Saturday, November 13, 2010

because someone asked me...

So, someone asked me, "When you meet that adamant phantom, and he points his finger right at you and says,'ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee', and you know it's time to write that last page of your diary, what will your last wish be?" Nice question. I can't deny that I've never thought of it. And still it was a bit baffling. Really now, what will it be? I've never really answered that thought before, always having asked it to myself. But now I had to give an answer to someone else. What would it be really?

As I tried to gather my thoughts together, it occurred to me that Death, personified, would really be our oldest friend. That 'adamant phantom' as one aptly put it, is there right from the moment we utter our first cry, promising never to go away. And no matter who you become, what you do with your life, he is one friend who will never judge you, who will never tell you he is too good for you. That's one promise that is never broken, one friend who Will be by your side at the darkest moment of your existence, even if no one else is. So, that way, if we are to believe 'a friend in need is a friend indeed', who can be a better friend? So if I had to ask One thing to my oldest friend, had to make one wish, what would mine be? It was difficult. But once I had put it together, it wasn't so baffling anymore!

What can I say? I guess I will ask Death to show me my whole life in one big slideshow... that way, just before I exit, I will know exactly why it isn't at all unjustified! And be reminded of what exactly made living so worthwhile, all the little memories... savor them all, just before I kiss them goodbye. One last breath to skim through what was, what wasn't and what could have been... hear the old laughters, taste the old tears... one deep breath... one hefty sigh... one last twitch at the corners of my lips. And then exhale. Look death right in the eyes, and smile, "It was great while it lasted. I'm all yours." And then like good old friends, reunited, we shall walk out, shoulder to shoulder, step beside step.

Friday, November 5, 2010


MARCH,1986: Curtain-raiser.

March,1988: Surprised toddler, trying to explore the limits of his 6'x8'universe.

MARCH,1989: Toddler's first brawl. Opponent: DEATH Duration: 3 rounds lasting a month each. Winner by TKO: Toddler. Rematch pending.

MARCH,1991: Curious kid annoying most, and amusing rest with his relentless efforts to decode the universe.

MARCH,1994: Kid is surprised at how thin the line between LOVE and EXPECTATION is. Confusion

MARCH,1995: Kid has just realised that he is a rat. And that the other rats are trying to win a race. And that he is in the race too! There is just one block of cheese.

MARCH,1997: Kid sees more cheese where the bigger rats won't look. Hope??

MARCH,1999: Young rat with too many explanations and too many ideas. Convinced that he can elaborate.

MARCH,2000: Young rat bleeds. He didn't draw the first blood. Shocked at the passive in activeness of the ones he called "own".

MARCH,2002: Rat being told that other rats are leaving him behind. But the rat feels, if they could just see from the other end, he is really at the front... by a large margin. Violence. Rat is scared.

MARCH,2003: Rat's first major race. Fancy name too... ICSE. But the rat is beginning to doubt he really isn't a rat. A mouse perhaps? Troubled with something else too. The picture on his ID doesn't match the face in his mirror!

MARCH,2004: Rat did win the race. But they won't let him have the cheese. Says the margin was too close. Rat angry. Whether you win by an inch, or by a mile... winning's winning, right? WRONG, they shout! More violence. Fear turns into frustration... frustration breeds anger. But they are so many.

MARCH,2005: Bliss. Met a white mouse! One who is willing to share her cheese. And doesn't care about inches or miles. Says its better to heal his own wounds than fight back. Willing to show how. Another race coming up. Says lets run together! And does. Rat is happy that he is a mouse after all. Feels secure... after years.

MARCH,2006: Mouse is terrified beyond imagination. White Mouse is gone. The one who who promised to be his mentor has banished her. Says White Mice are bad for health. The world laughs. Says there are other mice to meet, that mentors know best. Pain... terror... pain... anger... pain... hatred... pain... helpless... alone...

MARCH,2007: Evolution!!! Mouse is now an angry, violent, outcast schizophrenic. Mourns the death, long ago, of his new-found idol, his Fuhrer. Reads Mein Kampf. Pain turns into hatred... Hatred breeds Violence, and Violence gives birth to Determination. Codes are broken, scruples are abandoned, rules and regulations have no meaning anymore. Mouse is dead. A new breed is created... a ruthless GO-GETTER... with one goal, VENGEANCE!

MARCH,2008: Another one bites the dust. The next stage of his journey begins. Ready to leave home, and start the training that will let him take the best and the worst of the wold and turn it against itself. Resolution. The strongest man is the one who stands most alone. He will fight fire with fire. If the world makes him cry, he will make it cry with him. Yes! He will leave, a mouse, and return, An Angel... The Angel of Retribution... burning down anyone and everyone who stands in his way. Woe be the day the raccoons decided to hunt an innocent mouse. They asked for a demon, they will get a demon. And the day the transition is complete... The Devil may cry.

MARCH,2009: Realisation. If he was pushed, he only allowed himself to be pushed. The picture on the ID card begins to look familiar.

MARCH,2010: There are sharers still. He only had to put down his guard, and stop suspecting people. Of course it was not easy. But then, if it was he wouldn't have been who he last. The first one to share will always be special, like the first bite of your favorite ice cream. But that will not make him through the rest of it away. Not anymore.

EPILOGUE: Six years... and a man has finally left the shit behind. It took a long time, but at last he has put it all behind him... got past the silliness of it all... rats and races, mice and angels. Strength is now a given. He will never be pushed again. But the very assurance of that strength, so hard earned, is a balm in itself. The need to use it is no longer his Moksha. He will no longer seek answers and explanations from those who had tried to move his cheese. No. Doing that would entail going back down those same dirty streets, back into that filthy gutter where the dung-beetles still dwell. No. Not again. Doesn't matter anymore. None of that sorry crap figures here. He will rather walk down the road less taken. The one they tried to keep him from. Head held high, no thorns at his sides, no stolen gold in his pockets ( may be a few thousand Dollars though... :P lol), and his palms to the sky. And when he sits down under an occasional oak, and talks to the travelling Old Monk, or meet his fellow Walker called Johny, or may be see the Grey Goose fly, his heart will be glad that once he was in a race with rats, and that he had met a white mouse who had shared cheese with him, and given him the faith to look out for more sharers. It will be a good life.

What do I know of the cultured ways?
The gilt, the craft, the lie
I, who was born in a naked land,
And bred under the open sky!
The subtle tongue, the sophist guile,
They fail when the broadswords sing.
So, rush in and die dogs,
I was a man before I was a king;
The phoenix on the sword.
---Cimmerian Folksong---

Monday, October 4, 2010

An Ode to Whiskey

prologue :- "There are some yards that we need to walk alone, Sayantan."
== S ==

“Gold is precious !”
He had heard it said so
The shiny yellow thing they tore out of the earth!
“Gold is precious”, they said,
“One day, Son! You will see it's splendor”, they laughed.
Couldn't have been more right, those pitiful, cowardly souls.
He sees her beauty now;
Now that the hard and lonely years have showed him some of what is to be his destiny.

From the Highlands, wrapped in oak,
They travel through space and time.
Each passing day goes into making its years,
And each year dissolves some more musings.
In the cold belly of mother Earth they wait;
Bidding their time...
Outside the oak walls time passes by,
And dissolves inside the barrels of ancient wisdom.

Silence; patient, understanding and solemn.
Centuries go by as the elixir of life awaits the one,
One who will pour her into his veins,
And pour his heart into her.
And the accumulated silence of her years
Will sing to him a melody beyond the realms of Heaven and Earth;
And whisper to him words he had yearned to speak.

Yes! Yes! She will take him into her arms,
Embalm his senses, dissolve his refrains,
And give him wings, carry him away.
In her embrace he will shed his crust,
Ruffle his soul, and spread his wings,
And in the dusky glory of her intoxicating radiance
Discover anew, the unstrained limits of his consciousness.
She will return him then;
To his mundane world, with a loving smile.
For he will return,
Walk back to the shelter of her sweet intoxication...
And there he will forget the world that had hurt him so...
And with the accumulated wisdom of her age
She will teach him to forgive life.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Of inspirations... and The Inspiring

"He felt that he was hardly of the one blood with them but stood to them rather in the mystical kinship of fosterage, fosterchild and fosterbrother."


"Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race."

====== A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce=====

My dear S,

I really don't know how best to put this, so you get exactly what I, and most likely others whose lives you have touched (and thereby, and most likely, deeply affected), mean when I(we) say and/or feel, that you are an inspiration. Most people, rather we all, except the most non-human ones- the half-evolved Ape-types who won't lift up their hearts to a fine tune and a peg of old oak-matured whiskey when the sun sets- go through life looking for an understanding of our selves, within the self, and outside. What I mean is, that what makes us human is the human heart; something that cannot be made, cannot be programmed; you cannot write it to a disc, or put it into a chip. The real miracle of evolution; a mere 'pump' that seems to pump more than the fluid running in and out of it's tetra-sectioned tanks! And every heart beats an unique beat, and every beat tells a different story.

But you know, what the problem is? The heart is not a book you can open and read at your pleasure, or a cassette or disc to be played, at the mercy of your whims. And it's language is unique, the symphony is unworldy; the notations cannot be taught. Not all stories are meant for everyone to hear, as the ancient Norse would say. You can only tell your story to one who is meant to hear it. The sooner you come across the one who was meant to hear yours, the better off you are. Once you have had that meeting, your life is never quite the same. And no story is complete unless it has been told, and heard. An untold story is like locked up animal; it strains and struggles and fights to get out, to break free. And it will scratch and dent the cage, and damage it beyond repair. But just letting it out is not enough; you have to let it out where it can be at peace.

So, we go through life, trying to feel at peace. Looking for some way to reinforce that tiny voice inside that tells us to be true to ourselves, that no matter what, our life is ours' to live, and that it'll be alright. Hoping to come across that point in life's highway where someone will tell us, “ hey! That's one hell of a story, and don't worry, you've made it this far! You're gonna write the rest all right.” And that happens only when someone who was meant to hear your story, comes across it. Now, when you find that people have traveled the same road before you, and not lost themselves, have written a similar story and not broken their pen, nor torn their diary, rather have traveled the way, all the way, and is waiting for you to join them on the other side, as their kinsmen, the little voice inside, once timid and squeaky, now roars with delight. And you cannot help but feel that wonderful feeling inside, of gratitude, and encouragement, called inspiration. The ones before you might not have, and most likely did not, set out to do anything extraordinary. They had just done their part, done it well and smiled when the ordeal was over. But all the same, the very fact that they had come before you, and had yet lingered long enough, not faded into oblivion, but have stared the down the road they had traveled without dying on it, was bound to tell you that it can be done, the road can be traveled. Had been traveled before you, will be traveled long after you are dead and gone. They have already become the ones inspiring you to stay on your feet, telling you that the end comes to all. That doesn't matter. What matters is how you meet it, on your feet or on your knees. They are the ones you, we, look up to and feel comforted, because they are Inspiring. The question, whether these people deserve the tag, does not arise. Because they did not ask for it in the first place. As one wise man so wonderfully put, “ Inspiration like much else is something others see in you. For you to accept it or not is irrelevant to them!"

Monday, September 13, 2010

born to be wilde

"Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace."

— Oscar Wilde, Delight

Sunday, September 12, 2010

still alive...

“Don't know about lofty life-like love, Sam. Once knew and I am grateful it died. Love is not for idealising. If we can't live it, all we can do is just grit the teeth, heave a sigh or shrug and go on. Tough call, but that's life.” So says S, dearest of all my friend(s ??), my brother. Can't help but wish I could feel the same. I do, to some extent at least. Well, at the very least I do see the logic and the rationality, and the deep seated pain (one that has taken hold)- although this last one might very well be a pure imposition of my own psychological predicament- behind what the man must have meant by those brutally honest, painfully selfless, and forgiving words.

But, brother, how do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on? When deep in your heart you begin to understand, that you can't. There are some wounds that time can't heal, some that run too deep, that have taken hold. Time goes on. But it never fully heals. And perhaps I am to blame for that too. Perhaps, in a way, I don't really want it to heal. Why, did you ask? What is to be gained from this eternal lamentation?

I know you are concerned. And it troubles me to see you, another who cares, disturbed because of the turmoil in my mind. There is so much I have lost, brother. The things I gave up, when I was too young to know their worth. And there is so much more that I have ignored, consumed by the guilt of the earlier loss, and pre-occupied with grovelling self-pity and regrets. So busy I had become mourning the first pit I fell into, I forgot to look out for the ones ahead! And now I have strayed into this field, full of pits. And with each passing day I walk deeper inside. While the ones who care, stand helpless and watch my staggering footsteps carry me closer and closer to the edge. I want to cry out for help, reach out for the helping hand to guide me out of these snares of insanity, doubt and fear. But I'm too far in. May be not far enough, yet too far. Going back is not impossible. The beacons of hope are still lit. Every once in a while a voice carries through. Yet following it out of this abyss is so difficult. Giving in is much the easier. Why? Am I so lost? Am I the only one? People have lost before- love, friendship, trust, faith- bigger, stronger and better people. And I know I am not the last. Why then do I find it so difficult? Yes, it is difficult. But there is really no other way, as you, my brother, have pointed out so many times. I will have to take the same way out that brought me in. There is no short cut home. And help will always be there, in the forms of the ones who cared enough to care. Yet, some blackened pride still burns inside. The ego, that wants so desperately to claim that dark throne of blood and tears, reserved by the ancient Greeks for the tragic hero.

Is that it, then? Is it really about my own mistake, about my failure to hold on to what I wanted most? Am I just using the memory of one who is gone to dress up my own incompetence? I loved her. Yes, I did. And she did too. But, why then do I find it so difficult to acknowledge that I don't have to stop loving her, or deny my feelings or memories, to accept that she is gone. And where she is, I can't go.

There wouldn't be any ambivalence, if I could put my right hand over my heart and claim, without blinking, that this is all I want to be, a tragic hero. Lord knows, I can't, and I don't want to. There in lies the concern of the loved ones. And I guess that's what S meant; that we cannot always be torn in two. We have to be one, and whole... for the days to come, for the road yet to be travelled, the things left to be seen, the songs yet to be heard, the laughters yet to be laughed, the tears yet to be tasted... the life I still have to live.

"I have changed
I have changed
Just like you
Just like you

For how long
For how long
Must I wait
I know there's something wrong

Your concrete heart isn't beating
And I've tried to
Make it come alive

No shadows
Just red lights
Now I'm here to rescue you oh

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no

So silent
No violence
But inside my head
So loud and clear

You're screaming
You're screaming

Covered up with a smile I've learned to fear

Just sunshine
And blue sky
Is this all we get
For living here

Come fire
Come fire
Let it burn and love come racing through

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no

I've learn to lose
I've learn to win
I've turned my face against the wind

I will move fast
I will move slow
Take me where I have to go

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no... "

[ disclaimer: The lyrics of this wonderful song is by Lisa Miskovsky. I am just quoting her because I feel it suits the mood of what I have been trying to get at in the paragraphs above. Only the prose is mine. I HAVE NO CLAIMS, CREATIVE, ARTISTIC, OR OTHERWISE AS FAR AS THE LYRICS OF THE SONG QUOTED AT THE END ARE CONCERNED. If the owner has any copyright infringement issues I will immidiately remove any part(s) or the whole of the song.]

Saturday, August 28, 2010

confessions before the Old Monk

"He would fade into something impalpable under her eyes and then in a moment, he would be transfigured. Weakness and timidity and inexperience would fall from him in that magic moment.


He closed his eyes, surrendering himself to her, body and mind, conscious of nothing in the world but the dark pressure of her softly parting lips. They pressed upon his brain as upon his lips as though they were the vehicle of vague speech; and between them he felt an unknown and timid pressure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odor.
I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever I have to leave. And I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake and perhaps as long as eternity too.
Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead."
== A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce==

Is this why I can’t ever go back to you? I've too many words to tell you how much you meant to me, but they will be just words. It's been so long, and all my actions have only proved the opposite. I will forever be searching for a love to replace the one you placed in me. I was cruel. I admit that. I promised you love, and yet took it away! I had to take away something beautiful because, I was selfish and cared too much about myself.

You Know I Cannot Forget You !!

Cannot Forget Our First Kiss ..
Cannot Forget Your Smile ...
Cannot Forget How You Made Love ..
And Talked About My Eyes ..

You Know I Cannot Forget You !!

Cannot Forget That Night ..
Cannot Forget That Ride With You ..
Cannot Forget That You used to feel jealous
whenever you saw someone Else In My Eyes..

And then... just For A Mistake,
You went Away ..
And Want me To forget you ??

Is This What Happens In Love ..
Are All Those Memories FAKE ??

I can't erase you from my past, ever. I can't delete you from my mind. All I can do is to say goodbye. I can't pretend you were never here, right in this room, where I am sitting right now. Every corner of my room smacks of your aroma, every picture in my old album is reminder of your time with me, every cassette is a witness of how you loved to listen to your favorite tunes, right here in this room, after school. I can't fake like it didn't hurt when you disappeared. I refuse to use a fake old grin, but then again I’ll never win. I can't pretend that I don’t care. I can't pretend that you are near. So I guess I'll just pretend to say goodbye.

You were always there for me
Always... by my side.
I guess I couldn't see
Without you I just can't abide.

Those times I loved the most,
Just talking to you...
who would've known...
now I'm all alone
and all I can do is think of you!

I loved it when you held me;
all safe and warm.
I felt no harm could touch me,
in your loving and protective arms

But then I messed up.
I really don't know why
I broke up...
And now I am sorry... eternally I fear.

Realized your Importance,
After I Lost you.
Understood my Feelings,
When you went Away...
Something I want to Request Today...

All I want, is a second chance.
I understand that's not easy to do...
even if you won't give me a glance,
I want you to know,
I'll always love you...

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

a look back in novacaine

I have a confession to make. About I how I feel right now, about the last six years. Now, that the novacaine is wearing off. So here I go...

I had a huge crush on this classmate, and I dare say I was not the only one :P ... from the 9th grade onwards.... didn't have the guts to tell her for a long time! But fortunately things worked out and we started going out in our 11th!! Man!those were the craziest, wildest and happiest days of my life...2003-2005... the two final years of school leading up to the ISC! I had a blast: in a phrase, the vacation and celebration that started at the end of the ICSE continued for two whole years, and before we knew we were taking the ISC! Well I did screw up a bit, coming out with a mere 61%... also the relationship not working out.We sort of just fell apart. People talking, pointing fingers, all that gossip, and in between, two kids just out of school... guess I should have had more guts...will I ever know what really went wrong? Keep asking myself that. And everytime, the details just get more confusing. But I don't resent that; the memory hurts, but the pain also reminds me that at one point it was all true, and I had things exactly the way I wanted!(thanx bro) At the moment when things started going downhill, after we left school, friends for thirteen years went separate ways, all promises seemed fake; the world was literally changing, and everything seemed to fall apart! But now looking back, past EFLU, and the Phonology classes, the interview that I screwed up, the second list I was placed in, and trying to look into the not so distant future, into another list, when I shall claim what is rightfuly mine, I hear a voice inside, whisper, "Hell, I did alright". All these years those memories have kept me going; things that worked out, and things that didn't,friends whom I found and the ones I lost... the laughter and the tears... went into making me who(ever) I am today. May be things could have been done better,but looking back now, I don't think I will change those moments at all! I don't regret anything, and that's all that matters!And in any case, I will,at least, have a great great story to tell... or at least to recollect to myself! When I'm done, when the time comes for me to hang the gloves on the wall, the day I say"That's it! I'm done.", the day I retire, at least I won't get bored. I will have all the materials to pen the next great pulp-fiction!! :P

hoooooooooo- haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

p.s. the novacaine's gone, but I guess some of the booze is still left inside... lol!!

Sunday, August 8, 2010

a man against the world

A righteous man before me stands
A hero in these filthy lands
Let me ask if you do,
In your heart, see him too?
A brother in arms;
In heart are you?
I was really hoping,
You'll get it too.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

of walks

A very close friend of mine talks about a walk he had. Wonderful words, adorned with so much of love and longing, smacking of that sweetest fragrance, nostalgia. I am not much of a walker. But those lines take me back to an august summer night. The night I had that walk. A walk... yeah I had one too... must have been at least half a decade back. The moon was high and the sky was clear, the summer wind was comfortably cool, and the lake was still as the night. I had a walk that night. Sandwiched between the woman I loved and my best friend ( or so I had thought)... one slow, soft, calm, relaxed, unwinding walk, down that path, round the lake. I wonder what could we have been thinking, what must have been going through our minds then? It feels like another lifetime. but then, what else could we have thought, what else could we have wished for, than hope that the night would never end! Looking back now, I know what went wrong. I understand better why things have come to this point. And I am not angry anymore. Because I understand it now; we don't have to judge each other for falling apart... we just have to forgive ourselves for growing up

Monday, August 2, 2010

Of Traps and Tribulations

So I read the R Trap. Nicely done! "More often than not, we are likely to find ourselves in a labyrinth where the factor that proved to be the foundation of one relationship turned out to be the undoing of another." very true. But I can't help thinking that possessiveness, and the urge to deny that you are with , well for lack of a better word,someone "used" is at the bottom of it all. If only we accepted that all yesterdays come from some tomorrow things could be better. What keeps surprising me is for just how large a majority of us, 'faithfulness' is such a hyperbolic and super-inflated concept. And in strange ways too! Every single one seem to have his/her own definition of faithfulness, and moreover a mere disagreement over the definitions is enough to have you tagged as a person both undeserving and incapable of faith, 'the unfaithful'. You can most certainly avoid being tagged but at what cost? How do you prove your faith? Being faithful to one person, at least by this definition of 'faithful', will essentially mean being 'unfaithful' to a large number of others. Being faithful to you present will essentially entail a complete rift from your past, that necessary portion of history which makes you what you are.
"...the months and weeks that have spanned these two years have found me doing a variety of two things, which I have realized, people (especially men) who are out of a relationship do - returning to places which bring back memories, re-reading the couple of emails or text messages left, trying to remember sweet words of yore over a couple of drinks or three and so forth."

Being faithful to one aspect of your life, say your 'relationship', will demand marginalizing all the other aspects of it. For under this strict and uncompromisable definition of 'faith', the object of 'faith' must come second to none and nothing, irrespective of the circumstances. Thus your old friend might have had to witness a parental break-up, but you are not supposed to talk to her, because the object of your 'faith' demands that you contemplate the beauty of the moon, and make plans about children to come in approximately a decades time(if they at all do). You might have a test to take next morning and yet you are supposed to stay up the whole night, or not resent being woken every half an hour, discussing the quintessential features of a successful relationship. All for 'faith'. For if we don't have 'faith', how are we different from the animals, right?

I have walked through darkness and uncertainty, pain and doubts for six long years. And I have never once resented that. Never asked "why me". Every time I came close to something that nearly broke me, and yet didn't, as if to leave me for some sport for next time,I emerged stronger, clearer. Each time it answered some more of the questions that crowded my mind. But in the end, it doesn't even matter. No one gives a damn what you've been through. They only expect you to be strong, to go through it, to use it as a learning experience. And then, once it has been learned, you are supposed to pretend it never happened. When you emerge stronger, you are not supposed to use the strength to pursue anything. Pursuit of Happiness is just some idea of Benjamin Franklin, to make movies about, to weep when you see Will Smith at it, but never to follow. The moment you pursue, you are not being 'faithful'. 'Faithfulness', essentially, is something static, something stagnant. Like the surface of the still lake, you are not supposed to send ripples through it. It's like a big, happy house, you get in and close the door on the world. Lest some of the happiness slips out. You throw out all the old clothes, divide up all the pictures, cut the old people out, sell your muscle car, lock up the old stamp book, and pretend that there never was any 'yesterday'. All for faith. Else you're a 'fallen'.

Angels are bright still
Though the brightest fell
But how do you know,
He lost any of his brightness in falling?

===D.H. Lawrence===

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

gone with the wind

It's Death again – He's always there –
Watching, waiting, with a stare.
Every time I look behind,
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood –
A little clue to where he stood:
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But oh, no use, he'll never go –
The adamant phantom – don't you know,
He will but wait until it's time –?
For me to hear His fateful chime –
The toll that's only meant for me,
To say: 'You're next, it has to be…
And anyway, why do you care?
She is long gone;
Let me take you to a better place'

when the fears subside... shadows still remain

An underlying sense of counting down –
A rhythm deep: enteric thuds –
Each another year to fret and frown
About, wading in the claggy muds
Of trial – to here, the blackened life.

A glint of blade had caught a baggy eye,
Sparking thoughts to jump the fence.
Could I grasp the handle – was I shy
Of what I had to do and hence remain
Enshrined in overwhelming strife?

The metal winked at me again
To beg the possibility
Of halting once and all the pain
To relish an eternity

Of rested shoulders,
Peace of mind;
So here, my wrist
For ‘quick and kind.

* mark slaughter

ask not for whom the bell tolls...

It's all i think about
Can't get it out
So hard to resist
resist the urge to slit my wrist
wishing i had a gun
all i have is a small razor
so i drag the blade across my legs and arms
wishing to do myself much more harm
and i wake soaked in blood
cuts all over my body
and im still somehow alive
deep and long so much blood lost
how am i still here?
I really need a gun
one day... one day

live n let die

Death is in the flower's heart – don't
Ever cry for life of any petal

Death in purple ink of weary pens: the
Written yearnings on her scented paper

Death is laughing in my head; the
Beating heart disclosing from a sleeve

Death ignores the plight of any purity – He
Doesn't care or seem to be aware

Of what the dewy eye desires, for
Death beckoned: 'Embrace the jar! '

And yes, I shall – for Death of course.
No other woman can open up these chains

And greet me with a kiss, so
Death became my bliss.

Monday, June 21, 2010


There... you've taken the only luxury I had; fading into oblivion... death. But I guess, word spoken is a word given. DOn't worry honey, this time around, I'll do the right thing... no matter what!

Thursday, June 17, 2010

In Memorium


BORN: MARCH 24, 1986

far from grace... yet so far from Hell's gates

Broken fingers, a twisted elbow, a messed up left leg, a few scratched ribs, and a crippled Yamaha! Yesterday... yesterday was close. The closest I have ever come... and yet Death passed me by. I saw Him... looked Him in the eyes. He shook his head and smiled, a cold, heartless, mocking smile. And the wind whispered for him: " A short stop, and an easy end? Not for you brother... I want you to miss her some more..."

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

no need to say goodbye...

I am numb. But I know I owe you my silence. I failed you once...I will not fail again. This time I will do the right thing... This time your wellbeing will come before mine. As for me, I dont't know...I really don't know. What do I want?... lol... the story of my life, WHAT DO I WANT by SAYANTAN MANDAL; whiskey on the rocks, a smoke, unlimited ammo and a license to kill, the past five years undone... but right now, right here, I want you more than anything else.. to hold kiss you... to feel your hair on my face... once again. The wonder of the world is gone I know for sure... all the wonders that I knew I found in you. But sweetheart, don't you worry... I am stronger than before. And I am strong enough to do the right thing, the only thing I can do, the only thing I can give you now... my complete silence. I have your memories... they tell me that at one point you were mine... you really were all mine.Only problem is, the memories don't answer when I call your name. God!! it hurts... but that's okay. Don't you worry, honey. I know who I am now. It's my destiny to bleed for you... and if my eyes don't, my heart will. But I will smile love... for your sake. You will never see my blood, this I promise you. I will wipe out my blood with my tears, and smile for you. You mean the world to me, and I will never be the source of anything negative for you. As for my happiness, well... I am happy for you, if you are. Beyond that it's just dust in the winds. Oh I will live. Don't worry about that. I will live, do my linguistics, my phonology, and do it well. But no matter where I go, who I become,what I achieve, I will always be incomplete. When the sun sets, it will all have meant nothing. But I will do them all nonetheless; live my life, do my phonology, carry on my research, and do them to the best of my abilities... Only to get emperical evidence for what I already know... without you, my love, I am a deadman walking. I have been dead so long... since the day I lost you, the sun never came back up. But sweetheart, honey, darling... my love... I love you... I love you so very much... way too much to come in the way of your life... to cause you any dilemma. I loved you then...and I have never stopped loving you... Lord knows I can't. I will miss you my love... I will howl for you on those sleepless nights... and the very hope that you are out there, somewhere, smiling, maybe thinking of me at times, will make those sobs sweeter than any music on earth... cause, honey, I love you so very much...I love you... I love you... I love you... I will always love you... forever and a day...

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

a promise sealed with blood and tears

I will miss you... I will love you... and it will hurt, till the last day of my accursed existence. But I am not gonna show you that. I am gonna smile...for you... I owe you this my love. I am destined to bleed for you... and if my eyes don't, my heart will. only blood can purge my pain, wash away my loss, take away this curse that is my life

Monday, April 12, 2010

never been a right time to say good bye

Why did my eyes swim in tears
when you said good-bye?

Why did my face shed its vigorous smile
like an abused child?

Why did I frown like a king
without a crown?

Why did my heart wander in the loneliness
of a motherless chick?

Why do I feel drenched like a homeless hawk,
on a leaflesss tree in the rain?

What does good-bye mean?
Does it really mean
we aren't gonna see each other ever again?

Monday, March 1, 2010

silent screams

This is simple... really!
I mean, how hard can it be?
Across 7 inches of ply,
and border of two iron arms.
On a lazy February morning,
Wrapped in the last of the dying winter's fading fog,
across 7 inches of ply;
It's the silence that's chilling,
that's filling the space between with vacuum;
An impenetrable wall of uncomfortable twitching.
But, how hard can it be?
Across 7 inches of ply...

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

recollections on a dying winter's afternoon...

someday...someday I will walk down that road that eludes me so often...eludes me, yet calls out in the enchanting voice with their claims of solitude and promises of anonymity... someday I will walk the familiar streets of that unvisited city where all the yesterdays seem to have taken refuge... someday, I will listen to that unheard song that have kept me awake so many nights.... someday, I will walk by those unfamiliar strangers and think of those old faces that crowded my memories...someday, I will leave these streets where I had skinned my knees and elbows and take the forbidden road... and away from friends and family rediscover what I let go...what I lost..what lost me... someday I will feel all that I have felt... again...someday, I'll think of all that I have thought...all that I've known....loved...hated...liked...lost... and that day....someday...there will be no more regrets...the memories won't sting anymore... that day...I will have come full circle...someday, I'll come to terms...with what has been...what is...with myself...someday... when I've come full circle...I'll be home...someday…