Uncertainty

Herculean strength, the outer persona,
Barren wasteland, hidden beneath,
Micheal's light, shining freely,
Or Nebuchadnezzar's pit, in sanity's sheath?

Mist around, clouded way,
A dollop of gold for the last ride,
Enough it seems, flimsy delights,
Hell awaits, arms open wide.

The whirlpool beckons, the cracken cackles,
Yet the angel calls, opening the passage free,
To the pearly gates but slippery is the way,
Angel herself's lost or seemingly be.

What shall be lost and what found,
Remains shrouded in the shackles of time,
Hope lingers, will the angel too,
Charred is the end or eden sublime?

Epilogue:

I wish I knew :)

The modern Gospel of Judas- Injunction

Epilogue:

Clad in trinkets hiding wounds,

The silent arm gently swayed,

Watching the blade's brazen glint,

For a clean cut he prayed.

Again, but with a difference. Or perhaps the only difference lay in Mary's  reaction. Perhaps Christ was no longer the pillar of hope and sanity that he thought himself to be. Or perhaps Nazareth's crown of thorns had swayed her away. Restlessly he had battled within for over an hour deliberating the merits and cons of having a conversation that could only go 3 way, each way playing word by word in parallel inside the confines of his highly efficient brain. 

*An hour of dabbling in holy smoke later Christ finally summoned up the wits to have that conversation with Mary*

Mary often observed that the there lies absolute chaos in things well panned out. And the most clarity lies within chaos. What we truly are and what we choose to become depends on choices that lie in the hands of those most ill suited to take them. And yet we allow them to. Christ could relate to that, his entire life had been proving the same! 

But despite his well put words, for he could put them across really well, there seemed no difference in Mary's pattern that always ended up in invoking extreme loathing for the self. But the thing with hate is, you just can't hate specific targets. Once you invoke the demon of hate, it shall trudge its way up from the bloody pit only to swallow one and all in its way.

But what Christ always failed to grasp was the fact that words well meant are most misunderstood and often become the preludes for more saiyances to summon more and more demons from the pit of self wallowing and destruction. Can you imagine the pain of the saintly man who watches a lover writhe and cry before succumbing to a grotesque fate, right at the altar of their love? And then as the cherry on the cake, he is then made to carry the very coffin of his lover, strapped to his chest with the casket open so that nothing is allowed to escape his eyes. And he does so willingly. Such a masochist himself, Jesus effin Christ! 

Prologue:

Cuts, blunt and too many,

Suffering that never seemed enough,

His friend perhaps best,

Tough love or perhaps just rough.

Where reason fails does will survive,

Free will, a burden or a reprise,

The irrelevance of words,

Often lies in the best advice.

LOSS

Last words of an
Obiter dictum
Strangely incomplete yet
Subtly final

Rain...

He could feel the sticky drops of sweat binding him to his Tee and he wanted to break free. Get out of his skin. His insides had been eating him for days at end now. He'd tried almost everything, legal or forbidden, to rejuvenate but alas to no avail. He remained a prisoner of his own sub-conscious, the demons of his own creation...

And then the heavens opened and he saw a downpour like no other.

Rain

... thoughts failed him for once, and he ran out of all that confined him; the dark humid room, his sticky clothes, his own mind. The cold drops hit him like bullets, pelting from above. He braved the barrage for a couple of seconds before letting go...and let his naked body soak. A million faces and a zillion thoughts flurried through his mind before...

*BLANK*

It was all empty, zilch, nada, zero, nothing!! The downpour washed everything and nothing remained. Time passed, minutes, hours, days, eternity; he neither knew nor cared. He let the rain consume him until he was free.



Freebird

Fly high, Fly far,

Beyond the skies, beyond the stars,

No fear to stop on the way,

Fly freebird fly, this is your day.

Your nest is yours,

Nobody gets an inch,

Fly freebird fly,

Feel no pinch.

Ride the wind, let nothing stop you,

Above the clouds yet with every drop of morning's dew,

The angels are watching, become who you are,

Fly freebird fly, there is no bar.

Come back when you want to,

Nothing will have changed,

Fly freebird fly,

Thou art unchained.

Ek murde ki vyatha...

मुर्दा कहे शमशान से,

वादा था एक दिन आऊंगा,

आज खड़ा हु, सिर्फ तेरा होके,

थाम ले तो प्यार से सो जाऊंगा,

शमशान के वादे हज़ार,

किस किस से निभाए,

जनाज़ा जिसका जितना बड़ा,

उसकी बारी पहले आये,

जिंदा था तो रोया था,

मौत की बेवफाइ पे,

चाह के भी मौत ना आई,

तड़पता रहा वो ज़िन्दगी की रुसवाई पे,

आज मारा तो भी चैन कहा,

वक़्त का खेल अनोखा,

जलने की भी जगह नहीं,

शमशान ने भी दिया धोखा,

सोचा मुर्दे ने लाश का तो कोई मज़हब नहीं,

चलो दफ़न ही हो जाते हैं,

पर जो जिंदा बचे थे,

उनके नियम कहाँ ख़त्म हैं, 

मुर्दा कहे शमशान से,

कहा जाऊं अब हिम्मत ख़त्म,

कोई तो रास्ता दे दे,

कहे तू तो बिक जाए हम.

उपसंहार :

पुर्जा पुर्जा हो बिक गया,

ना बचा कोई मान,

मुर्दा आखिर ख़त्म हुआ,

अंत तक पुकारता शमशान.

(Every year about 5 million dead bodies are illegally sold for all kinds of sick reasons, who notices?)

(Selling Bodies, Making Profits)

From the smoky hues - a dream...

This was written eons ago, almost in a different life time...today just felt like sharing it again... :)

I am glad for those foggy nights,
And those dim lights,
When I felt your soft touch beside me,
Where you and I in those eccentric moments became we,
When I felt every single one of those unspoken words,
That you and I've said so many times in my dreams of another realm,
But that shall never become reality,
Even I do not wish for it as you already seem so happy,
In your dreams for they seem so real,
But in mine you remain the Alice of my wonderland,
So surreal.



Prologue:

Now I fret again for the smoky hues,
For I am glad for those smoky nights,
And those dim lights,
For there again you shall be,
With those eccentric moments, mine and waiting just for me...

The Cashmere Blanket - 80% Love, 20% Lust

The night was chilly. Another one of the famously clear, cold autumn night of the Himachal hills. He was sitting in his favorite spot overlooking the Parvati valley. A loud crackling fire was making merry amidst the rowdy wind that was frolicking with the firewood of the bonfire. He was at peace as his eyes took in the sight he loved. A river flowed in the distance and he could hear the chants of the waves crashing on the stoney shore, calling out to him. The snow capped peaks in the distance stood majestic shining pearly under the moon which was unnaturally bright. He was one with nature, just as he loved to be.

But he was not just at peace, he was in bliss. The reason was approaching him ever so slowly and he smiled to himself. She was there, serenely calm yet turbulent as the storm. She reminded him of LSD, like lysergic acid diethylamide plays symphony with one's brain, she too took him into a realm of psychedelia. He turned around and immediately broke into a smile. The setting was perfect as well as the set. She was the craziest trip he had ever had. Irresistible, sublime and taking him to a synesthesia - almost as if time din't matter and the only reality was that she was there before him, looking teased. 

Teased by his smile. She loved his smile and that only made him grin wider. He walked towards her, she walked towards him almost with a determined look on her face that said, "Tease me and you pay heavily". She was a wild-cat and he knew it was not an empty threat. Nonetheless, tonight he wanted to make her believe, believe in the fact that life can not be all bad. And so she needed to be teased. For her innermost self was playful. It remained hidden beneath a cloak of sobriety and sometimes melancholy, but deep down she was just a girl with happy dreams and high hopes. He wanted her to believe in her true self again. And for that, she needed to let herself lose. Thus, she needed to be teased. And also, he loved to tease!

He suddenly turned just before she could reach out to him and fit snugly in the lone cashmere blanket inside the rugged tent they had brought along to fight the weather. No matter how weary the winds may get, they wouldn't manage to disturb them tonight; he had made sure of it. She followed him inside, fitting perfectly in the cocoon of his arm. She was just the right size. She felt just right, clinging close. He held her. She kissed him warmly on his cheek, her lips assuring him that this was not a dream. He looked deep in her eyes, she was the damsel in distress who needed a knight. He was a lost soul in the vast world, merely a drop in the ocean of beings but with her to take care of he always felt larger than life itself. He planted a simple kiss on her forehead, hoping to convey the warmth he felt for her. She did feel that, and perhaps a lot more, for in the next instance she immediately placed her warm supple lips on his neck. Passion, intensely rising with each moment.

It was as if a trigger reaction. As soon as her lips touched an ounce of his skin, his fingers as if could not, ever, contain themselves. It was the change of scenario in a matter of seconds. The fingers, not very long, but long enough, and not exceptionally thin, but somehow just perfect, with perfectly smooth tips, and that uncannily soft skin, so unusual in guys, began wandering all along her body. They traced the sides of the thin purple gown she was wearing, and stopped where it reached her knee. And then, as if behind the covers, the real magic unveils, the fingers started to work on her. it was her turn to shiver, not with the coolness of his touch, but with the mere passion that set her skin on fire, everytime he touched any part of her naked skin.

His fingers, gently staying at the hollow of her knees, as if it was a pool of water a bird had taken to be amused with, staggered, and moved up, as if with a sudden realization, that there was more terrain to cover. The hands, sliding upwards, not with a hurry, but with restlessness, let the bait in the tips of those insanely observant fingertips. Moving up from the thighs, staying just for a few seconds to make sure not even a single cell remained untouched on the way, lingering for a couple of extra seconds at the curve where her hips met the thighs, for he had something for the curves, lingering for a little more time at the protruding hipbone, for it was sort of interesting, just that, moving horizontally till where the restricted space would allow his hands to trace free, circling the belly button, and enjoying her shiver with the slight intimidation, for he knew he could do that to her, arouse those feelings to that intensity, which gave him pure honest pleasure for he was not a perfectly crafted model to advocate modesty.

His touch was driving her wild, as it always managed to. She could not resist retaliating, he was warm and fuzzy and she grinned sinisterly before attacking his neck with a precision and ferocity that took him by surprise. Her fingers played along his strong back before sinking in at multiple places. He cringed but the masochist in him purred to the tune of the sinking nails and teeth. She looked deep in his eyes trying to gauge how much was he enjoying, and was delighted to find the ecstasy there matching her own. He was lost to the world, his eyes held hers and told her a thousand and one tales of love; somehow in their diabolic world, he was the Scherezade and she was the Shahryar of the arabian nights. He was the story-teller and she loved listening to them, commanding a new one on whim, and loving his readiness to tell her another of his fables.

But even as he told her stories that enchanted her, his fingers did not stop. The fingers, again to the side, outlining along the lengths of yet another curve that he was growing to love, protracting to the bottom curve of her left breast, and contemplating to be naughty or nice, and choosing to be nice this time around, sliding in the fingers up her cleavage, and reaching the hollow of her neck, staying there, for that is something he could never get tired of feeling, moving up the length of her neck, gently flicking her chin so that she was looking at him, right in the eyes, and watching her shy away, not openly, yet through those eyes that mesmerized him too much, planting a not very gentle kiss to the place his fingers had been wandering a few seconds before, and whispering ‘I love you’ through her skin. She was as if a territory that he knew every bit of, even with closed eyes but would never get tired of feeling for every time he laid his fingers on it, there was something new to be explored.

She realized how crazy his touch made her, yet craved for more. As her nails left marks that seemed indelible, she returned his passion with a fervor that matched his every inch! If he was a scythe she was a katana; if she was a mamba, he was no less a cobra. He was fire and she was water, and their was a mystical aura when they met. Both of them were lost in its rapture. Serenely wild, calmly violent and ecstatic throughout. An hour passed or two, or perhaps it was but a minute, they knew not. The howls of wild animals, the raging wind, the chill of the night was all but lost on them. They were just two animals who had surrendered to their true nature, where lust was so pure that it was no longer a sin for the very threads that knitted it were of love, inside the cashmere blanket. At peace and in bliss!


In collaboration with cloistered.languid.

Ek chhoti si darkhwast hai...

वक़्त - वक़्त की बात है,

ज़िन्दगी का जब तक साथ है,

मुस्कुराना है तो मुस्कुरा लो,

वरना बेबस सबके हालत हैं,

जो था सच वोही झूट है,

जो सही वोही गलत है,

प्यार होता है आज तो कर लो,

वरना मरता तो हर ज़ज्बात है,

छु कर तो काफी जाते हैं,

किसका एह्साह ठहर पाता है,

जिसका ठहर गया उसे थाम लो,

वरना छूट तो सब जाता है,

कल जो हुआ वो अतीत है,

कल क्या हो किह्को प्रतीत है,

आज दिल हँसे तो हंसने तो,

वरना वक़्त तो यु ही कट जाता है।

The grass is always greener...

I read something. Deep, dark and scary. The words had a powerful impact, I was a little high, a  little lost, a  little nonchalant, I am now deep in thoughts and I shall just let them flow. If I do not make sense, it shall be my folly but I trust you to make sense out of the nonsensical. So here goes nothing...

There lies a dark side to all of us, one and all. The dark side flickers on and off fighting with the good side; the eternal duel to be righteous or reckless.
Eventually we realize that neither of them are good, both in their extreme are bad. Like salt and sugar. One makes us hypertensive, the other diabetic. One cant live without either, and both are capable of killing.
Perhaps that is why the most beautiful color is grey, one that is made of a little of both, the dark as well as the white. All of us are painted grey.
Most do not like that, they want to believe that they are either white or black. That  is a lie most of us live all our lives. Some accept reality, bluntly. They feel the pain, the feel the joys. Those are people we call realists. Now when I put it that way, you may want to fall in that category!
But do not lie to yourself, even if you are a realist, you want to be either more white or more black. Why? Why can't we just accept reality as it is? Why do we want to live a life we do not lead?
I can answer that, in probably 1000 words or more, but that is not the point right now! Right now I am going to tell you a short story.

5.30 am
The first loud hoot of the local bus woke me up. Another bland morning, another day of nonchalance. Another day of acting like a mental fuck-up hoping some gentle lady pities me and gives me some money, or some rich brat shows off in front of his girlfriend and doles out a 100 rupees. Another day of praying that a calamity strikes all of us dead. Another day of hoping that I get a square meal, at least, apart from my dose of afeem which I can get from Hari without having to blow him for it.
I see the morning shuttles lining up outside the call center, I can see the pretty girl who takes kindly to me a few times. I hope I get my morning tea money. I am putting my game face on, please God, kill us all!

5.45 am
The poor retard is looking frailer than ever, I will give him an extra rupee today. Thank God the shift has ended. I can't take this anymore. Ram is never going to promote me. He has been using me all along, now that his wife has found out about our affair I am certain he will dump me. She is such a bitch with her fancy bags and fake airs! Why do I have to give in to my demands for that little extra? Ahh..what wouldn't I give to be like Shravan, he is so cool. Going towards his bike, calm and composed. Who would say he got escalated today, probably would lose his job too! But at least he lives life the way he wants to. God, kill me now or make me stronger.

6.00 am
Ria is looking at me that way again, if only she was not humping Ram on the side, I would have asked her out. The bitch does not even realize that the motherfucker has already promoted Divya. Probably after she got the abortion done. Damn, I am losing my job next week and here I am still thinking of scoring a pussy! The rent is not paid, the EMI's for this stupid bike are still pending and I do not see getting any positive feedback from the motherfucker! Now why the hell did the motherfucker need to find out I was sleeping with his wife. There he goes, new car and all the pussy in the BPO. Fuck! I could have been him. God, kill him!

6.15 am
Bastard! Looking at me as if he will kill me. I shall have him on the streets. Damn, he told Shree about all the bitches. Now, I have the divorce papers in my briefcase and an expensive lawsuit in the making. Her father will make sure I get laid off and not hired by anyone in this business. Why did I have to marry the daughter of a mafia lord? If he gets mad, he will probably have me killed or worse castrated. And here comes the retard hoping I give him a penny. The poor bastard, at least he knows he will live on to see the light of another day. God, I can swap places with him, please!

Chennai - 26th December, 2004. An hour before the Tsunami strike.

Death Speaks

[Image Courtsey: http://www.layoutsparks.com/]

Life fades to pain and death,

Where is love in dying breaths,

I tried to find it and paid heavily,

Death comes to claim me, her eyes bloodily greedy,

For I tried to spread hope where it was not,

To those down and low lest humanity rot,

Divide melancholy, keep grief at bay,

Then death said enough! for your sins now you must pay.

She met me in the busy street of Baghdad,

Next to the auction selling ships of Sindbad,

Even in the hustle-bustle of the market street,

My spine chilled even in the burning heat,

Oh! she was beautiful,like an angel I'll say,

But I knew her, 

she was death standing in my way,

Our eyes locked, like lovers we lovingly stared,

Then she made a threating gesture, 

and I knew I'd all the reasons to be scared.

I've decided, in Baghdad I'll not stay,

I've to find a way to keep death at bay,

The fastest horse in all of Baghdad I'll find,

And set off for the west,

where in the Sun Death shall be blind.

To Samarra I'll go for the lore says,

Death goes not to Samarra till the end of days,

After I escape I'll keep spreading hope,

Continue the good work, I pray that Death allows me to elope!

Prologue:

Death:  Death I am, dark yet pure,

One day I'll be yours too, be sure,

Destiny sure is funny, with its ways,

I'll quote an incident, hear it Death says,

I didn't threaten him,

if that he thought he was kneive,

That was just surprise,

For I really liked him but had my work to do,

I really had to take him,

but that's something I'll always rue,

What surprised me was his presense in the valley,

Because with my book it didn't tally,

If he was there in Baghdad the chances were weak,

Of making it to our rendezeveous 

in Samarra that night, so Death speaks...

Surk Chenaab

एक मुद्दत से वो वादी मुझको बुला रही है,

लेकिन में बुजदिल जाने से डरता हु,

डर लगता है के शायद बर्दाश्त ना कर पाऊ,

उस वीराने को, उस बिखरे अफसाने को,

जहाँ शिकारे लुका छिपी खेलते थे चिनार के पत्तों के साथ,

आज  वहा गुमनामी है,

सेब के बगीचों में बच्चो की हंसी, 

ना जाने कहाँ खो सी गयी है,

जलती थी दुनिया जिससे,

आज वो जन्नत ही जल रही है,

गम है तो बस इस बात का है,

के ये आग भी अपनों से लगी है,

लोग बदल रहे हैं, ज़माना बदल रहा है,

मेरा कश्मीर, तेरा कश्मीर, किसका कश्मीर,

अरे कश्मीर ही तो हातों से फिसल रहा है,

लेकिन मानने को तयार कौन है, 

अरे क़्त की पथराई आँखों में झाँक  करदेखो मियाँ,

आज तो कुदरत  ने भी बदलना सीख  लिया है,

 जन्नत था मेरा घर एक ज़माने में,

आज  व हा सुर्ख चेनाब दस्तक देती है!

Life is but a Journey

फलक के पार आज हम चले,

जहाँ संतरी है आसमां,

हवाएँ चड़ी है परवां,

सभी दिशाएँ है समान,

बेफिक्र चले हैं आज हम,

हौले से बुझती ये रात,

दोस्तों का है साथ,

गालियों में भी है मीठी एक बात,

फलक के पार आज हम चले,

लम्बी सड़क लेकिन हौंसले बुलंद,

पाक निगाहों से हर राह मनपसंद,

ज़िन्दगी एक कविता, हर सफ़र एक छंद, 

बेफिक्र चले हैं आज हम,

आँखों में चमक दिल में मस्ती,

जहाँ ख़ुशी वही हमारी बस्ती,

मस्तमौले हम, यही हमारी हस्ती! 

(Written on the way to Nandi Hills, a serene hilltop 50 kms from Bangalore)

The Darkness Beckons

Your bad is my good. Your crimes are my refuge. Your evil is my self. I am, YOU!  not quite, I am a part of you. The one augmented and demonic facet of you that you keep hidden from the prying eyes of the world.

I am darkness.  Absolute. Pristine. Complete. 

You are in denial if you think I do not reside within your heart! I do. It has been my abode since the first time someone bullied you or teased or insulted you and you could do nothing about it. Remember the surge of fury that raged you? Remember the frustration and anger at your inability to take revenge? It was me, whispering softy to you to fight back.

But you pushed me aside, shunned me away as life’s brighter shades enchanted you. I watched, patiently, as the colors went out and then even the stark black and white gave way to a muddy hue of gray.

I looked on as you battled the intricacies of life, baffled and hurt at your inability again. Inability to drive things the way you see fit. I was there when your bubble of confidence burst. And only when you had to accept that sometimes, no matter what you do, you cant have your way did you remember me again!

I was the shoulder you cried on. The pillar of strength that you rebuilt yourself on. I was the one who gave you focus. I was the one who made you appreciate the clarity within chaos. Every time you hated the past, every tear you shed, every wrong you did, every penance that you paid for made you stronger. All this while it was me who pushed you in the corner, I kept pushing till finally you started pushing back. And while I saw a phoenix rise from the ashes, I leaned back to watch over you again. 

I am darkness. Incessant. Omnipresent. Pure.

All I ask for is acceptance!

Crossroad

Standing at this crossroad,

Am clueless of the path,

That brought me here,

And also of the one,

I should take.

Standing at this crossroad,

Am filled with regret,

For the wrong turns taken,

And those turns,

That I failed to take.

Standing at this crossroad,

I look at the paths ahead,

All dusty and desolate,

Not a soul in sight,

With wisdom to partake.

Standing at this crossroad,

Realization hits me,

I am truly alone,

The ambiguous cloud that's future,

Is mine to make.

Some free time, some creativity, some friends, some tweets and a short story!

• Me: The moonless night drew on.Long and bitter.The wordless screams of some night prowler being the music.He thought of her and smiled. Facing the intricasies of life, he buckled under the torrents that embellished him. Yet, got up and whispered her name.
• Zain: The cut on his neck was deep, blood oozing; but stitches he didn't want, Because he knew he might entwine & choke himself to death.
• Me: T'was beautiful, almost perfectly circular drops of blood oozed in an intricate pattern on the rug. She smiled at her creation.
• Zain: The drops made no sound & in the silence was inflicting pain.His eyes now closed; the present troubled him not, the past amused him.
• Pranay: The bottom was not visible. The top was fast disappearing. With all the time in the world to think, he wondered. He hit the ground.
• Me: Time and again he died. Always brutally. Always painfully. Always she watched him die,silent and quiet;in all the alter-realities.
• Zain: Suddenly he wakes up, there's light, there's hope, there's SHE ! There's no wound, there's no blood, there's no pain & suddenly he wakes up.
• Me: But he'd rather be asleep in the limbo he'd so carefully crafted around himself.For there whether he lived or died,no one cared.
• Zain: In the limbo that he'd so carefully crafted,his baptism seemed unholy. Sinful it was,cz it was SHE who baptized him, 'SIN', herself.
• Me: Was he a vermin?A resident of hell?Or an offspring of the holy grove?Named SIN but wasn't the forbidden fruit in the garden of EDEN?

*To be continued*

(@retardosupremo, @AlexZainDer, @gunrxerk )