The 7:02 metro..

7/11/2010, Sunday...

The silver coloured, metallic precinct,
pulls away at 7:02 every morning.
Sometimes I let it go,
and sometimes it leaves me behind.

The souls I see over there,
are like famished beasts.
Laconic are their spaces,
and seldom they leave any human traces.

In a race against the ticking clock,
they try to seize time by the forlock.
With a trivial tinge in their voice,
they sing the banal verses
of spontaniety, of choice,
and presciently rejoice.

Flowing in the deluge of ordinariness,
the haggard habitues,
trying hard to do what they are told to,
toil hard, to set foot onto,
the only thing they do impromptu.

That silver coloured, metallic precinct,
pulls away at 7:02 every morning.
Sometimes I let it go,
and sometimes it leaves me behind,
and sometimes like a lyrical lunge,
of an emotionless song,
it takes me along...


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...

A mouthful of deadly life..

11/8/2010, Wednesday...

When the strident creatures were
feeding on the silence,
of a rainy winter night,
he walked past the shadow
of an old groggy lamp-post.

Soaked in an unknown pain,
his face sheltered, long streaks of grime.
Walking along the long road,
to the incognito tunes of those sloshing drops of rain,
swallowing heavily,
he tried to free himself
from the grasp of a sacrosanct chain.

Along that long road,
in the proximity of a crossroad,
and under the only sky star,
there was a baptismal public bar.

There, the cult of happy men,
celebrated the ethereal felicity
of a fluid substance.

His mug was filled to the brim,
they say, he drank all of it and
died in a following strife.

"He used to drink too much", they said,
too much of a fluid substance,
a fluid substance, they called life.


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...

A watery eyed dreamer..

5/5/2010, Wednesday..


When the remains of the dawned sun,
that now shone on the other side,
were engendering perfunctory glances,
a cloud skipped past
the cemetery bound light.

The wind, being a dab at whispering,
dabbed the tympanum of his deaf ears,
re-kindling his relapse,
into the relegated slumber,
of a wistful relict.

The clemency on his inside's outside
had a devious premonition.
The old yellow annals of his past life
were flipping past.

With some contingent cargo, loaded
in his sack
and with very little prescience
on his back,
with tactile libidos and
and tacit dreams
gunning down his sense of being,
that notoriously halcyonic reality
slaked itself on his vitality.

In a moment that came and went,
a tear trickled down
his eyes like a gleam,
as the watery eyed dreamer,
dreamt of his dream..


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...

White..

19/3/2010, Friday...

A newborn is draped in it
and so is a departing soul.
A fairy adorns it
and sometimes even a feary ghoul.

Is White a colour ?
or is it an absence of it ?

It's a microcosm of the gritty truth
and even covers up a groggy lie.
It is for the down-trodden
and even for perfidious snobs.

Is White a colour ?
or is it an absence of it ?

With some colours of temperence
mixed with some hue of indulgence,
With some bold colours
mixed with some coy hue
And with some colours of joy
mixed with some hue of a cry..

Is White a colour ?
or is it an absence of it ?

Is White a colour ?
or is it an absence of it ?

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...

A Reservationary Revolution...

11/3/2010, Thursday...

In the past few days I came across some of these words/phrases like 'holding the democracy to ransom', 'empowerment', 'enlightenment', etc, etc, etc. once too often. All these celestial words were being thrown around by the media in context to the Women's Reservation Bill.

With a plethora of reservations already in place and with some knocking on the doors , reservation, quantitatively ofcourse but even qualitatively, is big in our country. We are a country where the Chief Justice of the apex court belongs to a 'scheduled caste'( something to be proud of ? maybe yes.. ) and where his children are still very much entitled for all the reservations (which our constitution 'reserves' for people who are backward) that'll help them climb up the acclivity. But then you can't do much about it. The cornucopia of parliamentary gluttons have been working all the way for the welfare of the backward classes. Haven't they ??

I don't really understand the gung-ho relating to the Women's Resevation Bill. I kinda find this bill on reservation, the least to go mad about. I mean there cannot be any harm in allocating some seats to women where they aren't being represented commensurately. Although, all this reservation's gonna do is bring in some more Rabri Devis into politics and with almost every gold-digger politician being a happily married man, there's nothing that this bill can do to turn the tide on its head. But atleast it 'sounds' somewhat reformative to the core.

But then Mr. Mulayam Singh Yadav( i kinda find his name quite funny) and the ever so, 'apparently', amoral Mr. Lalu Prasad Yadav, are vehemently opposing this bill and some of their MPs held 'the democracy to ransom' a couple of days back. I saw them holding 'the democracy to ransom' with their hands on TV. It was farcical to say the least. Last week I heard Mr. Lalu telling the media that he was opposing the bill because it would be a sacrifice with the quality of the parliamentarians. Quality my foot, as if they are any better today, and you can bet a million bucks that it won't be worse after the bill is passed. But a couple of days later the two Yadavs were demanding that the reservation should be given to backward women and muslim women and if the government made the relevant changes they'll support the bill. That was like politicians, I must say, taking a U turn all of a sudden, having a change of mind and turning it inside out overnight and all that for the welfare and empowerment of 'backward' women! This altruistic suffragism almost killed me!
These MPs who held 'the democracy to ransom' were 'physically' removed from the upper house of the parliament, and rightly so.

Wish we could 'physically' remove all of them and put some quality in over there.


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...

The night is setting in..

5/2/2010, Friday...

The night is setting in,
grappling with,
the day that was
and prising
the day that will be..

The tickings of time,
are changing gears,
entering inside those ears
and bypassing those eyes.

Outside that door of yours,
a creeper might be creeping up..
desperate to feed on some life
or running from some unsatisfied hungry knife..

The old watchman,
with the weight of his past
on his drooping shoulders,
walks past,
a heap of boulders.
The shadow of the watchman
remained on none, but one,
the one lying at the bottom of the heap,
the one that’ll go under the grinder first,
and the one that’ll die cheap..

Beyond the horizon,
in those higher echelons,
right there,
something is changing..

The night is setting in..
The night is setting in..

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...

Some grass in some grass...

29/1/2010, Friday...

Squatting by the fire,
with my base on an old scooter tyre,
in a lonely winter night,
I long for some grass in this grass,
some, to levitate, this paramour body
and some for my eerie grey mass
that masters all of my fracas.

The seconds inside that tick-tock,
are swirling and running a race.
"You are a disgrace..."
they yell, on my face.
I wistfully wish,
I could kill 'time' to death,
but then, only my next breath
reminds me of my immortal mortalness
and of my mortgaged life,
a better half of which,
i lost in an amicable strife..

Somewhere in the silence of this night,
lies a loud trance.

I long for some grass,
some for this paramour body
and some for my eerie grey mass..


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...

An errand..

25/1/2010, Monday...

In a shivering cold night,
with the moon shining bright,
my shadow started pulling away from me..
Along with it, I was dragged..
I tried hard to catch up,
but the pace was just too fast
and I didn’t have it in me to last..

I looked at my shadow,
but it didn’t look back at me
and I kept looking at it,
all along the transit.
Swathed in some tears and some sweat,
I was running out of breath..

A dusky dawn came with a dagger
and bludgeoned the shadow,
with that hallowed ‘serene’ swagger.

I collapsed then and there.
As I lay in a pool of ‘comfortably soft’ marshy mud,
my heart stopped beating the leftover blood.

Some sages picked up my carcass
and arranged for my funeral..
The pyre was ready
and so was the fire..
After the firework started,
the sages departed.

Along came another shivering cold night,
With the moon shining bright..
My shadow was still there,
and with an air of panache,
it watched the firework in that ‘fair’.

The rising dark of the night,
intoxicated my shadow
and on it went, meandering in the meadow..
That ‘cold air’ of panache, started flowing,
engulfing the glowing pyre
and stabbing the growing fire.

On came another dusky dawn
and on came the sages.

My corpse was still there.

The west wind came and brought with it,
a few blank pages.
The wisest of the sages,
read the mystery of those blank pages.
Pointing towards my corpse that lain,
he said,
" he’ll breathe once again.. "
.

.
I’ll breathe once again…

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...

An inanimate animation...

20/1/2010, Wednesday...

In a well ventilated room,
a soul hyperventilated..
Shadows of the past were dark..
No hue in some..
and some were bloodily stark..

A naked wire hung from a nail..
The nail was frail
and the wire had started to stale.
A mellow spider was there..
with some legs resting on a blank paper..
and some on a paper-man,
cut out with a rusted pair of scissors..
A few words were inked,
on this inanimate man form,
that read : Rider on the storm..

Time, after a beguiling pause,
started ticking, for an impending cause..
On that eight legged mortal..
the tickings started to chortle..

A few white-wash flakes,
came crashing to the floor
and disturbed that ever lasting silenced roar..
Some flakes crashed onto the spider
and slaked their thirst,
with the life of that storm rider..
with the life of that storm rider..


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...

Just a puerile scrounge...

11/1/2010, Monday...

If you looked at me and smiled..
and if i did the same..
If you sang a litany of problems to me..
and if i did the same..
If the stigmata of 'something' was too deep..
'something' that made those litanies look cheap..
'something' that made you and me weep..

An eleventh finger to wipe my tears..
and an eleventh finger to wipe yours..
A "Juan Mann" for you to hug..
and a "Juan Mann" for me too..
A shoulder for you to rest..
and a place for my head too..

If....
If that 'something' made us crooning cronies..
If that 'something' was friendship..
and if you and me were friends..
The world, with all the mundane space,
would've been a better place,
to live in..
and an even better place,
to die for...
:)


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...

An inundated drought...

6/1/2010, Wednesday...

On a seething street of an old city..
a lonely heart, subsisting on his levity..
walked through the gregarious crowd..
with his inside, draped in a shroud..

Illuminated by the brightest sunshine,
and embellished with phony looks..
All the chapters of that book..
were printed in black..
All the strings of that guitar..
were temporally slack..

A thousand eyes he looked into..
A thousand eyes looked into his..
Those iridescent glances, in the human fair..
ended up as an insipid affair..

With some blots on his soul,
a consciousness, with some unpaid toll
and, with a phlegmatic demeanour,
of a forlorn lunatic,
that desultory heart - dark and stark..
left without leaving any mark..
.......without leaving any mark......


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...

Tacit Tenaciousness...

1/1/2010, Friday...

Around a decade ago,
In a corner of my heart,
something started ticking with a low frequency.
While some brushed it off as a contingency,
some called it as a juvenile delinquency..

The pedagogues couldn't correct me,
the expoundings never worked
and the chastenings got chucked.
But somewhere on the outside of my inside,
the spectre of 'utopia' grew heavy
and engulfed me into its frigid sodden exhaustions
and i started walking to the tunes,
of some unknown piper's illusionary notions..

The 'tickings' inside my heart went on,
and the frequency kept decreasing.
I was running out of batteries,
but still kept buying those insidious lotteries..

The 'radiant' grocery stores sell them still,
but i've stopped splashing my leftover cash..

Around a decade ago,
In a corner of my heart,
something started ticking with a low frequency.
While some brushed it off as a contingency,
some called it as a juvenile delinquency..
I didn't get it back then,
and let it flow with the stream.
But now i know what it was,
and i can smell the sublime steam,
emanating from my dream.
It was my dream..
............my dream...


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...