Silent Nights ..

One of my Favorite Christmas Carols .
Enjoy ..
Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas !

ILLUSION???

Once
On a evening
Indolence hold my hand
And took me
To a dark land….
It asked me to believe;
And I saw
Flowers in a dozen…
In my mind
All of a sudden…

And
I started my journey…
Leaving my root…
Behind…
So free
From mind…
But not blind…
With trust
In my heart…
With chances
Of getting hurt…

I……
Saw a spin on path
Lights gone…
Lighter…
Closed my eyes…
No roses were there
Only another twist
On the path…
I……
Left my desires
Only dreams came
With me…
On desert…
On lonely path…
In search of light……

The search did seem
Meaningless…
Suddenly…
With a fragrance
I found a pathway
With a new beam of ray…

You….
Were standing there
With stretched arms
Full of warmth…
As if you crave
All my pain
On you like rain…

That moment…
Mesmerized my thought…
When I felt no hurt…
And found my head
Resting…
On your shoulder…
So happy
Felt like dying
I couldn’t…
But crying…

City of Angels !

Host is a ghost

Ok guys, I'm not telling a Horror story...but this thing that I'm going to tell you is ultimately lead ro a Horror story and I know that very well.

Well we the 3rd year Psychology hons student of Gokhale college are going to do a seminar on the"Methods of Abnormal Psychology" and my dear friends wanted me to have a taste of the "bamboo" and they have chosen me as the host for the whole thing.Now my friends those of you who know me very well knows that , I've got a very bad habit of laughing all the time,as I'm in any "Great Indian laughter Challenge" ,with the most awkward bodylanguage one can have!And of all the people me being chosen as the Host is nothing but a sign that the show is either going to turn into a circus or a Laughing club!

I requested my friends so very much but they are such a "dhabba"in the name of friendship that they are unwilling!So there's not much option for the Host,but to turn into a Ghost on that day!Aye!If I find anyone just smiling at me,do you know what will happen?I would burst into a bout of laughter madness and everything would be worse than the messes made by Uncle Podger!

Oh I do hope that Mamata di saves me on that day and call for another Bandh or else .............My last rite is all that will be left!Oh do pray for me!

Salaam e Ishq ~!

Lovely song with lovely pictures !
Salaam e Ishq o Meri jaan !

Surrogate Mother

Come dusk,

I slither out, bloody and new,

From ruptured umbilical cords,

Thrust out of vaginal walls.

By chance,

My infantile senses

Are intact and enthused.

Naked, I am fed

With shapes, smells, sounds, swarms and sensations

From the juvenile night’s bosom.

And every sense grows

Into a child’s sense.

Prowling into the night,

My meandering feet and childish fingers

Feel the bodies

Of fellow creatures of the night;

Other moonlit children.

I search each eye,

Each body

For a similar mark.

Flaccid, I stumbled into loneliness.

Shards of pain appear in my pubis

Curled, blackened and clustered.

Char my face, in pencil mats

Muffle my voice, low as night’s humdrums.

My masculine senses

Heave windows open.

Naked bodies sway

To the song of the night,

Emanating new shapes, new smells,

New sounds, new swarms and new sensations,

A strange new dusk spawns

Inside a warm bowl.

The possibilities in a strange new dusk

Smiled on my naked body,

And upon my genitals.

Ungarbed, I quivered in the cold.

I need a bosom

And a shield of hair.

Sexually excited, I masturbate

Into a stranger’s bowl.

I masturbate.

As I unfold myself,

I shrink.

Every span of skin

Forbears growth.

Every breath coalesces.

Every tress of hair

Sprawls a tiny sheath.

I coagulate into a new, cold sperm.

Quivering in the cold,

I swim up

To a stranger’s egg

Waiting to divest myself off my senses.

By midnight,

I ripple into a stranger’s womb.

In the day,

I float in saps,

Inchoate and unmade.

My body sprawls itself

Into an unrestricted expanse

And I grow without a center.

My fetal heart feeds

On strangers’ day dreams.

I collect the waves of myself

And prime them into an infant

With new skin.

Bringshu ihare koy...

Chobi dekhe bojha jaye je pete pete eto soytaani??!!

 

I drew this...it was hung in the school exhibition

 

 

Walking on the dark Side of moon

"Breathe ..
Breathe in the air"


The air is thin in my moon
Its hard to breathe..

A long day of lost paradise
I live amongst you

I die in the absence of moon.
So , I keep walking on the dark side of moon..

There is more to me than you see
A eclipse of thoughts echoes through dusk

Anonymous glow beneath my eyes
A surprise gone wrong

May be , there was more to it
Than you and me walking ..

There was more to it ..
The noon may not speak anymore

But the midnight will surely do its part
Midnight moon shines on you ..

"Shine on you crazy Diamonds
Now there's a look in your eyes , like black holes in the sky"

~BACK TO MOON~

Clouds
In the sky…
Floating
Mind…
A river
Flowing…
Or,
Flying high!!!

Unworthy
Oh you!
Says brain,

See life…
Stop
Taking pain…

Heart laughs,
“I……
Have seen pain…
Still
I laugh…
I get wet…
In rain…”

Brain laughs,
“You…
Are here
To live…
Not to shed
Bloody tear…”

Clouds
Black…
Hides sun…
It says,
“Don’t cry…
I will
Come back…”

Life
Mortal…
Possessions
Material…
What we feel
So unreal…
It is real

It’s night…
When
We dream…
We desire…
We…
Close eyes
Pain dies???

We search
Eldorado…
A journey
Never ending…
Destination
Seems pseudo…

World
A stage…
Clowns
Are we…
So free
But
Inside a cage

Distorted…
Colorless…
It’s death?
Oh you
Don’t die…
Close
Your eyes…
Fly…
There is
A sky…

Afternoon Sun…
On it’s high…
Look at it
And
Close your eye
Inside you…
See the moon
Even
In afternoon…

Duality - A reality!!!

It's easy to forget failure but not hurt
and between happiness and pain, does life oscillate

i's shot when i was at my sincere best
when i wanted the freedom back i myself lost

i was wrong that i did expect
as i wanted to rediscover my space, at the most

naive was i, i have to admit
then the warmth i had felt was an illusion but

Thank god!!it's not bout hate but hurt
and the prayers and secret promises guarded a lot

else everything the blazing fire would have burnt
reducing me into ashes and everything that's a part

Luckily what does not change is past,a cold dry fact
but the river full of iife,it could not obstruct

Now that everything i have blurted out
i ve to complete it else ll be called an opportunist

never had i ever thought
hurt can also lead to fulfilment

for what lovely is a heart without any hurt
and what beautiful is a moon without the blackspot

if this little hurt can make my dead words live
and make me more compassionate and live

i would undergo many like this
and more eagerly thinking of this as bliss

but it's easy to forget failure but not hurt
and between happiness and pain, does life oscillate

Wine

Pain can be incestuous; the familiarity it breeds and spouses excruciates instances of impotence. As I write this, I try and lurk in words surreally linked with penned pills. I lie prostrate on wet grass and muddy pools of water, anaesthetized; my stomach on the ground and my right temple playing drudge to a grimy piece of stone. Loud imaginings flit up the sky, like birds which wake up from sleep and gallivant to instinct, expelling dreams inadvertently, before taking to the other branches. And I pen them up; these light, floating thoughts. Heavy, deeper ones agglomerate into a murky sludge – perhaps the heaving in my stomach and the rush in my temples. The feeling dawdles. The sieved residue, black and grey, are out of the rational, and in some irrational way, they silhouette my silence and eloquently border my solitude.

Love or no love, my wedding with words is falling apart. And I fear that I have no courage to envisage such bereavement. But it is not as I wish. Eloquence takes its toll and pain drones on stinging me; it pains to salvage the cost I must pay. I’m merely afraid, afraid that my eloquence will dissolve. Perhaps I am not even maimed. I have never been beaten up. And as I write, I constantly reassure myself that there is nothing to be proved, no judgement to be respected.

I took to a long drive. Photography. Music. Arts. Women. Coffee. Cynicism. Emptiness. Blood. The fear still swivels around the winding annals of my mind. Nothing, nothing in 19 years has swiveled away that fear which grips my mind. I used to measure men with eloquence, and now as I indulge in this orgy of repetition of cumbersome spoonfuls of language, I wonder if I can stop this unlearning, this gradual evaporation, and take to a pseudo intellectual status. I wanted life anew, knowledge slit open and rendered impotent, in a rage for orgasmic freshness. And now I can no longer bear to stay adrift from my haven of words. With seared skin, empty eyes, a loveless beard and bone dry hair, I crave for a revitalizer.

How could I not be in love, now that I have fallen in love with the need to be in love? How could I unlearn words and measure familiar terrains with coffee heaps which I swore never to use?

A I read this piece to myself, I savour less and less of the emanating pain, less of the depth and the eloquence in those vials of chided volatility. I even smile at some lines. None of the exquisiteness and beauty seems to matter. Words aren’t life.

Through curtained windows, I see the child I love engrossed in play. There are days I wake up to see his face. And now, as he wipes sweat away, I laugh a happy laugh. A happy laugh of abandon. I move down to the playground, to watch him from proximity. He waves at me and I smile a smile of love. I pretend to be entangled in a book, a book that I said I love and wouldn’t mind rereading, throwing smiles, parts of which will be visible well outside the book’s geometrical life. Antithetically, I hope to ensnare; I came enchanted. Oh, how I laugh! I haven’t yet learned to love in the open. Watch the child who silhouettes my own childhood in a way not very far from how it should be done. I seem to be certain about many things when I’m around with the child. I seem to know the one way in which my childhood could be silhouetted. The one child I could ever love. A woman who claims to love me calls and I don’t attend the call. I can not slit open this moment of trance. She calls up over and over again. I switch off my mobile phone. I seem to be certain about love. Certain that she doesn’t love me, for I could certainly not love her. I must prepare an excuse to give her, for I lust her. And I don’t wish to go hunting. She fell into my cave, charmed by the little eloquence that I could conjure, and from the very beginning, I have been honest. At least in patches which matter.

The child comes to me, hardly exhausted, and asks me about my day. I do not realize if I’m saying the correct things. The child lacerates all signs of realism from in me. I hum while we walk away to our homes. There were times we’ve had brilliant conversations in the times before, but today I chose to walk silently. Even behind him. He doesn’t demur. His mind wanders too, perhaps. But now and then, he turns behind and I am enamored. I watch him as I would stay sentry to the night’s passing. Gaze up and think my own thoughts. The child connects me to fundamentally introverted parts of me which I would lose otherwise. He never asks me why I have befriended him. Why him of all people. Why this child. He never asks. He asks of trivialities which I remember as if they were facts of significance. But I have asked myself why I do love him. His rationalism, his indulgence, his bohemian self, his brilliance, his way with people, his eloquence at things which I could never quite be eloquent about, his reflection of what I must, perhaps, be, and most of all the spectacle of him talking to people, loving them with love in his eyes. I could never love people. I could never love good things and bad things alike, with whatever certainty I attach to each definition.

Or perhaps it is just that I am more eloquent than he is, generally, or with the passing of those few years that would take him to my own horizons. “Child” I call him. Perhaps it is just those few years in vacuum that I love. Those few years, which will now elapse, along with my own years. Side by side. I will live two lives.

I take him to the nearby restaurant and he doesn’t demur. I sit far away from him, asking him to make the orders, sending him of to the waiter and everything else that would create a crevice of distance. A proximal distance, from which I can watch him and live him. Once I took him to a beach and I scribbled on the sands, quite legibly, to the lady I love and the one who claims that she could never love me, one and the same, “Wish you were here”. She loves Floyd. I had him take a photo of it so I could email her that. He probably suppressed surprise and asked me for who the photo was written. I told him what I thought, without channeling my thoughts to the maze of roads my mind is. Mindlessly, I said what I thought. Perhaps it was what I felt about the woman.

Now, in solitude, I realize that this eloquence that I employ fades by the day; my marriage is falling apart and rarely do I indulge in epiphanies of this sort any longer. I would no longer be able to tell the child what I think. A kind of senility will befall me and I would stay stuck for words. Lost as I have lost so many of my material possessions. Lost from myself. But, perhaps, more importantly, I must break the child while I can. Let him discover that he will, too, lose his eloquence and his grip. Let the fear in me plague the child’s mind, hover around him and grip him, like it does in me. I must force him to unlearn, stop loving and turn placid grey. Sometimes I think this is all I do. Break people. Break children. Because they may break in a more traumatic manner, hurt physically, rendered disable and in conditions which I myself fear; fear more than anything else. Perhaps this is love. Its side effects are a cyst and resistance. End results are fleeting moments of much pulchritude or perhaps, even orgasm. Or may be my priorities are skewed; side effects end results and end results side effects. My impotent self can do nothing to slow down my divorce. I stay sentry to my own heart’s sinking, waiting to pick up the pieces and then do as impulse will tell me to.

Assistant of Abu Salim 

Apna sapna is NOT Money Money!!! 

Smile


The lost threads of time asked me to wait
Amidst all the lights there was darkness around
The orchestra played the divine tune
I sat in a corner

Morning sickness had struck me
The surge of insomnia was catching up
Mystifying arena spoke nothing
Don't ask me any questions

A wry smile was stitched across my face
The devastating reality was something I hadn't expected
Give me some more time
I shall keep my promise
A promise to love you
A promise to take you in my journey

In a green forest I saw my dreams realize
The road went through them
Crush my soul , kill my soul

I lost control the moment of truth
In a numb moment I realized
I cried , I wanted to kill
But time heals every wound

The fantasy of dreams
Stoned mortals try to stand still
Trying to Remain high on hope
.... and high on dope !

My Soul is Tearing Apart....

When I was going through the dark phase
You assumed I was fine
Cause I never showed you my tears
And how much my heart was aching inside

We knew things were not right
But we couldn’t help it solve
Now you hold me responsible for everything
Even though deep inside you know
But if u don’t want to acknowledge it
I cant say further… no more…

(My Soul cant Take It Anymore....There is a calmness on my face but deep within...my soul is tearing apart....)

The End

There was a time
when i took interest
in loving-
in giving my everything
for that cause;
to live life at the edge of the roof...
on one hand
you can scream :
"woohoo! i'm at the top of the world!"
and on the other,
when you look down
from the sheer height,
you tremble, you fear
of falling down...
of being broken into a thousand pieces.

but now,
the world fleets by
like a movie on the silver-screen
and i
remain untouched by the subtle emotions
that used to make me
shiver, twitch, or
dance to its tunes.

sentiments make a man,
they say.
but i say...
strength makes a man
ambition makes a man
character makes a man.
it's not that i'm that man...
but i know the way
out of the miseries
is to see The End.

One who sees The End
makes his decisions more justfully.
he does not
waste his time
in the lanes that has no future
no Hope, no outcome.
he sees the Light
and goes for it...
the Light of Immortality
of Permanence.

But it is also true...
that
it is not important What one becomes in Life
but it is important How he becomes it...
some people may differ with me,
but i Believe
that no matter what you become at the end of the Day
if you do not go through the Hard Way,
you never realise its true value,
the true essence remains obscured
from your eyes.
as a result,
with the riches of a hundred kings,
you still remain unhappy, unsatisfied, unfulfilled.

in this huge world
there are very few people
who'd place their hands on their hearts
and say "I'm Happy."
everyone has a life
and also has a freedom to live it
in their own chosen way.
but when the things go wrong...
they only have their Ego to console them
of their decisions.
but in the core of their heart
they know
they're nothing but Losers.

Living life for the moment
maybe a key mantra of today's people
and most surprisingly,
they're right in the mantra
but wrong in its execution!
here is the explanation :

live life for the moment
but such
that you always know
that it goes on...
there's no use clinging to a belonging
because
nothing belongs to you,
they never did...
they just change hands,
sometimes the trump card lies in your hands
sometimes to another;
Life is not the trump card
Life is the table of the play
Life is the characters of the drama
Life is the stage where it happens.

take life as it comes to you,
without expectations, without attachments
without desires, without passions!

yes, without passions!
if you reflect properly,
you will see
that it is these passions
that drive us
from one corner to the other
like a rat in a closed room
screaming their lungs out
and sweating like a pig...
the passions elude us into the false hopes
that the earth would be our dreamland!
but the truth is
all lies in the word 'Dream'...
it is you who will have to Dream
it is you who will have to change
it is you who will attain peace
nothing will change for you
no matter how hard you try
and if you still go on
you'll end up in the lanes of despair,
of utter misery.

Rise.
The solution is in your hands.
Kill the passions!

You may argue
that it is those passions
that make us human.
i say:
i give a damn shit to being a human
if it means utter misery and pain
instead it's better to be inhumane
if it brings peace
if it brings stability
if it brings permanence.

my dear friends
you stand in a juncture of two roads...
one leads through a village-
a simple poor 'ambition-less' yet peaceful life
and the other through a metropolitan city-
a gorgeous flamboynt complex and uncertain life...
now that I've let you know The End
it is time,
you choose your destiny.

I wish you luck!

.

roj rater protarona jobab debo aaj
Tor jonne modhye ratrir modopaan
Hajar Hasir ektai uttor
Tor choker udashintoi hariye jao

Chander chadni te amar bhutni
Preyoshi tar birjota
Amar shunyo akashe ekta tara
Gopon kothar amod toke ghire

Aaj bhuter rajje dui nayikar sopno
Amar bedonai shongi tui
Abar beshe aasha gondher roktokhorron

Amar ar tor mostiker odhine
Kotha r bhanje ekta heyali
Nirobotar uttor kothai ?
Ami toh chai ni aar kichu .

~BLACK~

Evening sky
Depressed sun
Going down
Emerged
Into dark…

Sky is not black
It’s crimson
Colour of blood
Or, just sky?
Unsolved mystery
I cry……

Life
Blossoms at night
When
There is no light
Only
Passion is bright…

Night is rainbow
Of heaven
Or, hell?
Of passion
Or, pain?

Dark lanes
On earth…
On mind…
Earth suffocates
So am I…
Are you blind?

Your touch
Warm breath
You…
Oh hell!!!
You said,
“It’s heaven”!!!

“You are lost”
Says my brain

Creation
Or, destruction?
Pain
Or, passion?
Life
Goes on……

Night ends
Streetlamps went out
So as my shout…

I stop
My soul gets lost
Once again…
To my brain
Or, to pain?

It’s a new day
With nothing new
With another evening…
With another night…
Another fight…
Between my soul
And my mind…

I cry……

I cry
For my night…
My soul says
“Oh, save me”
I……….
Close my eyes
“Forgive me”