Sauntering in a quagmire...

27/10/2009, Tuesday...

I wrote a line on a page..
I wrote a page on a line..
The line wasn't mine..
so i scribbled that sign..

The words that i tied down..
wanted to be set free..
The lines that i strangled..
wanted to breathe again..

The throes of the nubile words..
The pangs of that scribbling pen..
who under that ornery hand..
blotted the spawning azureness into sand..

Those hands were a little greasy..
That heart was a little queasy..
That carnal stupor of a lunatic waif..
isn't always safe..
that isn't always safe..

I don't know what 've i written and why 've i done that. I don't know if anyone can ever interconnect my sporadic thoughts.I don't know if someone will ever try to. But do i care ?? ... i never did... and i still don't...

Perfunctory quintessence..

18/10/2009, Sunday...

Everyone was in a joyous mood..
Prising were their guts, with 'delicious' food..
as the children play..
gregariousness was on display..

Lights were all around..
The crackers had their sound..
and the rockets, nose-dived to the ground..

The festive night ended..
The vignettes, were all shattered now..
the rambunctious crackers were all dead..
As they lay on the road..
waiting for their autopsy, before the tillage..
and some were lucky to survive the pillage..

Then, in the morning, a boy..
was out on the road, to pick up the pieces..
they call him, a rag picker..
'dirty' and 'dark' was he..
walking through that seething filth sea..

Out of no where, he saw a lucky survivor cracker..
he decided to put it to use..
and blew up its fuse..
As a nearby plant nodded..
the notorious cracker exploded..
That poker's face was replaced by a cute childish one..
That was real happiness..
the one that stems, straight from heaven..

I don't know what 've i written and why 've i done that. I don't know if anyone can ever interconnect my sporadic thoughts.I don't know if someone will ever try to. But do i care ?? ... i never did... and i still don't...
:)

Rakhi Sawant : The Killer Machine..

4/10/2009, Sunday...

Now that you've read what is written above, i must make it clear that it wasn't meant to be ironical, because i wrote it in a matter of fact way. What does that mean ? This means that she really is a killing machine and like a thousand others - who are just like me, who walk, talk and act like me - she does make me go weak in the knees. This was the matter of fact way i was talking about. But the fact of the matter is this - she kills my days when i accidently happen to have a look at her face, or that trademark effrontery of hers, or any of her 'always tactile' publicity stunts and she's been doing that quite consistently for quite some time now. So, she is indeed a killing machine. Every time that fatal accident happens or at times is forced to happen, i go weak in the knees because i feel like bending my knees and puking. So this makes that once in a while retching and frowning, after looking at her, quite normal. Hence that 'killer machine' tag...!

And accidently again i heard somewhere that she's 'hot' and men go weak in their knees when they ogle at the skimpily clad 'sav(w)ant.' She's got everything that a woman can have to turn me off and may be its true for any male homo-sapien who's equipped with even a modicum of rationality. I hope that the 'coy' (bomb)shell, doesn't decimate my edifices again with her (bomb)shells...!

All her polemical moments make me frown..

Into the abyss, i drown..

somebody please, please somebody kick her out of the town...!!

I don't know what 've i written and why 've i done that. I don't know if anyone can ever interconnect my sporadic thoughts.I don't know if someone will ever try to. But do i care ?? ... i never did... and i still don't...

:)