29 skulls

Its finally done.
It was long overdue
To the dream retreat, 
Alone.

A rainy day
A cottage by the lake
And a comfortable chair, on the deck.
Everything’s there.

Everything’s there; nothing’s amiss. 
Nothing to miss. 
Alone at last!
Now what?

Let’s see,
A cozy bed,
A writing desk,
The closet in the corner.
Let’s see…
I can probably use these
Clothes…sheets…keys…
But what are these?

29 severed heads in the closet.
All wrapped up, nice and clean.
Faces unrecognizable; brutally bashed in.
But wait, I hear somethin…

Whispers in the dark. 
the heads, 
they talk!
what could they be talking about?

They ramble on and on about nothing
Repeating every worthless detail 
Making no sense whatsoever
Still eager to tell the tale.
As if any of it matter
As if any of it any of it ever mattered.
Dumb cut up head
Don’t know that its dead!

So 29 severed heads, in a closet,
Dreaming up 29 boring lives
One’s a plumber,
One a teacher,
An actress, an accountant, a preacher,
Even a shrink, that considers the rest
delusional head cases (pun intended).

None of them has a clue,
none of them seems to care,
That they are absolutely,
Most definitely,
Profoundly,
Dead.

Its ridiculous! Its uncanny! 
Its so ridiculous its beyond funny.
So I try
I try to talk some sense 
into their heads (pun intended)
But they won’t listen; they can’t.
(Turns out all of ‘em got
their ears ripped off)
And I still try to tell ‘em off!
Kickin ‘n screaming I tell ‘im off –
“You are dead!”
“You are all dead!”
“You’re dumb 
and ugly 
and rotting”
“You don’t mean a thing”
“So just shut the fuck up and accept it”
“Just suck it all up and accept it!”
And then suddenly in the midst of it all
It dawns on me

The one dreaming up the 29th skull
Is the deadest of them all.

16 January 2017

“And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.”

So true! Not many get it. Not many care. Still, good thing it is out there though. That way people can stumble upon it, and then think about it, and then...start getting it? Is that the way it works? Perhaps not. Perhaps it would only be meaningful to people who already get it, hear the music, so to speak, and people who don’t get it, well, they just won’t see it. Is that it?

That’s the thing, how does it actually work with “those who could not hear the music”? Why can they not hear the music? Is it that they can’t hear it because there’s a glass wall in between? One that can actually be broken? Then once someone breaks that glass everyone would be able to hear the music?

Or are they permanently deaf and no matter how loudly the music is played, for however long, they would never be able to hear it?

And then among those who get it, or think they get it, would be those who’d consider themselves way too special for getting it and start an exclusive club with other ‘special’ people in it and they would congratulate each other and dance to their special music within sound proof walls so that the riff-raffs don’t spoil it, and then after some time has gone by, it would be very hard to tell what music, if any at all, is actually being played. May be years later, someone with perfect hearing would walk into the club and hear no music at all; just noise or dumb silence in its stead. Perhaps there never was any music; or perhaps it has died long ago.

Numbers

In the end it gets down to
Just the two
Not four, not six
just the two
stuck in a disfunctional relationship
forever

one to unite
the other to repel
neither exists without the other

'exists'..is a helpful word here
can anything 'exist'
if there is no state of 'non-existance'?

think about it
I mean really think about it

does a 'yes' mean anything
without there being a 'no'?

and that's pretty much it
just the two
mirror images
looking so much alike
you'd think they are but one
and that only one is true
and you'd be right too...sort of

if you say
that one
is but
the absense of the other
you'd be right, but...

here's the thing
and computer people would get this
is the 1
any more real
than the '0'ther?

Think about it
I mean really think about it

for the 1 to be
it has to not be
for the 1 to not be
it has two be.

It really is that simple
And that's what its all about.

Skin

Keep on thinking how good it’d feel

To shed this skin

To peel it off, nice and clean.

Then look in the mirror and see

If the face in there looks like me.

Time runs past,

Leaving dust

Dust on my skin

How long it’s been?

Since you’ve known what I mean?

Flesh on flesh, too much too soon

Look at the time - its half past noon!

Use your hands now, dig in deep,

So much there you cannot keep

Rotting meat ‘n a sack of shit.

Keep on thinking how good it’d feel

To be rid of the smell…of yesterday’s kill

To walk down naked, without a skin

And not care how long it’s been

Since the sun has warmed your guts.

String theory

I think I’m losing interest in ‘current affairs’. After a while, it all starts to feel like a crappy reality show that you just can’t seem to switch off, even though it’s just making you want to throw up all over. Besides, what’s the point of it all anyway? That all of it is messy? Or is it that the mess is too close to home these days?

You can’t really say things were never this fucked up before. Fact is, they always were. Can’t find a time when some people, somewhere, wasn’t doing fucked up shit to some other people. People suck.

Keep a few pieces of strings in a corner and let ‘em stay there for a while. Don’t do a thing, just keep ‘em there and see what happens. They got all tangled. Haven’t they? Nobody made them do it. They certainly didn’t mean to themselves, but here they are, giving you a something to sort out. People are the same way. You throw a bunch of them together, let ‘em interact and pretty soon they manage to get all tangled up, in good ways and bad. The more people you throw in the mix, the more complex patterns you see. Before you know it, a few wise folks decide that for things to work, you need to figure out a few rules to keep things sorted out, you know, so that the system is not too tangled to function. Every now and then the wise guys would disagree on the best way to keep order and start pulling things every which way. Tensions rise, strings tear, and patterns change. Nothing new here, just the magnitudes vary.

Be as it may, perhaps these days with satellite TV, cheap flights, internet and whatnot, there are more people in the mix than ever before. Smaller patterns from every which corner, coming in contact with other patterns, forming a larger pattern,…perhaps the largest the world has ever seen. Wise guys from all around, tugging and pulling frantically, so that their order prevails, all the while ignoring the fact that this is different from what they know, nobody ever been through this and that they don’t really know how to deal with it. Meanwhile tensions rise, strings snap, and whole patterns disappear, forever.  Chaos will rule supreme before a more enduring pattern can emerge. (That is of course if enough strings survive after the madness has passed.)

Now that its summed up, somewhat,…perhaps I can switch off the damned TV for good to invest in something a little more productive. Something that doesn’t go around in the same vicious circles all the time. 

Penguins

Anyone has anything against penguins? They are cute. Right? Going about their business, doing the goofy walk, sliding about on snow, all the while in black and white…nothing wrong with that picture.

Much as I like the picture I wouldn’t want to live in a world infested with penguins…with only penguins, looking all cute and mucking about in the snow…snow in all seasons, snow everywhere. I’d hate it, just as much as I’d hate living in a world without penguins.

PS: Loved the new Anna Karenina.  

when noone’s looking

They aren’t all gone

They cant be all gone..

You, know..they still come..hear ‘em in my head

Over the rainbow and under the bed..

Bits and pieces…crumbs and bread

and they seem to fit… fall in place

till I sit up and take notice

go after ‘em with a pen

Like bed bugs they flee…at the sight of me..

Its not me I tell ya!

The pen is to blame!

That’s it! My God, I’ve got it!

If I had a typewriter…you know..

like the one Bukowsky’s got

I bet that’d do it! I’d have a shot.

Its all about the right tool you know.

(Well, may be not a typewriter.

Way to heavy to carry around

And they tie you to a spot – a table, a chair.

Nay! Tablets are better...get me one here!)

Heck, you think I’m full of it?

That a smirk on your face?

Good for you, you figured it out!

Sadly though, that without a doubt

that aint gonna do either of us any good. Would it?

No sir! This aint no excuse,

Nor another expedition for self pity

Or a testament of self loathing

Au contraire – this is a poet’s last stand

One last run..to squish the mites dead…on this page…

in black and red.

A spring cleaning of the head,…if you will.

Cause like I said,

They cant be all gone

They aren’t all gone

They come…tip toeing at night

And gather in numbers..when noone’s looking

black its been and black it stays.

One day it’ll all make sense, if not today

And I’ll look back and say

Fuck’n ay…at least I had a day

Took me while but now I’m done.

Done lookin when there’s none

Thank you very much; its been fun

Not enough but that’s all I had

Cant help if they were good or bad

true lies that drove me mad

keep you whites and keep your grays

don’t look down; say it to my face

black its been and black it stays.

black its been and black it stays!

I aint complaining

Shape shifter

Man – a curious animal!

An ape that chose to walk upright

Hunt for flesh.

A confused animal with serious boundary issues!

Wouldn’t stay within his comfort zone.

Wouldn’t rest till it makes its zone comfortable!

An animal with severe identity crisis!

Some’d behave like wolves – fierce and ruthless

Hunters in a pack

Some’d be tigers – go it on their own,

Big cat prawling alone.

And some’d be horses and many are sheep

Laboring honest, happily bleeting

Taking their places in the food chain.

Not to be cynical – none too indignant,

None without honor –

The sheep – potent and alive

Horses – strong and noble

Tigers – majestic and graceful

Wolves – fierce predators, one with the night.

And pigs, and frogs and birds and house cats –

True to nature but then again…a lil bit more…

And then not just living things…

Man’s heart runs deep – deeper than the deepest oceans

Man’s will stand tall – taller than the tallest mountain

Man’s eyes see far – beyond the voids of time and space

Man’s shout frightens Gods – tearing through skies above!

Man’s dreams – make and break a billion worlds,

A zillion universes.

All that and just a funny animal

An ape that jumped the line…an ape that bent the rules

And continued breaking it.

A crazy ape that...wanted to be something else

Was it because he went mad?

Or did he figure something that all the other apes,

The tigers, the wolves, the sheep…couldn’t figure…

This ape somehow saw it…

saw It and became It…

‘It’ that flows throw all of it

making, and breaking, and binding it all

shaping and reshaping chaos

to meaning and back ..

He saw, he knew, he remembered

The eternal shapes shifter.

"And let that page come out of you--- "

(Hit dislike on a poem today and now feeling a little guilty about it. So when I stumbled on to this, decided not to pass this up because it looked long. Glad I stayed.)
----------------------------------------

THEME FOR ENGLISH B

By Langston Hughes

The instructor said,

Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you---
Then, it will be true.

I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page: It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me---we two---you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York too.) Me---who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records---Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me NOT like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white---
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me---
although you're older---and white---
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
1951

http://www.eecs.harvard.edu/~keith/poems/English_B.html/

I need to listen...

I need to listen...

Do not stand at my grave and weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft star-shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

 

by Mary Elizabeth Frye 

 

 A beautiful, beautiful poem. Just a few, simple words...and in them holding such profound truths! Amazing! 

 

I'd donate my body, but I think I'd still want a grave though. Would b nice if someone comes and cries a li'l sometimes. Guess I've a long way to go before I learn to let go.

The world as he sees it

"A hundred times every day I remind myself that my inner and outer life are based on the labors of other men, living and dead, and that I must exert myself in order to give in the same measure as I have received and am still receiving.."

The World As I See It - An essay by Einstein

An amazing essay by an incredible mind. No point in trying to squeeze out the juice from here - its cooked just right - fat free and excuisite.

“Where shall we meet again?”

“Where shall we meet again?”
“Nowhere but here
Once more before we meet elsewhere.”
“In rain?”
"It ought to be in rain. Sometime in rain.
In rain to-morrow, shall we, if it rains?
But if we must, in sunshine.”  ~ Robert Frost (The Generations of Men)

So much has changed with blogger and I had no idea. Had a tough time finding the post options. Only fair I suppose...I don't write anymore.

Sometimes things bubble up in the mind...feels like there is something left to say after all. But its never convenient.  I'm on the way...have to do it later...hope I remember this stuff. Hey, think its coming...but its late. Need to get to sleep. There's always an excuse. Biggest one of which - its too damned scary, sitting down with a pen. Put that pen on paper and you know for sure...its lost. Forget about saying it right; forget keeping it together...there is just ...nothing there!

Nothing there besides self pity, self loathing, jealousy and hate. The bad kind. Kind that doesn't breed anything...except for posts like this.

But then, sometimes you flip a page...and find lines that makes your heart...just a bit lighter. It becomes just a little bit easy to carry yourself around. All that baggage...they suddenly decide to give you a break. For a moment, however brief...you feel...free!

God is a poet and poets are gods. Who else has the power to take you around heaven and hell like that?

Don’t mess up my zen man!

Was reading Isaac Asimov’s Azazel last night. Recommend it to anyone who is lookhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifing for some clean, honest to goodness, ‘un-perverted’ (not a word) laughs. Anyhow, in one of the stories there was a reference to the quantum physics observer effect/uncertainty principle (or something along the line) that suggests that the outcome of a phenomena kinda depends of the observer and in some way or the other, the observer’s consciousness meddles with the outcome of the phenomena and thus, shapes the reality of the universe around him.

So, it is somewhat possible that an observer with a lot of negativity can jinx the world around him. Well, in the story there was a guy who called himself a teleklutz – a person who send Murphy’s law into overdrive wherever he goes. Got me thinking,…am I a teleklutz myself?

I’m probably worse. Been feeling that way for a while now. I don’t just mess things up around me, unconsciously, God knows I’ve been messing things up with my eyes wide open, for myself, and everybody around me. Then the world around me is messed up as it is and I sometimes have this feeling that it is my fault too! (Can you believe the ego on this guy?)

Anyhow, not here to tell a sob story. I went to bed telling myself that if I could mess things up by making things wrong, then perhaps I could straighten things out by …well…by being positive. Well, when you’ve been bitter, mad, angry and felt hollowed out and dumb for long enough, you’d try anything.

So I tried to go to sleep, playing shamanic drums in my ears and budda’s smile on my lips…u know, bringing on the ‘zen’ with all my might. The drums in the head kept on missing bits and Budda’s looked kinda retarded but thankfully I went under soon enough so that didn’t really matter.

Dragged myself outta the bed in the morning and remembered everything. Determined to keep up the ‘positive vibe’ I started on the way to work with the retarded smile from the night before. Well, 400 meters from home, came the first hiccup. Forgot my wallet.

But wasn’t about to let that ruin my zen. Picked up the pieces, and made it to work (an hour late as usual). The first smoke break (approximately 25 mins after settling down in my station, realizing that I should congratulate myself for setting down at work with excellent focus), - the weather was nice, smoke buddy was in a good mood, and determined to keep my ‘zen’, I was about to make my first unintelligent remarks of the day. Guess what, the universe wouldn’t have it. It wouldn’t let me ruin http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifit for myself or my audience. Stopping me from saying stupid things – now that’s no easy feat these days. Would nothing short of a divine intervention and that’s exactly what I got.

And it came the only way it could, the intervention - simple, subtle and a bit, just a bit, smelly. It came in the form…of bird poo. Crow to be exact, right from upstairs, on top of my upstairs. (Not to worry. No meaningful or intelligible thought got hurt in the process; all of ‘em vacated the location months back.) How very...zen!

And the day went well in the end. Saw some nice pictures. (I mean really looked at them) And also found this amazing video. Especially liked the bit with the angry God; loved the bit with the tree of life. Posting it here, as a consolation prize for all who actually stayed and endured this mad rant. :S

Re-BORN / ADAM & EVE from TAKAHIRO KIMURA on Vimeo.

Something wont change

Time and again I’ve tried
To speak my mind
To Get ‘em out in the open, on a paper
Hoping they'd soften the blows
leave 'em trailing behind.
But the poet in me is gone and don’t know when he’ll be back
If he’ll ever be back.

So I do, what I shoulda done
I turn to them…the one’s been here and gone
Dead poets, (No, I don’t care for the movie)
b kind, send me a song.

And sure as day light
they say it right
says it all, says it clear
and Just as it was, long long ago
I hold ‘em close, hold ‘em dear.
I don't have to say a thing.
Its all been said and done.
Before it even begun.

Something hasn’t changed after all.
Something wont change... ever.


-------

Reluctance

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question "Whither?"

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

~ Robert Frost

poison in every wine...

Now I drink pain in every delight
And poison in every wine;
I never knew it would be so bitter
To be alone,
Alone, without you.

~ Hermann Hesse (Without You)

Aint nobody’s fault

Aint nobody’s fault and sure aint mine
That I cannot tell the time.
Know that watch there works just fine.
But that damned thing was never mine.
That’s the way, and suites me fine.
What’d I care if its 5 or 9.
But it aint nobody’s fault but mine
That this guy here aint got no time.

রূপান্তর

সেই কবে, বহুদিন আগে
বসন্ত বেলায় বেঁধে ক্ষনিকের ঘর
মৌসুমী সখী মম, দেখেছিল
সপনের ঘোরে,
আমার রূপান্তর |

ঘর লাগা চোখে সুন্দরীতমা
চেয়েছিল মুখ পানে
কাছে সরে এসে, একান্ত গোপনে
বলেছিল কানে কানে:

”আমি দেখেছি তোমায়,
সাঝের বেলায়
চলেছ আমারি সাথে .
হেটেছি দুজন, খানিকটা ক্ষণ
হাত ধরা ছিল হাতে |

বেলা ফুরোলে, ফুরোলো পথও
দাঁড়ালে নদীর তীরে
অস্ফুট স্বরে বললে কি যেন
দেখলে আমাকে ফিরে |

তারপর, কি যে হলো
পলক ফিরতে দেখি
আমার চেনা
তোমার শরীর,
এক মুহুর্তে, বদলে গেল !.
যেন এই স্বাভাবিক
এমনি কথা ছিল !”

“কোন একদিন, জানিনাত কবে
হয়ত এমনি হবে …
স্বপন নদীর তীরে
তুমি মহীরুহ হয়ে রবে |”

সুর্যের রথে চেপে সময় গিয়েছে চলে,
সময় যেমন যায়.
চপলা ষোড়শী হারিয়েছে সেও ,
স্মৃতিরা যেমন হারায় |.
সাত সাগরের পাড় থেকে
জীবন নিয়েছে তারে ডেকে |

আর আমার

জীবন থাকেনি থেমে
যেমন থামেনা কারো
হেঁটে হেঁটে গিয়েছি চলে
পথ আরো আরো |.
জীবনের প্রয়োজনে
শরীর হয়েছে পটু খাদ্য অন্নেষণে |

বদলেছে মনও, বুঝেছে সেও
বিষাদ অপেখ্খা বিস্মৃতি শ্রেয়
কল্পনদী, অবাক বৃখ্খ,
কদাচ পরে না মনে |

একদা হঠাত, বহুদিন পরে
মনের ভিতরে, গহন অন্তরে
অশরীরী আকার কারা পায়েচারী করে |

তারা ডেকে নেয় মরে, সপনের ঘোরে
জীবন নদীর পাড়ে যেথা
চিরায়ত খেলা করে |.

দিধা সকলি অবসানে
প্রাণ ফিরে আসে প্রাণে
চোখ মেলে দেখি –
জলের শরীর মোর
মিশে গাছে জলে
ঘটেছে রূপান্তর
নবজন্ম পলে |

হাজার বছরের পাড়ে
অচীন বৃখ্খ এক রয়েছে দাড়ায়ে
চিনতে পার কি তারে?

Red dwarf

খসে পড়া নক্ষত্রের মত
দ্রূত পতনশীল
রাতের শেষ সিগারেটের
লাল আলো
অনুসরণ করে আমার ক্রমশ:
ঝাপসা হয়ে আসা
নিদ্রাতুর চোখের দৃষ্টি।

দ্রুত, অতি দ্রুত শেষ হয়
নির্বীর্য, আশাভঙ্গের সেই পর্ব|
নিঃশেষিত নিকোটিন শলাকার
নিরাসক্ত গমন পথ
ব্যার্থ হয়
কোনো নতুন ছন্দের জন্ম দিতে|

জীবনানন্দ, রবীন্দ্রনাথ, ফ্রস্ট, পো
একে একে ফিরে যান সকলে
সমভাবে ব্যার্থ হয়ে
অরন্যরোদন আর কতকাল?
অমৃত, সে চিরদিনই অমৃত – সত্য|
কিন্তু তা ধারণ করবার পাত্র কোথায়?

ভাঙ্গা হাঁড়ি তবু চেষ্টা করে যায়
আরো কিছুক্ষণ, নিজেকে জোড়া লাগাবার,
চেষ্টা করে ইতস্তত ছড়ানো
বিশৃঙ্খল অংশগুলোকে
কোনো এক দৈব জাদুবলে
সুসজ্জিত করতে,
ঘাটে ঘাটে মেলাতে.
এতে সে খানিকটা সফলও হয়ত হয়
কিন্তু দিনের আলোয় সবই
ভ্রান্ত প্রমান হয়।

দিনের আলো তাই চাই না আর
মুমুর্ষ দানবের রক্তচক্ষু কটাক্ষই কাম্য।
সুসংবদ্ধ ছন্দ, ছত্র, ছবির প্রয়োজন নেই,
প্রয়োজন নেই সুষম ভাব, ভাষা, ভালবাসার
পতনশীল নক্ষত্রের নিষ্ফল আক্রোশ যদি
আজ রাতে
জন্ম দিতে পারে
একটি অগ্নিময়, নারকীয় দুঃস্বপ্নের|

Translation
[neither good nor accurate but who cares! its mine]


Like a dead star
Falling fast
the fiery red
of the last cigarette, is chased
by these two
stony, sleepy eyes.

Quickly, too quickly it ends -
The episode of sterile disillusionment.
The tracks made in space
By the careless nicotine bearer
Fails to produce
Any new beat.

Jivanananda, Tagore, Frost and Poe
All retires
Equally unsuccessful…
How long can they beat a dead horse anyway?
True that elixir of life will last all eternity
But where is the pot to hold it in?

So the cracked pot keeps at it
For a li’l while longer, trying to mend itself,
wishing for some sort of divine intervention
That’d collect all the pieces
And set them straight
they way they ought to be.
And he does it too, at least it seems that way, for a bit
Till the light of day
says otherwise.

So, no more light, no more day,
For the glare of the dying Cyclops – I pray
Rhymes, rhythms and reflections are unwanted
No need for wisdom, women or words
If tonight the falling giant
In its desperate rage
Can provide
A fiery, red, nightmare.