Monthly Archives: January 2015

The Venom

To feel is to writhe in your grave, as though knives slice through your flesh,

And to not is to suffocate silently,

To surrender is to be trapped in the devil’s claws, he who chains your soul to the vile mind of love,

And keeps clinking and slashing to remind you of its existence,

He light’s your fire, through dusk and dawn,

But you burn in the pyre alone,

The black rose between its teeth, the blue between its claws,

Don’t look at it, the human soul is weakened and the devil call’s,” let me bite you”,

You are whole and yet hollow, you are ripped and your skin splattered on the cracked earth you stand,

You have sunk to the ground to piece the pieces, and you find them laden with venom from the devil,

Touch them, and blisters your skin and flashes of eyes blind you, and you are no more existing on your earth,

You are faint as fragmented pieces of your mind quench your thirst with murky water from the dark well,

Hollow and full, pain stings and knots and strangles, each breath you take, and the poison eases in a little more,

There is no escape, there is no end, die suffocating or writhing, its your choice,

it is the only way you know to live,

Jailed under the earth, where none can find you, where none can see you,

None remember you because none know you,

You breathe in only the the stench, it tells you that you are indeed alive,

Squeeze the poison out and you drown in it, in your cellar,

Can you swim in it, blistered,

You have to, my sweet, you have to die, die, die, swim and froth with venom,so that you can live.

Categories: darkness, emotions, expressions, life | Tags: , , , | 10 Comments

The Imitation Game, Imitating an Illusion.

Thoughts

So Alan Turing builds a machine to beat another machine, Christoph to nail that one setting amongst the millions manufactured by enigma before it could initiate the day’s destruction spree. We, we are at war with  time, he say’s that too. But the enigma in our lives ain’t a machine constricted by human definitions of possibilities, it ain’t a human make. Existence created time and the creation of existence is non-defined as its creator would have to be created too. Creation is again one of those very comfortable terms we humans prefer to define in hopes of finding a cause for our existence. As without a cause, the idea of a purposeless life except the purpose of just existing would diminish life to nothing. It would drive us to be insane in a way we now understand or know nothing of. But not that we are any more sane now…

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Categories: life | 2 Comments

The Imitation Game, Imitating an Illusion.

So Alan Turing builds a machine to beat another machine, Christoph to nail that one setting amongst the millions manufactured by enigma before it could initiate the day’s destruction spree. We, we are at war with  time, he say’s that too. But the enigma in our lives ain’t a machine constricted by human definitions of possibilities, it ain’t a human make. Existence created time and the creation of existence is non-defined as its creator would have to be created too. Creation is again one of those very comfortable terms we humans prefer to define in hopes of finding a cause for our existence. As without a cause, the idea of a purposeless life except the purpose of just existing would diminish life to nothing. It would drive us to be insane in a way we now understand or know nothing of. But not that we are any more sane now, as we make a move on time, we restrict our moves, dividing them into sane and insane to make sense of our insanity.  But maybe we could understand, we have those dark moments all of us do, but just breathing, living to only exist in that perpetual darkness, how would we live like that?Ask the raven, should we? It would only say, nevermore…

Now, time, if it were a machine, infinite possibilities, how would we imitate it? How do you imitate an illusion? By being an illusion yourself, by responding with our own illusions, our own perspectives. Is that the answer? But that seems like such a definite, finite answer.

Time assures us a demonstration for every moment that passes, (See, we had to divide time into moments, because we need the cause for the next moment) and we are only living the passing moment, always catching up. Can we ever win the war?

We have clasped our moments into a life,thus we fight a war that runs for a finite fraction, the parabola that began in our minds at the moment of our creation. The curve of our parabola restricting our vision sideways, the pole the point of creation, and everything before the pole beyond the mind’s vision, not imagination of course. Then again, imagination is constrained. As we navigate through the parabola, there is the infinite existence in front of us. But just as we look up and we see the sky, the sky despite bring infinite, is finite to us, on the same lines from the beginning of the parabola we see the end but there is no end. We ache for an end, for a purpose, for an understanding of what is past. As I write this rambling version of my thoughts, suddenly strikes another possibility, maybe we are moving from infinity to the pole we know exists, we are narrowing down. But still the fact remains the parabola is just a sketch, a boundary, an embellishment  on that infinite dimension of time.

Quoting  Alan’s character in the movie says, “Do you know why people like violence? It is because it feels good. Humans find violence deeply satisfying. But remove the satisfaction, and the act becomes… hollow”

The violence of time rather our violence against time, against what you call your god’s creation, can be defeated, made hollow only if we stopped feeling, but who are we satisfying by feeling anything? only ourselves. Would we stop being destructive if we stop feeling? I am not sure..maybe. The wars we fight, to feel the sense of power, the high of a triumph , the sinking sensation after a defeat , all driven by our penchant of dividing our world into sane and insane, right and wrong. Feeling it all, the burning of the raw lashes of love, our disgust and hatred for those we call lowly and thus the feel of being better than them, all of those sensations makes us feel alive. And we need to feel alive, to feel the thrill of living, moving towards a purpose, moving towards an end, towards death and yet not reaching it. Hence,sans the thrill, the solace, on the face of a dead man.

And being human is a boundary condition we accept and we do what needs to be done, and what that is which needs to be done, we have the privilege of defining for ourselves. And as I try to be what I believe, as I try to rise above my soft comfort zone where I feel comfortably numb, I realize I am at war with myself, and hence to live I build a version of myself willing it to defeat the me of the yester moment.

P.S- Thoughts inspired from The Imitation game and a really smart, brilliant and inspiring friend of mine.

And I must mention the movie was thought provoking on so many levels, it constructed many of those
thoughts which so often invade my mind and yours too,and that too in an exceedingly beautiful intricate manner. Blown away by Alan Turing and Benedict Cumberbatch.

Categories: life | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

From this end..to you

I stand on this end; hold myself in my own arms

There are miles between us, miles between our hearts,

Yet as I stood close to you and looked into your eye,

My soul seemed to still in the moment,

Thoughts incoherent swirled as I tried to decipher them, piece them or untangle them,

Frenzied by the ruckus in the mind,

Words unformed seek shelter in the cave; deep down where none can breach their silence,

You do that to me, to my thoughts, to my being

Who are you? The felon of my mind, the enticer of my carving,

As my eyes search yours, I find a stranger in them,

But stranger still is the eerie pull I feel, like I know you,

Like being siphoned in you, it occurs not the first time,

Your world rests in your palm, and mine rests in my own,

Yet when palms touch, fingers intertwine, brinks of life whistle past,

Desire reins the moment, Beats unmatched with yours, yet eyes lulled, trapped in you aura,

You know me not, you may never,

Neither is my presence felt in your time, like yours in mine,

Heart awoken by your sinister charm treads on a path of passions,

A path your soul might never find, and never will it trail on the pebbled pavements of my way,

But I carry with me, you in my memory,

A slight burn, gashes of a sensation I know nothing of, yet I will to brave that path,

Your presence is my solace from a world I understand not,

Free you are, your unsaddled being a lash of burning firelight in the darkness of lies,

Magnanimous in your fight, a warrior of life,

Wishing your life to reach the Zion of your dreams

And yes, greedy human I am, I desire for you,

Palms touching to feed the soul with your essence,

And you to bequeath our moments with a drizzle of a lasting friendship lingering in your smile

Categories: life | 5 Comments

The Promiscuous Woman

The Promiscuous woman

Desire to transcend frail laws of this ductile world,

A world pulled into the straws of right and wrong,

Narrow, binding, prickly walls of the dry mindless straws,

Laws dictating, a scarecrow directing, words divulging from the cowardly tongues,

Rising jailed bars clear pathways for you tread on,

You stagger as your mind hazy, dazed, sees not the wall, neither the bars, nor the path,

The haze is the mist clearing,

As when all is mist, beyond is hidden, blinded you are,

The path of lone existence, lone freedom, your eyes long to take that journey,

To flow down that unbanked stream, flow with your naked soul, uncaring, shameless,

Unshackle yourself from the known, embrace the unknown,

Speak your thoughts, unbridled from your soul,

It is a lash unintended yet felt by those dumb minds,

The dark nights and the moon that shines upon you,

When the moon of your eyes quenches its thirst; you quench yours as you touch those lips,

Promiscuous you are my dear woman, wanton ways, and wanton thoughts, free from saddled minds,

Surrendering to your true nature, a tingling sensation ripples your being,

The pleasure is yours to give, yours to feel,

Embrace the sun and its heat,

The darkness and the light each livens you with its own reflection,

Burning and rising to blow with the wind, you can take any form,

Ice if you will, freeze those crude notions in time, render them motionless,

It ain’t going to drive into another’s mind,

A woman, a promiscuous woman, formless,

Not drained, nor withered, nor lost in the clear carved path to a fore written destiny,

No desire from the world, no need for assent,

But only a desire to live a life, alive, a will to power driving on the wheels of thy own mind

Categories: feminism, life, poetry on women | Tags: , , , , , | 9 Comments

Infinite Nothingness

Nothing times infinity, infinite nothingness,

Nothingness is also an existence,

Complex Pattern of dots invading the space, all nothingness is the real goddamn universe,

Is there a pattern, a system of existence or is it all sham? A dupe, a game played by the mind?

The mind too is a pattern, a system, but is it really a system by itself?

Or is it just a processor, the real mind is all around us, and we are a part of it,

You stare hard at a white page, there are dots you can’t see, and there ain’t any patterns,

Look closer through those lenses and your mind manufactures the patterns,

Addicted to finding structure when there is just chaos,

Chaos of so many minds processing in each tick tock a capsule of momentary existence,

The continuity of capsules forming a complex pattern, as these patterns repeat,

Facts and fixtures are searched for and formed,

Memories formed from a trail left behind by the capsules,

Left behind is a fragrance, sometimes a stench, sometimes just a bland taste,

Sewing facts with memories a sinister game sparking off emotions,

Threads of memories intertwining, a proof of existence,

But which memory is true to its form? And which one is your pattern of facts?

Spinning of time adds its own flavors to the memory,

Existence takes the form of complex numerical, which part is real, and which is imaginary?

Or is existence by itself abstract? And I try to fit it into the patterns of real and imaginary,

Abstract existence is nothingness, infinite nothingness.

P.S- The picture sort of gives the feeling of infinite nothingness.

Categories: amibiguity, life, physics, poetry, the mind | Tags: , , , , , | 4 Comments

Stilled Time?

STILLED TIME?

Still, all that exits is still, all the exits is stillness,

You sit on the flat earth, neither do your eyes roll, nor does your chest heave to breathe,

You sit and watch just in one dimension,

The clouds don’t pass, nor do you see the wings flutter past the blackness,

All that you see is neither dark nor light, it’s nothing,

The mighty sun is just there, or not there, as it ain’t not giving light anymore, keeping it all to itself,

Light does not traverse either, so there is no light, as there is just stillness,

A still world, as all we see is mono-dimensional,

In an existence as such, what could time mean?

Where nothing was relative to another,

Time, it would cease to exist, wouldn’t it? As whoever heard of stilled time?

Time exits, rising from our need to expand in dimensions, to move,to keep moving,

Time an enigma yet as simple as “a measured step, how fast can you take it”?

Fast a word by time, aah, the frustration when one tries to untangle time in singularity,

Stillness ain’t of this world indeed,

But what if, just what if you stood blindfolded,

The memory of each passing second abolished at the birth of the next, would you still know time?

Stilled time existing in an infinitesimally timed unit,

What if you were just a thought? Could you bear to digest that?

And what you thought was another universe plying parallel to yours in another time,

Each thought, each wishful memory recreating the past, existing in your present,

Yes now, the seconds already lived relived in another timed zone writing another story of your life,

Each wish for your future sculpting a universe that lives and breathes with you in it, as you live in your thoughts now,

An old memory, still running and rerunning in another timed zone,

Then our universe, what would it be? can you see it?

It seems as though a coalesce of thoughts, clusters forming universes and galaxies,

And time? Well, is it still?

As all that passes, passes in its most non-defined, minutest span of time,

Time abolishing time,self combustion,

And pervading infinite stillness, maybe just maybe in real time stilled time does exist?

P.S-  Another unit of time, another year has gone by, Happy new year!:)

Well I have always found time to be an enigma, making everything seem like an illusion, and well I did watch interstellar which fuelled my urge to understand the whole concept, well I failed, but did jot down a few thoughts:)

Categories: amibiguity, life, poetry, time | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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