TRUE Philosophy is so Easy

Anticipation has a habit to set you up, for disappointment

Anticipate, under supervision
Supervise, when you’re old enough.
After all, you don’t want to land up in my father’s shoes.

Recuperate, when you’re luck turns “left”
Whine, when the luck turns left again on a right turn.
Instead of cursing lady luck, you can watch TV and write poetry on the comp.

Felicitate, with less enthusiasm
Encourage, when you’re asked to.
Don’t open you’re mouth when its not you’re turn.

Loathe, the simple things in life
Orate, these niceties on a first date and continue it on sms.
In the end, only the foolish ones of the opposite sex fall for them.

Abhor, nothing and none of the other holy souls
Compromise, with only those you hate and with all the luck
After all no matter what Gandhi said, he hated the f**king Britishers.

Precipitate, all the love and harmony to the world
Complain, when politicians don’t do it.
C’mon, nice guys don’t do politics, they do engineering.

Negotiate, with yourself and yourself
Gratify, with some make-believe and some hopeful lie.
Oh, the fun of anticipating will leave so many of us disappointed.

Disclaimer: I have never lain to women and I hold no grudge against Gandhi.

Was listening to: “Twinkle” by Junkyard Groove.
9^th July, 2007. 1.15 A.M.

3rd wing something

You know when you listen to music playing from another room? And you're singing along because it's a tune that you really love? When a door closes or a train passes by so you can't hear the music anymore, but you sing along anyway...then, no matter how much time passes, when you hear the music again, you're still in the exact same time with it. That's what friendship is like.

(Quoted by some bloke on his gtalk status message….)

I miss some people,
I miss some days.
I miss those curses we shed on each other,
I miss those dark alleys, the ones we lighted with our cigarettes,
I miss some punches,
I miss some girls, who never turned twice,
I miss good old wickedness, as light as forever,
I miss those stupid cravings to mess around,
I miss those walks to the tea-shop, where conversations never mattered,
I miss some photographs,
I miss some colored festivals, those with mud flying all over,
I miss the dirty ragged bed, and its companion, the creaking ceiling fan,
I miss some annoying, some pleasing, some arbitrary, some just plain pain in the ass,
I miss a guitar, drums, a mic and a bass guitar,
I miss some summers, plain t-shirts and jeans,
I miss my heart,
I miss myself,
I miss the devil,
In the end, I miss my third wing; this angel could never have flown away without his third wing.
I miss some people,
I miss some days.

For the corridor called third wing of Godavari hostel. A place where I spent only two years, but ended up learning to fly, ended up being comfortably numb, ended up exploring the dark side of the moon…..and now, wish you were here……

Was listening to: “Anuva’s Sky” by Blackstratblues. 3rd July. 2 a.m.

The prisoner

Smoking the last part of the left over cigarette
Clashing with myself over the designs I have crafted
Waiting for my unpretentious fingers to get inspired
The smoke talks to me in codes and tries to tell me something,
I ignore it completely, living life in my hole.

Unlike the desert, this heart is not as crude and unfinished
It’s not like the noon’s brazing sun
This heart is like the cool night’s cool, a monsoon wind;
In which desert travelers watch their last wood burn
And the water’s of their oasis disappears, as we churn.

A small black cube is the art I unconsciously draw
With a black dead pen, on white clear paper
Now I know why I draw it;
‘Cos from inside the black cube room, I shout;
But I have never given it a window, from where to get out.

I have convicted myself to feel guilty
And I have confessed against myself in the higher court
I have enclosed inspiration in a bubble
A great escape from which is impossible
After all, I am the prisoner of my own prison room.

Written on 2nd of July. Was listening to "Little bit of this" by Helga's Fun Castle.