Outside, its a beautiful morning. The sun is out, but not blistering. There's a small wind and a few clouds, and the promise of rain later. Rain: always holding out, with the hope of succour from desperate heat. The days get hotter and hotter, like a test of endurance. You try to ignore it; remember the freezing, under-the-finger-nails-numbing winters gone past and enjoy the heat. You try to ignore it, and go on with your day. You try to concentrate on your swing and ignore the ticklish feeling of sweat forming on your face. You try to ignore the sweltering oppressiveness and focus on your thoughts, the road, the other cars, the person talking to you, the journey.
Just as you are almost ready to give up, then the rains come.
First there are just a few stray drops whispering on your face, on your arms as they stick out of the window, on the windshield. Swiftly the tempo increases till there's a curtain of water all around your space. The window is covered with the constant drumming of drops. Wet crows screech in jubillient laughter. The world dims, through the sheer cover. Raindrops glisten on window panes. The light turns dim and silvery. The big red flowers on the trees shine polished. The streets are littered with torn leaves and twigs. And children dance joyfully in the wet.
Almost everybody is smiling. The rain is relief from the heat. And the clouds are the promise, the hope.
Back in my morning, down the corridor, in still dark rooms, my mother and sister sleep on. I want to wake them, for a shared morning cup of tea, but I know they went to bed late and dont need to wake up for a long time yet. The desire to sneak into their beds and cuddle up with them almost overwhelms me. But I steel my heart, and let the brush of a kiss and carress suffice.
I make my second cup of coffee: strong, sweet, black and lukewarm. I am slowly getting used to instant coffee again. I tell myself a few more minutes idling will not kill me; or my career.(;) There was a time when I would have added: 'same difference', but that phase of life is going with the wind. Thats another scary transition. Having identified with something for so long, having made an institution my saviour, my last chance, my belated battlefield, to try one last time to prove myself to myself - or die trying, to have made that one thing everything, holier than any religion - substitue for everything else - its strangely unsettling to try and move to a new pasture. I steel myself and try not to think about it.
How much steel-ing we do in a day ...
Every morning, I fight a massive surge of desire to stay back in this moment, this morning, this, my favourite time of the day. I want to just not go to work for a day and stay home with them. They are and will be on their own trips. With their own friends. Their own work. Yet now and then I will get fleeting instants: fleeting hugs, fleeting kisses, fleeting jagged edged, shining, beautiful pieces of conversations. Its enough. Having been exiled for so long, from a place I came to late and never really lived in, 'being home' with all its implications, is a potent addiction.
Little things like the 4 people under the same roof, like her in a sari, in red and white, with vermillion and white and red wristcuffed, for us, by us, of us ... strange dreams and desires, little things like her making food, like waking up with the little thing, like being driven somewhere by him, or him remembering which one of us is called what, or her remembering something i like to eat ... small things like shared memories, shared times together, shared history, little rights, priviledges and places at the table and in the sitting room ... things most people take for granted, grow up with, have enough of and surfeiting long to grow away from. We never had enough. We never could surfeit.
Its hard for most people to understand how it would feel to grow up fragmented. Many 'parents', many gaurdians, many homes, whole lot of love and affection, but never in one place for long enough. Always steeled for the switch from one environment to the next, one set of people to the next, you soon learn loyalties and things like that only make it hurt worse. You learn to 'love' whoever is at hand whenever. Because even then, you need to love. Your needs, and you are so dependant then, are catered to by so many, like juggling balls in reverse, that 'trust' is a concept you never learn, because to forget, to think that it was someone else's turn today to do the needful (to lend a lift home from the nursery, or keep in the evening after, or get coke and chips for friends for birthday party, or leave keys under doormat) is too easy, to human, to often.
Always on the roll, I miss the moss. There was only one constant, one anchor, one person who would not put career, or friends, or lovelife or 'her life' before you, specially if you were ill or scared, she'd be there. And now she's not there any more. Its a strange feeling. Its like a light going out: you know you can live in the dark, but it takes a while for your eyes to adjust.
And you grow a greed for human contact. For the strokes. For the laughter and chatter. Someone to listen to your prattling. Someone stay up for you. Someone to be selfless with you. Someone secure enough in their universality to not care if you're going or coming or hating or kicking or showering with love and affection. Someone who understands its all forms of the same thing. Someone to know when you're lying, scared, bluffing, hurt, hiding, angry, being calm, or trying to. Someone be a mother.
Below my desk, at my feet, is the yellow plastic basket, which held all my things whenever it was time to shift me from one set of arms to another, many years ago. I kick it with my feet as I write. In my cupboard, a snatch of white cloth torn from her last sari. Its dirt now and rag-ish. And in my old phone the last messages ("6th August, 2005: 1000 hours exactly: The fire is feeding"). And picture of me as she saw me, as she kept always in front of her. For the first time I see with semi-grown up eyes and see what she meant abt the look in its eyes. like a kid lost in a fair: torn between fear, incomprehension & fascination with the surroundings.
I keep holding on.
Once again, its time to go. I'm getting late. Need to decide whether to have my third cup or snap myself out of this mood of indulgence and get moving. But my 'self' says, whats the hurry. Why are you always pushing on. Where are you headed? Why are you headed there. Isnt this, here and now, everything you always dreamed of? Or did it come too late and too little to freeze my clock for?
And old song comes to mind ... "wahaan kaun hain tera, mussafir, chala hain kahaan?"
I'm late for work. Its past nine already and I havent even dressed. I need to go. Yet, I wonder why? Why do you have to go to work everyday? Why do you have to go to work at all? Why cant I stay home, where my family is, where its pseudo-familiar and wonderful?
Is it just a foolish illusion that makes us run every morning and keeps us running through our days? Or is it a misconception that makes us mistake laziness and intertia for wanting to stay back at home every morning: if I could understand that, I would solve this puzzle that tearing me up inside
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Tagged!!!
Tagged by Sanity Starved, i swear i did this already but I lost the post! Anyway, so here goes:
I am thinking about …
Tomorrow, The trek coming up, The noise in engine, The motorcycle in the show I saw this afternoon, money, relpet, babies, Dad, Yazoo!, my hair, isreal ... the noise in the AC, the temperature in U.k (and is doomsday coming - my eternal fear)
I said ...
"I'm busy, can I call you back sweetie", but I lied, as usual. I feel really lazy to talk sometimes (?)
I want to ...
have babies, make biriyani - just the way i like it, learn russian, deutsch, maithali and sanskrit, have babies, live in paris/london/kolkata, look like my mommy or sushmita sen, work in an old age home, go for a long trip to the amazon, see machu pichu and go to the arctic (?), run a marathon, learn squash, play rugby, take up skulling again, learn to focus, have babies, play the violin, climb the himalayas, "conquer" the mind (or atleast pass the classes)
I wish ...
I knew what I wanted.
I hear ...
Pearl Jam, Doors, Metallica, Chopin, Dire Straits, Bach, Barrett, Chandrobindu, Floyd, Rabindra Sangeet, Tull, Hemanta, Kishore Kumar, KK, Bhupinder, Ghulam Ali, Amir Khan ... basically everything except rap (and very little pop music)
I wonder ...
what it all means
I regret...
lost time and not buying 'the dream bag when Dad offered
I am ...
always sleepy
I dance...
almost always, to almost anything, whenever noones looking
I sing...
extremely painfully and incessently
I cry...
a lot more for small things than for bigger things. then i shut up
I am not always...
consistent
I make with my hands...
food ... and its usually quite decent
I write ...
on my blogs, a few group blogs, letters and emails to friends, a journal i carry in my bag, and another 'proper' journal and endless lists. i make lists like 'things i could make lists about'
I confuse ...
who i am with who i want to be
I need …
to think, to read, hear music, see movies, to laugh, cry and love
And finally...
I pass this tag to ... everyone who reads this (inspired by aparna) - or everyone who wants to do it.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
I am thinking about …
Tomorrow, The trek coming up, The noise in engine, The motorcycle in the show I saw this afternoon, money, relpet, babies, Dad, Yazoo!, my hair, isreal ... the noise in the AC, the temperature in U.k (and is doomsday coming - my eternal fear)
I said ...
"I'm busy, can I call you back sweetie", but I lied, as usual. I feel really lazy to talk sometimes (?)
I want to ...
have babies, make biriyani - just the way i like it, learn russian, deutsch, maithali and sanskrit, have babies, live in paris/london/kolkata, look like my mommy or sushmita sen, work in an old age home, go for a long trip to the amazon, see machu pichu and go to the arctic (?), run a marathon, learn squash, play rugby, take up skulling again, learn to focus, have babies, play the violin, climb the himalayas, "conquer" the mind (or atleast pass the classes)
I wish ...
I knew what I wanted.
I hear ...
Pearl Jam, Doors, Metallica, Chopin, Dire Straits, Bach, Barrett, Chandrobindu, Floyd, Rabindra Sangeet, Tull, Hemanta, Kishore Kumar, KK, Bhupinder, Ghulam Ali, Amir Khan ... basically everything except rap (and very little pop music)
I wonder ...
what it all means
I regret...
lost time and not buying 'the dream bag when Dad offered
I am ...
always sleepy
I dance...
almost always, to almost anything, whenever noones looking
I sing...
extremely painfully and incessently
I cry...
a lot more for small things than for bigger things. then i shut up
I am not always...
consistent
I make with my hands...
food ... and its usually quite decent
I write ...
on my blogs, a few group blogs, letters and emails to friends, a journal i carry in my bag, and another 'proper' journal and endless lists. i make lists like 'things i could make lists about'
I confuse ...
who i am with who i want to be
I need …
to think, to read, hear music, see movies, to laugh, cry and love
And finally...
I pass this tag to ... everyone who reads this (inspired by aparna) - or everyone who wants to do it.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Gone
the fire ate my mommy
the tall-man took her away
the ashes made me blind
the cold made me freeze
they say there's life beyond this
but i dont want to move on
i dont want to leave this moment
the last where you belonged
i had friends and i had lovers
but people dissapoint
when there's pain and acid
and darknes inside, people only hide
bitter sweet
thats everything
i know it but i cant hold it
bittersweet, everyone. i know them but i dont
everyone wants something
everybody has an agenda
noone knows. noone understands
noone even cares
thought you were different for a while
till i saw ur traitors face
till i saw the dirt in ur eyes
till i saw thru ur little, low, lying mind
thought u were different for a while
till i saw ur smile
ur just another one of them
evil in disguise
the tall-man took her away
the ashes made me blind
the cold made me freeze
they say there's life beyond this
but i dont want to move on
i dont want to leave this moment
the last where you belonged
i had friends and i had lovers
but people dissapoint
when there's pain and acid
and darknes inside, people only hide
bitter sweet
thats everything
i know it but i cant hold it
bittersweet, everyone. i know them but i dont
everyone wants something
everybody has an agenda
noone knows. noone understands
noone even cares
thought you were different for a while
till i saw ur traitors face
till i saw the dirt in ur eyes
till i saw thru ur little, low, lying mind
thought u were different for a while
till i saw ur smile
ur just another one of them
evil in disguise
Now
saviour ...
come save me
i cant deal with
how i feel
bitch
but how i love her
i'd kill her
and then stay in worship
i cant
live here
in this moment
that i am mesmerized, frozen in
cant
run away
to sanity
and freedom, away from her
waif
spirit
ghoul
ghost
trapped
by thread of lead
to the body
cant let go
body yet
full of fire ants
and acid dirt horrors shame
and memories. cant go back
so i melt another sun
and hold it in my palm
and tip my cupped hand
to pour it down
and i strike another moon alight
and blow an underwater storm
and cover it up with calm rivulets,
neatly.
come save me
i cant deal with
how i feel
bitch
but how i love her
i'd kill her
and then stay in worship
i cant
live here
in this moment
that i am mesmerized, frozen in
cant
run away
to sanity
and freedom, away from her
waif
spirit
ghoul
ghost
trapped
by thread of lead
to the body
cant let go
body yet
full of fire ants
and acid dirt horrors shame
and memories. cant go back
so i melt another sun
and hold it in my palm
and tip my cupped hand
to pour it down
and i strike another moon alight
and blow an underwater storm
and cover it up with calm rivulets,
neatly.
Fever Tree
The fever feels like its in the brain
frentic, wild, pulsing, alive
dancing in an orgy
of laughing crying deamons
it conjures a incessant kaliedescope
of snapshots that are not quite memories
i walk the rooms, empty house
holding the silence by hand for company
i here the bricks
sing lullabies
and tell of u
when i couldnt see
this is the house
these are the rooms
these are the places
you lived without me
now, years away,
ur loneliness lives here with me
the window runs open
the swing screeches gently
the pink ropes it hung by swing slowly in my mind
i remember, where and when
and why
a christmas tree
dairy milk
a trip, a place, a region
the last laugh
the last flight
and a tree with rot in the seed
and a tree doomed to be
just a skeleton tree
just a ghost of a tree
frentic, wild, pulsing, alive
dancing in an orgy
of laughing crying deamons
it conjures a incessant kaliedescope
of snapshots that are not quite memories
i walk the rooms, empty house
holding the silence by hand for company
i here the bricks
sing lullabies
and tell of u
when i couldnt see
this is the house
these are the rooms
these are the places
you lived without me
now, years away,
ur loneliness lives here with me
the window runs open
the swing screeches gently
the pink ropes it hung by swing slowly in my mind
i remember, where and when
and why
a christmas tree
dairy milk
a trip, a place, a region
the last laugh
the last flight
and a tree with rot in the seed
and a tree doomed to be
just a skeleton tree
just a ghost of a tree
In Anger with the World
Image029
Originally uploaded by prerona.
sitting here, head on knees
staring into the dark,
amongst the litter of could-have-beens
that never went too far
the minutes and hours slip by heedless,
time: always running out too fast
and yet, days & years dont budge
the moment doesnt pass.
the world's shrunk to a room,
the light from between the bars,
the gates swing open, regular times,
the thoughts that never stray too far.
saturday finally comes round;
the day long weeks mark time towards.
so much hope invested,
careless, it comes and goes.
the prison becomes the home, the womb
helpless hands caress keys
too broken to lift to lock
to weak for release
starved stomach, mind and heart
relief's shock. freedom's fear
when finally the doors unlocked,
he was too broken to go near.
many decades have come and gone
countless taunted through window. countless rising suns
come in when tired, he's fallen to sleep
and marked another day on the wall
This started out as an idea - a picture of a man who is being released after months and years of imprisonment. he is too tired to feel anything. somewhere the thread got lost so it shall be shelved with the rest of the imcomplete stories at the story blog. Before dying, it gave birth to this, however :)
OST: The Master of Puppets
Originally Posted at Prerona.
The Nightmare
I nightmare that had always recurred
like a tattoo, cut into your skin
from a remembered life, a remembered scene
a familiar homely scene
then the terror
then being locked in
suddenly its all come true
suspnded between like and disgust
trapped in a moment with you
like a tattoo, cut into your skin
from a remembered life, a remembered scene
a familiar homely scene
then the terror
then being locked in
suddenly its all come true
suspnded between like and disgust
trapped in a moment with you
Wouldn't You Miss Me?
Syd Barrett 11
Originally uploaded by neocaeczaristic.
Syd Barrett 08
Originally uploaded by neocaeczaristic.
he's got his bike
Originally uploaded by Janesdead.
"I don't think I'm easy to talk about. I've got a very irregular head. And I'm not anything that you think I am anyway." Rolling Stone, Dec 1971
"What exactly is a dream, and what exactly is a joke?" Jugaband Blues
You've been on my mind.
A vague grey-ish blue.
Now that you've crossed the gates
Can you come back and tell me,
Where do clouds go when they evaporate?
I think there are terrapins, faeries, & gnomes.
Were there little people to welcome you,
Or monsters and dwarfs and men?
Is it all strange and new,
Or is there a sense of deja vu?
Is life coming back to you?
Did you meet her there?
Did she recognise and greet you?
Stones in her wet pockets,
Lest she fly away.
Like a frail black cloud, on a rainy day.
Where you still stoned? You know, I was always frightened ...
Do you miss here? Its raining.
Is it nice there, or were you scared?
Or are you still laughing, Madcap?
Paint me a picture, frame it in a silver song,
And slide it down a rainbow
Or keep it by the Gates, above the Wall; guess you've broken through them now.
Wouldnt you miss me? I shall, so shall we all.
Not sure how to say it. Been feeling strange since I heard. Another one gone. We'll be running out of idols pretty soon. There'll be no more giants on the moon. The feeling's been humming somewhere at the back of my mind since then. Looking at every footstep, echo and reflection he left behind; and all the shrines. Something about the brevity of his role on stage, weighed against the impact, the rememberance, the worship, reminds me of Harper Lee. He was a Genius.
However, that is not why I loved him, or why I have been feeling strange. In some obscure way, he was one of Us; Like Us he must have suspected it inside him. The inversion; Of thought, love, dreams. Twisted. Ugly. Turned in. Obsessive, fearful introspection: like a child scared to step outside his room or like a child looking for monsters in the wardrobe, or like a god-prince, hypnotised by doom. Lay up nights in fear of it coming. Looked for it within endlessly. searching for its shadows & signs. Hiding it half fearfully, half lovingly, from Them, lest they lock Us away. That was the common thread; And it always wove out differently. Each fought or went down differently.
An old interview: http://pinkfloydhyperbase.dk/scraps/watts.htm
Peace
After a long time
I'm home alone
There's noone in the house
or on the phone
I sit down
Next to the window
With one chair for u empty
And close my eyes to see you
In the semi darkness
I reach out one hand to hold yours
I can feel the texture I remember
As your hand closes over mine
Everynight, when I went to sleep
For the first dozen or so years,
of my life
You held my hand as I drifted into dreams
Yes. I feel the sharp stab again
Its a physical clench
It passes down my left arm
And I clench my fist
In the balled up palm
I feel the soft cotton of your gown
Like everytime before,
I clutch it as I fall
Now, the pain flows
In a glowing acid ball
to the pitt of my stomach
I double up, on the floor
As I fall I see your smile before me
As I go I see you come back
This is all I have left of you
Distractions, from this, take you again
From the recesses of my head
Echo our voices still
Me calling out ur name:
My first words
Its peace now. Like when Im with you
I put on one light and look at you
You smile, happy next to him
I hate him. Bcz he's there I'm not
Now its almost time
The world's gone once round the sun
At the right second, when the stars are just in place
I'll summon the snake
Without your giant body
Which I grew up to
Without our liquid eyes
In which I saw the world
Without your massive hands
In which mine, tiny, were lost
Still, I'll be with you
Or atleast, no more without
I'm home alone
There's noone in the house
or on the phone
I sit down
Next to the window
With one chair for u empty
And close my eyes to see you
In the semi darkness
I reach out one hand to hold yours
I can feel the texture I remember
As your hand closes over mine
Everynight, when I went to sleep
For the first dozen or so years,
of my life
You held my hand as I drifted into dreams
Yes. I feel the sharp stab again
Its a physical clench
It passes down my left arm
And I clench my fist
In the balled up palm
I feel the soft cotton of your gown
Like everytime before,
I clutch it as I fall
Now, the pain flows
In a glowing acid ball
to the pitt of my stomach
I double up, on the floor
As I fall I see your smile before me
As I go I see you come back
This is all I have left of you
Distractions, from this, take you again
From the recesses of my head
Echo our voices still
Me calling out ur name:
My first words
Its peace now. Like when Im with you
I put on one light and look at you
You smile, happy next to him
I hate him. Bcz he's there I'm not
Now its almost time
The world's gone once round the sun
At the right second, when the stars are just in place
I'll summon the snake
Without your giant body
Which I grew up to
Without our liquid eyes
In which I saw the world
Without your massive hands
In which mine, tiny, were lost
Still, I'll be with you
Or atleast, no more without
Because Love is Selfish
Be sweet
but dont be cliched
care
but stay in the bounds i set
dance with me
but stirr not old ghosts that i still hold
love me
but dont expect 2b loved
look at me, smile at me
but dont come to close
i suffocate, i gag
i run
but dont be cliched
care
but stay in the bounds i set
dance with me
but stirr not old ghosts that i still hold
love me
but dont expect 2b loved
look at me, smile at me
but dont come to close
i suffocate, i gag
i run
Dreams
In thoughts,
On Skin,
Under closed eyelids,
In dreams.
In fantasies,
Memories.
Yesterdays, Tomorrows,
And days inbetween.
In the silence,
In muffled screams;
Inside the fire,
In the wind;
In the heart,
In the burning;
In blood and sinew,
In the clenching;
In silly, naiive
Broken, Staggering
Foolish
& barely alive Hope:
Mine.
Face,
Eyes,
Skin,
Laughter,
Voice,
Words,
Tears,
Dreams,
Visions,
Memories,
Love,
Nurture,
Faith,
Hope,
Wonder,
Caring,
Affection:
Yours.
I burn again and again
Each time I close my eyes
To blink
And the fire to which I fed you
Flares again in my head
And the desert of paralysis
Into which you pushed me departing
Laughs a hallow mocking cacophany
That echos in my brain.
Night and Day
And pain, sweet pain, is all that remains
Of all the love that made our world
Once. Thats all that remains
All other signs,
A few fast fading photographs in black and white and colour
A electronic words on a broken phone
A few mins of your voice as it faded,
Captured in the record
I barely dare to play
A road I never stray towards
A metropolis that huants me with ur absence
Streets where you taught me to walk
Roads where I held ur hands as your legs weakened
And the house where I buried you
Alone and deserted
A piece of red cloth.
And a fading printed swatch of white
Torn from the last thing you wore
That I jealously hide,
All the signs are fading.
Only this remains where youre still living
The pain, behind my eyes
The roaring sound btw my ears
The hollow where my heart was
The numbness in my brain
Thats all that remains
And I'll keep it this way
Ill lie down by the grave.
On Skin,
Under closed eyelids,
In dreams.
In fantasies,
Memories.
Yesterdays, Tomorrows,
And days inbetween.
In the silence,
In muffled screams;
Inside the fire,
In the wind;
In the heart,
In the burning;
In blood and sinew,
In the clenching;
In silly, naiive
Broken, Staggering
Foolish
& barely alive Hope:
Mine.
Face,
Eyes,
Skin,
Laughter,
Voice,
Words,
Tears,
Dreams,
Visions,
Memories,
Love,
Nurture,
Faith,
Hope,
Wonder,
Caring,
Affection:
Yours.
I burn again and again
Each time I close my eyes
To blink
And the fire to which I fed you
Flares again in my head
And the desert of paralysis
Into which you pushed me departing
Laughs a hallow mocking cacophany
That echos in my brain.
Night and Day
And pain, sweet pain, is all that remains
Of all the love that made our world
Once. Thats all that remains
All other signs,
A few fast fading photographs in black and white and colour
A electronic words on a broken phone
A few mins of your voice as it faded,
Captured in the record
I barely dare to play
A road I never stray towards
A metropolis that huants me with ur absence
Streets where you taught me to walk
Roads where I held ur hands as your legs weakened
And the house where I buried you
Alone and deserted
A piece of red cloth.
And a fading printed swatch of white
Torn from the last thing you wore
That I jealously hide,
All the signs are fading.
Only this remains where youre still living
The pain, behind my eyes
The roaring sound btw my ears
The hollow where my heart was
The numbness in my brain
Thats all that remains
And I'll keep it this way
Ill lie down by the grave.
A Year
while i stood there
face turned down, tucked into myself
crouched on my haunches
time sped past
now suddenly, outy of the blue
while i'm holding on to the rainiling to stop reeling
a voice floating down a line
reminds me its almost time
a year has passed us by
once more the fires will burn
but by now ur flesh is gone
i ate the rest and dropped the dust
this time its just that the fire'll burn
while i watch, while i light, while i tend, in turns
like waves that never reach the shore
i sob brokenly but it doesnt show
and its s till to private
to be shared
once more the skies will open
but this time the clouds are out of tears
this time only smoke will flow
floating up to the skies
from burning eyes
to try and find you
and ask, if u'll consider coming back
or taking me along ...
face turned down, tucked into myself
crouched on my haunches
time sped past
now suddenly, outy of the blue
while i'm holding on to the rainiling to stop reeling
a voice floating down a line
reminds me its almost time
a year has passed us by
once more the fires will burn
but by now ur flesh is gone
i ate the rest and dropped the dust
this time its just that the fire'll burn
while i watch, while i light, while i tend, in turns
like waves that never reach the shore
i sob brokenly but it doesnt show
and its s till to private
to be shared
once more the skies will open
but this time the clouds are out of tears
this time only smoke will flow
floating up to the skies
from burning eyes
to try and find you
and ask, if u'll consider coming back
or taking me along ...
Love-Thing
so tell me
is it lonely?
trapped within urself?
once again
i'm back in place
squuezed into half
better or not
why, does memory dissapear
so fast?
there's reason why
the runaways run
there are flowers which
just cant bear the sun
this love-thing
is something
i can never
get a handle on
guess ill always be a runner,
at heart
is it lonely?
trapped within urself?
once again
i'm back in place
squuezed into half
better or not
why, does memory dissapear
so fast?
there's reason why
the runaways run
there are flowers which
just cant bear the sun
this love-thing
is something
i can never
get a handle on
guess ill always be a runner,
at heart
Rivers of Clay
so tell me
is it lonely?
trapped within urself?
once again
i'm back in place
squuezed into half
better or not
why, does memory dissapear
so fast?
there's reason why
the runaways run
there are flowers which
just cant bear the sun
this love-thing
is something
i can never
get a handle on
guess ill always be a runner,
at heart
is it lonely?
trapped within urself?
once again
i'm back in place
squuezed into half
better or not
why, does memory dissapear
so fast?
there's reason why
the runaways run
there are flowers which
just cant bear the sun
this love-thing
is something
i can never
get a handle on
guess ill always be a runner,
at heart
Sunday Rain
It rained all day
I lay on my back, on the bed by the window, and stared out at the sky,
the diagonal slashes shading the sky, the wet crows
and throbbing puddles on the sheet of plastic
covering the stairway to the terrace above
the plastic was white & translucent
the water had collected on it in a thin layer
the new drops falling on it,
made little ripples across the surface
The stairs were rain polished
Slick and wet
The wind chime, its old wood glowing with the water,
danced in a frenzy with the wind,
But its song was drowned by the drumming beat of the rain ...
At the far end of the plastic sheet,
the falling rain collected in little rivers and slid down,
riding the edge like children on banisters
and every so often, if you followed the little rivers with ur eyes,
they got too heavy to carry their own weight, and plopped off softly
plunging down into the void
below, at the 'open air garage', and in the buildings around,
there was a mild mayhem
people were running around and a frantic voice floated up now and then,
screaming for someone to get something in out of the rain's way
Twice, Barbie & her friends went past my window
scurrying up to the terrace like the children they are on the verge of outgrowing
such an interesting place, this,
this pause at the periphery in our paths from childhood to full human
Later, in the evening,
When the sky had darkened to cerullean,
so that the occasional flashes of lightning showed up more starkly,
Ady and Juls come over.
Munal and Hamza are there as well. And the boy.
Like old times, the rooms came alive again
As the walls bounced off the voices and laughter
We sat randomly scattered around,
like cushions thrown casually around a beautiful, old sofa
For a while, the security,
in the ease of the roughly 2 & a half decade old friendships,
lulls the feeling of the storm outside
yet through the jokes and horsing, there's a part of me
thats left cold as always
the observer: it always watches the rest of me
somewhere i'm always the outsider
i travel everywhere, and try everyone
but i never really fit in
their language, their thoughts, their attractions, and lusts
sometimes seem so trivial, sometimes seems too much
maybe i just see too much
maybe i want too much
to find a mind one can admire, was the old ambition
now broken and faded, like a crumbling wall
then u just look for one u can tolerate
atleast some of the times
the clouds have run out of water
i get an eerie feeling of huge dry flints
being rubbed againts each other ...
a frission of fear: what if He were near?
between the flashes, everything looks deceptively normal
but everynow and then w/o warning the lightning flares
like a dry storm, in dry clouds, that want to, but cant rain; or dont
After they leave, I cant settle down
In the middle of the cheerful evening,
And old ghost visited
Laughing like us, it stands behind my left shoulder
Suddenly there's a freezing hand behind my neck
Dirty, Slimy, Smelling of the underworld
I shudder, and struggle to break free
Helpless my 'watch-er self' watches
As it pulls me down deeper and deeper,
into the dark murky waters
Struggling for air,
as usual, all I could do was hide.
burrowing deep down,
I run away to the terrace.
I sit on the fence,
And feel the air on my face,
as I try to let it dry the evidence of the pain
to blow away any expression, that might have leaked
the ironmask, frozen in a chaging smile - now childlike, now sweet, now gurgling, now chirpy, now wise
inverted, its always a grimace, though
inside, there's only hate: inverted love
unbidden, a phrase from linda goodman floats into my head
i smile at the naiively flambouyant drama of expressed awe:
the smooth steel of their heart, has been formed
in the 9 fires of scorpio wisdowm
like the phoneix, the burn themselves down
and they reform ...
is there really healing,
in phoenix tears?
i dialled an SOS number
they always say later, if u had just dared to reach out ...
the sounds bounce of the winds and the clouds
as the connection fails to form
with the dead line dangling from the phone in my hand
i realise there's no one to call
a strange combination
of "there's noone" & "there's noone there, who I could bear"
i wish there was some way to wake u
and bring u out of my head
Now I am perched on the railing with my legs on either side
Its exciting - the thrill of being just at the edge ...
Out of the blue a huge fire-cracker goess of from the neighbouring house
Startled, I almost fall
Then all is quiet
I run out of excuses
I sit in the rain for a while and go down
I have been here before;
Its a nasty kind of hell.
There are doors out
but snarling dragons at the threshold
and its flooded with the waters of lethe
so that u forget that you know how to fight them
u forget u can see through them
u forget they're all just tricks and tests
later, curled up, i try to fall into myself
stay frozen, but its hard to stay empty
so the waters rise again. outside, the lightnings flashes
but the clouds have dried and died, and it still doesnt rain
i close my eyes and i think of lethe
now i could do with it
the legend says, when u will die
memory, wont let u want to live again
so that u can bear to, dare to, be reborn,
ur sent to the waters of Lethe
one of the 5 rivers of the underworld
lethe puts you to sleep
when u wake up, u have no recall
so once again, u want to live
Then in the morning, the sun is up again
Though so small, and so frail yet
It survived, atleast this night
I let go of a breath held back
And smile at my little child
She gurgles and laughs back.
I have great hopes for you,
if u can live out these storms
Maybe you will survive
I walk down to the garage
and then start off on my way to work
The radio sings Purple Rain
As we zoom out onto the highway
To my right, the salt water flats line the road
The sunshines, The wind blows and the clouds,
huge, white and fluffy,
hang over the water, way down low ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
I lay on my back, on the bed by the window, and stared out at the sky,
the diagonal slashes shading the sky, the wet crows
and throbbing puddles on the sheet of plastic
covering the stairway to the terrace above
the plastic was white & translucent
the water had collected on it in a thin layer
the new drops falling on it,
made little ripples across the surface
The stairs were rain polished
Slick and wet
The wind chime, its old wood glowing with the water,
danced in a frenzy with the wind,
But its song was drowned by the drumming beat of the rain ...
At the far end of the plastic sheet,
the falling rain collected in little rivers and slid down,
riding the edge like children on banisters
and every so often, if you followed the little rivers with ur eyes,
they got too heavy to carry their own weight, and plopped off softly
plunging down into the void
below, at the 'open air garage', and in the buildings around,
there was a mild mayhem
people were running around and a frantic voice floated up now and then,
screaming for someone to get something in out of the rain's way
Twice, Barbie & her friends went past my window
scurrying up to the terrace like the children they are on the verge of outgrowing
such an interesting place, this,
this pause at the periphery in our paths from childhood to full human
Later, in the evening,
When the sky had darkened to cerullean,
so that the occasional flashes of lightning showed up more starkly,
Ady and Juls come over.
Munal and Hamza are there as well. And the boy.
Like old times, the rooms came alive again
As the walls bounced off the voices and laughter
We sat randomly scattered around,
like cushions thrown casually around a beautiful, old sofa
For a while, the security,
in the ease of the roughly 2 & a half decade old friendships,
lulls the feeling of the storm outside
yet through the jokes and horsing, there's a part of me
thats left cold as always
the observer: it always watches the rest of me
somewhere i'm always the outsider
i travel everywhere, and try everyone
but i never really fit in
their language, their thoughts, their attractions, and lusts
sometimes seem so trivial, sometimes seems too much
maybe i just see too much
maybe i want too much
to find a mind one can admire, was the old ambition
now broken and faded, like a crumbling wall
then u just look for one u can tolerate
atleast some of the times
the clouds have run out of water
i get an eerie feeling of huge dry flints
being rubbed againts each other ...
a frission of fear: what if He were near?
between the flashes, everything looks deceptively normal
but everynow and then w/o warning the lightning flares
like a dry storm, in dry clouds, that want to, but cant rain; or dont
After they leave, I cant settle down
In the middle of the cheerful evening,
And old ghost visited
Laughing like us, it stands behind my left shoulder
Suddenly there's a freezing hand behind my neck
Dirty, Slimy, Smelling of the underworld
I shudder, and struggle to break free
Helpless my 'watch-er self' watches
As it pulls me down deeper and deeper,
into the dark murky waters
Struggling for air,
as usual, all I could do was hide.
burrowing deep down,
I run away to the terrace.
I sit on the fence,
And feel the air on my face,
as I try to let it dry the evidence of the pain
to blow away any expression, that might have leaked
the ironmask, frozen in a chaging smile - now childlike, now sweet, now gurgling, now chirpy, now wise
inverted, its always a grimace, though
inside, there's only hate: inverted love
unbidden, a phrase from linda goodman floats into my head
i smile at the naiively flambouyant drama of expressed awe:
the smooth steel of their heart, has been formed
in the 9 fires of scorpio wisdowm
like the phoneix, the burn themselves down
and they reform ...
is there really healing,
in phoenix tears?
i dialled an SOS number
they always say later, if u had just dared to reach out ...
the sounds bounce of the winds and the clouds
as the connection fails to form
with the dead line dangling from the phone in my hand
i realise there's no one to call
a strange combination
of "there's noone" & "there's noone there, who I could bear"
i wish there was some way to wake u
and bring u out of my head
Now I am perched on the railing with my legs on either side
Its exciting - the thrill of being just at the edge ...
Out of the blue a huge fire-cracker goess of from the neighbouring house
Startled, I almost fall
Then all is quiet
I run out of excuses
I sit in the rain for a while and go down
I have been here before;
Its a nasty kind of hell.
There are doors out
but snarling dragons at the threshold
and its flooded with the waters of lethe
so that u forget that you know how to fight them
u forget u can see through them
u forget they're all just tricks and tests
later, curled up, i try to fall into myself
stay frozen, but its hard to stay empty
so the waters rise again. outside, the lightnings flashes
but the clouds have dried and died, and it still doesnt rain
i close my eyes and i think of lethe
now i could do with it
the legend says, when u will die
memory, wont let u want to live again
so that u can bear to, dare to, be reborn,
ur sent to the waters of Lethe
one of the 5 rivers of the underworld
lethe puts you to sleep
when u wake up, u have no recall
so once again, u want to live
Then in the morning, the sun is up again
Though so small, and so frail yet
It survived, atleast this night
I let go of a breath held back
And smile at my little child
She gurgles and laughs back.
I have great hopes for you,
if u can live out these storms
Maybe you will survive
I walk down to the garage
and then start off on my way to work
The radio sings Purple Rain
As we zoom out onto the highway
To my right, the salt water flats line the road
The sunshines, The wind blows and the clouds,
huge, white and fluffy,
hang over the water, way down low ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Sunday Songs
It rained all day
I lay on my back, on the bed by the window, and stared out at the sky,
the diagonal slashes shading the sky, the wet crows
and throbbing puddles on the sheet of plastic
covering the stairway to the terrace above
the plastic was white & translucent
the water had collected on it in a thin layer
the new drops falling on it,
made little ripples across the surface
The stairs were rain polished
Slick and wet
The wind chime, its old wood glowing with the water,
danced in a frenzy with the wind,
But its song was drowned by the drumming beat of the rain ...
At the far end of the plastic sheet,
the falling rain collected in little rivers and slid down,
riding the edge like children on banisters
and every so often, if you followed the little rivers with ur eyes,
they got too heavy to carry their own weight, and plopped off softly
plunging down into the void
below, at the 'open air garage', and in the buildings around,
there was a mild mayhem
people were running around and a frantic voice floated up now and then,
screaming for someone to get something in out of the rain's way
Later, in the evening,
When the sky had darkened to cerullean,
so that the occasional flashes of lightning showed up more starkly,
Ady and Juls come over.
Munal and Hamza are there as well. And the boy.
Like old times, the rooms came alive again
As the walls bounced off the voices and laughter
We sat randomly scattered around,
like cushions thrown casually around a beautiful, old sofa
I bask in the security & the ease
of the roughly 2 & a half decade old friendships
and soak in the laughter into my skin
yet there's a part of me
thats left cold as always
the observer: it always watches the rest of me
somewhere i'm always the outsider
i travel everywhere, and try everyone
but i never really fit in
their language, their thoughts, their attractions, and lusts
the clouds have run out of water
i get an eerie feeling of huge dry flints
being rubbed againts each other ...
a frission of fear: what if He were near?
I go to the terrace at night and,
I am perched on the railing with my legs on either side
Its exciting - the thrill of being just at the edge ...
Out of the blue a huge fire-cracker goess of from the neighbouring house
Startled, I almost fall
Then in the morning, the sun is up again
I walk down to the garage
and then start off on my way to work
The radio sings Purple Rain
As we zoom out onto the highway
To my right, the salt water flats line the road
The sunshines, The wind blows and the clouds,
huge, white and fluffy,
hang over the water, way down low ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
I lay on my back, on the bed by the window, and stared out at the sky,
the diagonal slashes shading the sky, the wet crows
and throbbing puddles on the sheet of plastic
covering the stairway to the terrace above
the plastic was white & translucent
the water had collected on it in a thin layer
the new drops falling on it,
made little ripples across the surface
The stairs were rain polished
Slick and wet
The wind chime, its old wood glowing with the water,
danced in a frenzy with the wind,
But its song was drowned by the drumming beat of the rain ...
At the far end of the plastic sheet,
the falling rain collected in little rivers and slid down,
riding the edge like children on banisters
and every so often, if you followed the little rivers with ur eyes,
they got too heavy to carry their own weight, and plopped off softly
plunging down into the void
below, at the 'open air garage', and in the buildings around,
there was a mild mayhem
people were running around and a frantic voice floated up now and then,
screaming for someone to get something in out of the rain's way
Later, in the evening,
When the sky had darkened to cerullean,
so that the occasional flashes of lightning showed up more starkly,
Ady and Juls come over.
Munal and Hamza are there as well. And the boy.
Like old times, the rooms came alive again
As the walls bounced off the voices and laughter
We sat randomly scattered around,
like cushions thrown casually around a beautiful, old sofa
I bask in the security & the ease
of the roughly 2 & a half decade old friendships
and soak in the laughter into my skin
yet there's a part of me
thats left cold as always
the observer: it always watches the rest of me
somewhere i'm always the outsider
i travel everywhere, and try everyone
but i never really fit in
their language, their thoughts, their attractions, and lusts
the clouds have run out of water
i get an eerie feeling of huge dry flints
being rubbed againts each other ...
a frission of fear: what if He were near?
I go to the terrace at night and,
I am perched on the railing with my legs on either side
Its exciting - the thrill of being just at the edge ...
Out of the blue a huge fire-cracker goess of from the neighbouring house
Startled, I almost fall
Then in the morning, the sun is up again
I walk down to the garage
and then start off on my way to work
The radio sings Purple Rain
As we zoom out onto the highway
To my right, the salt water flats line the road
The sunshines, The wind blows and the clouds,
huge, white and fluffy,
hang over the water, way down low ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Unforgiven
Do we hold on to the memories, or do they hold on to us? There was a place on the way to Sinhagad, where the road turned, where you would park the bike on the way back. It would be night and the stars hung low in a midnight blue sky. How cliched. Just like us. A part of you was impatient to get back. You had work on Monday. What would I know of such things: I could just bunk one class and sleep.
Unforgiven
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Unforgiven
Originally Posted at Prerona.