gaze of being a fool

You are everywhere
Don't touch me or my mind
Your voice is sweet less and your twisted lips curl like a snake; pretending
Venomous but dead
The scream in you is you
Your dull stale ness will never touch us

Papers printed years ago by someone you do not know
Fill the beauty less
Depth less hours
In this huge room
The numbers mean more
Than the meaning itself

Deranged

2011-01-01T23:14:00.002+05:30

I'm not sure why I chose these lyrics ,since the tune and the

words were created simultaneously the lyrics just happens

to be the way it is: Incoherent and abstract

Teenage Love

2010-09-10T00:07:00.001+05:30

Desperation;

A word we have come to despise but secretly that's all we feel right now.This strange force to ,no I cannot write what I'm thinking.When that need becomes so paramount so dominant that it pervades my barriers of practicality and logic instead of being maudlin.

Did we not promise to be sensible,not be like everyone and not be damned of all those weaknesses and insecurities that are part of the lives of the desperate dimwits of my age.Its just a phase it shall pass like all those phases.

And if it doesn't and someday the realization dawn upon us that the phase was not just a phase but a time of my life I was supposed to live a particular way,looking for a particular form of happiness,the happiness that would be derived from a specific experience.The dreams convey our apprehensions but when we wake up its just a nightmare.It may never happen so it shall always remain a nightmare or an unfulfilled desire.

PARANOIA

2010-09-09T23:48:00.001+05:30

How many of us feel this way .The simple minded is often left out from this agony.But some of us are plagued with this sickness , seldom confused with creativity the incessant chaos that wouldn't cease in our minds.
PARANOIA ,that restless feeling that starts from an unknown part of my body eating my every cell my every tissue.I cannot stop it maybe somewhere inside, I don't want it to.The television is still switched on it blurs and emanates a buzz like sound making me feel peaceful even though I'm not in the same room.The buzz i can still hear always.My bloodshot eyes hover aimlessly at the laptops LED screen and I can hear my mum beckoning me to come sit with everyone.
But my eyes are fixed to the light and my mind is in a self created trance.

Stillness in disguise

2010-05-26T19:54:00.003+05:30

Sitting in a room knowing that nothing is going to happen,the sounds around me have no link with me.The roaring sound of the plane,the voice coming beyond the cream coloured walls,the constant cacophony of birds chirping like that of birds in a cage fail to awaken me from my morbid state.
Even the sudden blowing of the wind that makes the clothes almost fly ,i see the red faded cloth struggle to free itself through the wire meshed door on which crawls a little lizard with half a tail somehow reminding me of my myself as it slithers around with its uncompleteness if that's a word.The aluminium container distracts me from my reptile related thoughts as it sings a song of itself,a song of life that can never be its.
The fly keeps buzzing,the partially opened door lets more light in hoping to show me something.

I am sitting in the middle of the house or maybe closer to it's rear but I can still hear both the sounds one coming from the road with the swishing of the 'jhaadu' and the distant sound of my neighbours cage bird.
Something yellow enters the room a wasp perhaps come to sting me ,sting me out of my blissful slumber.

strangers in strangeness

2010-03-08T22:14:00.000+05:30

Strangers I accidentally meet.Is there a reason do they mean to is it because I am attractive or I'm too
shockingly ugly; one can never

be sure.I tend to remember some faces a little more than the others is it because they are visually more appealing? or

because i feel
I want to know them beyond the realm of our monotonous journey back and forth
hoping that I will meet you ,no see you again,the word you, i think i use it a bit too often,maybe somewhere deep
in my stupid and silly heart I wish to create a
story, no a fantasy in my head ,my head which itself holds a very colourful array of stories with different kind of people
at different
points in my seemingly boring but depressing life ,a life of an underachiever in short.These strangers mostly of the opposite sex but sometimes of the same sex
create a never ending mysterious flow of energy in the short while that we connect in .I wonder sometimes if I may have imagined the give and take of glances but
then I happily hope that my brain has
not yet deserted me,after all I'm still 18 young i believe.I am besotted by their unique characteristics the sometimes fleetingly perverted glances that flow towards me like a dream I
wish would continue a little longer,I am neither a loner nor do I lack friends but yet the impression these strangers leave in my
mind is untraceable and inexplicable,but their presence ,its need,its thirst and the strong but maudlin desire to meet them ,to feel
their presence ,their
eyes again on some part of my face which apparently lacks facial hair is hard to explain well not really its actually very obvious I'm just stupid enough to write about such instances,situations which generally are sent to the dustbin in our brain.To record such strange, eerie no not eerie simply primitive ,idiotic but yet so beautiful, not pretty but beautiful is a feeling to be felt.

fighting anorexia/bulimia

2010-02-23T00:17:00.000+05:30

DON'T BE critical

2010-02-16T20:48:00.000+05:30

Don't like something ,don't say it out, so what if your debating partner is wearing hideous clothes she loves it and all her friends said it was cute, just say its nice even if its your friend and you care about him or her never tell them the truth especially when her other friends lash out at you calling you names like you're so critical and judgemental.What should we say if someone asks you"how was the movie?" just say nice or oh it was so sweet and cute blah blah blah .... Don't dare say that it was mediocre or cliched or copied or simply made for the typically idiot audience after all you may never know maybe your friend is one of them..!! Always show consensus with people around you because if you try to strike an intelligent educated and non-judgemental discussion with them they will get offended and brand you as critical.We are human and we are emotional we get very easily offended ,hurt and anything and everything can make us hate a person even if it takes just OH i love your dress' to make you love them again and ' your hair needs help ,it looks terrible' to kill them.Life is very hard for the people who like to analyse and critically examine things sometimes everything.For example its rude if i call someone FAT or OBESE but its okay if I call them thin,skeletal or ANOREXIC so what if anorexia nervosa is an mental illness with the highest mortality rate.

WE are racists

2010-01-21T22:33:00.000+05:30

muslims have been misunderstood in our country for a long time now.One would imagine that the 21st century would probably if not completely eradicate the prejudice but atleast mellow down the unreasonable hatred.But things are getting worse our thoughts are getting narrower day by day our ability to sterotype is also increasing.

I have always thought that people in urban india in the metropolitan cities would atleast beleive in the concept of one india .But even the educated the people have a comparitively sane approach to life also differtiate ,abuse and let narrow thoughts creep into their lives,it doesnt matter if they work in an MNC or a BPO or if they watch bbc or cnn .We are a bunch of shameless,self-centerd humans ,we criticise a community on the basis of convenience

2010-01-18T17:40:00.000+05:30

The apparent discomfort has suddenly become pleasurable, the pain that was once so profound and irritated me so much has become an anomaly i hardly notice.These broken pieces of my conscience are like the nettles of cacti that i am forced to pass by every time I think of you.