The Queen

My first romantic poetry ever!!

Queen of steely ideas, is it all over?
Queen sublime, can’t I help you, as you suffer?
Pause for a while, don’t play it so loud.
Watch as many sunsets and sunrise,
But one day, the sky is going to be full of clouds.

I don’t belong here; I don’t belong here,
not here, talking to you, feeling unclear.
Trying hard to fool you again,
Trying hard to show the past light,
In a tunnel of yellowing pages; irreparable plight.

It’s never poetry without you,
A stubborn art, the one I learned with you.
You taught me the poetry in life,
Taught me to fight in the blind.
Now I’m finding things in things I never wanted to find.

Nightangle of my sore day
The unknown Christmas ray
How far have you gone?
In this darkness I have found enough
Whistling away nights, singing a new play.

Held in custody of invisible bars
You threw me far away, as far as mars.
Its all cold now, I can’t feel my fingers
Somewhere a drizzle is forming a mud hole
I’m living in it, trying hard to cope…..

Fine, if you think was all over,
But was it a crime to live happily ever after.
On a hazy night, a second took our turn,
We couldn’t see what was for us later.
Now I miss you, queen; in photographs and in solitude……

Just know this, my lost love...I was nothing before you....now, I have a message.

Written, edited and completed on the 25^th of August, 12.55 A.M.

Was listening to: “Blue Eyes” by Remy Zero

It’s Bangalore

Convulsive. Aggressive. Intimidating. Enticing. Bold. Beautiful.

Some of the few adjectives that I can shower about this place. It’s not actually a place. For some, it’s few acres of heaven. For some it’s a dark alley of burning hell. For me, a new place…..it’s the turning, a decision. A decision to either turn right, or turn wrong. The dilemma is: “Those who turned wrong had more stories to tell. And those who turned right had more savings in their bank accounts.” Now which one do I choose?

Looking back at the myriad days of college, I invariably turned left. A list of mimics which included a rock band, included a girl, included a soccer team, included vodka, included adrenaline, included politics, included photos, included stupidity, included indiscipline, included abnormality, included chaos, included cigarettes, included flirting, included porn, included laughs, included…..smiles, memories.

Fuck, so many things are changing. I can see my grave of youth, the night of the youth filled evening, the shitless dusk. Fuck, and it’s this Bangalore that showing me.

Bespectacled in the words of so many people, I raise my voice in the defense of this city. Like a parrot, my insides talks about its startling pubs, the hot-babe fashion show on Brigade Road, window shopping for more hot babes on MG Road, new fashion statements, Hookah joints, Coffee joints, Chicken joints, Time-Wasting joints. Joints of every form and figure - some for your balls, others to just show off. But, in the end…it’s all good.

Argh…Bangalore is going to be so unclear. It’s been less than 20 days I have been here and I stand irresolute, confused as an atheist who just saw god. My father’s edged out words were: “Save as much as you can…..you’re in the corporate world now.” And I heard it as: “Spend as much as you can…..you’re in Bangalore.” As I formerly said, it’s either going to be right turns or a freaking-run-wild-blasted-wasted wrong turn for me.

Written on the 14^th of August, 00.55 A.M.

Was listening to: “Electric” by Pentagram.

A Music System’s Requiem

Written for the Creative 2.1 speakers which I owned from my 2^nd year in college, the system which played Iron Maiden and Metallica in tandem for days…..now ‘cos of their master(that being me), they play Jazz and Harmonica. I don’t think they like it too much and gives me all reason to write them a song…..the funeral song, a Requiem.

The loud speakers are booming in the room,
Craving to be them all over again.
Shouting in the light harmony of slowness,
The one song they liked the most…..the loud ones, the un-singable ones, the ones their master couldn’t give them.

They cry and die, the lighter they go, more they try,
They begin the process of rusting.
Joining the million other passions of their idiotic master,
Addicted and bleached in the milk of hard sound, they cunningly disagree to anything that they now boom.

The speakers saw the transitions, from the wild distortions, to stupid instrumentations,
The drink of yesteryears’ hangover can’t seem to leave,
Crazy fire still burning,
But it’s definitely out of oil…..sometimes the cigarette’s lighter oil, sometimes the midnight oil.

Tired, ragged, tortured, beaten up…..they feel it all at the same time,
The wait for freedom seems to have fuelled away from the fighting soul of theirs.
Senility setting freely and cunningly into their soft body,
Inspiration of the music they once played, the dream of the loud chords…all seems to fade with the age.

Now the time has arrived, slow as they dived…
Into the age old custom of getting sold away, bartered by masters, for their satisfaction.
Glorious they once stood, earsplitting and shrill, noisy and quiet
Now they choose to be quiet forever…..for their stupid master has left his heart in another place, with the music beating in there……

Written on the 4th of August, 2007. 01.05 A.M.

Was listening to: “Let Go” by Frou Frou.

Schadenfreude

Schadenfreude, a German word meaning 'pleasure taken from someone else's misfortune'. It derives from Schaden (damage, harm) and Freude (joy).

Laugh, you cunning beast, laugh.
Jolt out loud, turn crazy. Make me envious, and make me go sleazy.
Raise me higher, bury me.
Burn every single entity, every cell, and everything that for me is lively.

Glee, my friend, glee.
Bask in its music, till I learn the song. An everlong.
Make me corrupt, with a shy look.
A useless piece on the chessboard, an ineffectual rook. An open book.

The time has its beautiful nature.
Slow, effective and innate. Laugh now. Then, learn to hate.
Instigate. Cry it, don’t expect it.
Light is for the day. A dark cave is for the night, a hint to pray.

Prepare, for the apocalypse, prepare.
Make your own ark, and buy your supplies. Live in it, till your last leave dries.
Schadenfreude has spoken.
The joy lives in me, ready in its cauldron. Fighting for its freedom.

And freedom is what I’ll die with………

Written on the 11^th of August. 2.35 A.M.

Was listening to “Fine Again” by Seether.