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.

I wish for a shallow heart

Songs should make no sense
If they do then pain is the price.
Choice shouldn’t be an option when you’re on the fence
Falling either way according to Fate’s pretence.

Depth is the price your pay for height
Darkness is the price you pay for the light

Ridges on your fingers are the price you pay for grip.
Nakedness is the price you pay when you strip.

Feeling is the price for knowing
Ignorance is the price you pay for existing.

Loving is the price you pay for possessing a heart
Memories are the price you pay when love departs.

A consciousness is the price you pay for your actions.
Choice is the price you pay for your decisions.

Falling is the price you pay for picking yourself up.
Your childhood is the price you pay for growing up.

Forgetting is the price you pay for peace.
Captivity is the price you pay for release.

Rhyme is the price you pay for your poetry.
Pretence is the price you pay for your flattery.

Sin is the price you pay for enjoying
Breathing is the price you pay for living.

Excess is the price you pay for less.
Your birth is just a price you pay for Death.

illusion

The curl of his hair
Distracts me so.

The curl of his hair
Not my friend, but my foe.

The curl of his hair
Like the dent of my hips.

The curl of his hair
Like the smile of my lips.

The curl of his hair
Caused the tear in my eye.

The curl of his hair
Like the breath in my sigh.

The curl of his hair
Haunts my waking hours.

The curl of his hair
Lights the garden of my Thought Flowers.

The curl of his hair
Arrests my stare.

The curl of his hair
Was never really there.

I am...

I am Invictus...
I am the one who crawled through five miles of filth and came out clean the other end.
I am the one who's venerated and despised.
I am the one who is child and mother.
I am the one you hate, yet choose to love.
I am the cruel mistress and the doting wife.
I am your Shame, I am your Pride.
I treat you like you were a mote of dust, I hold you in my arms as though my life depended on you.
I am the one who abandons you, and in doing so abandons herself.
I am the one who seeks for you in her dreams, and shuns you by day.

I am the one who can trace every rise and fall of you body.
I am the one that flogs you.
I am the one that makes love to you and hurts you.
I am the blood in your wound.
I am the opium that heals you.
I am the one who gives you life.
I am the one who breaths death into you.
I am Isis and Osiris.
I am Ra...
I am just a Blink in an Eternal Eye.
I am...................

exhale...

The sound of the paper burning is like poetry...
And the exhale of that gray smoke...lightens your burdens a bit
And the familiar warmth of the flame that burns up all the wounds
The color of the ash looks up at you like a friendly face...
Both of you share the same shade.
Tinted by the same black....
But then undeserving of its intensity...
And then on deep breadth...
One long silence...
The rustic...dry...gray....in your system...
Like old friends meeting...
And then...
Exhale...
In one sublime moment after another, you breadth out your pain..
And then...it’s over...
But then...
True friends will meet again.
The End

words that fell at 2 a.m

Pensive and deep thoughts run through my tormented head.
I relish these moments of insanity that they give me
So kindly I take it like gifts.
The smell of a strange man I have in me.
I breadth him, I pretend to know him,
And he pretends to know me.
We both play pretend.
Slow thoughts fall like sad tears down the cheek of a child
Is there anything sadder then the quite collected tears of a child?
A child crying adult tears.
An adult crying a child’s tears.
At the end.
Just tears fall constantly.
My heart and mind will be broken constantly.
The only truth is the pain I don’t feel.
The only lie is the happiness I feel.
What a fleeting second to encompass a lifetime with you.
Salty sweet and sour. A flavor unheard of.
Comes from deep inside of you.
A message that is reminiscent of some old lover that you think you have forgotten.
But yet he haunts you like your childhood and seeks reckoning.
The love has dried. There is nothing left fertile.
It is all artificial.
Yes, even your smile and your tears.
They are not really you.
You are not really you.
Why are you still here then?
What validation are you seeking?
Some one to tell you that you are worthy?
Don’t you know that your UN worthy?
Why do you need someone to painfully lie to you and then feel guilt about lying to you?
Why do you want them to say that you are special?
And does them saying that make any difference?
You are still made of the same dung and heart and mind that I am.
That he the beggar is.
That she the whore is.
So you are a beggar and a whore at the same time.
You are a virgin.
You are a temptress.
You are not you.
You are one of them they are many of you.
There is no true self. Don’t be proud of something that is not entirely yours.
Thank the devil for his cunning that the angles will never have given you.
Praise the angles for the patience that the devil hides from you.
Savor the pain that humanity gives you.
And detest this bliss that joy gives you.
Why choose heaven when you can be alive in hell?
Why choose death over life?
Why choose numbness over pain?
Is there even a choice?
What does it mean when you have no choice but to feel?
Then you are not the one in control
You just seek to rationalize chances games.
You choose….
To live
Not because it is easy. But because it is harder to die.

loto perdido

Like a fish swollen with unaccustomed air you leap out to me from the sky.
And with unwavering authority you clench my soul like a new born to its father’s hand,
Like a hungry child to its mother’s breast.
To kill me slowly unlike all the rest
Of the sorrows the like quicksand suck
The life from my spirit, but you,
You who came from no where and bit a piece of my soul
Devoured it with ravenous desire, whole.

Sometimes a sage seeking salvation
Wandering, lest you become a slave to obligation.
Sometimes a rebel, uncalled for you wage war with me
You seek to loose and in doing so win, and take the trophy from me.
A man, when you speak, a hidden arrogance
That I find easy to forgive, that arrogance colored with your innocence.

A teacher sometimes, a criminal at others
Feather touched words and harsh crude syllables.
You become a child at my breast,
A lover seeking all the rest.
A nomad who wanders all over my body
A child you are. The devil’s parody.

In you I found my freedom scream
A thousand unspoken choices, a savage stream
Of thoughts and sounds that you longed for to hear both dark and fair
Rush out from my lips my arms my stomach my hair.
And then u hush me as though I were your child
With a balm of hands, voice, touch, smile.

Like a sudden piercing throb of pain in my body
You enter like warrior and then like a student study
The rise and fall of my mind, my soul.
The incongruous whispers untold
You stretch from my mind and pull out to the air
And with a craftsman’s eye you scrutinizingly stare
A look filled with warm honey freshly suckled from the flowers
A glint of humor, a secret joke shared by secret lovers.

Then the world comes calling its wandering mistral back
You loosen your grip that held and stretched me like a rack
A deep breath you took, inhaling every part of me
A thought in the deep orange womb of your mind is where I will forever be.

this is what it means....

Familiar rush of pain.
Sweet as it pricks you…
Blood sugar crystals.

Rustic ancient smoke of the earth.
All the lies now wear masks of truth.
Uneverving silence.
The quite like a dead child.
Like an unborn child.

Familiar like the loneliness you share with yourself.
Like the peace only the aftermath can bring.
Silently you relish the state.
Amorphous thoughts.
Fleeting glimpses of your life sprawled out on the street.
Questions that you ask yourself and pretend not to know the answers.
Answers that you questioned seeking for more validation.
The EXIT signs that constantly tease you and tempt you.
What do you do?

Familiar like the smell of the earth in your mouth.
Before you were flesh.
After you were flesh.
You were the earth.
Like a monozygotic idea that branched into two.
Which one is you?
And if you’re not…
Do you really care?

Familiar like lover’s bodies.
Like the indent and curve of his ankle to his calf,
To the pit a joint creates.
Like the smells of lies that you’re willing to forgive.
Like the taste of another man in your mouth.

Familiar like the masks you wear to hide from yourself
Like the delectable lands that you run to and pretend to rule.
Like a willing slave want to be abused. Dignity does not exist for him.
Would you still want to teach him?
And share some of your dignity.
And then revel in the fact that you had dignity enough to spare?
Does that make you great?
Do you want greatness?

Familiar like an old song that you used to know.
Like a memory from a past life that doesn’t place here.
That doesn’t belong here.
Like a familiar voice of someone you knew within you in the deepest part of you.
But silenced now forever.
You refuse to give your voice to that lost person inside you.
Are you afraid of what she might say?
Are you really afraid of something that you can’t do anything about?

Familiar like the madness inside your mind.
Your skull the hallowed synagogue that harbors your insanely beautiful thoughts.
And your morbid humor that you selfishly laugh at by yourself.
You refuse to share your insanities.
Are you afraid that someone will make sense of it all?
Like the reassuring slap that reality gives you to tell you everything is fine? That slap that shatters your illusions.
Like a mirror cracked into a million different realities.
Like a million different “you”s that you have to choose from and face the consequence of those choices.
Wouldn’t you rather “God” choose for you?
To blame God is more glamorous than to blame oneself.


Familiar like the wounds in your mind.
Each pain a stinging symphony that you composed.
The quick shot of agony that jolts your tranquil body.
the reassurance that pain gives you to show that you’re alive.
Like the warmth that the bottled brown blood gives you.
Cascades down your throat to the pits of you where you bury your
Wounded soul.
Where you yourself crouch like a wounded animal.
It spreads its numbing warmth and you welcome it.
Both you and your body like the weight and warmth of it like the weight of your lover’s body that crushes you.

Familiar like secret feelings of dejection.
Like a secret friend who fills you with worthless poison.

Tells you of your value and rationalizes your worthlessness.
You question your friends authenticity, like a child questions its father.
Your friend silences you.
Questions are useless. They serve no purpose apart from making you seek answers that you don’t really need.
“So what” you ask, annoyed.
“I am absolute” your friend says…
And your friend is right.