Frostbite

An evaporate, that is what the four-chambered safehouse will become. Lost in its way through the thin air; turning back, only to become ash.

Ha

Clipped; rightfully or not, I wouldn't know.
I'm not supposed to. Ha.

---

Make life the outcome of bad decisions? allthedarntime? Opinions pasted on every post you want lean on. The everyones HAVE to have a say. It's going to be tough running away from any of this and the everyones.

Scary, like a plague. Eats the brain.

There, I said it.

I am tired of all the addendums attached to every interaction or equation on this mighty planet. I could trade my fortunes to make it less clumsy!

It's not a good idea to get comfortable with anything or anyone here.

Guncha Koi :)

In the midst of all the chaos, the unplugged version of Guncha Koi plays on the radio. I turn a deaf ear to all else almost immediately and am moved to times of yore. And then, I wish to preciously surrender that part of me to where it belongs and bring back those old, warm times.

(Whatamaidoing)

The heart is not where the soul is.
And,
The city has gotten cold.

Celestial

Meeting the shards of everyday finally turned passe//
this evening, there was time that I caught for myself amidst all the scurried travelling I had to do.

Nothing remarkable, the good ole beautiful full-moon, wafting right up there, seeming closer than the days of yore, not so white when I saw (looked like there was a pale brown translucent wrap around it) breathing those soothing rays, watching over many things. And in those few moments, I might have held on to promises I made, hopes I had and forgotten pains and these overwhelming times - I'm not too sure what happened as I closed my eyes for those precious few and opened them back to be able to see the moon and only it. It doesn't matter, does it? Simple, plain, shining through the night sky, as it has at the end of the lunar months for eons. Overwritten through songs and literature, made dense by philosophers, an easy muse of lovers, master of high tides and yet it lays a becalming charm upon those who spare a few moments to witness it in its full glory. The quirky celestial being.

Mayhaps I write this so one day when the skies go dark, on a moonless night, I could talk to my grandchildren  of what moonbeams could do with the same ambiguity I have right now. No, I'm certainly not complaining :).

A lot of us in this world have similar ideals. It's about how we live and approach them that makes each of us different, I guess.

YAAY!

I just had to say it here (where I wouldn't have to look at likes and/or questions/speculations).

So, YAAY, again! It's been a hard day's/months' night!! :) I'm positive I've stuck the rightfully earned right chord.

Hopscotch

Shake your hair, girl, with your ponytail
as the fingers of the boy deftly play the keys from the piano of Burmese wood in the rich living room.

As the walls resonate you both, don't ever let it falter.

I'm paying through my nose for having been unilateral about my ways. Learned tough lessons, have I. Boy, going to be extremely wary hereupon, am I.

Mein lakh jatan kar haari
Lakh jatan kar haar rahi!

Sitaare waalon raatein har gayi kya?
Meri Chand mar gayi kya?

J.A.P.

There's going to be time.

A picnic will be packed.
Montauk will be visited.
Dinner will be had
by the lighthouse.

None will be around.
But starfishes, turtles, pebbles, sand, and shells.

A seashell would be placed
Next to the right ear --
"Are the waves of the sea faster than their sound in the conch?"
Questions not answered,
Stars all over,
J.A.P. with hair parted from the side,
performing poems of poets on the beach.
Surreal and weathered,
A night of wonder.

Rhetoric II: Factiousness

If one were to assess the proactive Vs. reactive pie of one's life or immediate environment, the former is sure to hold just a minuscule portion of the pie.

Don't you see it?

• You have a valuable (fact) suggestion to make, there are 10,000 people who disagree and bring their own barefooted experience and then you end up responding to each of that (or you don't)
• You are in a tense situation, and there is at least one person who is there to intimidate and make you seem like a hopeless defensive (or you don't) 
• You're being assessed for a subject/at work, and then you have one, two or three other heads who decide how to weigh you over the others, if they don't 'feel' you deserve a good score or you're not the ideal fit, you end up having to do all things possible to prove a point (or you don't)
• If the clients are not happy, you take reactionary measures to straighten things up and can't show them what else you can do (or you don't)

E'en while being proactive, there are so many blocks that you end up being reactive along that way, too!

Can't you break away from the crap that's doled out to you each day? Why, why, is it so hard for someone to try and show others what they can be? What's the idea behind dominating someone or a situation, anyway? Taking the lead is different, but dominating?

I'm no saint, yes, I've unconsciously made these mistakes as the 'thems' I refer to, too - with the same unconscious or unintended insensitivity they are allowed (note - yes, I am being defensive; makes you happy?). But at least my heart bleeds that I slipped from listening to my humane self unlike some others.

Isn't this why there is so much oppression/suppression around - some party thinks they own the stick? Is it something about the way the third planet in the Universe functions or the curse that the human existence is? Urgh.

And then, at the end of it all, you are expected to be mentally strong as what Hercules or some such heroic figure might have been physically or staid.

Okay, if you were thinking that I'm "misrepresenting facts" or being "biased" - well, I am, I admit. It's because I've been wounded and I am reacting to it. Pent up anger. You see what happens - makes people clumsy or rebel, yeah?

I don't know what else to say now. I'm just tired of saying, "There will be time." I'm cynical, finally. 

Feng Shui

It is one of those evenings. Pavithra clad in her dainty saree waits, as usual, for her husband by the window of her bungalow. And as she hears a bike approaching with a "thud, thud, thud," she quickly gets off the chair, checks to see if the pleats on her saree fall well, adjusts the pallu, and swiftly walks to open the front door.

As she helps him with the groceries he bought on his way back home, her eyes speak the language of her thawing heart and his of a spent soul at work. If there were other people around, they would have said "Touchwood" and a silent prayer for the strength of their unspoken bond.

She has her patchy days at work, he strives too much, they saw an innocent person lie dead, close by, very close by to their home just a few days ago, he had the electricity and phone bills to pay off, she had to transfer money into their joint savings account the first of every month (for their future), the house maid has gone on maternity leave, his parents have gone on a vacation to European grasslands while hers are busy visiting temples across the South of India and Pavithra and her husband had their own individual collection of books waiting to be read along with the several movies she had stacked up.

It doesn't matter.

Like a whiff of air from nowhere meets another, these instances move away from the four walls of the cosy home as the two sit down with a bowl of rich and creamy tomato soup each by the dining table made of solid Burmese wood, sharing their thoughts, laughs, silences, hopes, fears, and pauses over the last few minutes, as usual, of each day.

They don't matter, do they?

Violin.

It's like the poem written on a balmy and silent monsoon night under a lamp post while the old man wearing his twenty year old spectacles looks into you; deep into your eyes.

Resignation

Yeah, from the many things that have happened in the recent past and today, I have some reason to relate to the #meloser tag. May be I am being hyperbolic but, yea, things have wracked me enough.

Not for long. Not too long.

Just you wait.

Absence

Do guardian angels live to see eyes long beheld caught in tempests.

On Nausea

Ay! An editor can't afford to be careless with punctuation!

Of Redolence

Sippiyirukkudhu muththumirukkudhu
Thirandu paarkka naeram illadi, raajaaththi.

Telltale

After all that was, if This is what is wanted now.

If This is what the eyes flutter for, should I blame the falter?

Perching on the stone sit-out in my terrace, with closed eyes, letting the drizzle-filled evening breeze hit my face, while my phone plays some healing music makes for such luxury.

It's not going to be difficult to find a bridge over troubled water that will ease the mind, is it?  

Exhausted.

I have no idea where the next pit stop is; but, as Floyd auspices, I am not giving up. Not without a fight.

While I let my music player ruminate over a Brian Eno, 

Here we are
Stuck by this river,
You and I
Underneath a sky that's ever falling down, down, down
Ever falling down

... 

Always failing to remember why we came, came, came:
I wonder why we came.

I'm trying hard to not let myself wonder about any of this having been worth it, after all.

Throttle me with anything, you world. I don't want to become or seem like a lie when I am not one, you know? I'm tired of being misconstrued, stomped on and made to seem like a misfit. I know what I can hold on to. I'm positive. Restless, but positive. Homeless, but positive. Incensed, but positive.
Positive is ! an emotional belief. It's a Goddarn conviction. Here's my conviction. And strength. Strength.

Rhetoric

Lackadaisical and waltzing by the Volkhov, Sara tries to get rid of the dense clouds that have been following her for way too long. Playing with those butterflies that flutter about oh so graciously a minute, waving her imaginary wand and trying to shoo the clogs cast in the sky another. Moving to playing a game of hopskotch with herself, finding a shed feather of her pet peacock, Ronita, and running it on her balmy face, visiting the local grocer every morning just so she can dig her hands into a pile of cool and colorful vegetables. All of four, it's not really fresh air that she wishes to suspire as much as hope that the grass turns greener with each breath taken.

What is she doing, really, in a world that forgets what it is to listen to the murmur of hearts?

Rightfully--

Pushed
Away.

Falling, failing.
Figuring, fighting.

Will,
Way!

Being--

Conclusive.
Corroborative.

Therefore now--

Wafting.
Waiting.

Meanwhile--
Plotting.

Believing--

If,
Then.

Wreck

If there could be a day I could relive, it would be Saturday, the fourth of June, 2011.

And then, this day when I stand defeated on a battlefield where I could have easily won, knowing I will wail if I bury my face in the comfort of the ones I can trust, I can't wish more for reliving that day.

Peace

It's actually easy to be a woman and it's easier to be a man.

Somewhere now -
I hear Banality of Evil ringing in academic ears.

You know, we are still learning, learning it hard, in this world.
I write this because there is no one else to speak on our behalf.

Right now, I could really do with some rich and creamy tomato basil soup. One of the reasons being that it won't be fodder for thoughts other than about itself.

How soon

This morning, I removed the anklets I had been wearing. since they were gifted to me a little more than a day ago, because they wouldn't go with my attire to work. It was just about ten hours since I had removed them and I could actually feel something missing in my ankles on my ride back from work :). 

Sketching this day that splits the year into an exact half in non-leap years --
Pada pada nu irrukku, Rama :).

Nigh, Nigh Enough

Three weeks and the artist continues to toil. Burning the midnight oil each day in those concrete and glass walls. Wielding analyses, forgetting days and nights. How the heart breaks to see those eyes that have to drudge over inane fodder for his future learning, and role changes, leading its silent revolt against those headonistic managerial and directorial skulls.

He's not meant to be doing any of this (nothing short of the best for him), and will be out soon enough, the dear artist; He ought to. Painting the colours of the world in his head, his every stroke is going to be masterful.

Meanwhile, I will be by the biggest clock in my city, waiting to see the day his world comes alive and then see, through his quaint mirror, the pride and joy in my eyes whilst giving him the bottle of Minute Maid I'd bought for him from a shop by the banyan tree with the strongest roots on Earth.

Sometimes I wish it was the tug of the heart and yearn in the eye when someone dear does, gives, or gives up something for you, that I feel, and not my altruistic breath all the time.

Vision

Wo, wo, give me the credit that's due, corporate! Excuse me, but I conceptualised the film festival+you! idea much before you gave it a shot, much much before. I did! Oh well, I'll go with altruism and some activities to ward off the wrath  for now.

But let me tell you this: There will be days when you're going to wake up each morning with our ideas. We both will be selling them, at a steep price; and you guys are not going to be able to do without us or our consults, because well, we're way too fast and forward for your thoughts. Ha, we are not going to be lazy with our patent files and defensive publications then.

Oh and, dearies, we're not megalomaniacs before you (monomaniacally) dismiss this for that. It's going to be our time, ours.

Just you wait! We're just kindling the fire.

Eliot and Valerie

And the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleeping time,

the breathing in unison.

In waking moments, being lost in the softness of quiescent eyes breathing gently.

Messiah

Every passing day, I hope someone plays La Valse d'Amelie, the piano version, and my Lord stands right behind me and all I would need to do is lodge myself on His chest and be lost for a long, lost while.

Can you play the waltz?  

Exasperation

I need a smoke! (No, I don't smoke)

Nee Daya Raada?

nee daya rAda, rAma?
kAdane vAreva ru kalyANa rAma?

nanu brOchE vADani nADE teliya
ina vamSa tilaka inta tAmasamA?

:)

Feathers fall,
feathers grow.
And yet They are
the same twosome birds,
flight in toe.

Harmal

And each time you are at Arambol, you keep asking yourself, "What is going on?" in the faintest voice
that swims away from you, swiftly through the mercurial air;
while whiffing and tracing the answers,
Muse.

A wilted sunflower

Without you.

Beswaadi beswaadi ratiyaan, oh sajna|
Rookhi re, oh rookhi re,
Kaatore kate, katena!
Tere bina chand ka sona khota re
Peeli peeli dhool udaawe jhoota |
Tere bina sona peetal|

Tere sang keethar peepal.

Drama / Masks / Obscurity

"How different am I," asks the good ole' paint of the painter; unable to comprehend its master's eccentric choices and strokes.
----

Would you savour the minutes
and hours, for you are The
Cafe Terrace at Night?

Even if the nights were close,
and wide apart as the dual
orientations of your shadow,
will you wait for me
at Cafe Terrace this Night?

Cause-Effect Aberration

If,
The breath from my body warms the cold mountain air,
my reflection, trespassed by the sudden mist beclouding my held hand-mirror,
in the same mountain, amidst the same air, will stand testimony.

It's a fact that I am (constantly, at times) fighting my own hope and faith in people. It's the only (better) way out from feeling disappointed.

Does it help that I mention this?

A Summer in the Rain.

And Lennon to say 'Everything is clear in my heart.'
I wish I posted this last night. It would have made for a more precious remembrance of the moment.

Enlightenment

Deep down, penning my own prose affrights me.

-

I'm as easy as a mask.

-

The words and thoughts built, killed and resurrected wait to see light.

-

Soon.

Streetside cafe
bleating and not bleeding;
Sentient enough.

Partaken

Fence of a ranch,
vast expanse.
Edge of Sight,
Field of vision,
not seeing you in me. 

You know it, just know it when you are simply happy. I'm just that now - happy.

I could get a million silvery dreams across right now, oh Moon!

Fluidity

Let me tell you - we're fighting over the same things with them.
Them is not the universal set.

The other subset is so easy to be with! 

It's been a little more than half a month. I'm still trying to make the 'I'm a happy hippie' one-liner I spotted at Lameulla hit me hard.

--

I need to walk up to people and say, 'To all the people out there, adopt yourselves.' :|

Sarita

Don't come near me.
I am bold and dainty.

By the rocks, on the shore,
a hat in tow,
I live by the sand.
You won't find me.

I am mercurial.
and there is no crab-shell.

I hate being the sand.
It's better to be
the vapour in oceanic breeze,
than salt in sea water.


It matters, and not.
Like a kill and a shootout.

Allegorical vainness, all.

-

I haven't been writing. I've just ruffled and ruined my own enough.

Where is it?
That burnt and broken piece of dime?
Have you had a margarita?
Lemony lime?

Do you see the tandem?
Or fail to?
Are you?
Is it shriveled as this post and its question marks?

There is a larger meaning, you know.
Much larger.
May be the piano will speak.
Or the arbitrates.
May be thought doesn't,
hope does;
eyes don't,
and restless fingers do.

A direct translation from my tamil head:
How do these two horns grow from nowhere on these people!

(The rant was needed and had to be emphatic)

5-day Everyday

I got used to something.

Hello Friend,

You might want to talk and not!

Sunflower

Nothing, nothing can be as close to the joy of being around and with the one you love. Where else would you like to bud like a rose, lily, orchid, or gerbera?

Sake

A year went by, and so did Pete.

Tingling

"My poet!"
"My Poem!"

Gossamer

Speak to him.
He will move mountains
like poets of yore.
Stop the subways,
like radicals of now.


And every like will be--
the first bite into cotton candy.
Sweet and fresh as you want it to be.




Naïveté of the eyelash,
stop holding lies from the future,
speak now.

From the posse of a poet from the past, rose the Scientist.
Wide and strong;
who gave stones for a song.


-

'Precious?,' I asked.
'I picked them at a jamboree.'
'Nevertheless.'
'Precious?'
'Yes.'
...
...
...

Want a battle?

Try the mind;
and not fields of the blind.

Reader: (Rhetorically) Which would you hoot for? A battle of the mind or one on the field? Which, oh, which?

-

Only to show what it is like once on Tiersen's music.

Remember. The hardwood is only a layer firmly covering and holding a bed of cotton and a million butterflies. Only because it'd be chaos otherwise.

--

(Corniness apart) *wicked glee**the pretending to be haughty smile, tone and eye roll* Do we need reasons, really, to celebrate, loves and lives?

A Pray'r

I wish you were around; like God all the time and a Godsend during these trying times.

I should have almost finished my coursework and started on the lab by now.
Whatamidoinghere. Whatamidoinghere. I want to go yelping around like a kid who is waiting to go to school (grad, in this case!).

Tainted ~~~~

Sitara told herself, "And one day, you will continue being the poem, painting, and music of my life." Such was she for the man in her life and such was his nimble love for her. And such was their art that now precipitates from the mêlée of the hard world.

There will be time ~~
there will be time.

--

I know there's not been anything much to my writing of late apart from its theatrics. It's just a limbic phase. Just.

So, don't wash any of your linen in public. But of course, you can dry them out there later and get all those jaw-dropped, jealous stares.

Each of our hippety hoppity lives.
Waltz.

-

I forgot the original line (which sounded much better and was killed by an unintentional interruption by Harini) and had to post this as a compromise.

From an evening,
woven
through thick and thin,
trodden
with time,
forgotten.

Ha, but who remembers? Who bets on such a past for a future? Who is that loser?

--

Who wants to be like those poets who write silly stuff like the stuff above and bear the smile of a wise, senseofhumoured man when they say it was the stole they use each winter or some such entity they were referring to.

Well, you don't have to raise your hand.

Bred from flesh, and incepted orientations, your love is far away.
Dying its death, spinning a web, it's a catch away.

What, then, holds your mast?
Who, then, is your steward,
chief mate and boatswain?
Do you need the fishing net, or
do you need an anchor for rest?

Like two people standing back-to-back on the proscenium stage trying to break the fourth wall.

Beating around the bush

May be I like the Nazis,
and not the jews.

When you work, whyinthename, is it that you get stuck with a culture.

Will aymaR last it out?

Build

In business, you don't look at the days, you look at the dates.

I've had my fair share of Khadi apparel and bag-wearing, hovering-rover days. I may have to wait until this December to relive them. It's not so much about the wearing as it is about the free spiritedness.

It may be white this time, over the oranges and reds of yore. Crisp, freshly starched, and pressed. It may not sync well with my brown self, but I am allowed relaxations then, or even a complexion change meanwhile.



(I'm bored of my few-line posts, too. But I guess it's the selfish me not wanting to kill the thoughts just so they're brief.)

You know what the surge would do? Make Rome roam.

-

Like the double-edged swords that why and why not can be in independence.

Is this a day of space?
or one from?

-

To view Medina from a Mecca,

-

To watch a crowd that sways in unison from an altitude with just you and no other person.

Selene

Rotund moon,
as the one in the sky today;
nights of the full moon,
(clear, & without the chariots!)
the backyard of the hostel,
and the beach campus.

Paul Valkens was one of them; flipping open the sacred veil, private to, well, whoever it concerned, each time he saw the need; leaving the wounds, essence and other such guarded territories open, to the skies, and vanishing a day before the full moon. The whoevers bled for him after. They did not know what to do with their stripped selves. They poured themselves to others, resorted to fighting their hitherto battles of the mind, verbally with others, chanted for him to come back so they could divulge themselves to him alone and did other such things of expressed instability and desperation just so they don't lose the ground to their selves.

He only did good, but he never knew, or perhaps, wanted to finish up, Paul. Valkens.

They were never grateful to him, the whoevers.

Monsoon Retreat

In the hills,
by the sea,
our home.

What evens out patience lost to anger and patience lost to insecurity?

A flying kiss laden with a wish for You each night.
Dare a gentle touch or brazen breeze wake you from sleep.

For what end?

What am I holding on to?
A butterfly?
Should I let it free?
You don't have the heart to.
But I should; for the one month it gets to live a life of its own.
It always did.

---

The plea in the eyes are not being seen. Not being. Should the sockets be emptied? The soul killed? The head rationed?

The moon summoned?

I read that butterflies taste with their feet and there was a soothing breeze in the head. It did get me lighter.

-

I see the horizon, my love. Oh yes, I do now!
It's not too far.

How long should one wait? :|

Shadows of ourselves,

Short, long and oblique, we are

shadows of ourselves.

"Strangers in the night

Two lonely people, we were

strangers in the night."

I heard a theatrical voice saying "I don't care, do I?" "I don't, do I?" just as indifferently.

-

Ah, the feeling of the sun and ice on my eyes;
Orange juice.

Ooh, how refreshing! I just need to pack and leave on my trip now!

Is this why I am a child of the Tropic of Cancer?

After you.
'fore your dreams.
and this bovine day!

-

Get it straight.
I'm not after imagery for their
ohdearLord, beauty, etc.
But the game of it.
(Only for this moment.)

Experiment V - Zebra Love

Conjure up your love and romance and stir it with the one who wants or has to be charmed for however long.

Who needs a match, oh Wizard?
Who lights your love?
You, right?


Why don't you stir it up.
Stir it up for you and her
or Him.

Heh, why do you need to?
You don't want to, grumpy.
Just like sweet and sticky nectar.

Don't wire me your life. I need to know every detail. No, I will never get bored; unless you do.

-

I met you in the evening today; just after the rains while you were smoking by the lamppost on one of our commonly favourite avenues. You only saw me as a ghost.