Last piece of Gold

Last piece of gold 

To be saved or sold 

For this moment to behold 

Can I leave tomorrow cold? 

Trust miseries of  past to taunt 

And concerns of future to haunt 

When present was killed swiftly

In the process of making decisions quickly 

Last piece of gold 

Either saved or sold 

Will never give enough security 

That it overrides our mortality.

Rebound Lovers

I can feel you deep in me trying to heal yourself
And you are failing miserably
Seriously, it's pathetic how we hide behind our skins
You are in me thinking its a mistake
Piss take, we piss on our lovers grave tonight
Corrupt our souls, fuck each others mind
Out goes the reasons flying towards the sky

We are high on pain and pain killers

I've been haunted by fortune tellers
Dream sellers, doctors, philosophers and wise souls
Begging me to be a better man and straighten my crooked mould
But tonight we play on the floor like abandoned children of an inbred mother
Misusing our freedom, abusing the temple and mocking our Father
We burn his kingdom, rubbing our bodies together, speaking in unholy tongue
The ashes that are settled in our lungs
Will be the souvenir of our feat and our defeat.

this is my path
and i'll walk on it like a braveheart
I wear my heart on my sleeve
so i don't blame you for disregarding it


I'll close my eyes and walk on water
I'm living the life of a martyr

i believe the choices i make .. the people i love.. are all just weapons in my hand that i pick to hurt myself.

Just a looming feeling of end around the corner.
Water sitting on the rim of my glass.  Ready of fall out. Undone. Free from all containments.

It's hard to keep myself together

...And even through it all,  this icy cold winter that I fight
I have a fire in me.

A fire of hopes, dreams, innocence like that of a child.
A whisper from heaven saying,
"things will be fine if you make it to the other side."

Lessons to be learnt and forgotten

What have I learned from living?
I have learned that loving and being loved may not happen simultaneously
That you cry the loudest without tears
Emotions run wild
Circumstances leave you tied
Free flowing, like water
That there are things that you can feel but not hold
Shifting constantly to fit the puzzle
Protected, controlled, poked and played with
That even when your soul is tired
Your legs don't stop
That these words are as empty as this world.

Candlelit Battleground

Was there a purpose behind the way she moved?
Timid and curious one foot after the other
She reached out for your hand but barely touched it with her fingers
Before you grabbed her neck and threw her across the room

Her blood was intact in her veins
But that night something else was released
A monster that once was caged
Behind fishnet stockings and satin drapes
She roared as she tore the sacred chains
And then she raised her neck and smelt the room
Her mouth slightly open tasting the air

You took over her senses
She took over your body

It was a war between mind and matter
Between my animal instincts and my humanity
Between your cold heart and your warm flesh

Tonight it's war between you and me
And we won't stop till we paint the ground red.

Bygone begone

Why do you let the shadows of bygone haunt you?
'Let bygones be bygones', they say it for your health
Let us pretend to be new born every time we open our eyes
With no memory of the past, countless possibilities in sight

Lets climb highest mountain
And scream from it's highest peak
Bygone begone!
Bygone begone!
Bygone begone!

Place a black veil over a black wall
Light a torch towards the burning sun
Let us pass our time pretending and restraining
It is all make-believe

Utopia

Tell me how is this night is different from any other
The hurting never stops
It doesn't need attention, tears or kindness
Breaking the cage, slithering through my veins
It moves like a snake.

It moves like a snake
Guardian of my Utopian dreams

Defeating me, protecting me.

White is for healing

Here I lie
Waiting for you to open your eyes
Do you see me?
I could be invisible
Lying next to you makes me doubt my existence.

I have buried the ghost
but once it hears my longing
it will travel through the earth back to my heart

I once opened a door to watch the maple leaves fall on the floor
But as I walked my empty self to the graveyard
the snow had covered the leaves

White is for healing

Here I lie
Waiting for you to open your eyes
And when you did
I didn't see you any more
you are invisible
we are invisible.
Our existence is like the ghost
Like maple leaves buried under the snow. 

Aim, shoot and regret

Decisions, decisions.
Welcome to adulthood.
I am probably going to look back someday and laugh that I spent 24 hours obsessing about this one thing but right now I am in a battle.
When you are in the battlefield there is no past and no future. Only now. Right now.
Right now there are decisions to be made.
Which road do I pick? What kind of person will I be if I take on this journey? Am I even ready for it? I don't want to die in vain.
Everyone is in a frenzy to achieve something.
Can I get a moment please?
And can you make it last forever?
I am wounded and I cannot fight.
Forgive me for being a coward but I am not ready to die and I am not ready to heal.
Let me bleed this time.
Let it be forever.

Smell of Bodhi

Just before the dawn
Before the first ray of light hits my life
Shadows come alive
They whisper in my ears, begging me not to open my eyes
I am the daughter of the night
How can I betray the darkness?
The sun is my oblivion

Invisible line

I walk on an invisible line

Infinite possibilities with a blink of an eye

Roses have blossomed among the refuse

Hope and faith have survived.

Daydreamer

Tiny frame can only hold so many colours 

Without letting it drip out of the golden gates

I wanted to be the ocean, the moon, the night

I wanted to be God’s own design

Instead they put me in cage

Teased me every time I closed my eyes

Now I am soiled with time and space

I have been told to be happy when the sun shines

But I am the daughter of the moon and the night. 

Whims Of A Shy Girl

I stood at the corner of the stairways listening to people talking about random, unimportant. I wanted to go downstairs, I was hungry. But their voices made my legs freeze. I knew if I go down I’ll have to talk to them… greet them, and do all the formalities that I absolutely hate and never understand.

If I just went downstairs and make it to the kitchen without saying a word they’ll think I am rude and uninterested. The later I was but not rude, never intentionally.

I am standing still but my brain is racing, struggling. It tells me to move my feet and go downstairs, be polite and then go to the kitchen. Could such a simple thing be a dilemma? What was I afraid of? They don’t live to judge me, they don’t care. But it’s not about the judgment. I just want to be invisible. I want more space. I feel the air is full of their energy, their thoughts.

I can’t just stand in once place, it’s already been thirty minutes. I go to my room and check my face. I look presentable, that’s encouraging. I spend some more time pacing from the edge of the stairway to my room, still listening to their voices. I can’t be a prisoner in my own house. I repeat this in my head over and over again.

Maybe I should go back to my room and wait for them to leave. Next thing I know, I am making my way down the stairs with a smile on my face.  I greet them and they greet me back. It happened so quick, almost effortlessly. I reach the kitchen and breathe out in relief

It’s over...for now. 

Yours Truly

She loves me unconditionally that I know

She will come for me one day

From sickness she will comfort me

Or my health she will take away.

I will lay the bricks and share my blood

I will shout my name from mountain tops

And when I think I have seen enough

Her presence will show me things I have never seen

Her touch will ignite my worst fear

And her kiss will make me fall in love.

My lover don’t punish me with your abstruse moves

Send me a sign before we meet again?

And I shall being you flowers

Take you in my arms like I never let you go

Before we take off for another adventure

And you leave me again

For a moment we will embrace

Until life do us apart.

via Google images 

Touch of Fate

What happens to mysteries that never get solved?

They go back to live in closed drawers

Silently waiting for a seeker to pass by

Hoping that he could be a little more sly

Zealous and bursting with pride

Skilled in discovering the meaning of unspoked words  

But the fates of mysterious things are cruel

Long they wait to be unraveled

Only to be abandoned and forgotten.

Behind hating, beyond hatred.

Sometimes no matter how far I try to run away from all the hate and negativity in this world, everywhere I turn, I see a hater. Their eyes that judge every moving thing, mouth that can only speak hurtful words. Even if they are dropped into a big tank of melted milk chocolate, they will still come out tasting bitter!

I can’t help but wonder the reason behind their hostility towards all things living. What satisfaction they get by putting others down? Is that a way to make them feel better about their own life? Something very silly can infuriate them so much that they can’t even keep those rancid, decaying thoughts to themselves. No, they have to open up their mouth and spill it all in the name of being ‘real’.

But what is behind their faces? Behind those abhorring, scorned expressions? Who are these people and what are their stories? Sometimes I think they are hurt. That every baseless comment they pass is just a cry for help. Perhaps they are immature and naïve, that they do not understand the power of words.  They must be too busy to look back and witness the repercussions of their comments. . They never saw the heartbreak. So they never knew they hated. 

Can they be just plain evil? Sadists who like to watch people burn in all consuming fire of their anger.

Or maybe, just maybe they are wounded and the only remedy they know is tears of their victims.

 "Hating is like burning down your own house to get rid of a rat." - Harry Emerson Fosdick 

Enigma

He raised the veil hoping to unravel a mystery. But her eyes were closed.
It's the nature of few women and stars, we live in secrecy, we talk in codes and thrive in little thing that are invisible to you.
She could never be tamed, like her hair that fell free on her face.
And whenever she talked it sounded like poetry.
Some were enchanted by her, others never listened carefully.
Her aura extends to the world you have never seen.
Even with all the grandeur, she is easily missed on the streets.

Mind your Language

I am an Indian and my mother tongue is Hindi. Hindi is also our official language, English is the second official language. Constitution of India recognizes no national language, which is appropriate because there are way too many regional languages (Tamil, Bengali, Marathi, Punjabi etc.). If you are a foreigner and you think learning Hindi will help you have a proper conversation in South then you are sadly mistaken. Not like Southies don't understand Hindi, they just refuse to speak it.
In my house we speak Hindi (or Hindi-Urdu to be accurate) in Andamani dialect, it's not much different but it has its own flair. It certainly is not the purest form of Hindi but I don't know who speaks like that anyway.
My mother is a mainlander and my dad is an islander, they both have their own way of speaking Hindi. Mine I would say is a mix of both style and not to forget I went to a English medium school, so I speak Hinglish, like many other people of my generation.

The funny thing is, I am more comfortable speaking English sometimes, maybe it's because I live in England now. But surely I can't put it above my mother tongue? Or can I?
I passed school with A grade in Hindi and B in English. So I guess my Hindi is better.

But grades have no significance in real life.

Today I went to get my eyes checked. They had one of those things that you read from a distance to check your vision. It had four sides, one was English alphabets another was assortments of animals, third was different signs and fourth was Hindi alphabets. I always read the English one but the problem is that I have had a lot of eye check ups and I have pretty much memorised the English one. So this time I had to choose something else.

I sat down on a stool and looked straight. There they were, Hindi alphabets arranged randomly. I stared at it for sometime and I just couldn't get it. I knew what they were but they seemed alien to me somehow. Like it was not the language I speak everyday at home. I said I'm not comfortable with Hindi so I'll read the signs. After trying different numbers, we came to the conclusion that the glasses I am using now is fine.

So I sat there with my 6/6 vision thinking why I didn't want to read Hindi. Is it some kind of self-hate? But it wasn't, because I didn't feel that I don't like Hindi. I like it, it's just complicated.  I have to think a lot while reading it. I don't read Hindi subtitles on TV because they go away in seconds before I can figure out what was written, I only read it if it's romanized. I don't watch Hindi news because I feel I have to concentrate to figure out those big complicated Hindi words they use. But I have no problem watching Hindi sitcoms as they are a more lighter version of Hindi, there are no heavy duty words there.

I thought of other things too. Like how I can only count till 20 in Hindi. How shameful is that? I got a A grade for the same language. And this was not like billion years ago, it's only been four years. Were the teachers really happy the day the marked me? Were they drunk? Did they have really good sex or their favourite cricket team won the match or something? They seem to be very generous with their grades.
Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I gave English an upper hand because I write in English. And really the last time I wrote more than two words in Hindi was four years ago.

I wonder if my kids will have more trouble with Hindi. I live in a multi-cultural country now so I guess I can have babies with anyone. There are good chances that my kids can be bi-racial. They would probably never write a word of Hindi, unless I want them to. But do I actually give a fuck? That is the real question.

I am always prepared.

I didn't sleep until 6am in the morning. Around 8am I heard a sharp knock on my door followed by my sister asking me, "Do you want to go down to the beach today with us?". After considering the pros and cons for few mins (cons being I only had 2 hours of sleep) I agreed to go with her and her friends who are visiting Andaman.

After breakfast my sister gave me 30mins to get ready. So I rushed upstairs, had my morning fag and chose a coral top and harem pants to wear, slapped on my coral lipstick, lathered SPF 50 all over my face and body. Voilà! beach perfect in less that 10 mins. I spent rest of my time packing essentials for the beach. I thought of taking my swimming costume because but instead I packed a cropped legging, a white tank top and another white lacy top to go above it. I thought swimming costume would be too revealing and no one actually wears costumes in beaches here except 5 year old. My sister asked me if I have packed everything and I replied, "I am always prepared".

Nothing beats the feeling of being at the beach. Tiny grains of sand under my feet felt orgasmic. Warm weather, cool water and smell of the sea awakened all of my senses. I went in the changing room to change into my cropped black leggings and white tank top. After that me and my sister jumped into the water playing and laughing like little children. I don't even know why I was laughing, the salt water acted like a drug. I discovered that of all the places to be, we experience immense happiness and freedom only around nature and not inside the brick walls we build for safety.  


But all my philosophy went out of the door when my sister pointed out that my tank top is now transparent. Here I am, surrounded by people who are in the water clad from head to toe in their sarees and salwars, and my nipples are clearly visible through my white top. I felt more exposed than I was. I decided to hide my upper half, find a tree and wear my bra inside my top and then go into the water again.

After that I went in the water fearless and we played for about 2 hours and sun bathed. Everything was going well until my sister's friend whispered that my legging is ripped, that too near my bum. I went to the deeper side of water so I can be inspect the rip myself. To my horror it was a huge rip over my right bum and thigh. Why God Why? Why me? Are you just trying to pull me down while you sit in heaven above, eat popcorn and watch me get humiliated?

I wrapped a towel around me went to the changing room and changed into my coral top and harem pants.

One thing kept echoing in my ears and mocking me " I am always prepared".

A word of advice : don't take old leggings and white tank tops to beach. Or better yet, take a god damn swimming costume.

I have a secret

I have a secret that I will take with me to the grave. 

Through out our lives, there is so much that goes on in our head. There are so many things we do that we think should be buried deep within us, it could be anything, stealing, affairs, addictions, how different are they from each other anyway? But I truly believe in letting it all out before I pass on from this world. 

So, you see? When I say that I have a secret that I'll take with me to the grave, I am fighting against myself and what I stand for. Honesty, fearlessness, courage...I am willing to turn of all the light around to protect the darkness I hold in my heart.

I have been taught by my guides that one must never take that darkness with them to the beyond. To start a fresh journey old luggage must be dealt with. It has no use. In fact if you decide to take the same luggage, the same burden with you, you will travel the same road again and again until the weight is gone. 


Today I stand at crossroads. I feel like a student who left the school but all her knowledge is of no use as she has succumbed to the force of this physical reality. 
I don't know if I can enjoy the warmth of the sun when I have given my heart to the dark night. 


Secrets haunt you. You can't forget it or ignore it. It's a vicious circle, one day it'll stand in front of you, waiting for you to confront. How can the past be left behind if you choose to carry it with you.

It scares me to think that a part of me is out of control, reckless, inappropriate and dangerous.


Am I the predator or the victim? 

Sin, guilt, neurosis; they are one and the same, the fruit of the tree of knowledge.- Henry Miller