Thursday, March 31, 2011

Catalogue Yesterdays

Yesterday, things were so much simpler
We were younger you see
More ready to love
Too stupid to care

Yesterday, we didn’t belong
We were lonely you see
Sunset chasers
Daylight wasters

Yesterday, we laughed with the moon
We were feverish you see
Crazy, smitten, fresh
Answering the lone wolf’s call

Yesterday, we were free you see
Not so today dear friend
No more lonely
No more scared

And so dear friend
You and I must now end
Ground into a crowd of a million faces
Back where we perhaps belonged

And all that’s left to desire
Our catalogued dreams
And reasons to die

(To the first love that died easy after 4 years of friendship. Archives from a diary circa 2005)

Sunday, August 12, 2007

Bhoot Anth

somewhere beyond the rainbow flag

Bhutan was a calling strong, ever since I gazed with childlike awe at the huge mud splattered toyota cruisers that'd rumble through guwahati's rutted roads. the tragic city paved with putrid dumps and remnants of a revolution gone terribly wrong. (military might revolutionary trite). \flashback/ the windows rattled and i felt the tremors of my first bomb blast. never got to see the blood and gore; all curtained off with bright blue tarpaulin sheets. being a child in the city was no romantic dream. thank god for granda and may god bless his rigid soul. he lived next door in the scotland of the east. shillong was next base for my life to unfold. but the seed of bhutan was in my soul the day i met a man who stepped out of the massive mud splattered rumbling being that smelt of mountains and misty winding roads and rang our doorbell wearing a funny red dress.

of dreams that die hard and pop up in your sleep. the child in me grew, the desire remained; to see the land of beautiful muddy jeeps and smiley red faced weather blown men who wore dresses that ended at the knees. i had to go. a child all grown now with some pennies aside. and company i'll forever treasure.

i never told you so, but there was this arcane delight, tapered down perhaps, by gallons of golden eagle and tiger beer. it was a mad mad feeling of a star in my fist. one wistful longing down. time to progress. methinks mongolia next.

perched up there looking down on the tiger's nest i got a shot of the rainbow flag leading away to somewhere beyond. while you may snigger at my prose that reeks of whimsy frail, i long to pass through the rainbow flag. there shall be inevitable return.

Monday, March 19, 2007

Sunset Story

some tales come as a gift of love
reaching you when all seems stuck
a wretched muddy rut
and then it seeps in lovingly
culling all bandied grief
leaving behind a soggy smile
to screen the elation behind
that springs from a tale not often told

Misty Thoughts

I've been to the land...
of mountain mist and chimney smoke
where length of days are measured by shadows
that creep up the valley below.
where barren moist secrets
guarded by silent peaks
lie still...
secluded from earthly planes.
and when cold high winds make haste
rushing down to warmer lands
their path lit by northern stars and moonlight harsh,
the soul stays snug and the heart beats warm burning wood and chimney smoke

Saturday, November 04, 2006


-got no-
rhythm to my rhyme
soul to my smile
guilt to my crime
ego to my pride
stealth to my guile

lost my tandem to thoughts most random

spangled sticks and fangled dreams

all in all a pretty nice day

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Dismal Grim

so yesterday was sitting in the smoke room with the duende and co watching a feeble bunch of protesters across the street waving limpid placards calling for the the re enactment of the Armed Forces Specials Powers Act. something that has been flittering on and off meadia and human rights highlights after the whole youknowwhatihopes. talk shifted to the general scene. of blood and blame. of oppression, repression, suppression all part of the rigmarole game. military might and revolutinary trite. of the whole gory sordid state of affairs, governments and things. of intolerabilities addressed and discussed in intolerable rehtoric over champagne glasses and smooth marble tops. of the sheer absurdity of the logic of war and life as such. of the two sides to every coin leaving no room for answers at all. of a world gone rabid, run by thieves. the premise was stark in the duende's scream

"it's all fucked up, it's all fucked up
we can only nuke us all and start afresh"

i have many doubts about the christian faith. a faith overun by clergy and doctrine and holy self righteous absurd men, more or less like the rest of the pack. gone far far away from the original plan. but going back to the grand design of the good book i'll pause awhile to explain some bits in brief.

so god above made the universe with a master plan. he made the earth, skies and seas and filled them all sorts of creatures wild. last of all he made us men with a will to choose and do and gave us stewardship of this brand new earth to boot. we know what freedom often brings. the great fall happened and with that total alienation from god's perfect plan. the downfall had begun. but then there was redemption offered in jesus christ. the only clause, unshaken faith in this second provision from god. a pacifist hung on a cross. so where was the proffered salvation? be faithful, watchful and prayerful were the given commands. things will be bad till judgement day. and there was the revelation of things to come. horrors upon horrors for human kind until the final apocalyptic end and that's when The Second coming begins and thereafter a whole new world reborn, afresh.

in short, going back, "nuke 'em all and start afresh". That does seem to be the master plan

yeats lived through the terrors of the first world war and wrote a poem that jars and mars and scars. and living in these times the dread from his words still strike deep.

The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming!
Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

so there we are, so close to the duende's cry of despair. but brothers sisters the race is still on, the time still around to arise and chant down babylon

Animal Collective

so been moping around with drake quite a bit. so much so that i wrote a whole elegy with no rythm nor rhyme but just sheer emotion unabated. shall post it once the cringe ceases. sometimes lil coy bout letting my emo wild.

trying out my first music post here with a record that drove me insane the first time round

sheer mad rabid joy. barret on happy happy mdma. {were there those lil pink happy pills back then?} should there ever be a party in the looking glass land with all grey men, fauns, hobbits, alices, jabberwockys, nymphs and imps in tow this is what should play. damn the pipes of pan.

sanity has never been so dismissed to ochestrate something so wild so mad so free so insulated from all human fear. clashing cymbals droning snares pow wow drums a jungle of sonic let loose in an impossibly beautiful dervish form. Gosh! its too hard to take...

raving ramble over. sample the piece below and welcome the impeccably coordinated chaotic world of animal collective and talk of plants and simple treasures. while for info bout the band's album feels more cohesive and coherant just try this

p.s: apart from labels of psych folk, weird folk, freak folk, experimantal folk and noise rock, the tag i like best is transcultural technological postmodern tribalism. phew! double phew! and ohmigosh! critics and their slew of words. tough job.btw the joyful gleeful lyrics are quite undecipherable. try this if you want to yell along

Wistful Happy Sad

"I love the autmn for its sense of melancholy. Seems to strike my need for sadness. There is poetry in the dying of the year and mystery as well"

Kyffin Williams

{Something I miss the hills the most for}

"Maybe I am not very human - what I wanted to do was paint sunlight on the side of a house"

Edward Hopper

Monday, October 30, 2006

Jolly Lolly

See the jolly lolly man framed by a cookie tree
See where he roams, the country he combs
Where does he rest? What does he eat?

When all the jolly lollies melt into sleet?

Passing Fall

Sunny smiles and cloudy skies
Not much more I can ask of now
Autumn misted October
The chilly dawn of December...
In between then and when,
Will you spend some time by this cold side?
Just need some sunny smiles and cloudy skies


i knew you not. a couple of years of love's labour lost before i came along. a couple more years to learn of joy and pain. of sorrow that secretes its whiffs long after the hurt has passed. a wakening once the sniffles and snot subsided with the precariousness of early childhood's end. learnt of that fateful night you took the rainbow bus. you were missed. not by me.

i have often felt a deep unrest. detached from what i should have been if genes have a pull. detached and unsure of why i am how i am. but i have never been able to shake off this restless yearning. deep within. welling. screaming. sobbing. gagging. i am not often me. incomplete.

i took your place. 500 miles in a little red coat. my first big adventure. the lady told me years later - cheeks pinched with the wind eager with the fare thee wells.

many autumns for this december's child. each grey season made me long more for the desired twin. a certitude that grew with the vacuum within. i probed. turned out to be a fancy whim.

under the moon glow spread eagled on cold concrete me and blood brother spoke of you. snooping through his room i had found a poem for you. he misses you. no. the memory of you. the ten days he was betrayed of a brother for life. he is the only one who has held my pain and i his. through that moment we both reached out and touched the pale fading gloom. we knew it. i am you. was meant to be. have been. will be. sure wish could have been the three of us that night.

your grave a crumbling grey
your soul a ruddy ray
brimming through this oyster's pearl

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Tunnel to Blue

Daddy's gone down the rum dum hole. Think I'm bitter? Think twice. Every second day I live, thoughts of a never ending river of disconnect seeks to reason why there's no pain. Maybe I didn't know him at all. Is that cause enough for this irreversible separation? Truth is, I chose the conditioning. Lost all instincts to moor myself to betrayed birthrights. Predestined to live, learn, accept, forgive, hurt, hate, lust, resent, recoil, forget - canonic human fate.

"For all the things I'm losing
I might as well resign myself to try and make a change..."

And now twenty years hence I claim peace with all remembrances of
life’s uncanny route. This spirit lives on - sighing, yearning, happy to breathe.

“Me my thoughts are flower strewn,
Ocean storm, bayberry moon…”

Deep in your eyes a whisper gathers; I once was you