Shh.........

You are faced with a blank canvas. Potential energy. It is up to you to convert all this potential energy into kinetic energy. Where do you get your resources? Look within you. May I speak in first person? Or is this my latent self-centeredness taking over. You have to formulate new words to express almost accurately what you feel. Or you are allowed to modify existing words so that they make more sense to you. Artistic freedom, it is called. You treat few words as you would your lover, always partial to them always thinking of them. But then there are other words that you treat like your mistress, you use them in secret. When you’re sure your beloved words don’t fall out of your mouth and linger in the air just to see that promptly following tem out of your mouth are those damn mistress words. And then there are these sounds that serves better than words. You use them quite often. You have created your own language with just mono syllabic sounds. There are times when these sounds serve you better than those words (lovers and mistress) that they make other words seem redundant. They strip language naked and leave you with little shameless bits of sounds that brazenly replace the more sophisticated and clothed language.

So what language do you speak? Do the fall out of your mouth or are they formed with the invisible patterns that you weave with your hands? Or are they a combination of both? With your eyes serving as punctuation marks?

But the most beautiful of all languages is silence. That lovely eloquent silence. What language can best describe the agony and liberation that death brings? Silence… unnecessary words ruin the rendezvous that lovers hearts and eyes share, silence enhances them. After drowning in emotions, a sweet exquisite pain that brings you untold of maddening bliss born of agony and purity, your friends looks into your eyes. Silence is the most articulate.

Silence is divine proof that we were meant do more and feel more. Silence is a hint to a dimension that is higher and deeper at the same time. Silence is that celestial music to which our spirits dance. Silence is you without your desires. Silence is the dot at the end of this sentence.

Now change the question.

Who is a sinner?

The one who bites of the apple? Seeking knowledge?
And what kind of knowledge is dangerous?
If knowledge can kill, then so can life.
In reality it is in dying that we are truly born.
Not in to the flesh. But as an idea,
a floating mote of dust that lingers on the eyelash of some supreme

Creative force. And then that force smiles.(can divinity smile?)
And then does this divine creative force need human tabulations and

Equivalents to be recognized?
We see that force all around. In the arrogance. In the innocence.
The passion that makes us kill. The same passion that makes us love.
The idea. That’s what we are, we are some divine cosmic idea, floating

In arbitrary isolation. There is no greater calling in your life than

To live it. To realize it. To realize the truth. Your truth. Not to

Validate another's truth;
am I starting to build a new religion? Is that what I am doing?
Am I trying to carve a pedestal for myself?
Aren’t we all vain to the point of thinking that we are Special?
What is this specialty?
Do things like this really matter?
Ultimately if you ask too many questions the answers you get will just be

Some more questions.
The trick, yes there is a trick, is to balance.
Everything depends on equilibrium. The balance of good and evil.
The consequence.
One has to do what one has to do.
The fear is real it is human. Don’t become god.
Being god deprives you of glory, and you were made for Glory.

Quando?

Trust is that malevolent kindness that believing in something gives you.

You seek it awkwardly because there is that part of your childhood that it holds. The childhood that you never knew. And that’s why you seek it,
who is a rational human being?
One who trust?

Who is a cynic?

One who doesn’t?
If that be the case there are none of us in the world who are true to the Definition.
There are questions that are asked so that you distract yourself from

The real truth that you seek.
Once they have managed to keep you pre occupied with questions like

This, then it becomes easier to maintain some semblance of peace.

Is there peace. Or are we just pretending to be peaceful?
We are all seekers. We seek that which we don’t know.
There are no morals in knowledge.
There is only revelations and realization.
The fancy word for it is philosophy.
The common word for it is suffering.
No one suffers more than the philosopher.
We are a sorry lot.
We are the ones that deal with the excreta of humanity and look for

Beauty in it.
And the most startling discovery is the finding of beauty in that

Putrid dungeons of thoughts and words.
Makes one question the questions that we have been asking ourselves.
Perhaps I’m not the first one to ask, perhaps there are have been proud

Insanities that have attempted to decipher the code.

The code that binds and programs everything.
What makes us human is the need...to know.

When I'm held together by threads of false comfort, this sense of reality is the most annoying intrusion into my sand castle. I have been dead for a long time; I hate the near-life-experiences that fate throws at me.

Listen...

sounds ...

1. The sound of an old Godrej fridge being closed-the half metallic have rubber suction sound- is what a mind that is closed to any ideas might sound like.

2. The shudder of the bus engine when it dies down is what disgust sounds like.

3. The crisp burning of your cigarette at 2 a.m is what solitude sounds like.

4. The coy yet persistent clanging of two very worn out gold bangles is what mother making a meal would sound like.

5. Canned laughter is what mockery sounds like.

6. The wind bursting in the ear is what nature sounds like.

7. The sound of his heart thumping is what intimacy sounds like.

8. The impact of high-heels on hard cold marble is what pride sounds like.

9. The soft hum in the skull is what conscience sounds like.

10. Silence is what you without desire sounds like.

To whomsoever it may concern

Dearest,

Look not at what you see. But try and look at what I’m hiding from you. Most people don’t look hard enough. But then I was hoping that you will be different. The artist sees all doesn’t he? God is an artist. He’s the master who created the mortals that you call masters. He created me from his imagination. How much more beauty can you want? Don’t look at the smile that I show you. Instead take the time to trace the ghost of the tears that ran down my face. Find some beauty in this crooked face. For what is a face but shapes held together by a nose? Experience and lessons held together by your eyes. Joy and sadness harnessed together by a single mouth. Treat them not with your eyes, but with that feeling you get when you close your eyes.

Don’t look at what I take the trouble to show to you. Instead look to find the past that I can so easily hide. You don’t have to heal the wounds. You should just see the wounds that I beg you not to make again. I don’t know if I have a soul, help me find mine, and when you do don’t claim it as your own…why claim something that is already yours?

See beyond the body. Don’t reduce me to mere sweat and dung. There is a spirit that soars above my body. That is who I am. Respect me as I do you. Don’t take my vulnerability as my weakness, take it to mean that I trust you with my raw self uncluttered by the world. You don’t have to feel pity; I will never feel sorry for you. You just have to look at me with all my wounds, my weakness, my secrets and still see beyond all this.

This is all I am. No glory. Just a struggling spirit in this world. I have been given your wing and you have been given mine. If you run away with my wing remember your running away from yours too.

But for all this, you have to let go of worldly definition of everything. Don’t define yourself by the words the world gives you. I have no words to define you. In my mind and in my soul you are a feeling…you are a state of consciousness. You’re real and unreal at the same time. You’re infinity and now all in one moment. You begin where I end and I begin where you end. I am you and you are me…. For eternity…

And for all this all you need to do is …

Look not at what you see.

Yours always...

Intoxicated torment

This was a duet by a poet and a poetess. One drowned in whiskey the other silenced by pain.
It happened on one of those rainy days, when it was not supposed to rain, but like everything that goes against you at times, the rain clouds too were against us. It was a volley of emotions shot across by sms believe it or not. This is a collection of text messages that were sent and received. He was drunk on whiskey and I was tormented by pain. Till Shom's lips touch whiskey and I suffer agony.....

A dialog between whiskey and pain.

whiskey:

It is going to rain tonight like the night last.

pain

I love the rain

Let it come tonight

If it doesn’t then make it come

I demand it.

whiskey

You demand rain is it?

Then give me pain

and I’ll rain my tears for you

pain

The rain beats on your face

Tears or impostors

its hard to trace

whiskey

But would you care?

Would you really care if they

Made love to you for a fleeting moment?

Made you feel like a queen

and gave you memories to cherish forever

Would you really care?

pain

Those fleeting moments I hold

in the deepest part of me.

Where a moment is extended

to last somewhere to last somewhere

close to eternity...

But do you possess enough pain to quench my thirst?

Is there so much in you to let the rain clouds burst?

whiskey

Rain me away oh woman

Rain me away...

Oh woman the owner of enigma

Make me thirst

Make me cry

If I don’t have pain I’ll give you my dreams

Oh woman...oh woman!!!

pain

Pain I’ll freely give you,

Your wounds I’ll decorate with my laughter.

Each tear I will accuse of your loving me,

and each verse I’ll write with your intoxicated blood.

But the wounds I make I bleed to heal you,

The tears you cry rip a hole in my being too.

whiskey

Kill me kill me again and again

So that I am reborn not as I

not as you but as us.

Let there be us.

I am willing.

I am willing to die.

Love is the perspiration of the soul

Let us mix it

Let us be one.

Give me pain...oh give me pain...

pain

Oh sweet tormentor of my soul

Let us dwell in this madness

This is glorious ecstasy that burns within me

that burns within you...that burns within us...

To purity that’s beyond our comprehension.

whiskey

Oh lady oh lady...

When has death been so romantic?

When has death been such a witness?

When has man loved so?

When have the laws been defied such

When has there been more torment

and each moment of torment

more intense than the dying sun

When has love died so to live forever?

Eternity has been defeated

We love...

Let there be no witness

for no witness shall comprehend

Let there be pain

Let there be rain

Love me woman

Hurt me till the end!!

pain

You bereft me lord of words.

You take the breath out of my lungs

You let me not sigh even.

You have encompassed me in my entirety.

There is no longer the sun

We have surpassed it.

There is no air...you are all i breath

There is no god....you are my salvation.