Thursday, June 3, 2010

My shadow...

When insanity locks itself up and sanity is forced in the next room. When sanity pines for one look at the insanity. When insanity is self-indulged, satisfied. And when sanity all but desirous, far from satisfied, praying for insanity to overbear and overwhelm.

When all the sanity in the world is not enough for the tranquility and peace that you desire and insanity does not come to the rescue as the tranquilizer it had become, to ease the pain. To make it worth living the week after the listless, tiring week that sapped you of all desire to live the next. A week that makes you as crazy to think and write this.

Getting up in middle of the night with these random thoughts. Scattered really. Insanity opened the doors and took me with arms wide open. So, rest for later... [end of part 1]

[part 2]
It was not me writing all this. It was my shadow. In a moment when it no longer embraced my body. I was searching for it. It completes me and its back now. Self-embraced and content, with its act of randomness.

About a writer...

I am an artist
I paint pages with my pen.

I am a sculptor
I sculpt my characters.

I am a genie
I grant them their desires, and mine.

I am a potter
making vessels of clay.
I am the village wife
traveling miles to fill them with water.

I am the sand
that constitutes the vessels
and the clay
that binds it.

I am the driver
who takes them places.

I am the eyes on the street
that observes them
that judges them.

I am the mystic
who knows their future

I am the psychiatrist
who tells them their problems

I am their humility.
But this arrogance is all mine.


Sometimes I can't tell
What's right and what's wrong as hell.
What's truly on my mind
because I am not sure
If it is an instinct, wild
or processed thoughts with all connected dots.

Sometimes its wishful thinking
Sometimes passionate dreams
Sometimes love
Sometimes lust it is.

Sometimes scattered thoughts
that compel me to write
Molding clay, making objects
from the raw ingredients
that are my thoughts.

Of cigarettes and life...

If you don't want to smoke a whole cigarette, you can throw away whatever part of it you don't like. I wish that was true about life as well.

If you don't want a full cigarette, you can share it with a friend. Well, isn't that true about life as well!

A fist full of dollars

As he sat there, not
with so much as a thought
neither a tune
nor a song in his mind,
further from truth
his heart pushed his mind
but never, unfortunately, could make him blind.

Tormented by his plight,
having tasted blood in youth
the free spirit in him lamented
as it had been, since forever now,
denied of bliss.

A thought then entered
his trained and chained mind
like a pebble flung
by a callous boy
in the passive sea
sending a shiver of ripples
down his spine
as he was reminded
of having sold all his dreams
for a 'fist full of dollars'.

Don't you know me by now

I start my day
on a queer monday
thinking not of the sunday past
neither I am stressed
at the thought of the week.
It's sheer joy of living
that grips my heart;
Why am I elated?, I know not
maybe just thankful for all I got.

You say don't worry
You say you'll pray
But in this crisis my heart's bound astray
I care not for failure
I care not for my pride
nor for the future, as I see it slide.

I care for the misery I put you through
I care for the pain they feel for me
And when you say I don't care
It hurts; not because you think I am selfish
But for the thought that
You don't know me... you don't know me till now.

The Painter

I took a walk by the sea
to think through some troubles
to make an attempt to set mind free
from the mundane garbles

I met a man
painting a picture of the scene,
his unrestricted hands
swept the canvas
in a calm peaceful fashion

I walked up to him and asked
if he saw beauty
and attempted to recreate it
or did he just attempt to create it,
where there existed none.