Some Nights

I've been awake at night,

Wondering over things,

That disturb my might

To curb my cringe.

As I lay awake,

And think to myself

To work in ways

That I cannot help.

So, I go to the kitchen,

And I take a glass,

I stare at the sickened

And dirty shard.

I pick up the pieces,
And get another quickly,

I pour some water,

And then add the whiskey.

I drink to myself,

Celebrating nothing at all,

And that's what melts

The vile and gall.

What Follows

Windows break the silence
Of a room,
A room filled with dirt,
And the silence of gloom.

The  birds, they pace,
They sing to their might,
For those tiny lungs are,
And forever polite.

Rewind, Just This One F***ing Time

This year started with dancing to completely crazy songs of the 90s Bollywood era, while sipping on some RS, and I have a feeling, right inside the crazy gut, that it is also going to end the same way. Most of my friends would prefer it NOT to end that way again, but, then again, those are the ones who also happen to enjoy all those shiny, glittery and 'paaun-waaun' songs of the 90s and early 80s that might as well have shaped our childhood. Or, at least, 30 per cent of it. How else would we have known to differentiate bad from good, or good from bad, or even, the worst?!

But, this year was soo terrible for me. I just couldn't bear it. The only thing good that happened this year was that it was like a whirlwind, and it is soon going to end, and I will be done with it. The year started off with somethings that left me upset, and for a while I felt down, and I did not want to have anything to do with anyone. February, if I am recalling correctly, was a terrible month, yet again. Things that happened in that month were far off from what I had imagined how 2012 was going to be like. Far off. I wasn't able to express my feelings to anybody, and I had to succumb to keeping all of it bottled inside of me, but, man, was I lucky that it all did not end up in enraging me. But, I think, all this accounts to why and how I felt about the present year as soo brutal, and heart-breaking, although, I know I will suffer again.

Heart-break. Yeah. I suffered that. But, that accounts to very little. Just a tiny bit. I haven't lost hope, but, I might just lose my head if I keep wandering about all this. I have forgotten about all of this, whatever happened, and I'd like it to be kept that way. Till eternity, even.

Summer was okay. Fridays in the summer were the best. Some know why, and some don't, but, I know they were great. I went against my own principles and suffered, and I am sure other people suffered to, but, nevertheless, I still love them, just as much as I had, and always have. Again, these instances account for very little in making my year terrible (or, as I imagine it to be).

The wost thing that happened? This year was uninspiring.

Then there was Weekender, and this year's Puja. We probably celebrated Puja this year as grown-ups. And, finally! Now, it's not just going to be baba and his friends finishing whole bottles of Glenfiddich, but, we'll somehow arrange for our Jim Beam(s) as well. What lesson did this teach me? Why, that Puja is always a life-saver. Every other thing sucked the fun out of my life. Every THING, not everyBODY. This month of October, which when I come to think of it, became my very own month of Beer Fest (okay, not just beer), November came.

And how I hate that month.

Not a year has passed, which I can remember clearly, when November hasn't been the most horrible month of my entire life. Ah, fuck, I'll just cut to the chase...I hate NOVEMBER. It's 30 days of bad luck for me. BAD fucking luck.

Unfortunately, December isn't really turning out to be great either. Which disappointed me further. This month was HORRIBLE. I can't imagine the plight of that young girl who got soo brutally tortured in that God forsaken bus. But, this, along with the entire thought-process that goes with this situation, agitated me and made me reflect upon myself. And, I am angry. Please don't get me wrong, I am not unhappy cos I went through heart-break, or because, I am not attending the most amazing party there will be; I am angry, not at anybody, or anyone, but, yes, at some things, however tiny or massive they may seem; I am angry.

I am angry that January began with a fuck-up, and February started with revelations.
I am angry that February ended with heart-break, and March was my month of a seriously bad trip, literally.
I am angry that March ended with an end to my temptation, and April, May, June and July I felt like an uninspired goof, roaming, drinking, smoking, and craving for more stupidity.
I am angry that August left too early, and September was nothing great.
I am angry that October kept me happy, and November ruined that brief moment of happiness.
I am angry that December gave me hope, which turned out to be false.

I am angry, because, I know this year has made me care less, think too much, and give up on a lot of things.

But, it has taught me to keep away from secrets, of my own and of others; 
to keep away from confusion. 
to know what is there in my mind and make it matter. 
to control the urge.  
to let go of the urge at the right time, too. 
to finally get angry.



What a year! Now end soon, you son of a gun!

This is Starfucker. And they make me believe that happier days are coming.

Note To Self

Coming to me, and then going back,
As I ponder over a photograph,
There is a line of solitude I find at times,
And it disperses into thoughts of what is yours, and what is mine.

It greys and decays, and dulls into illusion,
Creating a universe for all the things in delusion,
And for once, my mind is set and about to give in,
For I have things to do, and I want myself to win.

Moving On And On

Whatever seems impossible,
Is what we really want,
And, we forget the minute details,
That bring all plans to a pause.

So, fuck it, and carry on.

Close Enough For The Moon (Part IV)

The breeze is often loud,
Louder than the whimper;
The whimper that astounds,
And astounding is no simpler!

No simpler than the joy;
Joyous as you are,
While you begin to ploy,
Ploy a plan that seems afar.

Further you go, and see,
Seeing whatever seems only tender,
And these tender thoughts heave,
Heave a sigh of blunder.

Close Enough For The Moon (Part III)

A dream-catcher in your bedroom,
But, your room is bare;
Bare without the burdened bloom,
Or, the burden for which you care.

You care for that being,
That being you had met;
Meeting him between tall ceilings,
And bricked trees that weren't wet.

Rain, it never comes with a warning,
A warning that is easy to figure,
For figuring out if it's better or just worsening,
The worse always seems to be clear.

So, if the worst is what you confront,
And confronting it while you sit on a hill,
The trees of this hill will come front,
And help you till you win.

Close Enough For The Moon (Part II)

The TV blares;
But, not the wind outside that blows,
For, the wind is real and TV isn't fair,
So be fair, and let the wind be your show.

You see birds come together to follow,
Follow what is ground;
We are grounded by what we swallow,
So, swallow now, what we mound.

This mound is the hearth,
The hearth which is close to our lives,
And our lives on this splendid earth,
Become splendid as we suffice.

Sufficing till the ladder ends,
And it ends where you want it to,
But, it goes on till the very bend,
That very bend, that makes you.

Close Enough For The Moon (Part I)

Places that are far away,
Are far away from any thought,
Any thought that seems at bay,
At bay from what is naught.

What is naught is what we imply,
And we imply sudden belief;
This sudden belief is here to reside,
Reside where we are relieved.

And relief follows us to this far place,
This far place close to the Heavens,
The Heavens which are to be our gate,
Our gate to where waits our brethren.

And this brethren has been seen,
Shown to those who are brave,
Bravery thrives and makes us serene,
Serene only till it drives us insane...

(To be continued in Part II)

Parents

Today finishes,
And begins tomorrow,
So take time out
And realize that you borrow
Too little time
And too little praise
For those who keep you,
And for those who made
You; for who you are,
You are soo splendid,
And apart;
For all those who gave
And never took,
You need to keep them forever,
And you should.

Solitary Belief

There lived a man,

Who thought of the world as cruel,

Until he'd met the girl,

Who made his life feel like a jewel.

He would take his dose,

Hysterical and thumped like a fish,

Flatter her with his prose,

And imagine a world full of bliss.

They'd meet under staircases,

While breezes ensued,

Blew her hair and he carved,

What he thought he only knew.

So, a story unfold,

Of a solace man's misery

And his ventures as he roamed,

With all his dignity.

Cherishing their lives,

That ended in a tragedy,

As it had come to suffice,

With a tragic memory.

When the door opened to his life,

And he looked in,

It only felt like it was right,

Till time erased everything.

Broken and torn apart,

With what left him alone,

His silence saw flak,

As he began to mourn.

And silence was what silence could be,

When love would astray and leave behind

What we see, hide and believe

But, always fail to find.

"Oh, awakening,

You came soo late,

You drowned him into craving,

And you made him wait"

And now it's been a while since he drew her,

Close enough to never let go,

He waited like a lover to hold her,

And died, as she could never know.

Warrior In Me, Warrior In You

Constructing some sense,
I walk the line,
I try to think of when,
I'd have to draw mine.

I met some people,
They were pretty bound,
By words soo feeble,
And soo chowed down.

I greeted them with a painting,
Of the world that I knew,
And what they did, looking,
Of which I have no clue.

Their minds were soo bleak,
And filled with grim,
Captured all their need,
Which were full to the brim.

Greed and intolerance,
And a mind not open enough,
To see the benevolence,
Of the world that isn't tough.

On the streets as people lay hungry,
Silver plates are served,
With soo much left for merry,
They're forgotten and never revered.

This happens at these peoples' homes,
And we sit and realize,
Not knowing how and when it goes,
Till there's nothing left to penalize.

Let's break these homes,
And these dumb foundations,
They're alien to our Own,
As this is bad education.

It's these people who make it,
And glorify the artificial,
And, you and I must break in,
To make it more beneficial.



 

Pen, Paper And Things

There are somethings
That even I can't see,
But, those are the things
That I'd want others to believe.

Maybe it's stupid
And naive of me,
To realize that these things
Have no great divinity.

Little things that
I want few people to know
Are what distract me,
And trouble the most.

So, I deal with them
Like I deal with my pen,
Means, I write them down,
And remember then,
That these are the things
That bother me,
I mustn't think of them,
And let myself be.


You know it's true, when he sings this out to you.

A Bad Day Story

Day starts off to a
Weakness inside,
Which ceases to mend
Till you forget, in time.

A long time it seems,
But, nevertheless,
You keep to waiting,
Till you achieve for what you tread.

And when there is
No one close,
You'd still keep on waiting,
Until you know...

That you are closer
To yourself,
People make you think it's bad,
But, it is what helps.

The Winner Within

For all the glory
That we have left,
The glory within that withers
Is what is felt.

A grim truth,
But, one noteworthy
Of defining the balance of things
And making one weary.

Tied up and slow,
But, still racing,
Events that occur while you're sleeping,
Are those one ends up embracing.

Gift Yourself Your Present

When you sneak back in to the past and realize that things that could have been mended were left too soon, you also realize why you never let them mend. This realization may come at a time when you are not too happy, nor are you too sad, but just, hanging somewhere in the middle, in that moment of ponder over the thought of whether tomorrow will be beautiful or not.

And yes, tomorrow will be beautiful, if you want it to be beautiful.

Before sleeping, most of us think about those wonderful moments that brought us past those days that we'd thought would never end, and it is during this time that we also tend to start thinking about the mending, the mending of the past. But, what is the past when one wants to re-do it, correct it, MEND it?

Won't the past eventually become our present, then?

Take control of the present, let THAT bring you happiness. This has worked for me, and it always does. Let the past float in the unlikeliness of the present. Keep the thoughts of the present for those sneaky moments, for those upsetting fights, for those days that you feel left-out, or even when the present seems to go in direction you don't want it to.

Learn, and keep on learning. Or rather, remember.

What's been done, has been done. But, what has to be done, should be started off with and finished till you're completely fulfilled. And it is all in our hands. We just fail to see it, sometimes. Don't waste time in thinking about mending, instead, take time out to carve a better present. Take time out to see that the present is what is more important, without which there wouldn't be a past, neither will a future take shape.

 And if a broken heart has not healed, stop the sneaking around.









(Or, you could just...

)

Wonderful Weather Watchman

As you sat through the storm,
That moment had come,
When the dust caught your eye,
And you rubbed it for long,
Till your eyes were proper again,
And the spectacle in front became,
What a few would think as blunt
As a knife not sharp,
Or a pencil that fell,
But, then the rain began to disturb,
What you'd begun to tell.
And the cup of tea you'd made,
Inside in the comfort, that lay,
You pondered whether to go get it,
Or just sit and watch the rain.
 

Welcome

An apprentice of passion,
A labourer in grey,
Passes by the fraction,
While you weren't there.

And as he walks past the summit,
Of cruelty and death,
You become a dreamer,
And go back to bed.

And as you wake up,
From the sweet slumber,
Your eyes will lead you,
To where there is hunger.

Eat, eat, eat all you want,
Ordinary bliss will fade,
And as soon as you realise,
That is was just a bait,
Your hunger will increase,
And marry your fate.

Too late, it will be,
For you'd be consumed,
Screaming for a choice,
You will meet your doom.

But, if you choose,
To depart from your greed,
Rub your eyes,
Till you know you can really see.

It's these eyes that lead to temptation,
And we are ready to follow;
The worse comes without warning,
And then there is nothing left to swallow.

Every Dying Man

The idiot realises soon,

That the one who played the fool

Was, in fact, the bearer

Of the widely available craver

Who, in search of precious nectar,

Makes himself a spectator,

And soon finds himself

To become withheld

From uncertain thoughts of a man,

Who brought evil to this land,

And scars the earth of his Mother

With all the hate of his Brother,

And soon he finds,

That all this he left behind,

Was for him, for his own good,

And that he would

Realise this when it was too late,

For too many people would be born to hate,

Like they always do,

When one doesn't want them to.