pass the pickle

31st January '14

Sometimes it’s tough to be yourself

And live your life like you used too..

I can’t hear the world anymore

The seas are calling out to me

In the day

The whales scream

The dolphins spin in the air

In the night

I see the turtles crawling up to me..

I can’t see the people around me anymore

They’re all but a haze

The colours are drugging me

Playing with my consciousness

Tugging me into dreams

I spend the day trying to keep my eyes open..

I feel too much..

The cold pierces in

The warmth hisses

I taste too much..

The pickle I took a fortnight ago

The water I’ll sip in a while

I sense the bewilderment trying to drown me..

You think it’s a phase, just a day

Tomorrow would be different

But will it?

But atleast

20th December '13

When everything’s crumbling and you have no control

Go to sleep

When everything’s a disarray and it keeps getting worse

Go to sleep

When all is wrong and what’s right is a blur

Go to sleep

When you awaken from the nightmares it really won’t be better

But atleast you’d have gotten some sleep.

When all’s a mess and mess is all you see

Just live

When drudgery, the life and life, the drudgery seem unending

Just live

When love’s there and there’s love but you just can’t feel it

Just live

When you’ve been living along everyday one by one it really won’t be better

But atleast you’d have lived some more.

splintered sentiments about one's home

19th January '10

It’s a weird mixed feeling about ‘home’ in my head (mainly it’s the heart, I guess).

I don’t know where my real home is, anymore! At least I don’t have it in total anywhere. It’s fragmented and is all over the place.

I get a little feel of it as I open the door to our apartment of some months. I get a little feel of it when I sip the morning tea, prepared exactly (almost) as always.
I get a little feel of it when I know exactly where to put what, and where what is.
I get a little feel of it when I lie in his arms and lull into sleep. And then it seems almost complete.

But I also call Cal my home, where now I don’t live anymore.
It’s I guess a sense of familiarity, knowing where what is, there which makes it home.
It’s also a sense of tuning into a system consciously and unconsciously, over the years.
It’s also a sense of belonging to a city, so full of friends, family and closed ones. Not to forget the memories contained in every fore.

It’s also home where my mommy lives. It’s also home where my daddy lives. It’s also home where I grew up with my bro. It’s also home, where my wedded lived his growing years. It’s also home in all those places where some months I lived before. And in many ways it’s also not home there.

It’s home now where I live with my mate. But somehow, the feeling of toto seems to be fragmented and strewn about everywhere.

They say home is where the heart is. But my heart is in so many places, with so many people and so many memories.

4th June ‘09

DRIFTS
Drop by Drop
Drip by Drip
It Drifts
Pull it along
A circle upon another
More circles upon each other
It goes on and on
It Drfits
Drip by Drip
Drop by Drop

LIFE love
High on love
Spirit’s dwindle
Life’s but a memory bundle
Stacked and stacked
Rolled and tied
Pull out the dirty ones
They rot
Oh!
They stink

WILTING PETALS
The eyes refuse to open
To see the written words
In a blink the world went dark……
Shocked open
The dropping petals
Watch the dream unopen
In disbelief

EXTREMELY MODERATE/ MODERATELY EXTREME
What drives the melancholy
Whenever the ink flows
It isn’t such a strain
Still this is what it shows…
Extreme was I
Still extreme but moderated
The ecstasy of the poles
Somewhere lost in the tropics

THE ENDS
Zig-zag trails
The paths wind
What’s there on the other end
I cannot fathom….
Light, I hope
Light, it is
Light of hope
It is, It is


100.5 DEGREES
The pain slowly sets in
The fever begins to tremble
It’s not what you think it is
It’s what you may imagine not
Not food, not thought, not lifestyle
It’s the words, the poetry
It’s in the mind.