A Goodbye to a Friend

When I look back and see
What was, and what could be,
I see my paths were strewn
With stone and thorny wound.

Yet no pain I feel,
No aching glance I yield,
For the pain in every mile
I forget, on your smile.

We walked these bloody paths,
Friends, with "crazy" hearts,
And mark these words as true:
I needed only you.

Now our paths diverge.
Your hand I hold no more.
The tears swell and surge,
But I have to let you go.

I hope one day we meet
Again, and never part
And walk a path so sweet,
Hand-in-hand, with joyous hearts.

Till then, goodbye, my friend,
Fare thee well, my love,
My precious little godsend,
My angel from above.

:( For my favorite female friend... To meet and to part is the way of life. To part and to meet is the hope of life.

Adrift

Drifting on the seas of incomprehensibility, shrouded by the mists of unreality, buffeted by the winds of imagination, a blurry night sky cold dark and enveloping, a hazy unsated unnamed need...

An Overexplosion of Early Morning Emotion

I wake up to an existence unsullied by mere mortalities. I wake up to a presence transcending the aeons. I wake up to an unseen force that drives from within, yet gently, incrementally, inexorably. I wake up to an onward marching band of brothers into the light. I wake up on a dirty desk with science on my mind... Good morning, everybody!

Sitting on a Hydrant with a Coffee

Never give a writer (or a wannabe writer, for the sake of modesty) a cup of coffee/tea and a place to sit and five minutes to ponder. Because then his mind starts wandering and he ends up writing something.

So the story begins. Aforesaid wannabe writer had to pack his clothes before leaving for a month-long trip, complicated by the fact that he also had to move to a different apartment right in the middle of not-being-in-town. These conditions necessitated too much of organization and planning, something said writer is distinctly uncomfortable with. Plus, his nose was feeling weird and there was a mild rise too in his body temperature, which he thinks might become a full-blown fever in a couple of days.

In such a febrile state with plenty to do and little motivation, he decided to forget it all for a few minutes and get himself a coffee. Considering that the weather is on the warmer side resulting in his little apartment becoming a little too stuffy (like his nose), he decided to get his coffee and sit on the fire-hydrant peeping out from under the building walls and watch the traffic go by. And, inevitably, ponder.

Ponder, ponder, ponder! (Heil fellow geek, if you get the Pinky and the Brain reference!)

Having comfortably ensconced himself on said hydrant (albeit not too comfortably owing to the not-so-flat surface that hydrants possess to dissuade people from sitting on them) and having had the caffeine rush and its accompanying analgesic properties, with the cool breeze blowing through his long terribly dishevelled looks-like-a-homeless-person hair and pondering, pondering, pondering, he notices a couple walk out of the building holding hands. A couple he knows. A couple who are too engrossed in each other to notice the hobo-like-writer on the hydrant. An all too familiar feeling of unmentionable emotions hits the writer who then proceeds to not do anything about it as he has learnt to do in the past year. Yet, he proceeds to dispel such notions about the demerits of his inaction, since obviously, inaction is better than bibulousness ("better", implying less harmful to reputations, livers and wallets).

Cars zoom by. As writers have been doing forever, he ponders on the small part the individual plays in the vast cobweb called society (and God is one crazy spider to have built that) and yet the hopeful importance that the individual ascribes to himself in the larger scheme of things only to be sorely shot down later. Ambulances yell and zoom by. Again, as writers do, he ponders the transience of human life and the meaning of our existence, ephemeral it may be. A car stops at the intersection blasting loud hip-hop music. Now, he ponders how art rescues us from the mundaneness of everyday living making us feel like soaring eagles and when the music is turned off, plop! falls the eagle to the ground, breaking his silly beak. A cop stops his car and looks at him. Now, the writer ponders the suspicious nature of human interactions and bemoans the loss of trust and love replaced with the mad, mad rat-race which makes us worse than rats (which actually like each other once in a while).

Too much of pondering has resulted in an empty cup with only unstirred sugar at the bottom (the writer likes sugar and plenty of it) and a thought hitherto delegated to a corner is now taking center-stage: Pack your damn clothes! Reluctantly the writer leaves his pondering seat, goes home, opens his laptop ponderously and "expresses" it all. Here's to hoping he gets to pack his clothes eventually!

Beauty

Beauty. There's beauty all around me. The beautiful American wilderness rushing by. The beautiful rain spattering on the windows of this beautiful train. The beautiful fields flooded and green. A beautiful morning. A nice book and good coffee and a great view.

This whole trip was about running away. Yet, the more I run away, the more I run to it. Beauty is an inescapable part of my life that I shall always want. That I shall always pursue and be denied. And just when I am about to give up, beauty thrusts itself upon me.

As I take in this beauteous moment, I think of her. She who taught me to enjoy the littlest of things. She, who showed me the beauty of spontaneity, the beauty within and without, and the beauty of two held hands in a dark world. She, who made me live and love. She, beautiful.

She, lost forever in the maze of life. At once mine and not mine. At once hurting and hurt. The beauty of contradiction. She was my love. And now, she's gone. Living only in my dreams.

To love beauty is to want perfection. Yet the cruelty of life denies us. And we run away, run away from it while it takes us in and throws us out all over again.

The truth is, there is no running away. Stay still and embrace it. Not just the beauty of joy, but also the beauty of sadness. There will never be one without the other. We desperate humans and our plans! None of them will work. Nothing turns out the way it should.

Life, take me. I give in to the madness. I see not what is in store. Drown me in joy and sadness.

Drench me. With beauty.

(No Idea)

When life did bring us nigh,
Why did you love deny?
If fate will tease once more,
Will you again close the door?

Help! I need to stop writing these...

Inevitable?

Almost exactly two years ago, I made a critical decision.
An I-am-going-to-Pittsburgh-so-let-me-do-this-so-that-I-do-not-have-any-regrets-later decision.

Did not know that it was going to lead to something so big or something so serious.
With so many repercussions.

Anyways, no regrets... C'est la vie.

The reason God does not give a hard-reset button for our lives is that we just might use them too often.

Feel

Feel the wind in your hair
Feel the love in your stare
Feel the falling drop of rain
Feel the melting unsaid pain
Feel the gently setting sun
Feel it all come undone
Feel the darkness creeping tall
Wish you did not feel at all

Nice weather. Not so nice things to think of.

Rant

Don't you get it yet?

Which part of that do you NOT understand?

Don't you get IT yet?

It's over.
O.V.E.R.

OVER, Dammit!

Now, how about moving the f*** on?

The Present

Sometimes you look back and wonder. At how the present is such a weird place to be. Right between the ponderable and irrevocable past and the unponderable and unpredictable future. The past is certainly beyond any measure of change, except in the imagination of course. The future is, again, beyond any measure of control. What exists and what defines us is the here and the now and what we are in the here and the now. Yet, is that really under our control? For the now is always assailed, no, plagued by the regret and nostalgia of the past and the anxiety and uncertainty of the future. In the now, all we do is forget or recreate our past and work, hope and pray for a better future. And through it all, we yearn for the simple things, simple pleasures. Something amazing to do. Something amazing to eat. Someone amazing to love...

What is a song?

What is a song but a manner of forgetfulness? Of indulgence and immersion. Of ringing a melody again and again till it drowns out the reality of existence. Of listening and dying and living every unwelcome moment elsewhere... Somewhere... Anywhere... Anywhere, but here.

Wakefulness

Wakefulness is a bane
For the slowly-going-insane.
When every wakeful moment
Is an immersion in torment,
Then sleep is what you need.
But Hades does not pay heed
And nightmares toss you around.
Human dragons abound.
Tragic fates spelt out,
Wistful pasts play out,
Loves and dreams come true,
Yet terror does it brew.
Desires are made plain,
Enemies slay or slain.
The one you love is yours,
But loved ones don't rejoice.

You wake up with a tear,
A dreadful future fear.
A sorry past you try
To forget and not to pry.
You look around the room
With a sense of impending doom.
Yet, the day has just begun
But your heart's already undone.
Another day, overcast,
You pray, "Oh, be the last!"

Another sleepless nights poem. Had some alone-time with a coffee in a Starbucks.

A note to a flower

I'm not sure why I'm writing this now. I'm not even sure I'll publish it. And even if I do, it wouldn't matter, would it? I do not know why I'm thinking of you now. Why, right now, I look back at what has happened and realize how much you mean to me. How I will never be able to move away from you, no matter how hard I try. How I can not bring myself to be the sane guy that you used to love because I lost my sanity over you. I only wish there was something I could do. Or undo. To make you mine. Something. Anything. A part of me thinks you were right to do what you did. Quite pragmatic, after all. And my head totally agrees with you. But my heart needs you and refuses to stay put. Refuses to even reconsider. I've given up trying to convince you. I've also given up trying to convince myself otherwise. I do not know where this will go. I only know that without you, it doesn't matter where I go.

A journey's joy derives not from the path travelled, but from the company kept. Now you're gone. And life goes by, second by excruciating second, a thorny prickly path. You are out of my life. But not out of my heart. And to live every moment is death all over again. I miss you. Come back.

No questions, please.

A Poem On Just Waking Up

Troubled sleep on a chair, not bed,
Troubled thoughts inside my head,
Troubled heart won't let me sleep,
Troubled eyes, for my Laila weep.

For every time my lashes close,
Lo! Laila lives - in dreams repose,
But every time, she breaks my heart.
And so I waken with a start.

From neither one, get rest not I,
From neither sleep nor wakeful eye,
For thoughts of her engross my head.
My Laila, loves me not, she said.

Laila, tender flower, my dove,
I kissed you once and fell in love.
Now you another want instead,
While I just wish that I was dead.

Sigh…

For lovely Laila, from her demented Majnun.

Waves... again...

Life is but waves hitting the shore. Each wave, following up on the previous one. Each wave, the larger it is, the more damage it does and the more empty it is when it leaves. But they all leave, don't they? From the tiniest ripple to the tsunami, they come, they strike and they leave. Such is life. Always waiting, always leaving.

C'est la vie.

61

Another year has gone flying by,
Another slow mile traversed by.
Today we turn 61,
And a billion hearts beat as one.

Yet,

There are greater deeds to be done
And many more battles to be won.
But though the path be long and hard,
We're getting there! World, take guard!

Happy Independence Day, India... 61!

Wait, it's not over yet... Partiban Bagyaraj, a friend of mine actually translated it into Tamil

இன்னும் ஒரு ஆண்டை கடக்கிறோம் !
இன்னும் ஒரு பாதை நடக்கிறோம் !
இன்று அருவத்தியொன்றாக,
கோடி இதயங்கள் அடிக்கிறது ஒன்றாக !
பல சாதனைகள் முடித்து வாழுவோம் !
பல போர்களை வென்று ஆழுவோம் !
கடும் கடினம் நிறைந்த கற்பாதை
வருகிறோம் உலகம் ! சாக்கிரதை !

Loneliness

Yonder moonless night,
Upon a windless sea,
Naught but waves in sight,
Such is my agony.

Oh wish the sea would rise
And drown this soulless me.
Just let me close my eyes
And forever think of ye.

When you surprise yourself by the things you would do for something you never even dreamed about in the first place. When perfection walks away and settles for an imperfect normalcy. When all that you ever wanted would shut the door in your face. When you are forced to walk away from the only thing you want.

Why? Part two

Why does love have to happen?

And then just go away?

Why is all pain forgotten?

Only to come again...

Mood swings. Grrrr...

The World's Most Horrible Joke

I know I make you so mad
With my jokes that are really sad.
But that doesn't make you bad!
It's just that I am an unfunny lad...
Woh-my-Gad!

A challenge to all comedians out there... Beat this bad joke!

Don't Cut The Weed

Though a grassy lawn is of desire,
Pray don't cut the weed.
For by it, a tender flower apppears
To pay the sunlight heed.
For the grass is green and clean and soft,
But no, it never will
Smile at you and steal your heart
As will a daffodil.

A nature poem? Flowers? I surprise myself.