Waking up
I dreamt of you
dreaming of death. You were surrounded by lilies and rainbows. But every end
must have questions and so the lilies held your legs and asked.
Did you not know love as he held you. Did his
kiss not give you a reason to live, and each time you were done did you not
feel you could die in peace. Why'd you walk away?
You Woke up without answering. And in this dream
of mine, you looked up. I'm not sure whether it was at God or at me. We were
both looking down at you.
God and me don't believe in each other because
of you. He lost me to you, and while men need God to personify the perfection
they don't find in themselves, I had you. Idols of stone.
I'd pray tonight but to reach God you have to
feel. I feel nothing. I killed every emotion inside because I didn't want to
hate you. You can't hate your God even when you lie ruined.
But without God or you, all I have is myself.
That's not enough. I think I'll let myself hate so I can pray, or should I
continue to blaspheme in love, the eighth sin, the one with the hardest
penance.
But I've known love even before and after you.
Earned it through words and goodness, through time and understanding. The
problem has been, I don't like earning love, love should be free.
And he, who get's your love for free. Does he
know you come visit me in my dreams. Does he know you betray him, or you really
still mine and is your waking act the betrayal. Is that his price to pay?
If that is so, sleep a little longer tonight.
I'll get the gang together again so you, me and God can sit and chat amongs lilies and rainbows and try to believe in each other again.
But this right now, is this the reality or is this
the dream in a dream in a dream in a dream. Were you real? Is God? I pinch
myself but then remember I don't feel anything anymore.
It comes down to this. I hate you my love, for
you made me a dreamer. I don't know how many layers of dreams I have to break
but I will wake up.
Best of luck answering the lilies.
****************************************
ENTRopy
ThestarlookeddownupontheearthButnoonelookedbackwithwonderatthenightskyNoonecaredabouttheshapestheymadeanymoreSothestarmovedonbiddingalastgoodbye
Hereorbittingaroundthesun
Thenineotherslookedjealouslyon
Atthechosenonewithallitslife
Andeverycircletheywithdrewinscorn
Inthesky
lonelycloudswere oftenseen
Eversooftenthey
wouldgettogetherandrain
Buttheydidwhat
theymust justbecause theymust
Andcould
notwaittodrift aloneand freeagain
Thereonce
wasan actand alsoa saying
Somethingabout
birds of a feather
Butnow
theychose theirpaths toeachhisown
Whywould
theywant tocontrol eachother
Forests
offcourse were a thing of the past
But
scattered trees still stood proud and tall
The
older trees though no longer bloomed
They
still stood alone but they could recall
And
ani mals roare d and shrie ked alone
From
cag es in corne rs of bustl ing towns
No
lon ger the prid es, no long er the herd s
Ju
st smilin g children and adu lts wit h frowns
Man
had moved
on even
quicker though
Neighbours
were strangers,
friends
just on
line
They
had learned
to be alone
even in crowds
And
had even learned
to pretend
that all
was fine
Y e
t i
n
t h i s w o r l
d
o
f
s p a c e s a n d l i e s
T w
o s o u l s
t r i e d t o
r e v e r s t h
e t i d e
T h
e y t r i e d
t o m o v e
c l o s e r, t r i
e d t o b e o
n e
T
o s e e k i n
f i n i t y i n
t h e g r e a t
d i v i d e
b
u
t
t
h
e
u
n
i
v
e
r
s
e
g
o
e
s
o
n
e
x
p
a
n
d
i
n
g
.
******************************************
The costume party
She came dressed as beauty,
I came dressed as bliss
The others were all clad in ignorance,
amidst all that was amiss
We recognized each other,
though the masks were all we could see
But it was hard to hide the truth,
I was her and she was me
All I wanted, was to know her more
Pretty dresses can be found in any store
but amidst the countless who crowded around
It was hard to let go of someone that promised more
So we went to the darkest corner,
of one of our tainted minds
Crimson walls, punctured just,
with those dark opaque blinds
We sized each other up,
as neither friend or foe
And knew that whatever it was,
we would need to let it go
Yet we stripped off each others guises
and threw them all away
Then we said all we needed to,
till there was nothing left to say
And when all our layers were done
and all our weapons used
We lay naked and pure,
our guises battered and bruised
Outside, six billion guests swayed and sang,
lost in the games of the charming host
But our escape, though unnoticed for now,
was just a deception, a clever farce at the most
Then as she got up and started to redress,
we both knew, that there was no other choice
And as she started to leave without a word,
I knew it was because I had left her no voice
I asked her just, if I could stay,
there was some fighting the blinds and I needed to do
I told her just, to believe as she left,
that my vengence and my love, they both had been true
So if she ever needed to find me again,
I would be right here, in the darkest corner of her mind
And if she ever felt unloved or alone at all,
there was place for her and she could just stay in
mine
But people of guises and parties and games
Must never go to dark places with those darker still
And minds must be purged by the power of words
And vengance forgotten by nothing but your will
*********************************************
Crazy talk
"I'll
be right back", I say, "let me just quickly run down to my madness
and buy a new song". I feel good, feel like splurging, going to
buy me something top of the line. One of those newer models with angst and
hate, love songs are so passe. I smile the smile of someone who knows he
can buy whatever he wants, I've been working hard at filling my wallet.
With funny money at that, little heart shaped coins that buy you more when
broken, little notes with random words scribbled on them. Words meant to
appease, to wound, to reveal, to lie, to beg, to scream. Different notes of
different values. But maybe I'll save them all and just use the mastercard
of lost love, I'm a platinum member.
The
stores not far from home though and that means it's in a bad
neighbourhood. My fault for moving here. I could have stayed in stupid
land closer to the real world but no, I cross the tracks and buy a house here.
Sigh, the things we do. Anyway, the streets get darker and I try to sleepwalk
most of the way but there's no escaping the goons of memory lane. The stare at
me and whisper amongst themselves. A little child screams out 'you're my
whoopie pie'. It's like a gunshot, and suddenly everyone comes out of their
house and start closing in. I run.
I
should have stayed at home. I should have just played the songs I shifted with
from my last house. Now here I am, totally lost, with signboards in some
language I don't understand. I try and retrace my staps, memory lane, dream
avenue, I remember crossing blank paper ground what seemed like a hundred times
but I just end up here, on this crossroad where the signs make no sense.
So
I do what anyone would, I stick out my thumb and wait for a ride. They're few
and far in between and no one's going very far in any direction. But at least
I'm moving and it feels good, at this point, I really don't care where
we're going. All I can think about is the store and the song. The good
thing about the madness chain is that they have a lot of branches.
Then
I realize, I've come too far, too many crossroads, too many rides. Even if I
did find the store, how would I get back home to find someone to sing it
to. I grumble.
There's
a crossroad again. I just stare at the signboards and for a while they
seem to make sense. Only they can't for they all say the same thing. I laugh.
The world around me starts to collapse and fold into me. I breathe it all in,
the roads, the rides, the sky, the earth and then there is nothing left,
nothing else. Nothing except me. Only, there is no me.
I've
reached the store. But they're all out of songs. I'm offered some fresh wisdom
instead. "No thanks", I say, "I had nirvana for breakfast".
The clerk gives me a strange look. I know that look, I've seen it before, maybe
even on the same face. I walk out of the store and strangely I'm back in the
real world, near my old house. There's a 'for sale' sign on the lawn. I need to
get my currency changed but I think I probably have enough. Think I'll call up
the old neighbours in the morning and say goodbye.
***************************************************************
My box of crayons
To
the purple that I first picked up, and drew with then in childlike glee. Thank
you for making and breaking the mould, thank you I guess, for shaping me. So
much has been erased over the years. Some on purpose, some just dulled by
tears. But I want you know, that though I pine no more, you'll always have a
place of honour amongst your peers.
Though I must admit, it's hard to define. Maybe the cerulian was the true
teacher of staying between lines. My yoda for the art of falling, my shifu, for
how to not dodge the mines. Ah the cerulian, once so noble and pure. So surely
lost, so decidedly unsure. I hope the hand that holds you now knows your albeit
corrupted worth.
To the scarlet that I pictured would be the basis of the piece, but to the
scarlet that was never really in my box. I see you still in passing, in
glittering displays. I dream of you still, I just don't want to pay the cost.
Maybe somewhere, where the colours blend with less fuss, we'll find a rough
paper and do what we must. But till then, I'll just look and smile, at the
display windows where you've been an awfully long while.
To
the violet that I didn't understand, to the violet that has so
much to teach. That rolled first on my bed and then under, to the violet
that went far out of reach. Someday I guess, I'll pay to go to a museum and see
what's become of you. Just get rid of the glitter, you'll thank me when you're
through.
And now to the red, the loviliest of the lies. That coloured my heart and then
bled itself out. After a thousand goodbyes and a million wishes against. I just
wish you are what I am, better without. You hold a speacial place too I guess,
in some corner of my mind. As the only one who made me wish I was colourblind.
But
now to the orange and green and yellow and brown, that I value even more
and hope never to put down. I hold you closer than you'll ever understand, even
though you're not held with the drawing hand. Maybe someday at the
end of it all, we'll sit together and stare at our pictures on the wall. And
even then, when the pictures are sure and through. I have a feeling, I'd still
rather look at all of you.
And to all the grays, I say just this. There is permanance in passing bliss. A
way to quench your thirst in every grain of sand, a hidden bullseye in every
miss. But I fear you're toxic and I can take no more, I'm not the same man I was
before. So here's to you and the value of grays, and here's hoping there's not
many more in store.
Lastly, to the white, and to mystery it holds. Of redundance, of forever, of
seeming foretold. Have you always coloured my canvas even when it seemed you
never would be. Waiting at the end of the box, in absolutely no hurry to be set
free. Well, I just want to say I think I'm done and now realize. That
on this wall of badly made graffitti, a pure white canvas would be
the greatest prize.
************************************************************************************************
Call
out because
Call
out to me sometime,
And
I'll beat you in a game of loneliness
Maybe
we'll both lose, maybe we'll both win
Maybe
we'll both learn how not to keep score
Call
out to me sometime,
And
we'll dance to make believe music
Maybe
then when the music finally seeps in
We'll
know why neither one of us dances anymore
Now
the worlds never short of strangers we know
People
who love and forget, who come and go
Call
out to me sometime and lets try and figure out
If
there's anything to the myth of there being more
I'm
tired of knowing exactly what I mean and why
Of
how I'm as expendable to them as they are to me
Call
out to me sometime, we've wasted enought time
Sowing
seeds in places where the sun and air ain't free
Call
out to me sometime,
We'll invent
games that are all our own
And
you can keep score, I wouldn't even ask
I
don't care if you win, for I miss losing too
Call
out to me sometime,
For
I've forgotten how to call out
And
I've forgotten how to dance, and to make believe
Just
about remember how to want to be called out by you
**************************************************************************
Seven
Hub
Those who have never seen you will never know what beauty is.
Neither will those who have never seen you with my eyes. Naked as I gaze, your
soul shies away. Yet you could never have looked as lovely as you do without
disguise. Do you exist, could you. Could love, could music, could all that is
pure. Could I desire you, could I deserve you. Let me possess you till I run
out of reasons to be unsure.
Uns
There is no sand, no desert, no world. There is just a mirage,
and the mirage is you. And every time we touch, it is clearer still. The real
mirage is all else, for my mirage is true. I have vague memories still of
another world. A world so insistent on pain and greed that it must be untrue.
But you exist so the mind must be wrong. Hold me, till all I remember is you.
Ishq
Am I still me, or the essence of your shadow or the shadow of
your essence. With what we have become, could we ever be anything else.
Could we be two people like the world wants us to be. This cruel world that
like time refuses to set us free. But let us start walking, for the path shall
realize, here walks love and all shall be spring. Let us start walking and our
love, shall light whatever darkness the world and time bring.
Abeedat
Be a mirror to me, and a seeing glass to all else. So I may
sleep in peace sure that not all is lost. You live, so I know, that there is
still something pure. You love, so I know, that it must live in me too. All is
well even though it is not. You make me smile as the world throws its lashes at
us. Hold me closer, as I offer it my back. You are all I must protect so I may
smile though it all.
Ibadat
I have failed you have I not, by being just a man. By not being
as pure, as strong, as divine. Have I let the world win, have I lost it all.
Did I betray you my love, when I called you mine. I shall carve your name in
every stone I see, I will sing your song with every breath. I will cry as I
laugh at my foolish attempt to possess. Leave me now for you are you and I am
less.
Junoon
Scorn, scorn, as you slip away. Scorn when you leave, scorn when
you stay. Why wouldn't you leave so I may crumble in peace. Why do you stay so
I must fight in vain. Come back, just once, let me say goodbye. Let it end so
it may begin. Why would you do this, to yourself and what once was. Let sense
lose so love can have it's posthumous win.
Maut
I haunt myself with your ghost. The ghost that never came, thus the
mirage that never was. I see you now, I see your soul. I close my eyes for I
don't want to see anything else. What am I, a shadow without an essence, that
cannot be because of what it once was. There is just the world, the desert, the
sand. I am the mirage, for there is no you.
*************************************
Growing up
As
we grow older, it is not that we learn how not to fall
Just
learn how not to cry and make peace with where we tread
And
as we keep building mosseleums, we come to realize
Their
beauty is not as important, as the sealing in of what's dead
.
We
learn little as to the avoidance of wounds and scars
We
just become better accountants and thus balance the cost
And
we learn almost nothing in terms of finding our way
We
just get better and telling ourselves we aren't really lost
.
We
become better at relationships by learning to love less
Become
better at meeting strangers by perfecting our mask
We
learn how to sing because we now choose simpler songs
And
have lesser question because we're now too afraid to ask
.
I
think I'm growing up, and it's scary cause I'm just a child
I
want to stay lost and crying, and I want to fall and bleed
But
I am growing up, and I really fear that someday soon
I'll smile
and feel I've made it and finally have all that I need
.
For
now I hold my ground and fight this smiling mask
But
the result seems inevitable, the battle already through
Come find
me though, before the sand clock goes still
I'd
love one last little game, between the child in me and you
*************************************************************
The Exorcism of dreamy prose
I thought of her the
other day. All smiles and happiness, breaking the cardinal rule. Moving on with
her life after she had lost true love.
I sent a cold wind just to remind her
I can be cruel that way
And she must mountain every molehill I make. She
didn't feel the familiar touch and sigh. She didn't hear my voice in the wind
and smile.
She screamed and gathered a crowd
She can be foolish that way
A ghost she screamed, of a dead love that I
buried with my own hands. It is true, I am a murderer but not this, anything
but this. She pleaded to the crowd to hang her.
The crowd just observed and murmured
They can be cold that way
What a horrible death it seems to have died this
ghost, look how it's face is still writhing in pain. Pain or ecstasy, a young
voice asks. Ah, the young, the finders of love and pain, verifiers of age old
truths.
They learn nothing from what is told
Youth can be lovely that way
So an exorcist was needed and I was called.
Famous as the man who had once known love, who had lost it and been haunted but
who had devoured its ghost till it showed no more. Unknowingly I followed the
path of the ghost I had sent. To cast him out of the one who haunted me.
It sort of gets confusing at times
The truth can be tricky that way
Soon as I was close enough to recognize her I
was also close enough to realize the finality of what I had done. She was gone,
lost in the dreamworld that ghosts of past loves entrap their victims in. There
was nothing I could do, no potions of ice cream and chocolates, no spells of
Celine Dion. I put a purple flower on her body and then left mine. I found her
soul in the dreamworld, free of the memory of what had gone wrong. In a time
when love was pure and all was good. Purple skies and purple moons. I held her
close, I promised I'd never leave her.
It all makes sense even though it doesn't
Fiction can be pleasing that way
********************************************
Georgie Porgie and other misunderstood men
The shadow of a
former self is a dark place. This reporter realized this depressing fact as he
went on a mission to explore what had become of the fallen childhood heroes. It
all started when I bumped into Mr Dumpty at a party, old and wrinkled now, he has
never been able to recover from that fateful moment when gravity got the better
of him. I asked him whether the media campaign to revive his name had any basis
to it, whether he was in fact, pushed. He said it didn’t matter and walked away
to the bar, but obviously, all the queens brandy and all the czars vodka have
failed to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
He’s tried to change his identity, to find a
normal life, to convince people that he’s more than just someone who fell of a
wall but the world has a surprisingly permanent memory when it comes to
embarrassing moments. For some these moments fail to die even within their own
mind. Little Miss Muffet for example has been haunted by a pathological fear of
spiders all through her life. Now institutionalized by her family, she mumbles
to herself in her padded cell and screams throughout the night. Her caretakers
wonder if her state would ever had deteriorated to this extent without the
catchy verse that immortalized that incident in the park.
Another epic immortalized fall comes to mind.
This reporter tried his best to trace down Jack and Jill but failed. No one
knows whether Jack survived the head injury, what is known is that they both
were sent their separate ways. All this reported hopes is that they now live in
modern cities with taps and showers.
There were as many sad stories as there were
rhymes, the little blue boy has never been given respectful employment because
he feel asleep once, as a child, tending to sheep. No one has asked why he was tending
to sheep at that tender age, or what happened the night before that left him
drowsy the next day. These are all things that must never be put into funny
verse.
Perhaps, these are things that nobody even wants
to hear about. Which is why, during the course of researching this article, I
decided to never publish it. Then I received a letter signed ‘George’ asking me
to come meet him. The address led me, strangely enough, to a sheep farm where I
was met by this gray haired lady called Mary. George met me a few minutes
later. He confirmed my suspicions that Mary was indeed the one whose lamb had
followed her to school. They had met after George had spent years as a bachelor
and a loner because no girl would give him a chance and no boy would ever let him
hear the end of it.
He convinced me that the world needs to read
this. The world needs to stop laughing and pointing fingers. They were all
children who have had to step out of nursery rhymes into the real world. They
have suffered greatly so children could be amused by their name which is why
George has now filed for royalties on behalf of him and others like him. The
case is still pending in courts with a baffled defense desperately trying to
buy time. “Words have a strange power” he says “yet we must believe that we as
people have greater power than them”. His loving wife does not cry when she is
kissed and he says he never ran away from any boys. All he wants now, apart
from millions of dollars in settlement, is for someone to explain what the
pudding and the pie were all about.
I get another call, from Miss Muffets
institution. She passed away mysteriously, perfectly sane and lucid in her last
day alive. Her last wish was the her tombstone not read “Little Miss
Muffet”.
Here’s hoping they win the case.