January 31, 2011


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)

January 29, 2011

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

January 21, 2011

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.

January 20, 2011


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

January 16, 2011

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

January 12, 2011

Sandpaper Kisses


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.


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.

January 7, 2011

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.

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)

January 4, 2011

And I

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

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.

January 2, 2011


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