People. People you love, people you hate, people who are just there. They'll always be everywhere and there's nothing you can do about it.
You learn to live with people. You learn to live without them. People you love. People you love so much it makes you sick. People you rely on. People you need. You need people. Everyone needs people. You don't need the restrictions and judgements of society though.
Limitations people put on you. It's your choice whether you will fit their mould or completely destroy it. Will you be the person they shape, someone with your very owen barcode that marks you as "society", or will you be a fleeting image of what people should be; unrestricted, unrestrained, untamable by silly views that tape you down to the chopping vlock to be carved into a neat little box of shallow, biggoted opinions? Will you fly? Will you fall?
The crash and burn. When you realise that everything you've ever been was made to mock the big picture. That you never really were yourself. When people you can't live without become people you must live without. When you miss someone so much it makes you even sicker. When all of the little wounds in you heart join togther as one huge, gaping hole that reveals just how shallow you really are. An ache so intense you forget to live. You forget about people, you forget about reason. You forget about life.
Falling deeper. People forget you, people ignore you, people hate you. You eyes are clouded by that mould you once tried so hard to oblitorate. Your barcode is showing through... And it hurts so much that you just let it. You surrender before it's too late, but it doesn't make it any better. It still hurts. Your gaping hole is getting bigger because you've betrayed yourself to people.
Then, there's that moment. The moment when you connect your mouth and your mind, and everything freeflows in a monsterous tidal wave that engulfs your very soul and fills up that gaping mess of a heart. It burns away all the pain and insecurity and fear away like salt water. It hits people. It swallows some people, it bowls some people over, it merely washes over some people. But it effects people.
Then there is that brief moment when you are so empty that you can't speak, yet parts of you are so full that you feel like a child again. It's the transition between the states of living and being.
Open your eyes. Go on. Really open your eyes. No more pretend. Tell me what you see. The faces of the people who were behind you the whole time, but you were just too sick to turn around? Now you can see them all with a cleared vision. The poeple who were always holding your hand, the people who pushed you along, and the people who were following you, whispering "I Love You" in your ear the whole time.
Louder than words, emotions roar through your veigns, swallowing you up. SOme good ones, some bad ones. But now you have people again.
People. People you love, people you hate people who are just there. People are everywhere, yet sometimes they are nowhere to be found. People you can't live without. People you love so muchy it aches.
Maybe you can understand how I felt. Maybe it's beyond your comprehension. Maybe you've been out there in the warground like me. But, just remember this. Keep breathing, keep living, keep being. Let the experiance make you a better person. Let it help you understand other people. Let it help you grow. Nothing is worth giving up on. Nothing can destroy who you are.
Sunday, November 30
People. Life.
Smile!
“Who am i?” Should be the question.
“Why am I here? What is my goal?”
Unlike many others, ironically lucky enough to bathe in a pool of blissful ignorance, I am perfectly aware of what my goal is: making people smile… laugh, cry, think, suffer, doubt, sing, hate, possess, LIVE.
And then just disappear from their lives. That is what I was born for.
Sounds sad, doesn’t it… Being caught in my own ephemeral existence, with no escape, no fleeting chance of hope, which, theoretically, is supposed to spray eternal.
I am merely a pragmatic passenger through this long, bumpy journey called life. Here to observe, take notes like a perfectly raised 7th grade student, fixing what needs to be mended and destroying what needs to be ruined.. Then disappearing in the dark like an actor who has finished saying his lines and gets thrown off the stage against his will.
Why? I wish I could answer that engaging question. Sometimes I fight. Struggle to stay in their lives, to be something more than a vivid memory. But as I was given to find out, it’s impossible. My role is to change. I am the hero.
The powerful drug which opens your eyes and makes you feel alive, a drug which you will soon try to get rid of, because you realize that if you’re addicted to it for too long, it’ll destroy you.
But there is one thing nobody ever noticed during all these years of continuous struggle for survival. Heroes need to be saved too.
Someone once told me you don’t need anyone to save you. Wrong. We all do, one way or another, at some point in our lives. We all scream inside, sending out silent moans into the void, hoping that someone will hear them.
All I know is that I’m proud of my role. And for the rest of my life I will keep trying to make the ones around me smile. Because this, my friends, is the best job anyone could ever have.
And yet, heroes need to be saved too…
Are You There ?
I'm looking at you...But are you there?
The essence of which I see...feel...taste...hear...
Are you there?
Or are you an astral projection of what I'd like you to be,
Just because my feelings exist.
Are you there? Can you hear?
Pause. for one minuscule second, just to reckon,
Or rather, recognize...
The true...bonafide..depth of our lives.
Entwined within one another forever,
Till death, or until the ties are unanimously severed.
Remember....when I asked....
Are you there?
Can you feel my heart?
Beating in tune with yours,
Ever...
So...
Softly.
Come, closer, closer, I need you...
Closer.
Far off in the distance, no use to one like me...
When I need you...
Closer.
Are you there, on the other line,
Soaking in the sweet nothings that mean something,
Because something....something,
It just HAS to be something....About you.
Coming to the conclusion that I cannot,
Under any circumstance,
Spend another day without you.
So, tell me....are you...
There?
My sweet, my precious,
My jewel.
Shine, shimmer, glitter, glow,
Glimmer.
All words that cannot come CLOSE,
To the truest cognizant description,
Of who you truly are.
Mentally, physically, spiritually,
We are bonded.
Like chemicals that are no longer their own,
But a compounded substance,
Our ties not yet at their strongest.
I'm dreaming and dreaming,
Your face is recurrent.
I'm swimming and swimming,
To keep up with this current,
But currently, suddenly,
I'm back to the board,
To draw...
But the lines make up....You.
Yes, again, over, again, over.
I try not to, but it happens regardless.
I think I'll sue cupid. I'm love-retarded.
But in all my emotional retardation,
Three words I can hear...
I can see, feel, and touch you...
But...
Are...
You...
There...?
Shall i Compare thee
Shall I compare thee to a world's ending?
An uncertain quiver that shakes the core,
That ushers with its furious rending,
A promise of silence and nothing more.
Promise me a world of cracking concrete,
Of empty cities and of soiled skies,
Where we strolling down the purposeless streets,
Speak of the ashes in our hair and eyes.
I wish to creep across your grey-clad heart,
Like the ivy across the tumbled stones,
And in a dying world not worlds apart,
We will go walking through the city's bones.
Though the greenest seasons fool lovers' heads,
In a wasted world we shall make our beds.
Very much inspired by sonnet:18.
Saturday, November 29
Black Rose Immortal.
A lone leaf fell from a now bare branch, twirling around in the breeze before landing gently on the ground, the soft grass cushioning its descent. Ends curling inwards, its death was a haphazard mix of red and gold, with a hint of its previous green barely peeking through.
“I witnessed your beauty, felt your death…”
The murmured sentence was followed by a low snort, the derision of the taller of the two evident.
“Please. Don’t compare me to a leaf.” It was nothing short of a sneer, pale eyes narrowing further as cracked and blistered lips curled slightly, his skin a pale and hollowed out picture of what it used to be.
“But you were beyond all help…”
Those eyes, always so cold, widened fractionally, a hint of madness and a fury unimaginable only just perceptible. Those hands, now thin but still strong, reached out to run its palms across the silken hair of the other, before clenching into fists and pulling tight.
The pained hiss pleased him.
“I was ruined before you knew me, poet.” The acrid scent of chemicals filled the air between the two, a promise of decay.
And yet he continued. “With your embrace, so tainted…”
A growl; he’s provoked. “I’ll show you tainted… Tainted is what we did last night, tainted is when you beg for it, tainted is when you just sit and watch as I pump that shit into my veins.” The muscles in his neck are pulled taut, his back is rigid, and his teeth are dull accessories in a mouth now grinning in some sort of satisfaction only understood by someone else as ill-wired as he.
And yet he still smiled, his hair caught within the grip of pure volatility, and his eyes caught within the gaze of a man unwilling to claw his way back from a life dependent on the smaller and smaller rushes given to him by those muddy rocks. It was barely a whisper, but it was heard, and it was hated.
“A lamentation I sigh, again and again…”
The scent of iron assaults his nose as a fist hits its target, and the poet stumbles, his footing lost and his face shouting of something wrong. His eyes lift upwards, to see golden strands caught between the fingers of those pale, thin hands, hands with burns and calluses, hands with an uneasy past.
And yet he once again asks for it, for the sweet rush of pain, for the hatred of the other to flood over to him. A lick of his lips assures him that it’s blood flowing from his nose, and it only drives him to take the final step.
“In the name of desperation, I call your name…”
A bite, a scratch.
“At night I always dream of you…”
A rip, a pull.
“Am I to bid you farewell?”
A push, a shove.
“Why can’t you see that I try…”
A gasp, a cry.
“When every tear I shed, is for you?”
A kiss, a lie.
“I love you… somehow.”
\OPETH/ : )
Wednesday, November 26
Tuesday, November 25
मेरे बीड़ीबाज दोस्त
मेरे बीड़ीबाज दोस्त,
दिन के उजाले में और रात के अँधेरे में,
अक्सर आवाज लगते है -
'ओए, बीड़ी है क्या?"
और मैं कहता हूँ -
"आओ, इस बीड़ी को जिगर से जलाओ"
वो बीड़ी जिगर से जलाये या नहीं,
पर जिगर तो जलता है जब जब,
जली बीड़ी मिले ना तब तब |
..And thus sank the taj *
The silent symphony, the unsung ode
of millions Loves, that bore no testaments
when turned into a Blue sea of tears
The Kings, the Lears
the crowns and the crowned
all of them drowned.
.
For centuries they turned labour into ornaments
From Red blood of starving peasants
they made a monument of love
White as a dove.
.
But with all their Yellow gold they sank
and sank with them
the extravagant symbol of the love royale
old and pale...
.
The Taj !!
* (c) Naash!
Monday, November 24
My Anathema - My last goodbye
He watches her, eyes lowered, rims reddened by the sanguine tears threatening to fall. He is confident they won’t though – he never cries. He takes a step closer to her, and bows his head. His hands are clasped in front of him; his face is the perfect picture of remorse.
Looking at her, he can almost convince himself that she is merely sleeping. Never in his life has he seen her looking this peaceful, for she was not a peaceful person - callous, vindictive, sadistic yes, but not peaceful, never peaceful…a trait which made her all the more endearing to him.
It surprises him how natural she looks. With a demure smile playing at the corners of her mouth, she looks as though she will sit up at any moment. But that would never happen, could never happen.
His gaze sweeps down the length of her body, from the loose ringlets of her long chestnut hair, to the bouquet of roses clasped at her front, and further down to her feet, where her silk slippers are just visible beneath the frothy organza of her skirt.
He feels his chest tighten, his breath catch in his throat. Forcing himself to breathe, he is almost overcome by the heady, powerful aroma of the roses. His eyes take in the bouquet. The twelve scarlet blooms, with the one perfect ivory head mixed in. It looks like a mistake, as though the florist had run out of red, but it isn’t. It’s exactly how he’d ordered it.
He almost cannot bring himself to look at her face again, but he knows that he must. He slowly brings his gaze back upwards. The harsh, cold expression she once wore has been erased, replaced with an expression he cannot fathom.
Her once blue eyes are now a dull gray, hidden beneath her lowered lids. The milky skin of her face has been meticulously made up, flawless once more. A pale pink has been added to her cheeks, adding to the illusion of life. The mocking, sardonic smirk he knows so well no longer plays at the corners of her lips, replaced instead by a serene smile.
As he hears the bell of a nearby clock chime, he knows that he is running out of time. As he takes in the full length of her body again, he notices several petals have fallen from the roses, resting gently on the bodice of her dress. He feels his breath catch once more – fallen petals for his fallen angel.
He steps closer still to her. His chest has tightened once again, his breathing has become shallow.
“My anathema,” he whispers, his voice cracking with every syllable, “my beautiful anathema.”
He bends closer, allowing his lips to brush against hers ever so gently. As he says his final goodbye, he is overwhelmed by his sorrow. Standing straight again, he cannot believe - does not want to believe - that this is it, the last chance he will ever have to see her, to touch her, to feel her presence.
He is unaccustomed to an emotion such as this; never before has he had to deal with this maelstrom of love, and loss, and despair. At last his façade of apathy has been broken, but now there is no-one who can tell him what to do.
He bends to kiss her once more, savoring the feel of her smooth, cool skin against his chapped lips. He closes his eyes, desperate to make his final moment with her last.
As he stands and begins to leave, he is unaware of the veil of red which has dropped before his eyes. Almost blinded by his grief, he doesn’t notice the single tear snaking its red path down his cheek. Nor does he notice its iridescent twin, slowly trickling its way down hers.
Sunday, November 23
Think
Think of truest word you could ever imagine,
Arrange them in a beautiful way,
Now,You see me in every word,
Yes, I am every word.
Think of perfect music you could ever imagine,
Whisper the lines you wrote that night,
Now, you see me in every song,
Yes, I am every song.
Think of purest feeling you could ever imagine,
Add some lovely emotions,
Now, you see me in yourself,
Yes, I am you.
Immortal
I have a song that never ends,
The deafening silence is my music,
The humming cries are my lyrical words,
Now, you know the song,
Wont you sing with me to make it immortal ?
I have a pray that never ends,
The words i write is my holy book,
The dried flowers in book are my divine givings,
Now, you know the pray,
wont you pray with me to make it immortal ?
I have a life that ends,
The love for thee are my breaths,
The love of thine is my heartbeats,
Now, you know my life,
Won't you live with me to make it immortal ?
रमता जोगी
अस्त-व्यस्त जिंदगी की अभ्यस्त से पस्त एक सूरज,
प्रेम के ढाई आखर की आसक्तता से त्रस्त एक चाँद,
मन में अनचाही भरी रिक्तता से ग्रस्त एक तारा,
मेरे दिन रात अधूरे, मेरा आकाश भी हारा,
मन म फिर भी भीगी सी यादें, और मैं रमता जोगी सा मस्त सारा ||
बावरा मन
बावरा मन देखने चला एक सपना,
बावरे से मन की देखो, बावरी है बातें,
बावरी सी करवटें है, बावरी है रातें,
बावरी सी अंखियों से क्यूँ सपने दूर भागे,
बावरे से पैर चाहे, बावरी सी रहो पे,
तेरे संग चलना |
बावरा मन देखने चला एक सपना ||
बावरे से इस गगन म बावरे दो पंछी हो,
बावरी सी एक तमन्ना, बावरी पर सच्ची हो,
बावरा सा एक धुआं हो, बावरा एक आग हो,
बावरा सा एक धुआं हो, बावरी एक आग हो,
बावरी सी काईं पे, बावरे से बचपन जैसे,
तेरे संग फिसलना |
बावरा मन देखने चला एक सपना ||
बावरा सा हो ऊजाला, बावरी परछाइयां,
गुनगुनाती धुप हो, बावरी तन्हाइयां,
बावरे से बदरा छाये, बावरी फिर बरखा आये,
बावरे से बदरा छाये, बावरी फिर बरखा आये,
बावरे सी भोर में, बोझल पलको से,
तेरे संग उठना |
बावरा मन देखने चला एक सपना ||
Of Course the poem is inspired by one of the best song ' baavra man'
पिया
पिया, मोहे तोसा मिला ना कोई,
ना हो पाए तोहरे नैना हमार,
ना छू पाए तोहरे लब पिया,
ना रहा तोसा अब खुमार,
ना ही रही तोसी मीठी तलब,
रहे तो बस रेत के घरोंदे,
और रहा जल ऊफान,
पिया, तुम काहे नहीं हो सके हमार |
पिया, मोहे तोसा मिला ना कोई रे,
तोहर जाने से सुधबुध मैंने खोयी रे,
जाने कितेक बिलखी मैं, जाने कितेक मैं रोई रे,
नींद से बोझल आँखे मेरी, जाने कब से ना सोयी रे,
पिया, तेरे कारण मैं खुद की भी ना होई रे |
पिया मोरे, मोहे तोसा मिला ना कोई,
ना मिले तोहरे दिन,
ना मिली तोहरी राते,
ना ही मिला तोसा रूप,
ना ही तोसी बाते,
मिला तो बस एक भीगा सा मन,
और मिली,
तोहरी बावरी सी यादें |
Saturday, November 8
माँ
हाँ माँ,
मैंने हाल ही में गीत सुने है ,
तुम्हारी अंत:पुकार ,
तुम्हारी ममता,
तुम्हारे त्याग,
और,
तुम्हारे,
असीम प्रेम के बारे में,
सोचा,
क्यूँ ना मैं भी एक गीत लिखू,
मेरी माँ के लिए,
प्यारी अम्मी के लिए |
देखो माँ,
कितना नादान हूँ न मैं,
तुम्हारी लोरी से बढ़कर,
कोई गीत कहाँ होगा,
पर,
फिर भी,
मैं एक गीत लीख रहा हूँ,
तुम्हारे लिए,
तुम्हारा आरम्भ और अंत,
कहाँ होगा भला,
पर,
फिर भी मैं,
गीत आरम्भ कर रहा हूँ,
तुम्हारे लिए ||
देखो माँ,
कितना नादान हूँ न मैं,
अभी तक अनजान की शुरुआत कहाँ से करूँ,
उस रात से -
जब मुझे सूखे मैं सुलाया था,
और,
तुम बिना करवट लिए,
गीले में सोयी थी,
या फिर उस रात से -
जब पापा ने मुझे डांटा था,
और,
तुम अँधेरे में जाके,
अकेली रोई थी |
देखो माँ,
कितना नादान हूँ न मैं,
अभी तक अनजान,
कि,
इस गीत में लिखूं तौ क्या लिखूं,
उस दिन के बारे में -
जब मैं पहली बार बहार गया था,
और,
तुमने आंसुओ से,
अपनी साडी भिगोई थी,
या फिर उस दिन से -
जब मैं घर वापिस आया था,
और,
तुमने सारी की सारी ममता,
मुझपे लुटोयी थी ||
देखो माँ,
मेरी नादानगी,
तुम्हारी तुलना मैंने,
इस सूरज से कर दी थी,
पर मैं भूल गया था,
कि,
तुम उदय होने के बाद,
कभी अस्त नहीं होती,
हाँ माँ,
तुम्हारी तुलना मैंने,
उस बादल से भी कर दी थी,
पर मैं भूल गया था,
कि,
तुम प्रेमजल बरसाते,
कभी प्रशस्त नहीं होती |
हाँ माँ,
देखो ना मेरी नादानगी,
मैंने गीत लिखने की,
कोशिश की है,
तुम्हारे लिए,
मेरी प्यारी माँ के लिए,
अम्मी के लिए ||
:)
O! She, Happy birthday thee!
An un-thought birthday song he thinks,
for the lovely star that never blinks,
for making her remember love and care,
for fulfilling her dreams in everway and everywhere,
He thinks, yes, he thinks.
An Un-read birthday song he writes,
of the beautifull goddess of lights,
of making her fell all the joys,
of sending her chocolates and toys,
He writes, Yes, He writes.
An Unheard birthday song he sings,
to the flying buitterfly that lovingly swings,
to make her smell all the flower petals,
to protect her in all the battles,
He sings, Yes, He sings.
And he slowlyt whishpers,
"O!She, Hapy birthday Thee!"
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