The red speck in the evening sky slid between the hills.
The tilted wine glass promises somewhere near.
While lonesome mothers struggled to pay their bills,
The children of the night shed no tear.
Less a pouring wine glass and more a raised sickle,
With both we seek and pursue the resolve to rebel
Against the watery eyes' trickle, a matter of pride
And against the state's oppression, a piercing decibel.
"Won't you cease to see that sign, son, and think once for yourself.
Notice a certain leeway, the incentive to run?
The reflection in the water is not what holds my eye.
I've seen too many fishes who've fallen for the bait."
Monday, October 31, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
Spider
Caught in his own masterpiece spiderweb of play,
The hunter cried foul.
"The sticky strings that once fetched food,
the geckos now tread with their tongues stretched out.
Territorial disputes have I none,
just a couple of foes in the corner of the room.
Looks to me its time I left,
Straight to the center of my empire.
The ceiling fan, there, flourishes in its reign.
Could mean the end or a cobweb of glory.
If the end, I wouldn't feel sorry.
Just another martyr in the age old battle.
Or, worse, in history's tablets an intentional mistake."
24 hours since his realization,
Yet he's still stuck in his spiderweb.
The hunter cried foul.
"The sticky strings that once fetched food,
the geckos now tread with their tongues stretched out.
Territorial disputes have I none,
just a couple of foes in the corner of the room.
Looks to me its time I left,
Straight to the center of my empire.
The ceiling fan, there, flourishes in its reign.
Could mean the end or a cobweb of glory.
If the end, I wouldn't feel sorry.
Just another martyr in the age old battle.
Or, worse, in history's tablets an intentional mistake."
24 hours since his realization,
Yet he's still stuck in his spiderweb.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Sparks
Fire neurons like firecrackers in the night sky
Light a jeweled flame, A jubilant thought.
To dissuade all Fascists who want to shut minds
A dialogue between two specks in the sky.
A man-made masterpiece or a passing meteor,
Who cares as long as it lights up the night.
The sound's too loud for a sleeping man's taste
But he got to rise now for the punk's at work.
Stuck in the jar the fireflies danced
Until the watcher tightened the lid.
Exchanged for greens, the fireflies lie
Two lost insects in esoteric charm.
Light a jeweled flame, A jubilant thought.
To dissuade all Fascists who want to shut minds
A dialogue between two specks in the sky.
A man-made masterpiece or a passing meteor,
Who cares as long as it lights up the night.
The sound's too loud for a sleeping man's taste
But he got to rise now for the punk's at work.
Stuck in the jar the fireflies danced
Until the watcher tightened the lid.
Exchanged for greens, the fireflies lie
Two lost insects in esoteric charm.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Sorites Paradox
A thousand grains of sand is a heap.
A thousand grains of sand minus one is still a heap.
A thousand grains of sand minus two is still a heap...
.
.
.
A thousand grains of sand minus nine hundred and ninety nine is still a heap?
If it's not, when did the heap become not a heap?
When did the nature of those sentences become interrogative?
A thousand grains of sand minus one is still a heap.
A thousand grains of sand minus two is still a heap...
.
.
.
A thousand grains of sand minus nine hundred and ninety nine is still a heap?
If it's not, when did the heap become not a heap?
When did the nature of those sentences become interrogative?
Saturday, May 9, 2009
The man who shared the basement with mice at Number 5, Paper colony
He opened the door and stepped in. As usual he had forgotten to switch on the lights and hence stepped on one of the many mice that ran around on the basements of Number 5, Paper colony. He struggled to his desk, still not caring enough to switch on the lights, and pressed a blinking blue light in the corner of the desk and the computer screen lit up. The light from the screen revealed the room in its complete glory.
Newspapers from the past two years were strewn all over the floor. A portrait of Mahatma Gandhi hung on the wall, with reminders and notes written all over it. Cigarette butts, roaches, empty beer bottles filled the rest of the space on the floor. If there is paradise on earth this is it. Perfect isolation.
"Does anybody here remember Vera Lynn?" The clump of electronic circuits packed into his computer's CPU sang out to him,"Remember how she said that we would meet again
Some sunny day?" He sank into the music and into his seat, leaned back, tilted his head to the left and closed his eyes in holy drunkenness.
He took a cigarette from his pocket and started to look for a light. On the floor, filth and dust, on his mind that sudden gush of smoke from the end of the cigarette. But all he could see was the worn out exposed cement of the pavement. He closed his eyes so that he could see again. Bright yellow, green, red and purple swimming in circles, as if caught in a whirlpool, for a moment he thought he was looking into the computer. He walked to a pan shop and lit his cigarette, leaving behind him trails of bright yellow, green, red and purple. He walked back meticulously trying to walk straight. Ten steps further he sat down on the side of the pavement. An old car, painfully ugly stopped in front of him. Two men got down from either side of the car, held him by his arms and put him in the rear seat of the car. They closed the doors, got in the car themselves and started to drive. Slowly, characteristic of old men with cataract. "Where were you yesterday, the day before and the day before that? Whats happening with the project proposal? Have you even started to think about it? Let me remind you that you have been on leave half of this month and now you're starting that absence streak again. Would you care to explain young man?" The old man in the passenger seat in front spoke.
"The seat is really dirty. Its covered in fungus. You ought to clean it Mr Patel. You can get it done at any car service station. Or you could vacuum clean it. It would turn out to be cheaper. I would have been glad to let you borrow my vacuum cleaner if I owned one." He replied. Hearing this the man, who was busy driving till now, slammed the brake hard intending to bring the car to a screeching halt. The car stopped peacefully. "And what about your homework? Its been six weeks in fourth grade and you still cant count" he spoke," Forget that, you cant even frame a meaningful sentence.Your grammar is pathetic. And by the way I dont think you can even spell the word 'grammar'. You..." The driver of the car looked in awe, gulped down the disrespect he just witnessed. The person at the rear of the car jumped out of the car into some deep void. An endless void.
"Vera! Vera! What has become of you? Does anybody else here feel the way I do?"
He opened his eyes as a newspaper flung from a newspaper boy's hand slammed against the door. He got up from the chair and opened the door to see morning.
Newspapers from the past two years were strewn all over the floor. A portrait of Mahatma Gandhi hung on the wall, with reminders and notes written all over it. Cigarette butts, roaches, empty beer bottles filled the rest of the space on the floor. If there is paradise on earth this is it. Perfect isolation.
"Does anybody here remember Vera Lynn?" The clump of electronic circuits packed into his computer's CPU sang out to him,"Remember how she said that we would meet again
Some sunny day?" He sank into the music and into his seat, leaned back, tilted his head to the left and closed his eyes in holy drunkenness.
He took a cigarette from his pocket and started to look for a light. On the floor, filth and dust, on his mind that sudden gush of smoke from the end of the cigarette. But all he could see was the worn out exposed cement of the pavement. He closed his eyes so that he could see again. Bright yellow, green, red and purple swimming in circles, as if caught in a whirlpool, for a moment he thought he was looking into the computer. He walked to a pan shop and lit his cigarette, leaving behind him trails of bright yellow, green, red and purple. He walked back meticulously trying to walk straight. Ten steps further he sat down on the side of the pavement. An old car, painfully ugly stopped in front of him. Two men got down from either side of the car, held him by his arms and put him in the rear seat of the car. They closed the doors, got in the car themselves and started to drive. Slowly, characteristic of old men with cataract. "Where were you yesterday, the day before and the day before that? Whats happening with the project proposal? Have you even started to think about it? Let me remind you that you have been on leave half of this month and now you're starting that absence streak again. Would you care to explain young man?" The old man in the passenger seat in front spoke.
"The seat is really dirty. Its covered in fungus. You ought to clean it Mr Patel. You can get it done at any car service station. Or you could vacuum clean it. It would turn out to be cheaper. I would have been glad to let you borrow my vacuum cleaner if I owned one." He replied. Hearing this the man, who was busy driving till now, slammed the brake hard intending to bring the car to a screeching halt. The car stopped peacefully. "And what about your homework? Its been six weeks in fourth grade and you still cant count" he spoke," Forget that, you cant even frame a meaningful sentence.Your grammar is pathetic. And by the way I dont think you can even spell the word 'grammar'. You..." The driver of the car looked in awe, gulped down the disrespect he just witnessed. The person at the rear of the car jumped out of the car into some deep void. An endless void.
"Vera! Vera! What has become of you? Does anybody else here feel the way I do?"
He opened his eyes as a newspaper flung from a newspaper boy's hand slammed against the door. He got up from the chair and opened the door to see morning.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Pregnant Images
Tell me your thoughts.
Let me swim into you
The abandoned waters of an unseen island.
Whisper them.
Don't move away.
Until am in you, you in me.
Conglomerate of isolated existences.
Fade in.
Touch the core.
Let me feel you.
Breakaway from societal insanity.
Lights off.
Freeze time.
Let you bleed.
Horizons within the sphere.
Pregnant images.
Cheers to Aldous Huxley and the Doors of Perception that inspired me to write this.
Let me swim into you
The abandoned waters of an unseen island.
Whisper them.
Don't move away.
Until am in you, you in me.
Conglomerate of isolated existences.
Fade in.
Touch the core.
Let me feel you.
Breakaway from societal insanity.
Lights off.
Freeze time.
Let you bleed.
Horizons within the sphere.
Pregnant images.
Cheers to Aldous Huxley and the Doors of Perception that inspired me to write this.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Hammering morality
A knife slash on a biological knot
Ending nine months of painful feast.
A drop of blood that began my reality.
Cared, pampered, silver spoon spoilt.
Warped reality, alluring illusions.
Wrapped in a warm moral blanket,
Sheltered in a house of mirrors.
Images of self, sparking the future.
Home made plans, ruminant headaches.
All-commanding mirrors force control
On a young child's stomach and mind,
On a young man's stubble and cock,
On a labourer's sweat and alliance,
On an old man's story and grave.
I gathered courage, hammered my way.
Eventuated googol bits of shattered glass.
Images of self all around me.
Past, present, future, history.
Truth silently hid in smoke.
A dozen silly untold lies haunted.
Hours of regret for my broken home.
Hours of guilt for evaporated sweat.
Hours of morbid self-realisation.
As I lie amid those broken bits,
Involuntary wit of my hands conjured
A collage of my past adventures.
A hundred eyes of mine disillusioned.
Some reflective, some plain lost.
A hundred faces of mine reborn.
Some sad, some with grinding teeth.
A hundred arms of mine reached for me.
Some strong, some with veins that bled.
Brimming with remorse, disheartened
Sought refuge among those bits.
Just another piece of glass
Still large enough to be broken.
Ending nine months of painful feast.
A drop of blood that began my reality.
Cared, pampered, silver spoon spoilt.
Warped reality, alluring illusions.
Wrapped in a warm moral blanket,
Sheltered in a house of mirrors.
Images of self, sparking the future.
Home made plans, ruminant headaches.
All-commanding mirrors force control
On a young child's stomach and mind,
On a young man's stubble and cock,
On a labourer's sweat and alliance,
On an old man's story and grave.
I gathered courage, hammered my way.
Eventuated googol bits of shattered glass.
Images of self all around me.
Past, present, future, history.
Truth silently hid in smoke.
A dozen silly untold lies haunted.
Hours of regret for my broken home.
Hours of guilt for evaporated sweat.
Hours of morbid self-realisation.
As I lie amid those broken bits,
Involuntary wit of my hands conjured
A collage of my past adventures.
A hundred eyes of mine disillusioned.
Some reflective, some plain lost.
A hundred faces of mine reborn.
Some sad, some with grinding teeth.
A hundred arms of mine reached for me.
Some strong, some with veins that bled.
Brimming with remorse, disheartened
Sought refuge among those bits.
Just another piece of glass
Still large enough to be broken.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
The Army man
Razor edged salutes
Aviator stares
Leather boot footprints
chromed metal belt buckles
Stars on your shoulder
Pride in your eyes
Fat men eating your meal
Dead friends haunting at night
Mother waiting for the phone ring
You waiting for that destined bullet.
Aviator stares
Leather boot footprints
chromed metal belt buckles
Stars on your shoulder
Pride in your eyes
Fat men eating your meal
Dead friends haunting at night
Mother waiting for the phone ring
You waiting for that destined bullet.
Friday, May 23, 2008
?
You cant drink the honey, honey
If you want to roam the distance.
Go around in circles, circles, circles..
And more circles..
When you're done with that shopping spree..
Buying soap and toothpaste and dirt
Drinking whiskey, wine, detergent
And all those bright yellow freebies..
Trading someone else's bills
For yet another can of adrenaline rush
Hush hush hush..
Dont speak a word..
If you want to SHUT UP!!!
If you want to roam the distance.
Go around in circles, circles, circles..
And more circles..
When you're done with that shopping spree..
Buying soap and toothpaste and dirt
Drinking whiskey, wine, detergent
And all those bright yellow freebies..
Trading someone else's bills
For yet another can of adrenaline rush
Hush hush hush..
Dont speak a word..
If you want to SHUT UP!!!
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Bolt
As smoke cleared
Revealing brown eyes
As alcohol haze subdued
to dreamy silence
As sunshine faded
To a peaceful night
As momentary madness
turned radical
A bolt unexpected
Cleared the audience.
Revealing brown eyes
As alcohol haze subdued
to dreamy silence
As sunshine faded
To a peaceful night
As momentary madness
turned radical
A bolt unexpected
Cleared the audience.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Promises
Wealth, the moments stagnant
Capital, the breed is pregnant
Money,the stream's buoyant
Credit, your foe not hope
Debit, the signs unseen.
Promises, you don't know them.
Capital, the breed is pregnant
Money,the stream's buoyant
Credit, your foe not hope
Debit, the signs unseen.
Promises, you don't know them.
Pool, Pills, Blue
Fill the pool
Now the pills
Count me in
Push me in
Drown to death
Banish breath
Never see the land
Just deep blue
Now the pills
Count me in
Push me in
Drown to death
Banish breath
Never see the land
Just deep blue
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
The bridge made of matches
Seemed a stack of matches.
Tied together by an unseen thread,
They floated above a flowing stream.
The bridge that was two languages.
Matches indeed those logs that joined,
A moment's shine, an hour's char,
And nobodies till the end of time.
Drooping words after a day's slogging
A non-existent dialog among dialects.
Start the dialog and try walking
See if it'll stand or fall.
Tied together by an unseen thread,
They floated above a flowing stream.
The bridge that was two languages.
Matches indeed those logs that joined,
A moment's shine, an hour's char,
And nobodies till the end of time.
Drooping words after a day's slogging
A non-existent dialog among dialects.
Start the dialog and try walking
See if it'll stand or fall.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Home Alone
A splash of water on my face.
A face in the mirror staring at me.
A few marks of wet feet on the red floor.
A couple of razor blade cuts on my chin.
Toothpaste smell hiding tobacco stench.
Watching TV as amma cooked and left.
An endless wait for the newspaperboy.
Cricket, murder, politics in the ears.
Comprehending whats good in the news.
A couple of women reading out.
About who killed whom and who's seeing whom.
When done with those dosas for good
Dozing off home alone.
A face in the mirror staring at me.
A few marks of wet feet on the red floor.
A couple of razor blade cuts on my chin.
Toothpaste smell hiding tobacco stench.
Watching TV as amma cooked and left.
An endless wait for the newspaperboy.
Cricket, murder, politics in the ears.
Comprehending whats good in the news.
A couple of women reading out.
About who killed whom and who's seeing whom.
When done with those dosas for good
Dozing off home alone.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
The joker my mother cant see
Sipping in those cups of tea
Fueling the burns inside me again,
Sucking in some smoke from a cigarette
Clearing those worms from my brain,
A joker with smeared make up is smiling inside.
Holding onto a parachute
He floats around in my brain.
Mocking those war-cries
Trading his blood for smile.
Evading those missiles from foes
Taking refuge in a circus tent.
Amusing all those kids in there
With his blood-red lips.
Trusting that thick canvas canopy
That hides me from my mother's eyes.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
An Exotic Poison
When bound to that Reality Foundation
When they drool over plucked flowers and killed birds
I would go hitchhiking to the turbulent
The travails of the lost, the rhetorics of the unconscious.
Scrutinizing the timekeeper and his monumental years.
Into the intoxicating absentia of spastic morality.
Unadulterated by passive reality
An exuberant charm of an exotic poison.
When they drool over plucked flowers and killed birds
I would go hitchhiking to the turbulent
The travails of the lost, the rhetorics of the unconscious.
Scrutinizing the timekeeper and his monumental years.
Into the intoxicating absentia of spastic morality.
Unadulterated by passive reality
An exuberant charm of an exotic poison.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Monochrome Depression
Would you even shiver
When I fall from this pinnacle of ecstasy
To the pulsating ocean of thought?
Would you dab a paintbrush at me
When I fade away to monochrome depression
With a bleeding throat in a monster's hands?
Would you even bat an eyelid
When I shine flashlights at you in despair
Scared to dare the haunting dark?
Would you even speculate
What runs inside of me?
Whats burning my imprisoned times?
Typhoons craving and wailing in here?
The prospect of my grave so soon?
When I fall from this pinnacle of ecstasy
To the pulsating ocean of thought?
Would you dab a paintbrush at me
When I fade away to monochrome depression
With a bleeding throat in a monster's hands?
Would you even bat an eyelid
When I shine flashlights at you in despair
Scared to dare the haunting dark?
Would you even speculate
What runs inside of me?
Whats burning my imprisoned times?
Typhoons craving and wailing in here?
The prospect of my grave so soon?
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Ambiguity
Products. These are what I am supposed to design. Things that will be used by a target set of consumers. So I will be designing cars, mixers, grinders, phones and all that for a target group, giving them form that pleases my audience, complies to their body measurements, reflecting their personalities. But who am I designing for? A bunch of people who believe that the purpose of life is to just mechanically work and enjoy the remuneration for whom products are something they can live without but think they cant? Or for people who need design but are not able to pay as they cant remunerate designers who are already addicted to the bourgeoise? I'd rather go for the latter since I am nobody and nobody according to the puppeteer is allowed to rebel against him. So 3 years down the lane, will I be still thinking the same? I dont think so. Because by then I will be somebody and somebody or the other is always there to cater to the flamboyancy of the so-called "elite design world". This thought continues to linger in my mind and I wish i was this crazy visual communication person who made films that made sense to me(nobody)and not everybody.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Nobody
c/o No one
Nowhere street
October 8th, 2007
Puppeteer
Head of the Department,
Society
Respected Son-of-a-bitch,
Sub: Response to your response to my behaviour in the society
This is in response to your response to my behaviour in the domain that fortunately or unfortunately falls under your control. Myself, Nobody, has been accused of unruly behaviour in the above mentioned domain. It is true that I had recieved a letter from an authority whom you have appointed, accusing me of having disrupted the peace of his domain and also threatening a fellow community member(Name not mentioned as I cannot pronounce motherfucker properly). With regards to this I had written an explanation, conveying my ignorance, innocence and untidiness, complying to all international and national standards of formal letter writing. The matter was dissolved sometime back when I agreed to allow intruders in an area which I thought to be my domain( which unfortunately happens to belong just to you).
The one who must not be named had a tough time after, with the intruder refusing to intrude the above mentioned space and also to vacate the earlier space. This action of the intruder(or the extruder if you have a different point of view) is totally his decision and has in no way been influenced by my ideologies and idiosyncrasies.
This brings me to my character in the web domain( which I assume you have disowned). This character did disturb the peace of the community at one point of time when he protested against a family member of his, Anonymous(gender not yet unravelled), being ousted from a certain community, which happens to be owned by a very respectable person. This was just an excuse to use words that appealed to your own society like fuck off, unclefucker, motherfucker, bastard etc. I had apologised to this "savage" act of mine later. I take this opportunity to apologise for this attitude of mine once again.
There has been only one more incident in the recent past, in which I disrupted "peace", although this time I happened to have hurt the sentiments of just one person. I happened to chat through that person's gmail account to a person who had the same name as mine(nobody). I must agree that both of us seemed to have a very enjoyable(read pissing off) time. Then after a couple of hours I happened to have a conversation with the original owner of the gmail account, during which the person happened to say,"Its me. Now the other person" even though the person intended to say"Its me. Not the other person". I do remember I had politely asked him/her to either go screw his/herself or to go and give a blowjob to the mess guy's gaslighter. I again did apologise to my alias as well as the owner of the account. But there was no reply. I request your highness to order the owner to send a reply.
These three incidents had occured due to three independent momentary lapses of reason and I strongly state that this was the result of intuition and in no way that of analysis. I do agree, that as a designer, I should have given equal weightage to both. I believe that the mere fact that I have analysed all the three incidents in detail, even though late,is as good as any other excuse to be pardoned for the nth time. If you refuse to do so, I proclaim myself an outcaste from this domain of yours, called the society, because I find myself thinking, speaking, writing and doing things that in no way comply to the society's standards very often. Hence, the power to decide whether this letter should be regarded as an apology, or an explanation or a resignation letter remains entirely in your hands.
PS: Sarcasm and puns intended in certain parts of the letter.
The feasibility of being a self-proclaiming oneself has been experimented with and proved to be effective during the test run which began at 19:25 hrs, October 8th to 21:00 hrs, October 8th and hence any attempts to test my willpower will be strongly condemned.
Yours faithfully
Nobody
Outcaste Trainee
c/o No one
Nowhere street
October 8th, 2007
Puppeteer
Head of the Department,
Society
Respected Son-of-a-bitch,
Sub: Response to your response to my behaviour in the society
This is in response to your response to my behaviour in the domain that fortunately or unfortunately falls under your control. Myself, Nobody, has been accused of unruly behaviour in the above mentioned domain. It is true that I had recieved a letter from an authority whom you have appointed, accusing me of having disrupted the peace of his domain and also threatening a fellow community member(Name not mentioned as I cannot pronounce motherfucker properly). With regards to this I had written an explanation, conveying my ignorance, innocence and untidiness, complying to all international and national standards of formal letter writing. The matter was dissolved sometime back when I agreed to allow intruders in an area which I thought to be my domain( which unfortunately happens to belong just to you).
The one who must not be named had a tough time after, with the intruder refusing to intrude the above mentioned space and also to vacate the earlier space. This action of the intruder(or the extruder if you have a different point of view) is totally his decision and has in no way been influenced by my ideologies and idiosyncrasies.
This brings me to my character in the web domain( which I assume you have disowned). This character did disturb the peace of the community at one point of time when he protested against a family member of his, Anonymous(gender not yet unravelled), being ousted from a certain community, which happens to be owned by a very respectable person. This was just an excuse to use words that appealed to your own society like fuck off, unclefucker, motherfucker, bastard etc. I had apologised to this "savage" act of mine later. I take this opportunity to apologise for this attitude of mine once again.
There has been only one more incident in the recent past, in which I disrupted "peace", although this time I happened to have hurt the sentiments of just one person. I happened to chat through that person's gmail account to a person who had the same name as mine(nobody). I must agree that both of us seemed to have a very enjoyable(read pissing off) time. Then after a couple of hours I happened to have a conversation with the original owner of the gmail account, during which the person happened to say,"Its me. Now the other person" even though the person intended to say"Its me. Not the other person". I do remember I had politely asked him/her to either go screw his/herself or to go and give a blowjob to the mess guy's gaslighter. I again did apologise to my alias as well as the owner of the account. But there was no reply. I request your highness to order the owner to send a reply.
These three incidents had occured due to three independent momentary lapses of reason and I strongly state that this was the result of intuition and in no way that of analysis. I do agree, that as a designer, I should have given equal weightage to both. I believe that the mere fact that I have analysed all the three incidents in detail, even though late,is as good as any other excuse to be pardoned for the nth time. If you refuse to do so, I proclaim myself an outcaste from this domain of yours, called the society, because I find myself thinking, speaking, writing and doing things that in no way comply to the society's standards very often. Hence, the power to decide whether this letter should be regarded as an apology, or an explanation or a resignation letter remains entirely in your hands.
PS: Sarcasm and puns intended in certain parts of the letter.
The feasibility of being a self-proclaiming oneself has been experimented with and proved to be effective during the test run which began at 19:25 hrs, October 8th to 21:00 hrs, October 8th and hence any attempts to test my willpower will be strongly condemned.
Yours faithfully
Nobody
Outcaste Trainee
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)