Purge!

You want to pour your words on a canvas with brushes and hues,
or drain them down somewhere like tears blending with raindrops,
or sweat them out slam dunking the basket for hours…

but you don’t let out words in the shape of words… you are afraid the instant you write, speak or spit them out – those words – they will no more belong to you!

They sublimate -
into memories and brush you like soft breeze occasionally
into pieces of shattered glass hurting many-a-somebody
in moments of nonchalant silences, forewarning of cyclone, fiction, adrenaline, chances and choices……

Speak... And you don’t possess the patent of your expressions any longer;

but you can’t hoard them…
because you yearn for the rendezvous with epiphanies

and if you do pile them up,
you craft melancholies!

Burn

Keep the fire within burning
to cast the molds of many rebels
Awaits an incessant uprising

Smolder your spirit
until untainted victory
Aye calloused hearts!
What shall arouse thou?
Dead fetuses?
A nation split in parts?

Slaughter the apathy
Let the wounds bleed

Do not burn the candles
it’s too late
burn like a flame
for smoke to infiltrate
closed doors and hearts….

Pellets of gunpowder

Bullets never know why they are fired
They are just spurted out
They know the accuracy and the speed
They know how to rip apart the tissues they seize

The zinc alloys just blend with the blood vessels
They are indeed loyal to their purpose

But the fingers that triggers those bullets
feel the surge of their arteries within!
May be, the face that belongs to the fingers is colourless.

But the bullets are shot nonetheless,
urging a nonchalant and irrational rebellion to believe
their cause is served…

But when scruples prick even death is appalling!
And so prolongs the game of real and feigned self- treachery….

Rain on me

It was still raining...those were the days...
Do you recall?
...splashes and paper boats
...bright umbrellas and raincoats.

Those earnest prayers..
...that school roofs should leak
...for one more chance a lover could seek.

Those sweet nothings...
...of feeling the high tide
...getting drenched with arms opened wide.

Those days of...
...a football and a wet ground
...quenched green fields making that whooshing sound

Do you still...
...catch the raindrops in your palms?
...And feel the steam from a hot cup of tea on your face?

********

It’s still raining..I know u can feel...
...raindrops tapping on closed windows and doors
...drops falling from your eyes to be one with the downpour.

But did you listen...?

..when it was still raining..
..rivers were furious
..dams were broken
..some were dislocated
…..some disappeared.

An insane hurricane had swept away every other resonance…
but I have saved many moments….

Do you hear me now?

Thought Process: Two

For one last time, they held each other’s glance a little longer. Then they parted – the best of adversaries. One was a prisoner of war and the other was a victim of peace.

***************

He fought… may be in the best way he could and with the only attack he knew. Alas! He was unprepared… not for a riposte but for an impenetrable defense.

In the end, it was all there, deep within his mind.

I wished it could have been spilled but it was wasted.

***************

She dreamed of a perfect world and a perfect hero to emulate. She heard their stories – of those struggling in obscure glories... and whose heroic deeds were never recounted ...but she could find no benchmark.

So she decided to be her own hero. She believed if it could be imagined it could be achieved in spite of the laws of physics and life.

..Of some frailties

Like a warrior on a battlefront
whose body and mind are in a cacophony….
the infinity inside her veins and mind
feel in sync with his every move….

His wounds
…bleeding, black and blue, soiled
…emerging from the skin’s barrier.

Her cuts and gashes
…do not bleed,
… impervious to the weathered will.

Like a lunatic lover’s yearning for the return of her soul-mate,
her dents keep waiting like a fetes crawled in every inside.

Like an inaccessible fence she may seem.
Or may be she is porous, broken, rusted….

But her wounds never bleed.
And so they NEVER heal.

Wish List

The light of fireflies
Vagabonding
Room
Verb
Love
Flowers
Poet
Smiles
Dancing partner
Hours and Minutes
Navy blue canopy of a starlit sky
Moonrise at a horizon
Morning Dew
Blue
Smelling earth after drizzle
Solitude
Open roads
White noise
Chimes
Flying kites

Puma shoes
Hot shower after a tiring game
Dreams
Target boards
Composure
Velocity
Ability to run 100m in 9 seconds
Podium heights

Cliffhanging
Ascending Himalayas
Skiing in Vienna
Snowfall at St. Petersburg
My motorcycle diaries
World trotting
Reading newspaper over Dead Sea
Backpacking through rural India

Attention
Attention span
Liberty from redundant advice and labels

80 GB music
Well cooked food everyday
Freedom from acne
Stronger mint
Steaming hot pasta
Spinach
Mint and lemon tea

Colours and paint brushes
Canvas

1000 rupee notes

Longer nights

Leading a revolution


(More to follow...)

When a dream is fulfilled it withers.
And if a dream is incomplete the spirit splinters.

Here and There: Three

With or without the morning rays, every single day he rises from his somnolence with a penchant for a dream; the dream to change the world.

And every calendar day, the world changes him bit by bit. Both never let go of each other. Finally, on a quaint dusk, he decides that he should change himself. There are breaks and jolts at every drop of tranquil thought in the process. Life sets a rendezvous for him with the choice; a choice between sanity and insanity.

Sanity will throw him in the current. He will drift and he will be merry… may be. He will adapt- or so many others in the current may believe. Insanity will keep alive his illusion of molding the world….

By random chances, I meet HIM everyday at every turn of the alley.

Random Moods: Part Two

In a circle there sat some figures facing each other
The circle felt it was a square - closed, and of a rigid cast
The figures spoke with their mouths and never with the eyes
So many sounds, but none of them echoed.
The decibels grew higher…till words became noise
Meanings turned redundant
Nods and agreement a facade
And slowly then, they started wearing their invisible masks of indifference.
They trampled the anthill that they had erected in some lost past
Thoughts did somersaults
Opinions grew around just like weed....


The ‘I’s and ‘We’s got intertwined
And so did altruism and capitalism.
And some slogans were heard ….
None could tell if they were pleas for love or war cries
Narcissus' reflection blurred….
No benchmarks for perfection were yearned for ....


There was a thud!
Love lost and so did hatred…
The senses were slain
History repeated! History won!
Now, everything was numb.

(Shade of this mood: opinionated)