Tuesday, September 30, 2008


Spread your fingers wide, and ask for
cluttered rhymes, patternless and sublime;
Sprinkled wet, since the rain never stops
while I shape lines. If you resist, and I guess
you will, for your ego's still shy, it is with
solemn triumph that I shall announce :
Oh dear, the Goodbye's all mine.  

Sunday, September 28, 2008


Dead night. Piano and stars, suicide notes and moonshine. I had been staring at her too long - silver lines dismantling, merging, bending; her body unraveling itself, a story decomposing. Trick light. I looked away, faraway, where lines and dots don't hold meaning anymore. Into space, ceaseless and open. 

Of course I love you. 
The birthday cake was smelling
strange, too much candlewax and salt - 
I knew I could trust you. Never wondered
why you cried.    

Candle flame. A shawl burning red, the laughter in her eyes. Should I call this resistance? Revolution? Love. The maze on her wrists, my kisses on dried scars. Does she not remember the parties? Grand turn-outs. Exquisite cuisines, from the most exotic, the most improbable of cultures . I tried. I always thought there was a gleam in her eyes: pale, but promising redemption, promising to fight the pain; the pain, invisible, permeant, born in images she could never describe.   

Of course I love you. 
Bright day. Another dainty robe, 
hair in place, bracelet grace. Just
what the doctor ordered, I say. 
You don't think I fought those 
bullies for someone else? Smile, 
it's not much, just more than a small

I always knew I was wrong. She wouldn't understand. I couldn't let her escape, dissolve in the vapour outside, lost as one more shadow wanting to find the truth, the lie, the concrete in the blur. Maybe I didn't understand. I never believed in stories, in myths she drowned while I shook her, while I tried to reveal that this is the real world, this. The dust. And the pills, always the pills. They came in all sizes, fuzzy colours, perfect shapes. Capsules of hope. 

Of course I care.  You think
there are ghosts in your closet-
now isn't that fantasy? Ghosts,
decked in sparkling pain, you might
say. Always the stain of memory-
let me help you lose it, here, 
let me love you.   

It was difficult. I lied to David about the bruise beneath her left eye. Only time I hit her. I saved her. Down, in the dusty cellar, cut off from the blaring monotones of pleasure, observing her sketching life with fingernails. A clown, a four-legged animal, and thumb-prints. She giggled after I hit her.  

It was you, when the clock struck
two, the notes rhyming true. 
My heart resounds this
time- for once, I know you are
one of few. Of course I
love you, of course I do.  

Chopin. Random notes, soft, loud, filled with an unkown, unexplored passion. Black and white. Pity, I never thought she would play, never half-expected her to lift the lid and bear the sound. I thought she would yield to the suffering she finds in every minute particle in this house, in what she wanly terms confinement. I had to protect her. Her protection was entrusted to me, and me alone by some alien consciousness pervading our relationship; if I let her go, if her road to emancipation had to be paved in my absence, away from my iron exterior, I would be crushed by the guilt of allowing her to lose herself, vanish into the jar of invisibility, into the promise of absoluteness.  

There are times when you
say it too, in whispers and
half-sighs, in the void of sleep, 
in the life of dreams. Of course I
love you. There are times when 

It might rain early morning. If I touch your neck, and find the coldness creeping down my fingertips, chilling my heart while I breathe : I shall only be certain that one more death for me, is one more life saved, one more light withheld in your bag of darkness. Cannot sleep. Cannot sleep. 

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Let's See. Sandwich?

I woke up early today. Sipped my Glucon-D. Over. Lying down is a pain. Not a backache. Neck sprain? Nope. Arse mole, eh? Probably. No, not really. The time has come to pull my act together. Lying up? Pun. I was wondering if I'm trying to make sense of life. Having said that, I think I need to take a leak. Back to business. The regularity of naturality. Ooh. I write to liberate myself (from?) , structure my thoughts (why?) , and try to understand why I exist ( oh really?) . It all boils down to desire (of? for?). Emancipation of the soul (pseudo-intellectual?). Every moment, every miserable moment ( I mope? I whine? I, pessimist) I think I deluded myself the previous moment. The vagaries of memory. But, it's not just that, is it? Ranting is a pain. I am a pain. Arse mole. Prick. Swell. Prick. Pop? I wish.  

Actually, if I think hard enough, I might classify myself as an adventurer. Not the usual adventurous sort, sadly. In a more profound sense. Very good. Very deep. No fluids? Sorry, I'm not allowing anyone to jump. Crack head? Sure. There's a bottle of water staring back at me. I can look through you. Through your guts, into the other side. Continuum of space. In beginning lies the end. Vice versa? Don't dare. I don't waste time. I waste water. I waste electricity. I should not. O Conscience My Conscience. Pull my scrotum free. Don't you get it? Desire. It all has to do with desire. From the mid-torso? No, not that, not always that. Biologically, a large part of it. Filthy. Of the lowest, most ruthless primal kind. Involves back-biting and vertigo. Spin, spin, reel, crawl.  Fall? If you squeal. 

Speed burst. Sometimes, I feel I'm beyond how I express myself. That I'm not doing half-justice to the profound expanse that I am. Delusion? Oh, come on now. Words constitute the biggest limitation to my heartfelt enterprise. My weakness (my strength?). Words to express, but not enough, never enough. Or probably, I don't know enough techniques. Invisible, covert brushstrokes to spice up my canvas. Knowledge? Depends on what I'm trying to say. Why? Simple logic. Study, imbibe, build and then, express. My voice is gestating. Let's give it some time. And space. Impatience can only result in a deadly miscarriage. Slow, slow. 

Ideas > people? If I separate the idea from the person, does it not render the person dispassionate, dull and utterly inhuman? But if I have to understand the idea, is separation not only important, but necessary? I'm too naive. I can only ask questions. Curiosity of the innocent. 

I don't quite see the end. Not in my short-term future world. Thank you. 

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

No Change, Please

Man :  

I believe you.
I believe that the tea you made
Scalded my tongue. 

Woman :  

If cynicism is such a beautiful 
Game, wouldn't you be better off
Writing songs for the New World
Order? Don't believe me. 
I am inconspicuous, fleeting, hazy;
Unbelievably so.  


It is beneath your dignity
To understand that monsters 
Don't breed in dark closets, but inside 
Unlocked rooms, hiding the face under
A mask, while concocting vile bitter
Words to hurt a few harmless sentiments.  


A reversal of roles? Oh, don't tell
Me, don't pretend to be goodytwoshoes
When you very well know 
The monster is you. 
And if I may add, a fat
One too. 


Seriously, don't you have a heart,
Or worse, sense? I come back, dusty
Weary, with a heavy heart, unhappy, cold
Since the belief of your existence
Seems like a burdensome truth more
Often than not. 


What compels you to return? Hah,
Poor man, escape to gutters of
Joy, deserts of pleasure, don't let me
Add to your misery. Oh, poor man, go
Away and comfort yourself, who's telling
You to stay, to play this terrible game? 
Go away, poor man, before darkness creeps
Over day. 


You incorrigible hag. Sorry, I did not
Mean to abuse, but if you may excuse me,
I intend to read the newspaper now, pass
A couple of toasts when it's ready. 


Back to your old ways, eh? 

[ Phone rings. Man gets up and receives the call.



Phone :

Zzz..redemption call..zzz..purgatory..zzz.  


Purgatory? Sorry, but there
Is no escape from this hell. 

[ Man puts receiver down.


If I am not mistaken, your
Sense of humour has taken 
A dive for the worse? How oddly 
I resist. Or tell me, have you indulged
Your humble soul in some ungracious 
Practical joke? Poor man, I really think
There are better ways to amuse yourself. 


I see. I see brown. Toast, please. 
A couple, thank you. 


Wait, maybe this has to end. 
Do you think humiliation slowly corrodes
My ability to express my contempt in ways,
..Ways more physical than you would
Like to imagine? Do you think I shall 
Take it all gracefully, humbly, like a timid
Mouse in a cage, and not give it back
To you. 


I do not wish to sound insouciant.
Nor do I think your rage deserves
My reaction or admonition, but seriously
Your tea is getting cold.   

[ Woman takes a step forward, her eyes a pale shade of crimson.


You lousy fool. What do you
Take me for? Am I any different from
The morself of food you devour, or the piece
Of news you peruse? You implacable cynic, 
I have let you speak your un-mind, all too 
Easily, now is the time, now is the time
For redemption. Sadly, you don't exactly
Play a part in it. You clumsy fiend! 


How do you spell ' Yawn' ? With
an E? ' Exuberance' starts with E. 
So does 'Emancipation' and 'Effort' and 'Eee'. 
Jokes apart, I think you are sad. You 
know, as I have been telling you, my sentiments
Are far gracious than yours. You refuse to understand
That your burrow is narrow . That you disappoint
Me. So much, that sometimes this man
Wishes to put his face down the sinkhole, 
To let nobody know that he's weeping. 
Weeping tears of bitterness, for having put up
With your stuck-upidity. 


You think you are clever, do you? 
You know you are clever, do you? 
Now let me show you what Stupidity can 
Really be. 


Woman, can't you lie down and 
Sleep for a while? Or better, die. 

[ Woman smiles. Pretty crazily too.


Did I just..? 

[ Man smiles and looks down into the newspaper while biting his toast. Meanwhile, Woman picks up a sinister looking knife lying on the table and walks forward. Man keeps on reading the newspaper.


Ah, look now. Someone dropped 
A bomb again. The dustbin, ha! Suave, 
If I may use the word. 
whistles, while looking into the newspaper, but not really reading it ]
 ..I actually made you smile, now isn't this
The best thing that has happened in a while. 
Maybe, if I had to die, maybe this is the 
Opportune time. I actually made you smile. 

[ Woman drops knife. ] 

Man [ looks up, startled ]  : 

Now, when did you come here, pussy
Feet? [ looks embarassed 
Maybe I didn't mean to say all that, maybe..
Listen, you may think I'm too full of negative
Energy, or whatever you may call it, but still..
..I care about you. 

[ Background chorus : Aww. ] 


Bad game, mister. 


But, well, yes. 
Don't mind me saying this, but
Your tea's really freezing. 


Why, you miserable being, you
Spoiled the moment. Why don't
You realize that sometimes you
Have to put your foot forward, sometimes
You have to embrace the moment..Are
You so lacking in wit that..

[ Phone rings.

Man [coldly] :

 Not me. 

[ Woman stares at Man for a second; then picks up the receiver.

Woman :


Phone :

 Inferno! Inferno! INFERNO! 

Woman :

 Well, yes. 
[ frowns ]