I have been so wrong once again.
And to think that this time I was so sure that I was right!
O my ego! O my conditioning! O my past!
You have been misleading me for so long
The path that I tread is slippery
If at all I am hanging on is ‘cause am quite kind to myself
Or else I would have long disappeared into the black hole of self pity.
I bite my nails and fondle my crotch
See, my hands are full
I need to wash my hands off for a resurrection.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
The gift of void
Strike me dead, my little princess, if I trespass into your memory.
Strike me dead, my little princess, if my heart whispers in your solitude.
Like a snake I have coiled around all memorable moments we shared
Strike me dead, my little princess, if a word ever raises its head.
Holding the moon in my palm I had traveled towards the sun
Strike me dead, my little princess, if the moon fails to light up tonight.
I kneel and pray but my prayers do not have wings
Strike me dead, my little princess, my infidel heart sings!
Every moment like a mirror reflects your face to me
Strike me dead, my little princess, if you ever pass by me.
I have painted the walls of my house in the colors of your smile
Strike me dead, my little princess, if ever a tear drops from your eye.
I have stalked love like the night that stalks the day
Strike me dead, my little princess, and free my love today.
Strike me dead, my little princess, if my heart whispers in your solitude.
Like a snake I have coiled around all memorable moments we shared
Strike me dead, my little princess, if a word ever raises its head.
Holding the moon in my palm I had traveled towards the sun
Strike me dead, my little princess, if the moon fails to light up tonight.
I kneel and pray but my prayers do not have wings
Strike me dead, my little princess, my infidel heart sings!
Every moment like a mirror reflects your face to me
Strike me dead, my little princess, if you ever pass by me.
I have painted the walls of my house in the colors of your smile
Strike me dead, my little princess, if ever a tear drops from your eye.
I have stalked love like the night that stalks the day
Strike me dead, my little princess, and free my love today.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Zone
I find myself in a strange zone
Where I am happy to be alive
And yet
would be happy to die too
In love even moments cease to exist.
A little love
A little kindness
A little hug
A little magic
She gifted me the universe on a platter.
She gifted me my eyes
So now I can see myself
In pain hides the soul of happiness
Burn –
Jump into the fire and burn!
One does not have to always swim to cross a river.
Jump!
And be happy.
The bottom is the zenith
Drown!
And be happy.
In love one cease to exist.
Where I am happy to be alive
And yet
would be happy to die too
In love even moments cease to exist.
A little love
A little kindness
A little hug
A little magic
She gifted me the universe on a platter.
She gifted me my eyes
So now I can see myself
In pain hides the soul of happiness
Burn –
Jump into the fire and burn!
One does not have to always swim to cross a river.
Jump!
And be happy.
The bottom is the zenith
Drown!
And be happy.
In love one cease to exist.
I love those nights
There are certain nights which are brighter than the day. On such nights instead of the moon I see your smile on the sky. I love those nights.
I love those nights when the stars wither and fall off like autumn leaves from the sky. Or like snow in winter.
Those nights I swirl like a dervish intoxicated by my own singing veins. And my heart echoes a hymn I composed for you the previous moment.
Those nights are so bright that my lips turn into the reddest of roses.
The nightingale yodels and breaks open its centuries old cage and flies off like a meteor from the earth and soars and soars defying gravity.
Setting a new record in flying.
I love those nights because your memories seduce me and encourage me to make love to that beautiful moment where my heart touch my soul.
And my imagination like a rudderless ship sails into an ocean of a fairy tale.
I love those nights my little princess. I love those nights when you kiss me good night and you are still a thousand mile away.
I love those nights when the stars wither and fall off like autumn leaves from the sky. Or like snow in winter.
Those nights I swirl like a dervish intoxicated by my own singing veins. And my heart echoes a hymn I composed for you the previous moment.
Those nights are so bright that my lips turn into the reddest of roses.
The nightingale yodels and breaks open its centuries old cage and flies off like a meteor from the earth and soars and soars defying gravity.
Setting a new record in flying.
I love those nights because your memories seduce me and encourage me to make love to that beautiful moment where my heart touch my soul.
And my imagination like a rudderless ship sails into an ocean of a fairy tale.
I love those nights my little princess. I love those nights when you kiss me good night and you are still a thousand mile away.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Old Man and His Dice
I have gambled my everything. My whole life. To be what I am.
By birth I am my parent’s child. By nature I am a gambler.
And the Old Man’s favorite playmate.
As far back as my memories go, He has always loved playing the dice with me.
And even as a lonely little child I always played along. With a smile.
The results have always been the same.
He always wins.
And I always smile.
We always play at His den. With His dice. And His rules.
There have been times when I have challenged Him. Quite often after I grew up.
I have waged my love to Him. I have waged my heart to Him.
The Old Man doesn’t wager money.
You can’t tempt Him with anything at all except your love and your soul.
Yes. Your soul.
And now He asks me to wager my soul.
And I know I will. Though I know it’s a losing game.
But this time the loser will win it all. With his smile still intact.
For it’s only if I lose my soul that I’ll win His den.
The Old Man smiles.
By birth I am my parent’s child. By nature I am a gambler.
And the Old Man’s favorite playmate.
As far back as my memories go, He has always loved playing the dice with me.
And even as a lonely little child I always played along. With a smile.
The results have always been the same.
He always wins.
And I always smile.
We always play at His den. With His dice. And His rules.
There have been times when I have challenged Him. Quite often after I grew up.
I have waged my love to Him. I have waged my heart to Him.
The Old Man doesn’t wager money.
You can’t tempt Him with anything at all except your love and your soul.
Yes. Your soul.
And now He asks me to wager my soul.
And I know I will. Though I know it’s a losing game.
But this time the loser will win it all. With his smile still intact.
For it’s only if I lose my soul that I’ll win His den.
The Old Man smiles.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
The opaque seasons of the heart
I oscillate between being juvenile and profound like all lovers. For what is love if not purely sublime or downrightly stupid. There is nothing in the middle.
Last week I went through my blog and read all that I have posted in the past year and a half and couldn’t help but laugh at most of them. Especially the one’s written on the spur of the moment[which incidentally is the only way I know to write!!]. Certain posts are utterly mediocre and banal.
But then there are certain lines that are poetry at its best. Lines that literally slash your heart and make you cry tears of blood which in turn gives birth to the reddest of roses you’ll ever see blossom on your lips.
Like- “ I am the moon of her apathy.” Or “ Her absence is the lullaby that cradles my dream.”
These are gems. Lines that would make even a Tagore or a Rilke smile.
Now, I don not have any delusion of my self as a poet. In fact, I have always looked upon these things I write as scribbles. And hence call myself a scribbler. For I write mostly out of compulsion. And without a thought. Its more like automatic writing. There have been times when it has taken me a few days to understand certain things that I have written and certain lines are still beyond the realm of my own understanding as of today.
Certain posts I wanted to erase. Certain posts I wanted to edit. But then decided against it. For my blog is ME. And hence it should reveal me as I am. Why pretend that I am some God damn poet when I am nothing but an ordinary man recounting his experiences and recording his feelings.
So if by some stroke of mistake you do trespass into my blog and read it out of curiosity, remember- what you read here is what I am. With all my inconsistencies. The only consistent factor being LOVE. And ironically, human love has its own inconsistencies.
And a vagrant thought passes over the edge of my morning cup of tea.
“ Love is the greatest cook in the world.
It makes the best soul curry.”
Last week I went through my blog and read all that I have posted in the past year and a half and couldn’t help but laugh at most of them. Especially the one’s written on the spur of the moment[which incidentally is the only way I know to write!!]. Certain posts are utterly mediocre and banal.
But then there are certain lines that are poetry at its best. Lines that literally slash your heart and make you cry tears of blood which in turn gives birth to the reddest of roses you’ll ever see blossom on your lips.
Like- “ I am the moon of her apathy.” Or “ Her absence is the lullaby that cradles my dream.”
These are gems. Lines that would make even a Tagore or a Rilke smile.
Now, I don not have any delusion of my self as a poet. In fact, I have always looked upon these things I write as scribbles. And hence call myself a scribbler. For I write mostly out of compulsion. And without a thought. Its more like automatic writing. There have been times when it has taken me a few days to understand certain things that I have written and certain lines are still beyond the realm of my own understanding as of today.
Certain posts I wanted to erase. Certain posts I wanted to edit. But then decided against it. For my blog is ME. And hence it should reveal me as I am. Why pretend that I am some God damn poet when I am nothing but an ordinary man recounting his experiences and recording his feelings.
So if by some stroke of mistake you do trespass into my blog and read it out of curiosity, remember- what you read here is what I am. With all my inconsistencies. The only consistent factor being LOVE. And ironically, human love has its own inconsistencies.
And a vagrant thought passes over the edge of my morning cup of tea.
“ Love is the greatest cook in the world.
It makes the best soul curry.”
The lure of moments
My heart sails on the waves of the silent night
Sails with the mast of the moon
Bound from my heart to your heart
Around the mount of Venus
To the shores of boon.
Ferry me to the land of fairy!
Ferry me to the land of fairy!
I hear my little star hum a song
In her mellifluous voice
Bound from her soul to my soul
Across the reverberating space
To the house of rejoice!
Carry me to the land of fairy!
Carry me to the land of fairy!
The snake dances to the rhythm of the horse
Oh! the nimble lotus treat!
Bound from this life to the other
With the grace of God
back, back to His feet.
Accept me to the land of fairy!
Accept me to the land of fairy!
Sails with the mast of the moon
Bound from my heart to your heart
Around the mount of Venus
To the shores of boon.
Ferry me to the land of fairy!
Ferry me to the land of fairy!
I hear my little star hum a song
In her mellifluous voice
Bound from her soul to my soul
Across the reverberating space
To the house of rejoice!
Carry me to the land of fairy!
Carry me to the land of fairy!
The snake dances to the rhythm of the horse
Oh! the nimble lotus treat!
Bound from this life to the other
With the grace of God
back, back to His feet.
Accept me to the land of fairy!
Accept me to the land of fairy!
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