You sit and drink your morning cup of tea
Over-looking a clothes-line
Where memories hang out to dry
And it drips and drops
And get seeped into the soil...
Bits and pieces of your thoughts
Never to resurface again.
Are you glad you have no memory now to nurture?
Are you glad your clothes are getting dry?
Monday, October 08, 2007
wounds
Life's strange twists and turns,
The cigarette burn
Which once your raging heart
Singed onto your hand
Is now cold and dried.
The tired fingernails scratch
the wound to draw blood.
Memories flood like a deluge
Of pouring pain and misty-morning-like sounds
which whisper that you once had love.
This is all that remain
As you sip your cup of tea
And think of thoughts
Those now seem like ancient myths and tales
When all fails You keep going back
To scratch, to draw blood.
The flood begins again.
The cigarette burn
Which once your raging heart
Singed onto your hand
Is now cold and dried.
The tired fingernails scratch
the wound to draw blood.
Memories flood like a deluge
Of pouring pain and misty-morning-like sounds
which whisper that you once had love.
This is all that remain
As you sip your cup of tea
And think of thoughts
Those now seem like ancient myths and tales
When all fails You keep going back
To scratch, to draw blood.
The flood begins again.
the prelude
Bang your head against the wall,
fall for reasons that slip out of your grasp,
Only to later beck and call.
And always like the ways,
the stench of putrid days
One stares at burnt bottoms of pans,
While somewhere a pantomime plays.
Numbers on the pages that you hold,
The clammy dungeons,
the cold monster stands scythe-handed
for your life is sold.
Like the golden harvest, the silver snow,
The frail-eyed doe
Who beckons out in pleas that fall
Silently on Ovid's shores.
The lullaby from the mouth
That silently shouts
And sticks out a tongue to lick your face
Into a mesmerizing doubt.
What a start to the beginning.
fall for reasons that slip out of your grasp,
Only to later beck and call.
And always like the ways,
the stench of putrid days
One stares at burnt bottoms of pans,
While somewhere a pantomime plays.
Numbers on the pages that you hold,
The clammy dungeons,
the cold monster stands scythe-handed
for your life is sold.
Like the golden harvest, the silver snow,
The frail-eyed doe
Who beckons out in pleas that fall
Silently on Ovid's shores.
The lullaby from the mouth
That silently shouts
And sticks out a tongue to lick your face
Into a mesmerizing doubt.
What a start to the beginning.
is there time enough for time?
Is there time enough
for the raindrops to freeze in mid-air
and hang there in oblivion?
Was there ever time enough
when time ran the course of endless moments
frozen by the Instamatic flash and then tired out?
Will there ever be time enough for time
to run around endlessly
in a carousel packed with kids
whose time has just begun?
Time will stand still
when you suck in your last breath
that time allows
and then the room freezes
like the raindrop, like the smiling faces on the Polaroid.
Time stops. Your lap is over.
It's time to hand over the baton to the kids on the carousel
who know not that time is ticking on by.
for the raindrops to freeze in mid-air
and hang there in oblivion?
Was there ever time enough
when time ran the course of endless moments
frozen by the Instamatic flash and then tired out?
Will there ever be time enough for time
to run around endlessly
in a carousel packed with kids
whose time has just begun?
Time will stand still
when you suck in your last breath
that time allows
and then the room freezes
like the raindrop, like the smiling faces on the Polaroid.
Time stops. Your lap is over.
It's time to hand over the baton to the kids on the carousel
who know not that time is ticking on by.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
urban chaos
blinking lights of a fading era
slip and slide
on an evening tide.
scores of heads & searching faces
play along
like an endless song.
thankless lives and fateful smiles
walk on by
without a sigh...
slip and slide
on an evening tide.
scores of heads & searching faces
play along
like an endless song.
thankless lives and fateful smiles
walk on by
without a sigh...
birthdays and deathdays
why celebrate birthdays?
so it was meant to be, and so it happened... the ever impending annual day that i fear every year - what a lot of people refer to as the "birthday". turned 32... or was it that i completed 32 and stepped into 33... hmmm... am i following the chinese calendar or the gregorian one... does 32 sound better than 33... will my grey hair be an asset at 32 or 33... how long have i left... is this my half-way mark or am i beyond my half-way mark... or i am yet to reach it... so its meant to be... we check into this hotel and think its another great free junket and proceed to live it up king-size till suddenly we are told to check out of the hotel... and this hotel's manager does not believe at a 12 noon check out time... its not your regular holiday inn... u can be rudely awakened at 3am clutching your heart and there you see the manager standing next to ur bed telling you - can i have the room keys back... it dont matter whether you hang those "do not disturb" signs on your door... those are just meant for pesky, irritating bell-boys... this here is THE Manager... the dude who runs this show... i dont get it... i maybe a completely depressive maniac - but why do people celebrate birthdays? dont they get it that they are/we are one more day/moment/year/hour/minute/second (24 hour check out time, u see) closer to check out time... its nuthin to celebrate about... dude you are/we are withering aaway every moment that we live/die... every breath that we take means that we are consuming the fuel within us and the pointer slowly tilts towards E... why do we celebrate birthdays - is it because we go -"phew!" that we have managed to survive another year... "yipee i am not dead" kind of feeling... what do you think your friends must be thinking while they hug and slosh beer all over your new Donna Karan hand-bag, and Gucci flip-flops... "poor girl... she still has not got it, has she?" "ho-hum, another one will soon bite the dust" or "gee, i am dying myself and here i am pretending to be all gung-ho about my best friend withering away..." so we spend money - often shit loads of it... that cigar, those till-now elusive bottles of champagne, those spanky new loafers, the jazzed up new clothes.... yeah we spend in celebrating our every moment of withering away... do you realize that your digestion system is no longer what it used to be, does it dawn upon you that your capacity for alcohol is no longer what it used to be, your thinning hair is now styled and placed to hide the receeding hairline and bald patches... life goes on, waits for nobody... its like the meter of a taxi - it just keeps going bling-bling-bling... and theres no stopping this... its like the mob... you can join it but you cant leave it alive... or as The Eagles once said - "you can check in anytime you like, but you can never leave"... they forgot to mention "alive" at the end of that line... so what is the moral of the story here... LIFE happens just once - so f*%^&#@ live it up... the way you want to (err, just dont go killing people, just because the kitchen knife looks inviting)... celebrate LIFE - the fact that we made it... we are that one untiring, persevering sperm that out-ran and out-did that million others... so in those famous words that once sold sneakers and sweat shirts - JUST DO IT. So i guess i can now safely wish myself - "happy birthday"...
so it was meant to be, and so it happened... the ever impending annual day that i fear every year - what a lot of people refer to as the "birthday". turned 32... or was it that i completed 32 and stepped into 33... hmmm... am i following the chinese calendar or the gregorian one... does 32 sound better than 33... will my grey hair be an asset at 32 or 33... how long have i left... is this my half-way mark or am i beyond my half-way mark... or i am yet to reach it... so its meant to be... we check into this hotel and think its another great free junket and proceed to live it up king-size till suddenly we are told to check out of the hotel... and this hotel's manager does not believe at a 12 noon check out time... its not your regular holiday inn... u can be rudely awakened at 3am clutching your heart and there you see the manager standing next to ur bed telling you - can i have the room keys back... it dont matter whether you hang those "do not disturb" signs on your door... those are just meant for pesky, irritating bell-boys... this here is THE Manager... the dude who runs this show... i dont get it... i maybe a completely depressive maniac - but why do people celebrate birthdays? dont they get it that they are/we are one more day/moment/year/hour/minute/second (24 hour check out time, u see) closer to check out time... its nuthin to celebrate about... dude you are/we are withering aaway every moment that we live/die... every breath that we take means that we are consuming the fuel within us and the pointer slowly tilts towards E... why do we celebrate birthdays - is it because we go -"phew!" that we have managed to survive another year... "yipee i am not dead" kind of feeling... what do you think your friends must be thinking while they hug and slosh beer all over your new Donna Karan hand-bag, and Gucci flip-flops... "poor girl... she still has not got it, has she?" "ho-hum, another one will soon bite the dust" or "gee, i am dying myself and here i am pretending to be all gung-ho about my best friend withering away..." so we spend money - often shit loads of it... that cigar, those till-now elusive bottles of champagne, those spanky new loafers, the jazzed up new clothes.... yeah we spend in celebrating our every moment of withering away... do you realize that your digestion system is no longer what it used to be, does it dawn upon you that your capacity for alcohol is no longer what it used to be, your thinning hair is now styled and placed to hide the receeding hairline and bald patches... life goes on, waits for nobody... its like the meter of a taxi - it just keeps going bling-bling-bling... and theres no stopping this... its like the mob... you can join it but you cant leave it alive... or as The Eagles once said - "you can check in anytime you like, but you can never leave"... they forgot to mention "alive" at the end of that line... so what is the moral of the story here... LIFE happens just once - so f*%^&#@ live it up... the way you want to (err, just dont go killing people, just because the kitchen knife looks inviting)... celebrate LIFE - the fact that we made it... we are that one untiring, persevering sperm that out-ran and out-did that million others... so in those famous words that once sold sneakers and sweat shirts - JUST DO IT. So i guess i can now safely wish myself - "happy birthday"...
music and then some more...
music and then some more...
all of four... one hmv turntable... 5 LPs that became ingrained into my psyche forever... Elvis Presley, The Beatles - the one with the black cover and their faces, trini lopez, the ventures, cliff richards - summer holiday... the one that stuck on really like super-glue was The King. He rocked, and he rolled, he warbled, he made the LPs scratchy with over-use, The King cried and he screamed, in short, when the King sang... I danced... very few musicians have made me feel pure joy... The King was one of them... oh yeah... he was the first one... i began holding hair-brushes, pretending to be on stage... i moved and hopped around like a jackrabbit across the sitting room, leaping off the sofa, and there was dad doing his groovy "twist"... the fad those days... back then televisions were a novelty, and multiplex was just another non-existant complex word... what does one remember about their childhood... other than the mischief, the pranks... do yo realize that every one of us has a back-story, a truck-load of experiences and stories that will never get told, or shared... just because its a given that our stories remain just our stories... am i making sense here? yeah, but picture this - we meet up friends, or make new friends... and what we get is just 20% of their lives... the rest of the 80% never gets told... what was their childhood like... come to think of it... aging is crap... do you remember what you did every single day of your life, every single moment... these moments just pass on into some out of focus corner in the sub-conscious never to surface again.. they take with them not just the experiences, but also the feelings one felt at that time, on those moments as they happened... and often these never get recreated, or felt... it becomes a myth in our heads... they grow in stature... aah the first time i held her hand... the first time she smiled... my first bicycle... all we remember is a vague mental picture that stutters to life for a few seconds like an old 8mm projector which beams this memoric image somewhere between your eyes inside your fore-head... and then its gone... aging is crap... i wish i had the foresight to write down each day as it happened... but am i just afraid to let go of the past, or am i just having a very shitty present? what about the future? does anything go according to plan? john lennon summed it up aptly - "life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans..." so what is the moral of the story? carpe diem - grab each moment by its balls, and pray that your memory does not fail you 10 years down the line so that you do not have to rely on your mental projector... but relive the moment once more...
all of four... one hmv turntable... 5 LPs that became ingrained into my psyche forever... Elvis Presley, The Beatles - the one with the black cover and their faces, trini lopez, the ventures, cliff richards - summer holiday... the one that stuck on really like super-glue was The King. He rocked, and he rolled, he warbled, he made the LPs scratchy with over-use, The King cried and he screamed, in short, when the King sang... I danced... very few musicians have made me feel pure joy... The King was one of them... oh yeah... he was the first one... i began holding hair-brushes, pretending to be on stage... i moved and hopped around like a jackrabbit across the sitting room, leaping off the sofa, and there was dad doing his groovy "twist"... the fad those days... back then televisions were a novelty, and multiplex was just another non-existant complex word... what does one remember about their childhood... other than the mischief, the pranks... do yo realize that every one of us has a back-story, a truck-load of experiences and stories that will never get told, or shared... just because its a given that our stories remain just our stories... am i making sense here? yeah, but picture this - we meet up friends, or make new friends... and what we get is just 20% of their lives... the rest of the 80% never gets told... what was their childhood like... come to think of it... aging is crap... do you remember what you did every single day of your life, every single moment... these moments just pass on into some out of focus corner in the sub-conscious never to surface again.. they take with them not just the experiences, but also the feelings one felt at that time, on those moments as they happened... and often these never get recreated, or felt... it becomes a myth in our heads... they grow in stature... aah the first time i held her hand... the first time she smiled... my first bicycle... all we remember is a vague mental picture that stutters to life for a few seconds like an old 8mm projector which beams this memoric image somewhere between your eyes inside your fore-head... and then its gone... aging is crap... i wish i had the foresight to write down each day as it happened... but am i just afraid to let go of the past, or am i just having a very shitty present? what about the future? does anything go according to plan? john lennon summed it up aptly - "life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans..." so what is the moral of the story? carpe diem - grab each moment by its balls, and pray that your memory does not fail you 10 years down the line so that you do not have to rely on your mental projector... but relive the moment once more...
a virgin no more...
feel like i am walking onto a nudist beach for the first time... the first few words emerge hesitantly as i take my first steps into blog-land... who am i? another face, among the many billions who inhabit this strange and mysterious enigma called LIFE. how did i get to being a part of LIFE? had no choice really... don't remember if the good man upstairs posed me the question - "err, would you like to go to earth or remain being a sperm? or do you feel like spending the next few years on earth, here is your boarding card..." i happened... like we all "happen"... depending on what stories your parents must have fed you when you were young - you were dropped by the stork, happened to be lying on the street when they spotted you, or you realize why your parents named you "accident"... err could the torn condom be the root cause for your ethereal name? "hey Accident, stop making so much noise!!!", "hey Accident, finish your dinner!!" born into a family that i had no clue of... but have learned to love over these years... so what followed has been a journey of some trials, tribulations and lots more strangeness... over the few blogs i will share with you slices from a pie called "life"... and you will realize that the taste is actually the same all over the world... its just that some ingredients are different, or just these ingredients are called different things in different parts of the world... happiness in english, contentezza in italy, bonheur in france... so i lose my virginity and wonder why there is no bleeding... (perhaps while writing numerous emails i broke my cyber-hymen)... so see you soon again...
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