Haiku # 9 : Empty

Empty stomach, growl
Empty mind, search through boredom
Empty heart, nothing.

mentally unstable

I... am mentally unstable. I realize this now.

Maybe I'm schizophrenic, and in fact, there's nothing quite as seriously wrong with me as I may think.

However, I do believe... that something IS wrong with me.

I've never felt like I belonged within the confines of this earth, among these people. I've never felt like the person that everyone else knows me as, though I've learned to play the part very well.

Of course, you're probably thinking to yourself, that this is not uncommon. Many people feel this way. Many people feel as if they do not belong. But what if one of us, what if I, actually don't belong? Who are you to say what's correct in this instance?
If I am not mentally unstable, then why are there so many voices in my head, that tell me things, things that I've never even heard of. If I've never heard them, then how do the voices in my head know them? They're supposed to be in MY head, right? Does it make sense that they would retain information and phrases that I have not?

People always tell you, that everything will be okay. As depressed as you are, things always get better. But do they? When you no longer feel like verything is falling down upon you, and like your body is caving in, is it really better? Sure, you no longer feel the need to change drastically, the need to cry, nor the need to delete yourself from existence. But is everything "ok"? Or is it just that your ignorance has blissfully returned? You no longer feel the want for more, because you do not realize that it is there to be wanted.

Have you ever just sat there, and thought? You think, and think, and think, about everything. Your life, others' lives, the world, existence itself, how everything works... every philosophical question you could possibly imagine. Have you ever thought to the point, where it all stops? Let me put it into metaphorical terms. You think yourself through a maze, and right as you can feel the adrenaline pumping in your veins, because you know the finish line is near, the maze just... disappears. You are once again, sitting in your bed or on your couch, mundane, mortal, and no closer to any answers.

Have you ever tried writing any of it down? You write furiously, hoping to save every vital thought, every new piece of information that you discover, so that when you do reach the point of blackout, you will always have that information, already laid out for you, so nicely on a piece of paper in front of you. A map, so to speak. Try that sometime, and take a look at your so-called map on a later date. It will make absolutely no sense to you. It's entirely mind-boggling. It's not that you lack the beginning information or state of mind needed to reenter your maze, it's that it seems to be written in a foreign language all together. There is no feasible way that you could ever return to that thought process, and begin again. Is that because that maze no longer exists, and a new path has been drawn out, therefore your information deemed useless? Or is it, perhaps, because something has re-written it, or re-written you, to make it illegible for your eyes, and your mind?

Hmm. Asking questions ABOUT your asking questions. How lovely. How wonderful as well, that it shall get me nowhere, nor will it get you anywhere. It won't even suffice to prove any point that I may have been trying to prove in the beginning. I must restart this maze. I suppose, however, that I have proven ONE point, at least to myself. I went back to read this map, and it is foreign. It makes NO sense whatsoever. "What the hell was I thinking?! How the hell could my mind convince itself that this useless crap actually made sense?" Disturbing as it may be, to sit here and wonder how stupid I was only a moment ago, I take comfort. I take comfort in knowing that it made sense THEN. Who am I to say that it doesn't still make sense? Maybe I just can't read it right anymore...

If all that rambling itself, did not help convince you that there's something wrong with me, then I don't know what will. Is that not proof enough?

Perhaps I'm not crazy. Perhaps everyone else is as fucked up as me, and is just able to hide it better, if not from themselves, then at least from others.

This, my friends, is what they say is crazy. This, is what they say is wrong. But do you know what I say to them? WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU TO SAY WHO IS CRAZY AND WHO IS NOT?! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU TO SUBJECT PEOPLE TO ASSYLUMS AND TREATMENT AND ALL THAT BULLSHIT BECAUSE THEY ARE SOMETHING THAT YOU HAVE NO FUCKING RIGHT TO DEFINE?! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU TO SAY THAT YOU ARE NOT THE SAME AS THEM?! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU TO SAY THAT I AM WRONG WHEN I TELL YOU THAT YOU COULD JUST AS EASILY BE THE SAME, BUT YOUR IGNORANCE ALLOWS YOU TO AVOID IT?! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU TO SAY WHAT'S RIGHT AND WRONG?! WHO TOLD YOU THE DIFFERENCE?! WHO TOLD THEM?! HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU BELIEVE THEM?! HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT WE AREN'T JUST FED LIES SO WE BELIEVE THAT CERTAIN THINGS ARE RIGHT AND WRONG, JUST SO WE CAN DO WHAT SOMEONE ELSE WANTED US TO?! WE ARE ALL PUPPETS! WEAK FUCKING PIECES OF SHIT!!! And the sad part is... there's nothing that you, I, or anyone else can do about it...

And, of course, who the fuck am I, to think that anything in society is wrong. Maybe it's just me...

To kuchh baat karoo . . .

Is Aab-o-rang me khamosh khada hoon, koi humzubaan mile to kuch baat karoo
shor-o-ghul main ab dil lagta nahi, ye khamosh ho, to kuch baat karoo

mere koocha ke goonjte sannate ne, sikha diya hia kuch naya mujhe
ab be-zzabta main hoon ke khalqat, ye pata lage, to kuch baat karoo

ab kis kis se jaa kar poochoon, kyun saakin he khada hoon youn main
sab apnee raftaar main magan hain, koi aa kar ruke, to kuch baat karoo,

niklaa jo talash-e-khuda par main, to harr ik bashr khuda bana paya
sab abr-o-fiza main ud rahe hain,koi zameen par aye, to kuch baat karoo

kyun dekh raha hoon hairat zada, man main aarzu-e-inqilaab liye
ye jo khamoshi me cheekh raha hoon 'Briham' , koi sun sake, to kuch baat karoo

खामोशी

शहर की परित्यक्त सूनी गली
जो जाती है उस मंदिर  तक
उस मोड़ पे खड़े पुराने बरगद के पेड़  से होके,

देखता हूँ तने में बने उस घोंसले को
और घोंसले में बैठे उस पक्षी को
जो हर रात करता है चाँद का इन्तेजार,

काश! मैं भी एक पक्षी होता
और बता पाता उसे की
आज अमावस्या है|


सोचता हूँ सन्नाटा ना होता ये गली कैसी होती
देखता हूँ एक सुवर्ण नारी
और सुनता हूँ उसकी पायल की झंकार,

काश! मैं भी पायल होता
समझ पाता गली की व्यथा
और कह पाता

" इस गली की खामोशी ना तोड़ो "

Life

P1 : ( Screaming Burzum's dunkleheit ) Suddenly, Life has a new meaning.......
P2 : Life, do you know what it is ?
P1 : welcome, welcome motherfucker, Are we going to have another fight ?
P2 : what are you doing with your life ?
P1 : Do i have a life ?
P2 : Yes, You do. WhyTheHell are you doing all this ?
P1 : Reasons ? There are no reasons.
P2 : Stop watching 'trainspotting' already, when you don't have anything to say, you just quote anything and everything. You know what, Your copied Philosophy is just an escape from reality.
P3 : Ahh! A little fight in you guys, and a post for the blog.
P1 & : Who the fuck you are ?
P2 : yeah, WhoTheHell you are ?
p3 :I am you, You are me.
P1 : Go fuck yourself with your blog, I don't fucking care.
P2 : But I do.
P3 : I don't care if any of you cares or not, Now i am busy writing something, so would you, both kindly fuck off and and discuss your filthy fucking life somewhere else ? HAHAHAHA!!!

She

P1 : I So want to sleep.
P2 : Please, Make her to come in my dream.
P1 : Wait a minute, Who is she ? oh, SHE. Why the fuck you are moaning to be her in your dreams, you want to wet your pants ?
P2 : No,its nothing like that.
P1 : what it is like, then ?
P2 : Nothing, you would not understand, You are a mean abusive selfish person.
P1 : nice Adjectives you use for me.
P3 : Whoa!! What is going on ?
P2 : We are fighting, Again.
P3 : This is SO going to be a blog post.
P2 : People will laugh.
P1 : Does it look like i fucking care ?
P2 : Yes, You do, My old fighter friend, You so do.
P3 : HAHAHAHAH!!!

A bittersweet life

I woke up crying
surround sound asked "what happened?"
realizing, looking around, morosed, i sighed
wept n wept
:"did u have a nightmare?"
i just moved a bit, "no"
:"bad dream?"
sighed
i murmured, closing my eyes " i had a sweet dream"
:"then why r u crying?"
bursting into tears, replied "because the dream i saw cannot come true"

PS : prologue-ive start in 'A bittersweet life'. :)