Survivor

The tumult of the centuries

The burning sun of north India

the tanned faces of a million starved farmers

Shall bow down to thee

O survivor

The keeper of the cobra

The bearer of the promise

the twilight on the blue lotus

This deep deep river

was red with human blood

While you were busy setting oil lamps on fire

The world was burning

while Cousins were having sex on the forest bed

Children sang the most secret hymns

in white gowns in shivering dawns

O keeper of the monastery

the bearer of the promise

Tell me tell me

Who is the escapist?

(just came while listening to sun re sakhi . a song in haasil http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0362696/..i cudnot find the full song anywhere..its not there in the ost.....but i just love it...great song)

You will notice that what we are aiming at when we fall in love is a very strange paradox.

The paradox consists of the fact that, when we fall in love,we are seeking to re-find all or some of the people to whom we were attached as children. On the other hand, we ask our beloved to correct all of the wrongs that these early parents or siblings inflicted upon us. So that love contains in it the contradiction:The attempt to return to the past and the attempt to undo the past.

from some woody allen movie

me, you and the city

there is something more in the cheap movies they make

the dreams all Hollywood

where everything is boring everybody is fake

and with that goggles i look at you

like droplets of dew settling on a flower in the balcony

the dreams emerge and glow with the morning sun

and incessant traffic

the dreams they sway with disco lights

the words i speak now

are somebody else's lies

and the dreams sharpen with a beer or two

and i utter tomorrow's stupidity

like i love you

but its all fake and lies

the afternoon's horny boredom and midnight's goodbyes

but there is something more

in the boxed dreams we buy

like a pearl on my hands

a tear from your deep black eyes

or the radiant sun glowing in your smile

and all is once more true

all the cheap things they sell baby

are beautiful because of me and you.

hollow

you cant touch this afternoon

cant touch this oblivion on the swelling river

cant touch the sound of dry sands on bamboo shells

the broken kites by the river shore

the long forgotten tree in the school yard

the breeze is cold now even in afternoon

where from it comes ?

where it goes?

the book pages are old and yellow

the field where the circus sat once

is now hollow

i am

and let them take everything away
and let them do it again

i have fallen in love with the low life
fallen in love with being raped every time
i am a whore baby
your sadism gets me high

Sandpaper Kisses

1.

From Meghlapur

Some notes i had written for somebody.today morning i found them on my coffee mug drowned in cold water ...with a dead moth and dry leaves that come flying through the kitchen window.

they were written with gel pen .and so the writing remained intact.that bittersweet feeling again.

i tried to look for some symbolism..but none came to my mind.i took a picture instead.

2.(SANDPAPER KISSES)

Sandpaper kisses

Paper-mache dreams

Tissue Paper tears

Pale white mornings

Sometimes a dry finger of desire

runs up my spine

Sometimes its all empty corridors

All grey steel n concrete

Kill each other with arrows oblique

tear the news papers covering your heart

and catch your sighs from the hollow

i want you to

get choked on burnt ash.

and wring them for a drop of water

to hear with me at midnight

the constant drone of the machines

i want you to know

an insect on your neck

leaves sweat on my palms

on bitter cold mornings.

this life this life always makes u feel

its getting too late

but u never know when it really is

and one day all the words loose their meaning

still you keep howling into the night

oh dint you cry for help?

dint you?

in that melancholy pride of yours

but they say

u dint try enough.

and if i was bored i would

and if i was stuck i would

and if i was yours?

but i am not.

2.

in between our heads and hearts

in between our blood and thirst

are our eyes ... so old.

in front of me a wall

that says

"beyond here lies nothing

and you know exactly where you are

and how you came"

cannot forget it and blur it into art.

and i look for a

a zero hour ..and a new start

and we shall keep rowing on and on

in an ocean that has no other shore

sometimes she will pull me

and sometimes i will crawl on my own

with my life ..my melancholy whore

(both pieces are heavily plagiarized)

And I

1.

and how do i take this once more lord?
to walk again on the same paths
shud i drink a little more
shud i act more weird
and listen more obscure songs
and read more philosophy?
my every bone says i am too old for this stuff
and having betrayed my only friends
anger and loneliness
where do i find shelter this time?

2.

send me to sleep like my mother

or kill me instantly

like a merciful enemy.

don't leave me here eternally.

never knowing what u feel.

Hazard

its useless to dwell in fantasies anymore
a million lives that i lived in my mind
which one was mine?
so no matter how sincere i try to be
in front of your eyes
deep inside i know its futile
and even my love seems a crime

such honesty is dangerous ..they say
that look on your eyes says that you dont understand
while all the roads in the world are open for me
i know i am that crude-animal-hormonal thing called lonely

(everyone of them ended up as a poem..so why deny you?)

anna begins by the counting crows