Looking out the attic window, one can see imaginary snow flakes flying around like merry children on a Christmas eve. The castle stands at the backdrop like a misguided stranger, wholly and completely aware of his own restlessness. Looking at the grey walls, one can read the unsung hymns. People say, if you visit the adjoining graveyard, even today you can hear sighs of forgotten heroes on their road demon bikes, waiting for their songs to be sung at the market place. For the one who sits in the attic, this is a fairy tale kingdom belonging to him. But observing snow flakes, through a chipped pink glass can be an interestng experience. One sees sad, demonic faces, faces which make you want to defacate your guts. He shifts his vision, and he sees the tribal girls with red, alien flowers tucked into their headgears, all going to the red forest to gather more flowers. They've got more heads than one can imagine. The trees seem to be on a mating spree, all reaching out their hands to the adjoining lovers, and couples go to the forests to collect tree babies. The meadows roll down on one side, to embrace the little dancing creek, like a father sweeping up his ten-year old, flushed-cheeked daughter. One knows he's the king of this land, and his rules are the gods of this land. And so the colour of the meadow changes, and the creek changes her pathway, and gospels are sung in the graveyard.
Suddenly one hears his own mother screaming about leftover breakfasts, and one rushes down from the attic. His imaginations are closed down for now.
To be continued, if ever in the mood again...
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
Dreams/Nightmares III
Waves. The sound of waves rushes in to awaken your senses. You find yourself standing, waiting beside a sea of times, the dawn waiting to creep onto your wet, rubbery feet like a forlorn lover. The wind reaches out to ruffle your sand crusted hair.
You look around, you see shadows, standing, waiting, some near you, some at a distance, and one at the far end of the time. You approach the nearest shadow. He turns around to face you. You know him, you could know him ten years from now on, for he is you.
You: I know you.
He: I know you too.
You: You are me.
He: I am you.
You: But you, you look strange. Your eyes twinkle, they dance like raging dragonflies. Your voice, it is so rough, yet so promising. You look like a banished knight. Who are you?
He: I am who you wish to be, who you aspire to be. I am you, who may never be.
The shadow slowly fazes out into the universe. The sea rushes in. Your knees get wet.
You approach the next shadow in the line, a strange, broken figure, outlined against the bluesy, asleep sky. He turns around to face you, you know him, twenty years from now, he is you.
You: I know you.
He: You do? How does it change the story?
You: You are me.
He: How does that matter now.
You: But you, you look strange. Your face looks like no light has ever burned it alive. Your countenance, reminds me of a broken hulled, torn sailed ship. You look like the epitome of defeat. Who are you?
He: It doesn't change anything anymore, but I am who you're afraid to be, who you never wish to see in the mirror. I am you, who you maybe oneday. But believe me, it doesn't change anything.
The shadow slowly fades out into infinity. You shudder because of the terror, and because of the cold water, which slowly damps your sandy chests. You approach the next figure, a small, timid little figure. He turns around to face you, you know him, forty years from now, he is you.
You: I know you.
He: Ofcourse you do, son.
You: You are me, aren't you?
He: Yes. I am you.
You: But you, you look strange. Your skin hangs in loose folds, your limbs are nimble, but your eyes, they shower kindness on everywhere it sets its sight. You, are like an ancient Banyan tree, hung low due to the weight of the experience.
He: I am you, my son. I am you, who will always be there, who is constant like the northern star. I am you, who you are destined to be.
The shadow disappears, leaving you to be hit at your face by the salty waves. You approach the last shadow, a very distant one. You wade through the strangely cold water. The figure, one of a child, floats over the sleepless ocean. You try to identify him, but you cannot anymore. He turns around, he faces you.
He: I know you.
You: Yes, even I know you.
He: I am you.
You: Yes, you are me, but who, I mean how, I mean why are you? Your face bears the brunt of innocence, yet you seem to be certain of your identity. Your silhoutte assures one of empathy, yet you are a child. You, are like a forbidden fruit.
He: I am you. I am who you were, who you always have been, but not anymore. For I die today, my job has ended. From today onwards, I am the one who you'll never be able to be.
The voice fades out, and the figure slowly rises and disappears into the space above. You stand helplessly, as you realise the sea rising, slowly rising and submerging you...
You look around, you see shadows, standing, waiting, some near you, some at a distance, and one at the far end of the time. You approach the nearest shadow. He turns around to face you. You know him, you could know him ten years from now on, for he is you.
You: I know you.
He: I know you too.
You: You are me.
He: I am you.
You: But you, you look strange. Your eyes twinkle, they dance like raging dragonflies. Your voice, it is so rough, yet so promising. You look like a banished knight. Who are you?
He: I am who you wish to be, who you aspire to be. I am you, who may never be.
The shadow slowly fazes out into the universe. The sea rushes in. Your knees get wet.
You approach the next shadow in the line, a strange, broken figure, outlined against the bluesy, asleep sky. He turns around to face you, you know him, twenty years from now, he is you.
You: I know you.
He: You do? How does it change the story?
You: You are me.
He: How does that matter now.
You: But you, you look strange. Your face looks like no light has ever burned it alive. Your countenance, reminds me of a broken hulled, torn sailed ship. You look like the epitome of defeat. Who are you?
He: It doesn't change anything anymore, but I am who you're afraid to be, who you never wish to see in the mirror. I am you, who you maybe oneday. But believe me, it doesn't change anything.
The shadow slowly fades out into infinity. You shudder because of the terror, and because of the cold water, which slowly damps your sandy chests. You approach the next figure, a small, timid little figure. He turns around to face you, you know him, forty years from now, he is you.
You: I know you.
He: Ofcourse you do, son.
You: You are me, aren't you?
He: Yes. I am you.
You: But you, you look strange. Your skin hangs in loose folds, your limbs are nimble, but your eyes, they shower kindness on everywhere it sets its sight. You, are like an ancient Banyan tree, hung low due to the weight of the experience.
He: I am you, my son. I am you, who will always be there, who is constant like the northern star. I am you, who you are destined to be.
The shadow disappears, leaving you to be hit at your face by the salty waves. You approach the last shadow, a very distant one. You wade through the strangely cold water. The figure, one of a child, floats over the sleepless ocean. You try to identify him, but you cannot anymore. He turns around, he faces you.
He: I know you.
You: Yes, even I know you.
He: I am you.
You: Yes, you are me, but who, I mean how, I mean why are you? Your face bears the brunt of innocence, yet you seem to be certain of your identity. Your silhoutte assures one of empathy, yet you are a child. You, are like a forbidden fruit.
He: I am you. I am who you were, who you always have been, but not anymore. For I die today, my job has ended. From today onwards, I am the one who you'll never be able to be.
The voice fades out, and the figure slowly rises and disappears into the space above. You stand helplessly, as you realise the sea rising, slowly rising and submerging you...
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Dreams/Nightmares II
Slowly the haze lifts, enabling you to twist your eyeballs for the millionth time. Everything shapes and breaks down, and takes shape again. Tiny, sad eyes stare blankly at every possible directions, apathy spilling over. It's a strange scene around you, a very familiar, but strange scene. Corpses lie around, scattered and scarred. Some beheaded, some with only the heads, some with everything, some with nothing. It's like a moving morgue has just been bombed right in the middle of the street, din-e dupur-e. A very familiar scene, a very familiar one. You try to remember. Where do you get to see corpses lying around everyday? You start moving, your feet get stuck in the muddy blood, bloody mud. It's like maroon tar.
Strange dreams you have. Corpses lying around, while fedora toppinged men eat strawberry ice creams , debate with each other about sex and sensex, and bargain with invisible hands for the corpses. Some ask for whole bodies, others just want a piece of the meat. Dali, in a sickening, surrealistic sense. Not a nice scene, not even probably a dream. But is it a nightmare? Aren't nightmares supossed to be about scary horses, which bring out your worst fears, of something you are scared of? Nightmares are bad things. This scene before you, is bad, but not scary. This is something which you see every day, don't you? Dead bodies lie around you, while crooked, vultured men fight for a piece.
Confusion riddles you, as the haze returns to encompass you. You turn around in your bed, REM slowly stops. You sleep again.
Anuprerona: Machher bajaar.
Strange dreams you have. Corpses lying around, while fedora toppinged men eat strawberry ice creams , debate with each other about sex and sensex, and bargain with invisible hands for the corpses. Some ask for whole bodies, others just want a piece of the meat. Dali, in a sickening, surrealistic sense. Not a nice scene, not even probably a dream. But is it a nightmare? Aren't nightmares supossed to be about scary horses, which bring out your worst fears, of something you are scared of? Nightmares are bad things. This scene before you, is bad, but not scary. This is something which you see every day, don't you? Dead bodies lie around you, while crooked, vultured men fight for a piece.
Confusion riddles you, as the haze returns to encompass you. You turn around in your bed, REM slowly stops. You sleep again.
Anuprerona: Machher bajaar.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Dream/Nightmare I
A windy night, while dreams float around your flushed cheeks. The owl hoots like the nightwatchman, the squirrel screaches out, probably a nightmare. A honey dew moon is smiling, at you. Your cheeks redden, the transluscent nightdress, reveals not much, conceals not less. You slowly step on the wet, cool earth. Tonight, the galactic milk bowl is overflowing, tonight is a beautiful night. The owl hoots again, begging you to wake up. The enchantment continues, you wake not up, lest you are barred to hear the lullaby. You wait for the song to start, but only the brook's monotonous lyre hurts your drowsy senses.
A slow hum starts. The beginning. Next a gentle breakout will follow, followed by whistling chimes, ending with the slow, calm, determined sound of a sitar. You know the song by heart.
But today the music is not sounding what it used to. The hum slowly becomes mild, thumping, clap beats, almost as if people are applausing the end of sermon in a churchyard. The music is getting loud, it's nomore the claps of the fallen, but the pounding of a million drums, war drums. You search for the source of the swivelling beats. It's not coming from the milky eyed sky, not from the lemon crusted moon, not from the spacy waters. Then where?
It's coming from the depth of of the earth below you, it's almost like the earth is beating in million tiny hearts. The earth, which you considered to be cool, to be wet, is becoming hot. It's starting to melt into liquid red, blood red. The tumultous earth is moving away from below your feet. You try to reach for the sky, for the moon, for the rivers, but they have moved far, far away from you. What is left is the earth.
You start to sink, and suddenly you hear a new drum beat join the hundred million drums. It's you, your heart, it's beating again. Slowly as you sink, you listen intently to the music of the new era.
A slow hum starts. The beginning. Next a gentle breakout will follow, followed by whistling chimes, ending with the slow, calm, determined sound of a sitar. You know the song by heart.
But today the music is not sounding what it used to. The hum slowly becomes mild, thumping, clap beats, almost as if people are applausing the end of sermon in a churchyard. The music is getting loud, it's nomore the claps of the fallen, but the pounding of a million drums, war drums. You search for the source of the swivelling beats. It's not coming from the milky eyed sky, not from the lemon crusted moon, not from the spacy waters. Then where?
It's coming from the depth of of the earth below you, it's almost like the earth is beating in million tiny hearts. The earth, which you considered to be cool, to be wet, is becoming hot. It's starting to melt into liquid red, blood red. The tumultous earth is moving away from below your feet. You try to reach for the sky, for the moon, for the rivers, but they have moved far, far away from you. What is left is the earth.
You start to sink, and suddenly you hear a new drum beat join the hundred million drums. It's you, your heart, it's beating again. Slowly as you sink, you listen intently to the music of the new era.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Untitled V
Dreams are made winding through my heads
And before you know, you are wide awake.
As spiders climb up the chair
Mirrors stare at new born earthquakes.
Another vibrating cry inside the dead
Rises for a little girl's sake.
Claustrophobia, another name
Brand old wing, same old ache.
I know, I know. This sucks big time.
And before you know, you are wide awake.
As spiders climb up the chair
Mirrors stare at new born earthquakes.
Another vibrating cry inside the dead
Rises for a little girl's sake.
Claustrophobia, another name
Brand old wing, same old ache.
I know, I know. This sucks big time.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Memories II (Scary ones)
They come rushing in, filling every cell with the required oxygen. Another misty morning, and they come rushing back, as if it's dinner time already. Starting from a scratch isn't easy, ke na jaane, then why did I even try? I thought I could just erase each and every face, tear down all the wall decorations, and lay bare my memory attic, and wait for new faces to arrive. Faces. They have arrived, and they have decorated my walls, but old faces merge with new ones. Something I didn't wish for, not at all.
'Psychedelia brought us together'. That's heavy on the brain cells for any kid. How can goddamn illusions bring souls together? Impossible. And if illusions did bring them together, then it also seperated them. This is no sudden realisation, this is something which I gradually understood, and knowing the truth, I decided not to face it. But they come rushing back, like hungry dogs. Looks like its not the time yet. Let's wait.
I need a shave, and since i'm not getting it, this is the way i torture other fellow human beings. Muhahaha.
'Psychedelia brought us together'. That's heavy on the brain cells for any kid. How can goddamn illusions bring souls together? Impossible. And if illusions did bring them together, then it also seperated them. This is no sudden realisation, this is something which I gradually understood, and knowing the truth, I decided not to face it. But they come rushing back, like hungry dogs. Looks like its not the time yet. Let's wait.
I need a shave, and since i'm not getting it, this is the way i torture other fellow human beings. Muhahaha.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Human Spirit (The oldest one)
When I'm in my bed at night
A Voice whispers in my head
Voice: What am I?
Me: Well, how the hell should I know who you are?
Voice: No seriously tell me what am I.
Me: Bug off! Don't disturb me.
The voice keeps on nagging.
Me: Your a pretty little irritating twitch, aren't you?
So I ask it 'Who are you?'
the voice doesn't reply
Me: Well what's your name
Voice: I don't know, i cant remember.
Me: Then go bug someone else. I need my beauty sleep.
suddenly the voice speaks out loudly
Voice: Wait. I know who I am.
Me: Great! Congratulations! Now let me sleep, please!
Voice: I am Death
Me: What???
Voice: I give Life.
Me: What the fuck!
Voice: I am Fire
So you can feel Ice.
I understand its urge to pour some leaded philosophical lecture in my precious ears. There goes my fine sleep out the window.
It keeps on blabbering
Voice: I am Thirst,
so you will quench me.
I am Hunger,
so that you will sate me.
I am Apathy,
so that you feel Empathy.
I am Poverty,
So you will know Plenty.
I am Hate,
so that you price Love.
Me: Man are you then somekinda' god or shit?
Voice: No, I am not God.
And yet, I am not Satan.
There he goes again
I am not Paradise.
And yet, I am not Hell.
I am here.
I am not here.
I am there.
I am not there.
I am where you are.
But also where you are not.
Me: You're just confused.
There is another pause. Voice resumes, now slower.
Voice: Confusion, is a myth. I am just speaking what you wish me to speak.
Me: I don't want you to utter a single more shit!
But it continues.
Voice: For without death, where is life?
For without hate, where can you find love?
For without hitting the bottom, how will you now that there might be a way up?
For without me, how do you know that there is better, that there can be better?
I am, the one. I am, the none.
I am time, and I am space. Yet I am one without a face.
Now do you know who I am?
Silence
Me: Nope..........
This is one of my earliest pieces. I have tried to leave it untouched.
A Voice whispers in my head
Voice: What am I?
Me: Well, how the hell should I know who you are?
Voice: No seriously tell me what am I.
Me: Bug off! Don't disturb me.
The voice keeps on nagging.
Me: Your a pretty little irritating twitch, aren't you?
So I ask it 'Who are you?'
the voice doesn't reply
Me: Well what's your name
Voice: I don't know, i cant remember.
Me: Then go bug someone else. I need my beauty sleep.
suddenly the voice speaks out loudly
Voice: Wait. I know who I am.
Me: Great! Congratulations! Now let me sleep, please!
Voice: I am Death
Me: What???
Voice: I give Life.
Me: What the fuck!
Voice: I am Fire
So you can feel Ice.
I understand its urge to pour some leaded philosophical lecture in my precious ears. There goes my fine sleep out the window.
It keeps on blabbering
Voice: I am Thirst,
so you will quench me.
I am Hunger,
so that you will sate me.
I am Apathy,
so that you feel Empathy.
I am Poverty,
So you will know Plenty.
I am Hate,
so that you price Love.
Me: Man are you then somekinda' god or shit?
Voice: No, I am not God.
And yet, I am not Satan.
There he goes again
I am not Paradise.
And yet, I am not Hell.
I am here.
I am not here.
I am there.
I am not there.
I am where you are.
But also where you are not.
Me: You're just confused.
There is another pause. Voice resumes, now slower.
Voice: Confusion, is a myth. I am just speaking what you wish me to speak.
Me: I don't want you to utter a single more shit!
But it continues.
Voice: For without death, where is life?
For without hate, where can you find love?
For without hitting the bottom, how will you now that there might be a way up?
For without me, how do you know that there is better, that there can be better?
I am, the one. I am, the none.
I am time, and I am space. Yet I am one without a face.
Now do you know who I am?
Silence
Me: Nope..........
This is one of my earliest pieces. I have tried to leave it untouched.
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