years have passed
and like a habit the world has grown old.
deep seated wrinkles,
scripted anecdotes of aging.
just like two forlorn strangers
we carried on inside our
comfort zones....
chance meetings.
exchange of greetings...
invitations:
"he will be away next week"
confessions:
" she doesnt know that i am a poet!"
why don`t we talk over coffee?
how old is your youngest kid!
i still love nescafe!
an entire world full of people are between us.
they whisper, we overhear :
" is she real?"
" was he ever there at all?"
" are they living ....
or is it all rumours?"
we need to sit down.
we need more coffee.
more sugar.
would you mind if i smoke?
how come you suddenly remember me?
lets shut the windows once...
once more we are face to face.
once more its a nescafe night.
once more we will ifight it out...
lets talk!
Monday, September 14, 2009
Monday, July 10, 2006
A NESCAFE NIGHT
A Nescafe night with you,
I get up to close the window
you lazily gaze at the glossy
magazine cover as if reading
the title over and over again
and then I sit,
to the Nescafe night
spirits pour out mirth of ages-----
“how many kids have you”
as conversation rattles
outside two owls ponder
on the sound that
resonates to the clear throat
of solemn music, of harps
that play and owls keep
wondering------
how many fresh beans lie bet`n us
they smell charging and refreshing
and bitter dreams are well flavoured
strong and expensive.
Let the remembrance come one by one----
It`s a jumble that I fear
and I fear to stain the table cloth
do you remember---
the night breaks all shackles
outside the night is out to kill
with clenched jaws and thirst—
for something hot and exciting
and the nightly mist –
come on and on
to weave humid ambition
on the closed glass—
and night just escapes
racing away from metaphors—
let us calm a while.
The river.
The sea.
The tiger
The you.
The me.
One after another
to the calmness of the graveyard
jus sound of sipping.
Nescafe night forgets not
its better we go on ……..
I get up to close the window
you lazily gaze at the glossy
magazine cover as if reading
the title over and over again
and then I sit,
to the Nescafe night
spirits pour out mirth of ages-----
“how many kids have you”
as conversation rattles
outside two owls ponder
on the sound that
resonates to the clear throat
of solemn music, of harps
that play and owls keep
wondering------
how many fresh beans lie bet`n us
they smell charging and refreshing
and bitter dreams are well flavoured
strong and expensive.
Let the remembrance come one by one----
It`s a jumble that I fear
and I fear to stain the table cloth
do you remember---
the night breaks all shackles
outside the night is out to kill
with clenched jaws and thirst—
for something hot and exciting
and the nightly mist –
come on and on
to weave humid ambition
on the closed glass—
and night just escapes
racing away from metaphors—
let us calm a while.
The river.
The sea.
The tiger
The you.
The me.
One after another
to the calmness of the graveyard
jus sound of sipping.
Nescafe night forgets not
its better we go on ……..
Thursday, June 22, 2006
people and distance
As if , one night we’ll meet again
to sort ,to build, to curse;
as if, it’ll be the same
all over again!
The darkness returns every night;
the same bystanders
the same cravings
the same obsessions
yet drifted faraway
we battle hard, the two of us
to tear apart the bending claws:
biting our lonely ecstasies.
to sort ,to build, to curse;
as if, it’ll be the same
all over again!
The darkness returns every night;
the same bystanders
the same cravings
the same obsessions
yet drifted faraway
we battle hard, the two of us
to tear apart the bending claws:
biting our lonely ecstasies.
Empty sounds of nowhere
Unlike the fallen sage
beyond such torrid care
listening through the day
to empty sounds of nowhere!
Through the dying deserts he ran
Where mirage speaks for mirrors,
Within the deepest oasis of hope
men play chess with horrors!
wasted days get blown away
forgotten pains hide in dust
he sips the seas –from sandy goblets
with fingers draw curves of lust!
From one nowhere to another
From one such tale to a myth
that rolls on through wheels of time
cracking fire that burns beneath
The fire which they mistake as pain
the pain they have learned to fear
the fear which walks them through the roads
amidst such empty sounds of nowhere.
beyond such torrid care
listening through the day
to empty sounds of nowhere!
Through the dying deserts he ran
Where mirage speaks for mirrors,
Within the deepest oasis of hope
men play chess with horrors!
wasted days get blown away
forgotten pains hide in dust
he sips the seas –from sandy goblets
with fingers draw curves of lust!
From one nowhere to another
From one such tale to a myth
that rolls on through wheels of time
cracking fire that burns beneath
The fire which they mistake as pain
the pain they have learned to fear
the fear which walks them through the roads
amidst such empty sounds of nowhere.
Technically yours...
ASL .. ASL…..
if you are real PM me
click the blue link to see me naked
click the black link to see me die…!
Yes! Die , my sweetheart..
You’ve heard right,
people die even today
graveyards haven’t closed down yet,
ASL please ,before I am cold:
No BOTS no links.. just speak!
Why don’t they speak?
all tongues locked,
no storm, no blizzard
no chaos on city streets
far away from propaganda:
beyond clasp of tough manifesto…
an erotic loneliness
face the unseeming face;
an ASL away from ecstasy!
if you are real PM me
click the blue link to see me naked
click the black link to see me die…!
Yes! Die , my sweetheart..
You’ve heard right,
people die even today
graveyards haven’t closed down yet,
ASL please ,before I am cold:
No BOTS no links.. just speak!
Why don’t they speak?
all tongues locked,
no storm, no blizzard
no chaos on city streets
far away from propaganda:
beyond clasp of tough manifesto…
an erotic loneliness
face the unseeming face;
an ASL away from ecstasy!
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
15 Park Avenue and we the normal people
With whom to sympathize? The schizophrenic girl, who honestly expresses her innermost refuge, or ourselves? We the breed of normal people , locked in our scores and unable to escape ….satisfying the sullen needs of the surrounding, but dissatisfied within, faraway from the address where we can play and win…
The film leaves us cautious! Are we really tending towards madness? The madness that knocks within us like an awaited stranger waiting to be let in. This madness assumes the other name for relief .The relief that only escape can gift. That is the solution alone. The solution to which the neo-fairytale conclusion of the film leads us. The fairytale like
‘..and they lived happily ever after..’ rings the discord as we are on our way back to the world we understand. The film tells the problem but avoids the solution, they sigh! The ending that would sound more social… the schizophrenic protagonist Mithi being cured by a godsend doctor , a dramatic climax towards the end with Mithi`s low profile lover emerging the hero by smashing all the baddies or at least a tear jerking finish … would have definitely been less frustrating for the first generation multiplex masses ! but, then the compromise would have been dear…
Where did she go? The query is indeed answered and with a poetic caress. The title is itself suggestive- she has reached her destination, 15 Park Avenue. However our skeptic minds confronts another doubt- how can she reach a place which does not exist at all ? she might be crazy enough to enter her fantasy but why are we left confused.. . she just can’t disappear ! that’s where we are fooled, unprepared to follow her yet expecting her within our reasonable framework .
We leave Mithi`s story with a certain longing . Don’t we all have a certain 15 Park Avenue? Where our obsessive dream lives in peace . Yet we can never reach the massive gates and the welcoming chores of that forbidden reality. All our longings remained locked safe from the waves of reason. We are not mad ,are we ? we cant just hallucinate and make the urchins smirk…… obsessions stay safe in their air tight closed system, why meddle at all? We are compromising with that 15 park avenue to establish our sanity . The story needn`t be stretched longer- if the urge is high lets dismiss it as ‘visions of the inward eye… bliss of solitude’ . Wordsworth wasn’t mad after all !
The film leaves us cautious! Are we really tending towards madness? The madness that knocks within us like an awaited stranger waiting to be let in. This madness assumes the other name for relief .The relief that only escape can gift. That is the solution alone. The solution to which the neo-fairytale conclusion of the film leads us. The fairytale like
‘..and they lived happily ever after..’ rings the discord as we are on our way back to the world we understand. The film tells the problem but avoids the solution, they sigh! The ending that would sound more social… the schizophrenic protagonist Mithi being cured by a godsend doctor , a dramatic climax towards the end with Mithi`s low profile lover emerging the hero by smashing all the baddies or at least a tear jerking finish … would have definitely been less frustrating for the first generation multiplex masses ! but, then the compromise would have been dear…
Where did she go? The query is indeed answered and with a poetic caress. The title is itself suggestive- she has reached her destination, 15 Park Avenue. However our skeptic minds confronts another doubt- how can she reach a place which does not exist at all ? she might be crazy enough to enter her fantasy but why are we left confused.. . she just can’t disappear ! that’s where we are fooled, unprepared to follow her yet expecting her within our reasonable framework .
We leave Mithi`s story with a certain longing . Don’t we all have a certain 15 Park Avenue? Where our obsessive dream lives in peace . Yet we can never reach the massive gates and the welcoming chores of that forbidden reality. All our longings remained locked safe from the waves of reason. We are not mad ,are we ? we cant just hallucinate and make the urchins smirk…… obsessions stay safe in their air tight closed system, why meddle at all? We are compromising with that 15 park avenue to establish our sanity . The story needn`t be stretched longer- if the urge is high lets dismiss it as ‘visions of the inward eye… bliss of solitude’ . Wordsworth wasn’t mad after all !
Friday, December 02, 2005
screwed in the local train
today afternoon i went to hell...and back i am sitting down to write. how does it feel when the 2 hour long local train ride goes on for 3 damn hours and another pissed off half? with only stinking hawkers for company ,life gives 2 tight wraps on the face!these sweaty hours with a well groomed pungence shall be remembered whenevr i see a train.ku jhik jhik jhik........the train goes on!
Friday, November 04, 2005
let me get started
it takes a hell lot of time to gather thoughts even when you have the mood to think. lets consider this a bit...freeflow of thought is often stammered by the regulations of expression. if you dress up your thoughts with ornamented know-how you are a notable philosopher, and if your thoughts dont care the damn about the screwing regulations they call you the hopeless poet.....i`d rather plunder like a poet than die a philosophers death.
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