Posted in amibiguity, answers, change, darkness, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, freedom, friends, HOPE, Hypocricy, life, lost, love oneself, poetry on life, poetry on love, the mind

Carried Away.

carried-away-by-a-scent-gun-legler

Carried away in the windmills of desire for desire,

A hunt for what was felt not..What was found not..

Wondering if this was the rhythm of  fall and rise not knowing the end,

If the path might lead away from the drabness,

Away and yet into another forest edge..

Edge of just the beginning? Or is the end already?

How far does one breath last? How long can one hold ones breath?

And the once traversed edges and forgone brazenness,

Now there we were, here we are, blatantly hunting again..

To the very end, For more always..

And might one run out, only to break into a bleak fall onto the hard earth?..

Or just feel another spin, with no cradle to land in..

A moment of fleeting touch, and the hunter and hunted melt away?..

 

A prowling sinner awakens within the simpleton,

Feeding off spilling sounds of mumbling caress..

Flaying about the senses, to drain the whispers of two minds,

In a time where life seemed to walk backwards,

A brush of unknown cajoles the mind..

A  degree higher in depth , a degree closer to self..

Bathing in camaraderie of selfish fornicating and a tipping edge of likeness,

 

Temptations far too fickle in nature,

Unhinged, Unbinding and unknown forever the calling..

Deviations persist through their innate nature..

Exceptions drowning the words of saints..

Which would you choose?

Ruffle the monotony on a path undone of spiked drunkenness?

Or smother the breaths with ruptured righteousness?

To be carried away in desire for more want ,

More prowess,

more dreams,

And more unknown..

Ain’t that no sin? Or just a norm for sinner?

For it never felt like one to him,

For a sinner shan’t ever know the end… Look to the end

Keep them coming..He would say

Be carried away.. For the end is never far, never near.

Posted in amibiguity, blogging, change, cynicism, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, life, living, loss, love, love oneself, poetry, poetry on life, society, struggle, the mind, time

Cynical and Baked in Questions

It gets difficult..more and more difficult as you proceed with time and the picture of life presents itself in its many attires. Mind you I didn’t say progress with time or walk with time, just proceed with time. Word choice and placements have a significance of their own.

At some point you feel that there are things you have lived through and are living  through and they appear to be the same kind of things.  Same mistakes, same kind of degenerations. A spinning of deja vu.  At some point you question, that maybe you are just being a wise fool, especially with the way you ask questions, the same wise ones over and over again.All you wish is for a day that sprung the meaning of life itself to you. But the appearance of and questions about incidents, parables, predicaments and blessings keep resounding against closed door of your clogged shell of very gooey ego. Self stranded emotions and brittle feelings keeping piling up. It makes one feel caught and pinned onto a point, when all swings by and the wind blows but you are dangling from the hard rusty iron needle of time. Going in circles along the same loop, you don’t even have the pleasure of rolling along.

You wonder how you ended up here and what do you even have to  show for your self? And why do you even want to show something for your self? Why are you lagging so far behind in your walk to being a monk? Is there a sheet of  paper that defines you or is there a purpose which encompasses and protects your ego manifesting an obscure image, but an image nonetheless to the eyes of the world. Are you what you see in the reflection of this world and also are you what you speak and what you think you need and want? Or are just a Mr. Nobody in the shoes of very malleable live sculptor of you. No wonder, you always want to reinvent your self as they call it-a new makeover ,every now and then, it gets you excited, your very  malleable ego is at least.

You wonder if you really have gathered friends and if their loyalty walks in a two way street. Where does your loyalty lie, how far does your loyalty go? Does the man really speak what he means? Or does he even know what he means? Is the ego ever satisfied, is pleasing plug ever diffused, Are the eyes ever alive with a smile that comes without a question, without a memory of having lost a battle in other moments.I wonder if a blind, deaf and dumb lady without an inch of memory would smile? If she smiled, what would she smile about? and would her eyes smile, Would her eyes feed the world the sense of an emotion and expression even if it did not count in her blessings.

The people we meet leave deep and dangerous stride of prints , and deep heaps of brown,muddied and soggy dusted down remains of time. Always a slippery slope or notorious ditch within self. Do you ever wonder if what you feel is reflected in the heart of another, will you ever know the heart of another, will you ever know the truth? Or is knowing the truth an oxymoron because one can never know anything and the truth is a flirtatious breeze of momentary epiphany.

If man was one part of nature, and what man makes is another apart of nature, the two combine and use and delve into each other to thrive and build a culture and frame of living. Once you step out of the frame, you have just fallen out  of bed and are now wide awake. Wide awake and piling a basket of questions. The culture has been breeding and knitted into a very fine sheath with a hemmed membrane. All the people you know are swinging in the cradle of the sheath wrapped up in it but you, you are suddenly sitting on the bare ground.

Is it possible to feel happiness even when you know there is a life built by others and you have to be the mice spinning in the running wheel.  Do I think I am better than others? Well, then I am just as narcissistic and an ego maniac as the next person. But I do fall out of the bed of sheath, naked, cynical and baked in questions.

 

 

Posted in amibiguity, answers, blogging, change, emotions, expressions, feminism, HOPE, humanity, Hypocricy, life, mindset, Moralizing, poetry, poetry on life, questions, society, strength, struggle, the mind, time

Triumph over self.. 

The parchment and the blank space shall absorb all my postulated negativity..

And the smears of hope… Maybe it shall sing me a new song..anew answer..

With such an endeavoring wish tucked in my self.. Proceed I..

And smother I, it with my blunt words and purposeless thoughts..

 

Have I everything I need? And what is it I need and for what?

Have the people I love been cajoled yet? Cajoled by the time spent to stay on..

Why is acceptance a need, a need- so very binding?

Oh my… what if she gets what could be mine…

what if he takes away the spoon that could be mine..

To what end must it serve? to what end does need serve?

To need is to survive and to survive is to need, ain’t it?

Is what I own in me.. a shadow of what the other own?

Ought I to be better and different?

 

Is my ego to be grow on hedges and fence my crisscross ways?

Or must it slumber below..knead itself?

Has my own shadow darkened by heart?

Must my reflection in the eyes of the world be firmer…

Be colored in ways my self has not encapsulated…

Am I to be a master of my ego.. Or am I to be a servant?

To master it, ain’t it the same as to serve it?

Must I hide my faults.. must I smuggle the protruding black jewels into a dark corner..

Or must I smack it with laughter..

 

Why is beauty so well carved by symmetrical terms..

by eyes serving the proposed norms…

why is beauty such a need.. why is beauty so well sculpted in forms so well pruned.

Why must my beauty be compared and scripted and marked..

why must I serve a servitude to these very engraved thoughts…

To needs.. to pertinence with this humming civilization..

 

To be free from self.. free from want.. from desire…

Ohh how sumptuous..how freeing.. how embezzling is the thought of

“triumph over self”..

Ohhh..But how ensnaring to be turning in this cocoon of self..

spiraling..

but to reach no purposeful end.. desiring to be free from self.. and yet reaching nowhere..

 

 

 

 

Posted in art, change, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, freedom, HOPE, life, living, poetry on life

Device to creation

Hi all.. bit of a long post..a few thoughts about living without infringement of artificial devices.. about hope:)

Device to creation

The glare of the machines, ain’t it piercing your eyes..?

Ain’t your brain mewling in puddles yet?

Or is it numb.. Static.. Too hefty for reception of candid natural frequencies..

The titter in your back pocket, The rings of banter…glib chatter.. 

Moments lost with the mind in the cloud.. watching the creations through a lens..glued unto itself 

Looking at expressions in loosely connected words of others… through the machines..just looking

Do you not want to express? Do you not want to leave yourself behind in the dust.. Become the morsels.. Feel the friction..

Galvanize with those expressions?

The cloud .. Ain’t it suckling on the juices of thy mind.. transmitting posed moments about the world seen not..

The square shaped device.. all the heart has to say and mind has to spawn ..spilled into it..hopes of another catching a whiff..

Aren’t you a device yet? Mind glazed, buttons rickety?

4 thick walls… a glass window… And knots in your heart..

None to drown your evenings with..

None to delve deeper with, wander around with on trails of thoughts..

Lonesome.. unlearnt and deaf to the sound of the life created as it was..

Music of the Life thee was created into.. melancholy and gay.. yet riveting and arousing..

There is none of that now.. The time has spindled back..

Roll back… daze into a time before it all..

Resting in a shack.. Skin to skin with the earth.. blinking at the day from the window of thy soul..

At the foot of the hills dressed in clouds.. Tresses grey.. White..in a whirlwind..

Clouds like typhoon around the sun.. sauntering around the mountains at its mundane pace..

Stroll miles along the slippery path…lush green hedges..

Drenched Muddied path.. Water seeps through pores from nowhere..

Rough boulders piled in heaps..purple weeds peaking from amidst…

Gusts of wind.. Tinge of salt in the airs..Climb atop… To the breathless expanse befriending the horizon..

The eyes meet salvation in such formidable yet unhinged nature.. 

The brazenly beautiful sight of the ocean.. 

Somber Waves Caressing the sand.. 

Feisty waters rising , crashing until called back to the ocean.. It’s true home..

Muffled laughter of lads savoring their freedom..mingled with lull of the sea.. 

Maidens gay with laughter.. Women soaking the sun… cajoling their dumplings..

Chattering of their lives.. some mellow.. some shelving the sorrows in their eyes..

Yet all in their hearts.. knowing the pain of the other.. glowing in the happiness of the other..

Ain’t thy heart alive.. Almost as though thy first breath is relived every passing minute..

Mind hungry.. And yet free from shackles.. Clinging to nothing..

Breathing just as thee is.. In soothing harmony with the ensembles of the Jarring beauty..

Filled with hope… Ain’t your heart smiling into you? Almost as though your long time mate.. Closest confidant..

Thy is Feasting on the simplicity… yet the unbridled truth of creation that engulfs thee..

If thee sauntered into the fields of imagination.. Or swung with the true ripples of nature..

The parchment waiting.. for the spill of secrets you unearth from the day..

Would be inked with the vibrant freedom that thy mind is engrossed in.

Lost and found you are , as you was.. One with the permeating nature of glorious creation.

 

Posted in change, criminals, darkness, documentary, feminism, human rights, India, india's daughter, life, rape

India’s Daughter

India’s Daughter- It leaves you shaking. Nothing that you don’t know or haven’t heard. But listening to those bloody Non-Living beings (do words exist? words for them can’t exist) who unfortunately think and breathe and live, it makes you feel empty inside, the brutality, those thoughts, the ideas. You feel no hope, you know there is not a chance that eradication of evil will ever be a reality, all we can do is prevent, heal, punish. Because there is no cause, a need for power that has crossed the line of need and is just a habit, rape and abuse is a habit, brutality is a habit, yeah, imagine that, no cause for that makes any sense.

Now that’s a very good documentary, how in the devil’s name does it corrupt our culture, how is it insensitive for a culturally sensitive society to be watching the film. Talking about rape, its effects, the thought process that supports and instigates it, how can that be culturally insensitive, dumb, plain dumb.

First of all, at the risk of sounding like a completely confused 21st century young adult, what is our culture again? Is it about tolerance, respect, upholding ideals, or what, just dancing on durga puja and ganesh festivals, talk about destruction of evil, protection, women power, ghar ki lakhsmi and blah blah.. Yeah right let’s never talk about the culture of rape and abuse to make sure our ego is never deflated, Lets sweep that under the mat, keep it locked behind doors and let the acts thrive on the mats behind the locked doors. The awesome façade of Indian culture, lets keep that up.
I am sure the good of our culture does pervade into certain streets, into certain homes and certain arenas of our life, but lets face it, we are hardly ever tolerant in our everyday life towards other’s thoughts, towards change,we like deciding what the another must to do with his or her life. And that never helps build a society which is a safety net for not only women but those to whom life shows its ugliest face. I talk about our community cause I that’s all I have experienced.

But why is it so difficult to talk about the real evil, the squirming worms in the minds of so many and the stinky words that leave their tongues. Why not watch that, acknowledge that, accept that.Why not rip off those tongues?
If I had my way, I would make sure the judges not only lost their jobs, and if not have them hung at least make sure they ended up in one of the jails with the best of the brutal criminals who have crossed all limits with men and women. They could talk with them about our Indian culture then and how its no place for a woman,lets see how long it saves them,..enjoy you”%$2$@$”!

Yeah sounds like revenge, but peace can only get you only so far. Laws-please have them define human before applying them to human beings. The idea is not to follow an ideal, it is to save lives, realize the value of a “human” life and act upon it. If intervention at an early age through education can nurture the minds, can save those ones who are broken and are on the edge or are about to cross over to a path from from where there is no return, save them, heal those who need the healing but drown those who actually deserve death, painful death in lava.

Posted in change, darkness, emotions, expressions, life, love, love oneself, memories, mindset, poetry, poetry on life, questions, re-incarnation, soul, the mind, time

Cocoon of Freedom

Do you become what you hate?

Do you become what you love?

Or do you only love what you can’t become?

Or do you love only your reflection in every grain of sand?

What we carve our souls into, is already a mould,

It has thorns, it has nails, and it leeches onto the images our eyes clasp onto,

Every crisp notion of existence I have was a haze before,

It lay stale, rotting in the fungus that was fed to my mind,

At a time when the world I fathomed to exist, existed in only patterns of right and wrong,

And I chose to clutch the trailing thoughts of others,

I stuttered to express what I did not understand,

 I raveled myself in which I bludgeoned myself to believe,  

 

 A ferry waited at the end of my dying stammering self,

One fateful night I met the night guard at the bank,

He asked me if I wanted to crossover then, morning the ferry would be gone,

I collected the shattered pieces of my mind; some jagged ends bled my soul,

On the way I tripped on the tightly laced shoes,

 Then left them near the old tree from where hung ragged clothes, masks and shoes,

Barefoot, I got onto the ferry and set off to the other side,

To find missing pieces of my mind,

To be in presence of those colors of light,

 As the beams passed by my soul, images under the veiled reality would form,

Focusing from infinity to a my finite existence, a surreal view,

Yet an existence where my soul could breathe and could trace the waves,

The curved turbulence that sounded the hymns and curses sung by own mind,

Mindlessness was a destructive interference of rays trapped in a cottage,

 Walls camouflaged by words scripted by others,

I burnt it down, but the fire still crackles, smoke still blows in the wind,

 

A rusted bridge, a path appears every fortnight,

 A path back to the village of my dying thoughts,

Though much gibberish, mutters my mind, and obscure images, see my eyes,

I shan’t climb that bridge,

Heart is a nomad, but it resides in this land now,

Though tormented by the unknown, it is enlightened,

 But the ground is slippery, is cracked and heated, feet are sore and blistered, and nights are chilly,

Yet the solitude is comforting,

 As my fixation with my baffling shell of infinite reality is my cocoon of freedom.

 

Posted in amibiguity, art, change, CRAZY ART, emotions, expressions, life, Music

Random

Its been a long time since I have sketched anything, Usually I am just sitting and doodling away, trying to clear my head but this time I was listening to some instrumental music. That is because since long planning I have been  to introduce music and art together to my students in this form.

I have always found structure, rules, answers and conclusions to be limiting. How can one ever know anything for sure, but the mind being a set of electrical pipelines that tends to find and needs a form or structure to relate to, Or it just makes something non structured into a structure. However, I find that just letting my pen take over, questioning everything with a why and how opens the mind up. I never find any conclusive answers, just more questions questioning the previous answer.

 

 

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Posted in amibiguity, change, Economic Disparity, education system, emotions, expressions, feminism, Hypocricy, life, life, mindset, Moralizing, poetry, poetry on life, re-birth, re-incarnation, silence, society, soul, the mind

Scales Of Evolution

balance

Human was not born into this world,

Only evolved from the animals we call beasts today,

Before the evolution tipped the scales,

The seas, the mountains the earth, the petals, the weeds

The shells, the sand, the morsels of life that traversed with the wind,

The earth bubbled in its serene existence with zealous purity,

The purity that a mountain spring sprinkles upon the dwellers,

Flowing sometimes stealthily,

At times flowing with an exuberant force,

Young and vibrant in search of new lands to explore,

All the forms of life, large and dynamic, shrewd and slippery,

Roaring and domineering, small and fastidious,

Lived on these streams, on those springs

They pounded the land when in need,

Their formidable yet magnificent animalistic power shook the earth

But the scales were always left balanced,

Logic, a reason that led to rise of another species,

Nameless multifarious species rather,

This age, Evolution is taking a toll as one species looses itself in a whirlwind of its own creations,

This day, this period of earth’s and its dwellers lives,

The springs, the air, the pure forces of life infected by the viral uproar,

Are drying up, worse corrupting all that it touches,

And vanquishing the purity to graveyards dug by our evolved mindlessness,

Or rather mindfully shrewd actions,

Foolish we are to think our time immortal,

Trapped we are in the science we harrowed out from this earth,

Entangled we are in our own traditions and thoughts,

Thoughts that were led by reason once are today shackled by the lack of it,

As we abhor change, obnoxiously pride ourselves on our social systems,

As we evolve into what evolution had never fathomed possible.

It’s time to rename ourselves,

Unless we let the springs sprinkle us again,

Clean the dirt, the marsh,

We assimilate, we mellow down,

We withdraw and loosen our adamant sense of ownership,

We melt the shackles of power,

Mold the molten steely power into the axe that could bring to surface our former self

Or make it the magical ingredient,

An ingredient added in potions drunk by us to turn into the personification of godliness,

A godliness that is stirred with drops of devil’s blue blood to tip the scale towards a balance.

Let’s reach, let spiral back to the point of incidence of human and beast.

Posted in art, change, darkness, emotions, expressions, life, love oneself, me, mindset, poetry, poetry on life, soul, the mind

My Book Of Dreams

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My book of dreams

I have one that is stowed beneath my pillows

Pillows of need and momentary salvations

Yet my subconscious sleeps on it every moment.

 

It is the one,

The one for which I breathe smoke, and dry air

In adamant desire of breathing in the scent of “the path”

A path decked with petals, monuments of hope and life,

 

The book, its existence is the reminder,

Reminder of my purpose,

This book when lost, Leaves me barren, void,

Stranded, only hanging on the hands of the clock, tick tock

 

I fear its loss,

I fear its burial in the grounds of rotten cowardice,

Air drenched with the stench of stale worthlessness

And pettiness of delusional grief

 

Frail pages, burnt at the corners,

Illegible scribbling and scratching, rewriting of my souls whisperings,

The writing in the book blurs, like it has now

The skepticism and powerlessness of a lost soul, dissolves the ink even more

 

Where can I find the quill?

The quill with the memory of all that is missing,

Quill endowed with the boon of inerasable ink,

Quill that breathes life into the minuscule scriptures,

 

Maybe it’s hidden in between the pages,

Or maybe it’s the key to an anew cave, where I could write on stone

Engrave it and let my soul fly in and out, feed on the fervor of the aromatic cave

Or maybe it’s right here in between my fingers, awaiting my orders.

 

P.S-I edited one of my doodles:)

P.S- And it just sort of happened to match today’s daily prompt-Fearless Fantasies.. so I am gonna to include a Ping back! 🙂