A One Too Many

A dying voice aching to shriek and split
I silenced once again.
Deranged a possibility
to the I M of it
Uprooted Unjustified
Maligned my rags and shreds
Down to each weakening thread
Once again.
I broke with a handful of expectations
Once again.
I dirtied my hand with the cruel repetition
Of saying ill never say it again
Once again I left it unsaid
Only hoping this truly was the last time
Once again.

Death in Life.

That Marquez chapter we drafted,
with mermaids and violins
and the yellow street moonlight.
Studded it with the singing, wild stars
every five pages,
checked, redrafted.
Spun some more magic minutes
and proofread.
It spilled over several books.
and over centuries of faith and smiles.
We rubbed away
the several births of strife.

But let's not publish
please don't let the ink dry
You know that chapter
can kill me forever,
or can make me alive.

Twiched Concoctions

Pigs fly two steps and fall
half limbed beggars roar of joy
the hail and hearty cry
Why not enable the debase, destitute
when the dreams ring of cacophonies
when the thick air stinks of sly.

Lets move the wind and vanish
Let there be darkness, and slur and slime
Let twitched concoctions flourish.

The ugly today

Someone touched
The dead part of me today
A part that’s dead and still killing the rest of me.
Someone rebuked today
the deadness of the fire that took so long to die down
Before it had burnt me completely.
Someone today jeered at
How ugly the healed wounds looked
Without the knowledge
How that wound had bruised
the whole of me .
someone cut me again to bleed
today some one
Arranged a new funeral for me.

Dream On

Dream on you little thing
I know that askance
You thing.
Dream on.

The plight pre- flight
Is fun.
Dream on.
You thing.

But the pre- flight
Is a flight
You thing.
Dream on.

CHOP.
GRATE.
BATTER.
MASH.
DILUTE.
DRAIN.

SECONDINNINGS @ LIFE

Katl ki shehnai ki awaaz dhoondhta he..
jala ke parinde ko uski aah ka ehsaas dhoodhta hai?
khuda ki sitamgari kaafi nahi thi,
jo din raat apne janaze ka samma dhoondhta hai?

Dhoondhna he to suraj ki rooh dhoondh kafir
kyun jale hue sitoron ki raakh dhoondhta hai?
wahan nasoor aansuon me bhi aas dhoondhte hain
tu kyun bewajah ranjishon ke saaz dhoondhta he ?

Mat dhoondh, ki dhoondhne ne se ek katra aab nahi milta,
to tu kis ummeed se sookhe me sailaab dhoondhta he ?

main kisi diljale ko kya rasmo- saaz padhaun?
meri naav ka khivaiya khudi surrakh dhoondhta hai
ees tees ka marham , din- raat ,
benakab ho , sare bazzar dhoondhta hai.

The Destitute Battle field

Like split caracasses in a battle field,
some half dead -half dying ;
some yet to be born and yet to die;
some thrown in the realm of living dead
howling and begging and unheard,
in that crimsoned noon-tide
on that boodied dust,
their bodies blackening with blackened blood.



Their tortured souls hovering over,
brooding on a dim perisistent scale
mourning the futility , the
twisted necks and arms and wombs-
deformed, deprived, destitute.
The unborn- numbed, ghost like
dying in that deformity
learning the first lessons of life
or death? or death in life ?
or of life in death?



Like that destitute battlefield
packed with split caracasses ,
like a thousand dead hopes
split, damaged, uncomposed for ever
walks her body
in that crimsoned noon tide
on that bloodied dust.

Merci Mon Ami -2

A bright yellowish star,
pinkish in that dark, distanced horizon
separated by the void between the two worlds
is as destitute as me .

Crowded yet lonely,shining yet tenebrous
Like an airy hope,golden sand in hands,
floating on the remains of a devastation
broken yet hopeful and inspiring.

An ocean thirsting for an oaisis-unfair,
A store house lusting for air – unfair,
But gives still and gives.
Merci mon ami!


Ps- i am glad i found another coast.. the wind is friendlier ..hope for a long while ..forever doesnt exist!

Merci mon ami !

BITTERNESS

like strangers, anticipating first move
each time looking, and looking through
that unworded powerplay
it hurts.

what is the need naming the bond
when the names are jeers
to be rascalled ripped ravaged
it hurts.

closeness- distanced -your efforts pay
mine fail
you win
i lose
it hurts.


Like the hollowest the lonliest of shells , in need of wind to create music we wait and what is essayed by the nasty wind is sheer cacophony. I DONT WANT IT

8 00 AM- Bad Newsfor A

9= bad news!for A

12- BAAD newsFor A

2.00-X:You arent one the top any more you know! c d and e also think so!

THe Bold A speaks- "ah well life will be real fun now...Its never been this interesting!"

Weltchmerz

Present, the oh -my -so- important,
sublimates into a bunch of faded memoirs
and yet i suffer, struggle , strive, fight for it.
The insignificance of being ,haunts me yet again
and still i protest giving up being a part of this gyre .

what am i but a part of you?

The bliss that i seek does not exist,
the redemption would be never complete,
smiles i forget, and pains count
and frame them on the dirty wall.
to stare at them each morning and night.

what am i but a prototype of us?

The crowd around me is most loathsome
and the silence in me eats me in parts ,
none is welcome ,yet i hate being a loner
never do i stop, think and look back.

what am i but a shadow of every body ?

She...

This pale body throbbing still with life ;
this tired skin covering up the spent mass;
this blub of silvery hair that outlines
the still vigorous mind , which pumps still and pumps,
unyielding to fatigue and death;
lies next to me,
breathing in a broken rhythm
yet claiming victory,
denies to resign from life.
She falls asleep amid a conversation,
of her chores and her tribulations ,
with the non chalant ears .
She sleeps,
as the body surrenders
and takes precendence over the mechanical mind.
She eases off for a second or two
till i wake her up
and mar her stolen moments of respite,
till i wake her up just out of habit-
"Ma! stop snoring. will you?"

the edge

Standing at the edge all the time ... on the edge..nor this part nor that but right there in the in- between domain , on that thin thin line walking with blades shredding your flesh and the blood, singing its elegy. you get niether this or that but always the left over...
or is it the other way round ..COULD BE is the best, in- between(?) answer.

--and the pink changes in to crimson--

kyun

kyun har dard ko baantu jab baantne se izzafa ho aansuon me
kyun har saans ko rokun jab saanse aati hi hain ruk ruk ke
kyun dhoondu jawab jab sawaal hi umadte nahi jee khol ke
kyun thamoon lamhe jab har lamha chede ek naye katl ki dhun
kyun in raaton ko kosun jab dinoka bhi ujale se rishta toot gaya
kyun naye sath ko tarsun jab puranon se hi thak ke damman choot gaya.

dard shabdon me baandhu to kaise
shabd bandh jayen to kya mushiklain assan nahi hongi?
agar koi pooche ki pyar kya he
to kya ek zindagi samjhane me tammam nahi hogi?
ye jo shiddat se ek naam nikala tha
is naam ke yyad ane se subah sham nahi hogi?
jo socha wo agar mil bhi jaye mujhko
to kya takalluf-e- tohmat se har saans sarobaar nahi hogi?
dard see bhi loon hoton me agar saanse rok ke

to kya chehre ki aadat se takleef bayaan nahi hogi?

Dear Reader ,

So! here is my second blog address-whensoulsings.blogspot.com and here i am baffled and brunted by the nuances of technology. Partly triumphant for having created finally a new blog address on a new website and partly depressed (u might find me dead out of depression, if such a thing is possible!) for my incapacity to manage 2 blog accounts apart from 4 email ids and the respective passwords!

Having two blog accounts is a sense- less idea specially when all your friends know of both your accounts and paradoxically you claim to have created 'space for you soul'.Your heart sings'twice fooled yet not behaved' .For when i had initially started blogging i was juvinile enough to believe that i alone shall be here ..all alone . But i am not .Alor! perhaps i would create a third blog, for my heart alone? no! the good old paper diary is just fine and very convinient .

Why am i doing this sense less thing? partially to kill time ( nice metaphor , if u try and visualize it ,a friend told me!-KILLING TIME) and partially to cater to the desperation of a few other,as non-techno savy friends as me , who wanted to read my blog but cant open my other blog address!whew!

I dont even know whether i am sticking around here or not . lets see how much of killing- of -time can i go about!and i promise to keep it as boring as i can. and the colors shall be shades of pink most of the times(those who have read kulturny.livejournal should make sense of the last statement).

i shall keep the pattern of blogs very different here from my other blog .why? that, i think, shall add some sense to havng two blog accounts.how will i do it is what i am yet to decide.

Thanking you,

Yours faithfully,hope fully,

Kulturny Yet.