Man
May 22nd, 2012 § 2 Comments
THIS is an ongoing ancient war, that we’re all a part of.
Eons ago, Eve betrayed the father’s trust. the betrayal was met with God’s wrath. In a gust of unprecedented fury, God rejected Adam and Eve to earth, and lay upon them the highest curse, immortality. It was macabre as they stumbled from forests to deserts and heavens to hells.
A year on, they were both done with the horrors of the plain life. They descended into the Nile and the currents submitted them to the bottom of the Mediterranean. they jumped from the highest cliffs and drank the darkest poisons, to no avail. Their throats choked as the dawning lay upon them, that they could not escape this world. Every day was a curse as they drifted along, numb to everything around them. They sang, they wrote, they thought, but still could not shake off themselves- the memories of this horror. They walked on and on through centuries of time. They could not drowse, or die, or forget. In those parched dells of numbness, the only thing that they could not grow indifferent to, was frustration. Boredom burnt their skins like hot dust. they tried flying, only to be pulled down by the sour reminescence of their existence. The gravity of the world was but their own minds, fused at the center of the earth. Memory stung their skin like wasps, clung onto them like slow growing algae- and they could not shake it off.
They procreated hundreds of humans, but found no solace in what was family. Time gave them the truth. The truth of their futility, immortality and sheer helplessness. In the by far truest sense of the word, they lost. And lost. And lost.
They could carry anything on their strong shoulders, but the burden of their very existence. They could win any battle, but the one against time. They could ward off any delusion, but themselves. He looked heavenward and begged. He begged for forgiveness, and he begged father for death.
God looked down upon the melancholy inflicted flesh, and in the most distasteful of tongues; thundered upon him-
“What have you done to rise. What have you done to fall. And what have you done, to deserve death at my hands.”
Silence creeped in again. They walked on. Wherever they went, they followed themselves. Memories of an eternal hell, no matter how painfully snatched from their blood-puss skin, grew back. How much time passed, they cannot tell, for every moment was a sun burning down their throats. Someone higher, could not stand this upon his conscience any longer.
The devil descended the earth.
“Behold, humanity! For i have seen you all suffer much. So much so that there lack words to contain your misery. Onwards, you shall be addressed, ‘Man’. You have suffered man on your frail shoulders for so long, a time. You have bourne a thousand Gehenna every day. Your throat is as parched as your soul. It no longer feels. i cannot bear the sight of this, but alas i am bound. But here, i bring a gift unto Mankind. A gift that will slowly and surely dissolve all hells. Though i can not, this will lull you out of immortality.”
Exit devil.
Humanity, now Mankind- stood there. They looked around only to feel cheated. They had no gifts on, or around them. It was all the same. Eventually, they dispersed into the landscape. But something fundamental had changed about them. As night fell, a certain heaviness of the mind befell them all. They felt drowsy. Their eyelids weighed down, their bodies relaxed, and for the first time in time- did Mankind sleep.
The morning was different, was fresh. Man looked around to acknowledge the mountains once again, as memory wilted away- slowly. In time that came, Mankind slowly and surely forgot everything that had happened. With sleep, the memories, the agony and realizations were flushed away- every night. The gift had futile, but massive changes on Mankind. With lesser and lesser memory, he drifted away from Man. Societies flourished. They started singing and talking and dancing and thinking and..
You are here.
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Oh! she
May 9th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
REALITY holds, but far too little of her. My fantasy, my-reality however endows a thousand of her, into my arms. Not just all-involving, but the vestal interaction has an attraction unlike all else.
A director, i find myself imagining in all vivid detail, her revelations. the first embrace, the harsh caress of the fingerprints on her skin, the scent that takes you high.i lay back, as an immaculate joy bursts open the spectrum of all possibilities, styles and scenarios, vulgar and virgin permutations. Of knowing her. Of flooding and fusing into her.
i caress her, unveil her in all ways conceivable. i play games with her, her mind: games that her most noble self reacts to, in all sincerity of joy and loss.
Mind you, this is not what you call an erotic fantasy, the one with little but physical textures. This is my sheer reality; my laboratory, my monastery and my brothel. The game is like nothing else. Voluptuous juices seep into all planes of conception. It is colour, it is light. It is the coarse feel of a gramophone record. It is, i’d say erotica in the grandest sense of the possible. It is what the word meant-to mean.
(Pause. Go get coffee. Go.)
Sigh. Let me tell you, now: the truth. My truth.
No matter how rich these textures and colours and sounds are, they seem bland in due time. The scents, you realize are but a permutation of what you already inhaled. No matter how real it is You of all, are aware: of its fault line, its fallacy.
In the alone of the night, you are lonely, romancing with yourself. There is no sense of surprise, as you guide yourself along her skin. Your blindfold lacks sensuousness as it all gets conceived in your mind, before it reaches you through crude pipelines. No matter how perfect, it carries with it; a subtle stench of crude synthesis.
My prime compliment to her will always be, her reality.
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Oh me
May 8th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
there will be sounds
April 25th, 2012 § 5 Comments
AMONGST all clamoring beauty, that you confuse for chaos, there will be sounds. There, amongst the mindless labyrinth of colours, and kisses and sounds and scratches, there will be a sound, for you.
Not as grand and majestic, perhaps as you would like it. Not the thumps of a wild beast’s hooves, neither the war trumpets of an emperor élite, nor even the all attracting gravity of a new woman. Nothing illustrious. No glory bugles, but joy. Drunken joy that will flood you from within.
a silent whisper. A faint cry of absolutism at the very heart of this mayhem.
In the concert performance of a thousand long-nosed song-smiths, it will be the tinkle of the new guest’s anklets. It will be the heron’s short-lived shriek through the lungs of the rainforest. It will be the phone call, that never came.
All in all, let me assure you: there will be sounds.
Like a soft silk thread tracing back from your mouth into your gut, that pulls you often; and unpredictably. Like the faint bass in the abyss after you’ve thrown off your laptop and books and headphones and the fountain pen away. Like beautifully curved cursive in the library register that steals a heartbeat or two. Like poetry that reveals but, just two veils. Like the chill down your spine, had you not taken that bus in which you met her, the first time. Like a beautiful accident. Like a warm gust of wind, when you’re just a bit cold.
It is a game. It all is a game that you have invented. Not unreal, but a game that you’ve created for yourself; so i’ve been told. It has all been laid out, as intricately, with as many colours and details, as you can sense. And within the billions of details that you have weaved out for yourself out of boredom, lies a thread.
the catch is to decipher; amongst the madness, a method.
the catch is to decipher; amongst the method, a madness.
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On strength. On weakness.
April 12th, 2012 § 1 Comment
Quest fot
March 31st, 2012 § 1 Comment
Things stand silent beside the buddha.
They neither approve, nor deny; your accusations.
It is you who finds meaning.
It is you who degenerates their silent gazes, into illicit notions of truth..
..and other lower things.
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fools
March 15th, 2012 § 2 Comments
“there is a God”, said the fool.
“there is Karma”, said the fool.
“there is no God”, said the fool.
“there is no Karma”, said the fool.
fools and fools on both the dry sides of the river.
Plop.
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the madhouse carnival
March 7th, 2012 § 1 Comment
ferris wheel spins with all the other fabulous rides. through the elementary to the more complex patterns in the carnival that repeat, i see you reading. i watch as the people indulge, either in austerity and luxury: crawling towards their passions. the gravel crudely revealing; tissue by tissue of them to themselves each time they sin by slithering out to the other side of Godly apathy.
i stare at the stone.
i stare at the tree.
i stare at the dog.
i stare at the man.
i stare at his god.
i stare again at the self prophetic man as he ‘wins-over’ the dog, the tree, the stone.
i stare as the most-evolved being of all salivates to his ambitions, masked as higher gods.
i stare. the dog, the tree and the stone silently reflect back my stare.
i stare as the man splits into a spectrum- of society, as he enters the gates of the carnival.
a poet, a ṣūfī, a philosopher, a drunkard. a madman.
the poet roamed around the madhouse, drenched in his muses.. splashing around the carnival: a billion colours. the ṣūfī danced all around, drenched in his one muse.. revealing a billion brilliant rainbows. the philosopher helplessly tried to with-hold the fabric of his logic that kept falling like a house of cards. no sooner that he projected a truth upon the house of logic.. the truth degraded into a belief. flummoxed, he could not but give-up. he recursed into himself. the drunkard’s eden was the mud at the corner of his effervescing lips, as he lay on the dark brown patch of earth behind the ferry wheel.. while the universe cycled around his mind. the madman went around in random loci, arousing the curiosity of higher gods. the gods relentlessly chased him around along his patterns of unpredictability, even as the carnival goers pushed him around and the middle-class man hurled stones at his skull.
the madman soon evolved into a dog. the mad-dog chased around by the gods(who by now, were an envious lot) evolved into a mad-dog-tree. the philosopher noted that pattern and concluded that the stone was, the thing-to-be. the poet highlighted the brilliance of evolution. the sufi, well was afraid of betraying the buddha kept true to silence. the world stopped spinning. the drunkard evolved into a drunk-dog.
the carnival-goers helped each other masturbate into their balloons of self-esteems once again. the madman was no longer chased as he lost all intellectual charm. he kept running nevertheless and a moment later evolved into the stone, instantly falling into the buddha.
Plop.
