Come Undone

Walking down memory lane, 
like scratching open a wound long scabbed over yet never healed;
Perverse, is the word
perverse my compulsion.
All wrapped up in myself today
A song unfurls me
perversely once again
I've come undone.

Fuzzy Nights of Starbucks

Fuzzy nights of Starbucks Spent looking at big apple lights
I think back to where I have been
Think about where I am And where I might go.
Unbidden trips down memory lane
Taken on fuzzy nights of Starbucks.
Nowhere to go
No place to be at
No one to be with
And nothing to do in fuzzy nights of Starbucks.
Lazily I poke at words
And letters and thoughts.
Inadvisable are the what ifs pondered
during fuzzy nights of Starbucks.

We the humans are dead

Another candle out on the roof of the world
a flash of orange goes yellow and is lost.
The night grows darker yet again
but its ok, we are blind.
We are deaf or we just don't hear
the march of jackbooted feet
on babies of wrong kind.
Our mute faces don't scream for your women
while their wombs are ripped out.
And our impotent arms don't rise up in rage
to unshackle the children of Shangri-La from chains.
Don't look at us, for we certainly won't even look at you
miserable wretches with our glamor addicted eyes.
Your pleas for help will be heard
but save your dying breath for they will go in vain.
Don't you see how useless we are my brothers?
Don't you know?
that for all intents and purposes,
we the humans are dead?
___________________________________________________________________________


This one is for those who have given their lives to bring oppression to light. Though the world chooses to ignore their pleas for help, there are at least some who see it. I see it. Do you?

http://www.savetibet.org/resource-center/maps-data-fact-sheets/self-immolation-fact-sheet







Photograph thanks to: http://www.flickr.com/photos/metrix_feet/5056380074/

Castaway

A heart turning on vodka dipped bones,
the grisly bonfire sends smoke signals to yesterday.
Goodbye, thanks for everything, I love you.
Spectral signs to the ship sailing away.

Thoughts about the Slap

The people rattle their chains today
a slap on the face of corruption echoes
across the corridors of power it goes
a message from the broken the hungry and poor.
Mend your ways before the slap becomes a fist
and paralysed jaws are rent asunder
sheepskin costumes of khadi are torn
and your toothy grins are swept under
the flood of a billion feet from north
to south from east to west and more
fists fly up
in rage to horror
of your greedy eyes of stone.
As you hide behind security class "zee"
and you push in my face a gun, or three,
go color yourself saffron or green
or run to the Italian mafia family.
The levi it is breaking
the damn it crumbles
as yet another leech through a broken mouth mumbles,
the hand of the nation connects resounding
and every heart of my country swells astounding!
Remember you parasitic khadi clad pest
there are plenty of 'men' still around in India.

This is reflection on the recent incident of a Delhi young man slapping Sharad Pawar (the Agricuture Minister of India) who is apparently sick of rising prices and corrupt politicians (See http://www.thestatesman.net/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=391119&catid=35). I feel unless our political establishment takes heed of the rising anger among the people and does a little soul searching, things might get more violent in future and gentle voices like Anna might be lost in the roar of an angry and frustrated nation.

Going by the news reports I read, our politicians have squandered this opportunity by squabbling instead of stepping up and thinking "why". Pawar himself has refused to forgive the said youth, while his party has tried assaulting him (and succeeded according to some), and holding the state of Maharashtra hostage with strikes and public violence.

Shame on you

Little people in their little kingdoms
kowtow to fat-cats grumbling
spray pepper in the face of the future
with the world around us is crumbling.
Ninety-nine of a hundred rage
shame on you
shame on you
shame on you.

Disintegration of Self

Empty spaces,
fill my world today.
Places,
where you should have been.
Spaces which
you used to fill,
with your love,
your laughter.
Sweet nothings
which I used to whisper ,
are heard no more,
nor said.
Parts of me which were you,
are missed.
Like iron,
left out in the rain too long;
I slowly fade
and a void remains.
Every single day now
I witness
disintegration of self.

["Broken Man" image credits to Ben Wisely]

The Walk

The sun is up
and so are people
like birds in a roosting tree.
So gather your clothes
and tip-toe to your own room
Wipe that Cheshire grin off your face
and the lipstick too.

Your tears
My promises
Of Moments hot
Your pleas
My watery prison
In heaven
My heart is not in it
Why Do u still hold me
When I'd rather go
And pine for a dream impossible?

About A Stolen Moment

Time stops.
Under a starry sky
in the dark caverns of spirits,
where we dance like whirling dervishes.
Round and round we go
while the world stands still,
and fades to black.
There's just you, and me.
Our fingers meshed the way our lives can not.
I lose myself in your fragrance
and listen to our pulse.
The rhythm of the world.
And though you are the only one
who speaks my language
looks at me, and sees me,
still silence rules.
For Our lips meet,
and tidal waves,
come crashing on the shores of my heart.
Your warm breath on mine.
Sun rises at midnight,
melts the frozen landscape of my soul.
And for a stolen moment,
it's springtime.

John J

The other day I saw
John J in the park.
don't u know him?
him with the broken heart?
Clinking shards move around
the empty rooms up in his skull.
He wanders all day like a ship;
yes, like one with a broken hull.
Down at the bar, we talk of him at times
and i hear he was always a loon.
But never so far gone,
to walk among the graves at every full-moon.
Until ofcourse he met the girl.
Fell in love and went mad.
No, not mad enough yet
You see, the curse upon the village not come had.
They would see him grinning all to himself
with people, or all alone.
Would talk think dream see her
His melancholy seemed foregone.
And then came the night.
The night, surely you've heard?
They found the girl out on the moore
lying dead on the ground, murdered.
He was silent when they arrested him
and buried her under the cross.
While he being a loon was let go
to roam in the night and lie on the moss.
Well that's when it started, the curse;
the curse, sometimes takes away a lass
and he smiles n laughs to himself every time
a mad light blazing in his eyes of glass.
Gave me the chills he did
when under a noon day sun
his empty eyes locked on me
and reminded me, how anyone
with a mysterious smile,
by a twist of fate.
how anyone at all
could be John J.

No Longer Unsaid

Still flutters
a shackled bird
with a broken heart
and a broken soul
stretching out his bloodied wings
reaches for shattered dreams
with eyes closed but watching
all the days by gone.

Every once in a while
one of you
come claim another bite
another pound of flesh;
yet another stab of pain.
Watch him reduce
even more.
Watch him die
even more.

You watch your greed
eat your victim alive
watch him struggle
and you say,
but isn't it my right?
And carry your righteous self
away from the gore
and you tell each other
'oh, he's difficult but we love him ever more'.

You should know,
and I think you do.
But I'll still put it into words.
That walking dead bird,
hates you.

High Tide

Once more, the tidal waves
come crashing on the shore.
Drifting in the floatsam
your memories on my mind.
And once again the sandcastles
of grim, stoic resolve,
capitulate to the flood,
crumble.

By Chance Beauty

I met an angel today.
Just the two of us,
sitting alone,
among the thousands.
And for a while,
the hot summers day
and a dirty marketplace
were beautiful.

Olympics

We saw them rape you
and stamp your unborn dreams
on the roof of the world.
under hard, leather heels.
We saw them kill your children
and burn your priests
and we saw them tell us
how dearly they loved peace.
We saw the red blood mingle,
mingle in the screams
of burning yellow robes,
and a manic regime.
We saw it all but
was just a conversation piece.
It wasn't my home
the dead wasn't me.
We pretended not to notice,
we pretended to be sorry.
We wanted to hold the torch,
revel in the so called glory.

We walked on,
we just had to have the games.