Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Last Cigarette


As the last cigarette
Burns itself down my throat
Leaving behind burning eyes
Filled with smoke
And as the late night movie
Takes its final bow…
I hold my breath within
Afraid of losing the fragrance
Of burnt skin.

I pick up my pen
Out of the obsessive compulsion
To describe what stirs inside
Just to grasp…
The longing to write the last lines about you
Yet she refuses to be ignored
And the last cigarette
Refuses to be burnt out
And I wait…

Smoke fills the room
Blurring my vision
Or, maybe, I have closed my eyes.
Certainty, is the cost
Of my last cigarette
It’s a pain to let go
Yet I know,
That you would kill.
As I refuse to put out…the last cigarette

I know I will return to you.
Holding fire is a pleasure
You can’t let go of.
But it’s not with pleasure
That my soul’s your slave
It’s not by choice but by a ‘un-understood’ force
That I bow…
To what I hope, dearly
To be my last cigarette.

Friday, November 28, 2008

Blood Soaked Mirage


They burned the tree
That owned my soul.
Using the womb as a weapon
To suffocate the desire…of survival.

They took me to the gallows
And death smiled
All I could do was smile back
The fear of light…as I walked out of darkness

They felled the mighty oak
The shadow
Of what once was might.
But, remorse was not what they felt

They killed.
For the guilty pleasure
Of the taste of blood
Killed…out of fear of me

Annihilation is what they want for me
Order of death is proclaimed…
Yet they cannot kill what is me…
For I am not a man…just an apparition

So they burned the tree
That owned my soul
And when, enough men have died
Maybe, we will be free


....EXPRESSING SOLIDARITY WITH MY FRIENDS IN MUMBAI AND TELLING THOSE WHO FEEL THEY CAN SHOCK US INTO SUBMISSION...WE ARE AND WILL ALWAYS BE INDIANS.
MAY THE SOULS OF THE DECEASED REST IN PEACE

Monday, November 17, 2008

Wanting Her


Love was not just a game I played
To buy shelter
To walk alone or to follow her
Without question and thought of surrender.
But, she was broken
Long before the sky broke for her…

Treacherous were the alleys
Wondrous was the pain
To hold on…
Like the condemned man’s faith in God.
To build on a broken faith…
Long before faith was ever discovered

Yet, I wanted to follow
To feel her lustrous body
With the ecstasy of my mind
To lift her spirit
Higher than the wind swells.
But she was broken…
Long before the sky broke for her.

Wanting to find the destination
Of the departing night
To look for the symmetry
Of two bodies in unison.
Take away the desire from my being…
Yet, I wanted to follow.
But she was broken…
Long before the sky broke for her.

Monday, November 3, 2008

Faith Lost


Integrity lost.
In the lingering moment,
Spent on your naked eyes.
Faith lost.
In the eternity spent,
In fighting…

The death sentence,
A frivolous exercise in power
Faith lost.
In the words
Of a stranger…
Of was-a-lover.

The nauseating dive
In the last attempt to hide my face in your thighs
Yet thrown away. Questioned.
Faith lost.
In life…In moments…
In what was once the time…when rain fell.

Monday, October 27, 2008

Lust for Eternity


We, of the golden sunsets
Are no longer the same…
The smell of rain
Hidden away in your warm breasts
Lost forever to the glittering skyline
In the dreamy silence of windswept rooftops

I have desired you, luscious one
Warmth and pain.
The distant night bathed in loneliness,
The tentative soul afraid of losing control.
A few eternities in a few handpicked moments
Is all I have left of you…
But I am greedy for a few eternities more.

I have missed you…
You, of the crystal sunsets
You of the enigmatic eyes…
And I have made you the Queen
So let’s dance…
To the rhythm of our nude embrace
And make eternity ours.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Embrace


The pilgrimage of the blind alley
Where the dreamy poet
Coughs up blood
On the wall of some nondescript whorehouse
Wishing he was left in peace
To be in harmony with the beautiful madness of creation

Bathed in the crimson waters
Holding moonbeams in his hands
He looked up to the lucid chaos of his epiphany
Wishing he could share it with the immense night
Which she shared with him…in his arms
From where she had succeeded in escaping

She slept peacefully…Assured he held her close
In the utopian haven of his embrace
She slept in peace…
She slept forever…

His soul was not satisfied
That he had lost her
He still held her close…feeling her presence linger on…
In the safe haven of his embrace
Blaming himself for suffocating her…when he held too tightly
In the peaceful oasis of his heart, protected by his restless madness
He dreamt…

Monday, September 29, 2008

Rain Messenger's Diary 7...God & I

“ Bhagawan, Nomo Koro…”(that’s God bow to him)…these three words said with a tinge of righteous indulgence by numerous relatives are my first memories of this omnipotent and omnipresent being. The numerous idols and various shapes in which “Bhagawan” came was a real fascination for me but my first tiff with him started when at the age of 5-6 I started to wonder what exactly had he done to deserve my respect…and with the innocence and doggedness of a child who is convinced that he has stumbled upon the most important and hitherto overlooked question of the universe…I started to question my relatives “Bhagawan ke nomo keno korbo?” (why should I fold my hands and bow in front of God?)

A lot of rolled eyes and obvious rhetorics like “because you are supposed to…(as if that was an answer to my why)…” later I got one answer which I approved of, “ because God taught us the difference between right and wrong, good and evil, light and darkness.” God, as a teacher was an idea which appealed to my six year old senses and justified the respect showered on him.

But, God turned out to be quite a strict teacher with a penchant for doing just the things he is not supposed to do like punishing kids who did not talk in class and therefore, I soon began to grudge his presence.

His adamant omniscience and omnipresence and his fascist dictatorial and blatant refusal, to let his students pass and go to the next class and consequently a new teacher, absolutely ticked me off. I revolted with all the 7-8 year old fury I could muster.

But, after all He was the teacher and I, a mere humble student, afraid, hesitant and full of guilt of doing the “wrong” thing. He did not help. He did not choose to show me anything that could win my faith. The reasons present accepted and known for evoking faith started appearing hollow, with people asking me to bow to a great ball of fire (the sun), that really was the last straw!! After all, I had my back to consider and it was not possible to bow so many times without doing some kind of damage to it and when I knew that the great ball of fire was neither benign nor benevolent and it was a mere chance that he bestowed us with light, and any closer to his divine self, all prayers notwithstanding, he would burn us to cinders, which anyways is our final fate.

I decided it was something I had to find out for myself, questions that I had to ask myself, answer myself and even correct them myself ( if only exams were like that…). The Herculean task turned out to be much more testing than any examination I had been asked to sit for. It was a journey taken to question things that appeared so obvious that nobody seemed interested in even sparing a thought to it.

In the course of this tryst with God my question started to change from “why God?” to “How can people be so blind?” I could understand the Neolithic man’s fear of the elements and hence their primaeval Gods but how could we in the 21st century still hold on to a concept that was so obviously baseless…our behaviour with all our knowledge was as primordial as that of the Neolithic man. The other thing that really shocked me was that the fear and fundamentalism on this issue was so deep-seated, so deeply ingrained into our system, that most of the times we do not even realise that almost all of our actions and words could be attributed to it.

As one of my friends once said when I asked her, why she wore a burqa to school in today’s world, when she is being educated, a student of science and the future of the emancipated woman, she simply replied, “it’s what we are supposed to do…” the ambiguous do’s and don’ts which we so “religiously” follow never really strike us and no one bothers to stop and scrap the useless junk. Another of my friends one day vehemently tried to convince me, why it was so necessary to be religionistic and why he could not be touched by me after I had non-vegetarian food.

I was shocked or rather so tempted to laugh at this entire debacle of the Super-Being that I kept quiet. God, shed all his halos for me that day.

Since, ages from Brahmins to priests God has just been a tool of the biggest con game of the history of mankind-RELIGION.

I denounced God, not because he did not exist but for the hypocrisy of men who forced him to exist. I would have bowed to Christ, the man but I simply refuse to believe in Christ who turns water to wine. I would pray to Mother Teresa but I hate the church that looks for “miracles” to award her Sainthood. I refuse to bow to the chauvinistic Ramakrishna who makes his wife walk back 100kms (as no other conveyance was available at that time) just because he feels that she has started her journey at an inauspicious time.

God & I go back a long way, we rarely agree, often fight and almost always avoid each other. When, it comes to me, God turns deaf and blind, and what can I say for people who still believe in “HIM”………..GROW UP.

Friday, September 26, 2008

Fear


I shiver…
Thankfully, time marches
The unknown fear of the known sensation
Triggering the pain…from the vault
Of the unstrung violin
I am tired…
Of the eternal desire to sleep
Scared of the new mirror…
Showing the old image
Held in the shackles of freedom,
I want to escape
The embrace of a new lease of life…

I shiver…
Thankfully, it is raining
No one notices…but I know inside…
And I cringe
No one realizes…yet I know
I am scared…
Of the old river on its course
Afraid of the cruel dance of death
She might indulge in…
Yet the rainbow shines
And makes me want to forget the devastating flood
Making me cruel…
With a desire to live

The uncertainty of the individuality
Of my manic depression
And the desperate confusion
Of unexplored and misconstrued love
Halted by a brief journey
I shiver…
Should I live…again?

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Pyre Of Senses


Essence of the invigorating blue sky
Assaults my senses…
I feel them burning inside
Unable to tear away…
From the sun reflected in the innocent clouds
Like a deer caught in a spotlight

The unsatisfied desire for hunger…
The unfulfilled hope…I will feel…
I feel my senses burning inside
Yet, I have found an oasis of peace
But, I can’t drink…
I have been tied to the edge of my angel

The canopy of green beauty
Insults me, they torture me
Filling me with visions of the sky
After clipping my wings…
A cruel glimpse of infinity
Just to remind, that I am cursed

Dreams they came and went
I am left standing
Bloody torn shreds of flesh
Faith has left me cold…my heart in the grave
I stand alone…I can feel
The smell of burning senses

Monday, August 25, 2008

Brittle Sky


The heart grew heavy today.
Overcast skies. Drizzling rains.
Bittersweet nostalgia in the lackadaisical life-journey
A brief halt before pushing open the half shut door
Stepping in to find the fan turned off…yet turning in its inertia
You are inside…
I wondered why was I back…inertia?

The brittle sky breaks open…again
Why can’t I cry as easily?
But, no I don’t want to cry…
Before waking up from half-awake dreams
Before accepting that I have lost…yet again
The white freedom on the greydom is no longer a solace

The cry of anguish has lost itself in my throat
And I stare…The brittle sky breaks…again
I want to find you
In the prelude of tomorrow’s song
I want to ask you
Why you sentenced me to this weary fight…
How can I fight a shadow?

The rain grew heavier…outside…
I am still standing on the threshold of your house
Trying to push open…what was once your door
The door is gone…
But the void is more solid than any wall…
You are gone…and I’m back…inertia
The brittle sky keeps breaking.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Coward


In the darkening skies
Of a cloudy Sunday afternoon
I lost you…to the clarity of thought
I sacrificed you…to the demands of reason

There was nothing I could do…
Yet, I do not plead innocence
For I saw your eyes
Your eyes which had faith…I would do justice…

I left you to the hounds of night
I abandoned you to the gutters
Yet you did not lose faith…
Only a veil of sadness passed your eyes

There was nothing I could do…damn you…
There was nothing anyone could do…
You had challenged society…
I couldn’t stand by you

You refused the abortion in the discreet nursing home
You refused reason…
I had to stand by it…
Yet you had faith…I would do justice…

Why don’t you blame me?
Scream…Curse and hurl accusations
I know I was guilty…but you chose to hide it
Thirty years later I realise why…silently you had branded me…a coward.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Looking For An Answer


Let there be an answer…
To the broken hearts
And the broken dreams
To the shattered lives
And the blood on the streets

Let there be an answer
To the worst in us
And the business of death
To the villainy called politics
And the burden called life

Let there be an answer
To the storm raging in every soul
And the dampened fire extinguished in fear
To the quietened spirit
And the battered morale

Let there be an answer
To human greatness
To the love of existence
To the right of life
To the passion of love

If there’s an answer
I would like to know it
If there’s an answer
I dare you, to show it.

Sunday, July 6, 2008

Shadow of A Dream


In the shadow of a dream
We lived.
We thrived.
And awoke in the sunrise of unspoken dreams
Throwing a challenge to the passing winds
We laughed.
We fought.
And found each other in the death of night.
Woken up in the silence of deafening thoughts
We kept quiet…
And heard the smile
Over the mute telephone line
And took comfort in the warmth of our embrace
Tentative were the faltering steps
Yet we found strength
To follow the elongating shadow
Of the setting sun

I live in the sparkling sunshine
Mesmerised by the beauty of my existence
Yet I miss the shadow…
Of the unexplored dreams…

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Rain Messenger's Diary 6...Tongue Tied and Twisted

Man developed. On the face of it this statement sounds incomplete and is in fact so, as it leaves the basic question “To What?” unanswered. We, however do not have the right to ask this question, as we really do not realize the implications of such a question.

It is the question of centuries, a question raised by philosophers only to be dealt with in a childish manner, to give unnatural answers. It is a question that has resounded in the aisles of history, whispered in the leaves of time. It is the question that we all have the answer to but are fatally unable to confess to ourselves the reality of our parasitic existence. We live in a monstrous world where “respect” is “fear”, “admiration” is “envy” and “pity” is a “virtue”…a world where we bow down to the escapists, who ran away in fear of fighting it out, and worship them, considering renunciation as the identity of a higher spirit.

Facts, irrevocable truths lie naked in front of us, yet we choose to look the other way…axioms irrefutable in their honest finality are ignored for the “public good”. Sometimes, I am filled with helplessness, frustration and anger at the fact that we live in a world where most of our basic premises are flawed and contradictory…on the basis of which we can easily pass judgements of “right” and “wrong”, premises which more often than not are against human nature, yet we do not question…we accept.

How many of us can accept the fact that we give someone a gift not for the pleasure of the person but for the pleasure of “me” giving it to that person. It is self-indulgence and accepting the fact that there is nothing wrong with it is true virtue. Our souls are twisted beyond repair, blackened with the perversions of human weakness and we look at other degenerates for support…to convince us that we are the real humans, and being in pain is a glory to be worn as a medal…to earn pity as the rightful payment…to gang up on the few individuals with untainted souls, with their ability and capacity of being happy as their only weapon, like a swarm of locusts and suck them dry…not for the joy of defeating a greater opponent after having fought a battle but for the guilty pleasure of killing a mighty hero under the guise of a friend in the dead of night when he was sleeping. The most monstrous thing even more evil than this (if it is possible) is that we do it under the garb of self righteousness when we really do it out of fear.

The lights are going out, the lights that drove nations to their glory, lights of rationality, lights of the ability of men…they are being extinguished by the terrible moral axiom of “we need to give to the poor, because he needs it.” It is as if the impractical, general idea of his need granted him all the rights on the property of a man’s ability. We see a sculptor or a painter dying of starvation, yet not asking for pity or help, because he is confused as to why, he can’t survive, as he is sure that he has every right to survive, as he offers a trade of food in exchange of his work. His dedication and ability in exchange of their payment, but we refuse to pay him, because in this world ability is a flaw, so we pay those who use their pain, problems and have-nots as a certificate of their right to get without offering anything in return. The fault is not at being needy (need here does not just mean the need of money it encompasses all needs of humans), the crime is in making it a weapon using someone else’s pity for him as a lifeline for existence. The only yardstick that should exist is ability and a man’s capacity to experience pride in his achievement. Nowadays, it is an accepted notion that success is attributed to the “people”-----the nameless, faceless multitude who crawl out of the woodwork to take every benefit that they can take and yet drawl on the injustice, of how unfair life has been to him-------this is the man plaguing us today, this is the man against whom we have to safeguard ourselves.

Two things in this world had led me to think of this disease growing in mankind and feel the horror of what would be the fate of the world…They were “the strike of the mind” explained by John Galt created by Ayn Rand and a song by Kabir Suman called “Magoje Curfew”(the curfew in the brain). I cannot imagine a “mind”-less society where there is no purpose, where men feed on the ability of another, where the blame game is a part of the day…yet, I live in one.

We still debate “Money is the root of all evil” in non-absolute terms, somewhere believing in it but we would be ostracized and devastated if somebody would tell us that “Money has always been the source of all good”. It stands for the best quality in us---to produce and to trade and take value for one’s ability, take ownership of it. I can’t help quoting Ayn Rand again---“Money requires that you sell your talent to the other’s reason…it is the symbol of man’s goodwill”. The words on a banknote “I promise to pay the bearer a sum of—” are the most profound words of human history, they are not the words of the beggar who gives excuses and blames the universe for his inability to produce but it a tribute to the man who takes pride in his ability to act and to produce.

Thomas Moore talked of Utopia, here’s what I think of it, Utopia is a land where no man is afraid of another because of his ability of being greater than him, and where people do not leave life to the hopelessness of the fact that death is inevitable but makes that the reason to live for all that is worth. What can I say—
“You may say that I am a dreamer, but I am not the only one. I hope someday you will join us and the world will live as one”— one with a purpose.



[P.S. Sometimes, I wish there really was a Galt Gulch— forgive my moment of weakness Ms. Ayn Rand]

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Rain Messenger's Diary 5...Across A Thousand Wants

There was a time when I wanted to be free but then I realized it wasn’t easy. The stranglehold of circumstances was forcing me to react rather than take charge of it. I tried to fight it as there was a time when I wanted to be courageous but then I realized that courage was just a measure of how desperately you wanted to shield your cowardice.

I believed in my capacity of being happy. Emotions or feelings were not who I am, merely symptoms for those capable of seeing…to understand who I am. ‘I’ stood alone…distant from feelings…from fear…from mediocrity…from the monstrous virtues of the world…‘I’ stood free...‘I’ stood because ‘I’ existed…I survived…I loved every bit of it…not the spiritual enlightenment…I never believed in it but loving the very physical aspect of my existence…taking pride at the capacity of being able to look at myself with a detached pride.

I met a woman.

The feeling was not tender…the feeling of was not of a loving companionship…mellow and mild…it was a volcanic eruption shaking the very principles of my existence, it was the feeling of ownership and the feeling that I would gladly subjugate every bit of me to that which was mine and still the victory would be mine…

Victory…I know it is an unlikely word to use while talking of love…but you see, I do not believe in love as you believe in it and it doesn’t matter to me if you cannot identify with it…what for you is the base ‘lust’ is for me the crowning glory of my love…the celebration of my life…the exaltation of our existence.

She mocked me.

She held me at her power. She owned me. She knew that I who took pride in my power to be ‘I’ would stoop…would bargain anything and still want her …she teased me as a passing pastime not even worth a second glance…she insulted me and each insult, to me was a kiss sealing our bond. She broke me. There was no joy in her victory, but we could not exist together. She was too free and I wanted her to fly in my sky. She broke me because I was weak…She broke me because she understood that I needed to be broken.

She broke me…so I love her.
I know my love for her is worse to her than being lashed with a spiked whip…she bleeds.
We both travelled across a thousand blades, detesting each other…fighting each other and yet holding on desperately as if to our last lifeline.

Then, she broke apart.

The purpose in my life was gone and I was the most depraved being—the man without a purpose, yet somewhere I knew I had it in me. My strength was the ability to act…I had lost it. For months, I did not even look for it seeking refuge in the revoltingly cheap consolations…nothing really can be done…nothing really makes a difference…you have done your best…or the worst of all…everything will be alright.

Along came a friend, not with the sympathy of a brutal killer but with the harsh discipline of a military general and with an assurance that almost seemed like an absolute truth…that the answer lies inside…and then I searched. It wasn’t easy, it was as if the universe conspired against me, the grief lay heavy on my heart, the barbaric betrayals drove me to violent bursts of anger yet I found the calm…as now I could act, now I knew the way, everything was easy. My friend held on. The pain of my effort finding expression in her face and the strength of her belief finding expression in my steady defiance... Greed--- that is the virtue…I discovered. The greed to be the best, to achieve what we can without compromises…without consideration of the unworthy have-nots because by being the best is how we can ‘best’ serve individuals………society does not exist, individuals do…and the only way to respect their existence is by respecting mine because if I don’t make a difference, who will? Now, I am greedy…

Again, I ask myself now…what do you want?
To be free, answers the friend inside.
Siempre…

Rain Messenger's Diary 5...Across A Thousand Wants

There was a time when I wanted to be free but then I realized it wasn’t easy. The stranglehold of circumstances was forcing me to react rather than take charge of it. I tried to fight it as there was a time when I wanted to be courageous but then I realized that courage was just a measure of how desperately you wanted to shield your cowardice.

I believed in my capacity of being happy. Emotions or feelings were not what who I am, merely symptoms for those capable of seeing…to understand who I am. ‘I’ stood alone…distant from feelings…from fear…from mediocrity…from the monstrous virtues of the world…‘I’ stood free...‘I’ stood because of ‘I’ existed…I survived…I loved every bit of it…not the spiritual enlightenment…I never believed in it but loving the very physical aspect of my existence…taking pride at the capacity of being able to look at myself with a detached pride.

I met a woman.

The feeling was not tender…the feeling of was not of a loving companionship…mellow and mild…it was a volcanic eruption of the shaking the very principles of my existence, it was the feeling of ownership and the feeling that I would gladly subjugate every bit of me to that which was mine and still the victory would be mine…

Victory…I know it is an unlikely word to use while talking of love…but you see, I do not believe in love as you believe in it and it doesn’t matter to me if you cannot identify with it…what for you is the base ‘lust’ is for me the crowning glory of my love…the celebration of my life…the exaltation of our existence.

She mocked me.

She held me at her power. She owned me. She knew that I who took pride in my power to be ‘I’ would stoop…would bargain anything and still want her …she teased me as a passing pastime not even worth a second glance…she insulted me and each insult, to me was a kiss sealing our bond. She broke me. There was no joy in her victory, but we could not exist together. She was too free and I wanted her to fly in my sky. She broke me because I was weak…She broke me because she understood that I needed to be broken.

She broke me…so I love her.
I know my love for her is worse to her than being lashed with a spiked whip…she bleeds.
We both travelled across a thousand blades, detesting each other…fighting each other and yet holding on desperately as if to our last lifeline.

Then, she broke apart.

The purpose in my life was gone and I was the most depraved being—the man without a purpose, yet somewhere I knew I had it in me. My strength was the ability to act…I had lost it. For months, I did not even look for it seeking refuge in the revoltingly cheap consolations…nothing really can be done…nothing really makes a difference…you have done your best…or the worst of all…everything will be alright.

Along came a friend, not with the sympathy of a brutal killer but with the harsh discipline of a military general and with an assurance that almost seemed like an absolute truth…that the answer lies inside…and then I searched. It wasn’t easy, it was as if the universe conspired against me, the grief lay heavy on my heart, the barbaric betrayals drove me violent bursts of anger yet I found the calm…as now I could act, now I knew the way, everything was easy. My friend held on. The pain of my effort finding expression in her face and the strength of her belief finding expression in my steady defiance... Greed--- that is the virtue…I discovered. The greed to be the best, to achieve what we can without compromises…without consideration of the unworthy have-nots because by being the best is how we can ‘best’ serve individuals………society does not exist, individuals do…and the only way to respect their existence is by respecting mine because if I don’t make a difference, who will? Now, I am greedy…

Again, I ask myself now…what do you want?
To be free, answers the friend inside.
Siempre…

Sunday, June 15, 2008

When Rain Falls


When rain falls…
On the evening sky
Shattering the sombre silence
With the sparkling swords
Unleashed from grey sheaths
The world looks up to see
The pattern of eternity
Etched on infinity
Waiting to be deciphered…
Waiting to be understood…

When rain falls…
On the dawn-lit end of night
Heralding the morning freshness
With a platter of myriad colours
Trespassing on sun’s kingdom
While it looks on with indulgence
The present of love
On the grey-dom of humanity
Waiting to be embraced…
Waiting to drown…

When rain falls…
I wonder…
Would it rain…
Just for me…
To hold on to…and live

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Rain Messenger's Diary 4...On Atheism

Revolution and Religion, two of the most abused words in history, which has become synonymous with hypocrisy, façade and elaborate masquerades behind which details of human being’s fall is hidden. The story of death, power-hunger, and human(dead, usually…)ladders. From the Jehads to the Crusades to riots, it has served but one purpose that of anarchy and ultimate ruin of common man while keeping some happy enough to sing the glory of a shaped-stone.

The utter uselessness of the demarcations of the “super-being” and consequently, the outrageous con of creating a “super-being” is so ridiculously evident that most choose (safely…) not to see it. And, thus came…the ‘Nastiks’, ‘Kafirs’ or ‘Atheists’ branded, ostracized from society looked upon as pitiful beings for whose souls the other “blessed” souls must pray. Thus, came the handful of men unrelated and unknown to each other but bound by a deep courage to face the truth rather than live clutching a fairy tale. Men who would accept the truth that we are terribly alone and nobody is watching over us or our actions (except maybe the police at times…) and we must face the consequences alone…no benevolent God to bail us out of this one…

The point of this article is not, however, to reprimand those “lolly-pop” sucking kid-adults who are still engaged in childish games of bowing to a burning ball of gas which will unwaveringly bring about their ultimate ruin…or dangerous ones such as killing other fellow-children in the name of petty tribal feuds…called clash of religious ideals or riots. The point of this article is to talk to or about the pseudo-atheists or theists corrupting atheism as they have no idea about what atheism is.

Atheism is not being different as a stunt like a crow wearing peacock’s feathers nor is it meant to be a statement that “I’m a hero…courageous and valiant…O’ bow to me…”... then he is the most religious person ever…because he seeks a fan-following. But, most importantly atheism is not meant to be spread for the simple reason that it cannot be spread. It is a realization of ideas…of facts already present. It has to be done by oneself…trying to spread it, is like explaining that time is relative to a kindergarten student…(now please do not get cute with me, atheism cannot be taught even when the kids grow up…for the reason that people who believe never grow up…they live in “belief”-land.) Atheism also does not mean looking down on people…lets look down on the fundamentalist chameleons but please, let us learn to differentiate between them and honest victims who really do believe in religion. Atheism is about letting them be…it is about standing against everything that religion stands for…group-ism…do’s and don’ts…divide and rule.
Atheists are meant to be people quiet not vociferous in their knowledge but at the same time firm in their conviction of the truth. Atheists are meant to be people restrained not overboard about proving that they are right but at the same time holding on unwaveringly to the fact that they are right…and wait for the change in tide of things.
Atheism is an extreme philosophy, it does not stand for half measures…either you are an atheist or you are not…if you are not then why pretend?

Rain Messenger's Diary 4...On Atheism

Revolution and Religion, two of the most abused words in history, which has become synonymous with hypocrisy, façade and elaborate masquerades behind which details of human being’s fall is hidden. The story of death, power-hunger, and human(dead, usually…)ladders. From the Jehads to the Crusades to riots, it has served but one purpose that of anarchy and ultimate ruin of common man while keeping some happy enough to sing the glory of a shaped-stone.

The utter uselessness of the demarcations of the “super-being” and consequently, the outrageous con of creating a “super-being” is so ridiculously evident that most choose (safely…) not to see it. And, thus came…the ‘Nastiks’, ‘Kafirs’ or ‘Atheists’ branded, ostracized from society looked upon as pitiful beings for whose souls the other “blessed” souls must pray. Thus, came the handful of men unrelated and unknown to each other but bound by a deep courage to face the truth rather than live clutching a fairy tale. Men who would accept the truth that we are terribly alone and nobody is watching over us or our actions (except maybe the police at times…) and we must face the consequences alone…no benevolent God to bail us out of this one…

The point of this article is not, however, to reprimand those “lolly-pop” sucking kid-adults who are still engaged in childish games of bowing to a burning ball of gas which will unwaveringly bring about their ultimate ruin…or dangerous ones such as killing other fellow-children in the name of petty tribal feuds…called clash of religious ideals or riots. The point of this article is to talk to or about the pseudo-atheists or theists corrupting atheism as they have no idea about what atheism is.

Atheism is not being different as a stunt like a crow wearing peacock’s feathers nor is it meant to be a statement that “I’m a hero…courageous and valiant…O’ bow to me…”... then he is the most religious person ever…because he seeks a fan-following. But, most importantly atheism is not meant to be spread for the simple reason that it cannot be spread. It is a realization of ideas…of facts already present. It has to be done by oneself…trying to spread it, is like explaining that time is relative to a kindergarten student…(now please do not get cute with me, atheism cannot be taught even when the kids grow up…for the reason that people who believe never grow up…they live in “belief”-land.) Atheism also does not mean looking down on people…lets look down on the fundamentalist chameleons but please, let us learn to differentiate between them and honest victims who really do believe in religion. Atheism is about letting them be…it is about standing against everything that religion stands for…group-ism…do’s and don’ts…divide and rule.
Atheists are meant to be people quiet not vociferous in their knowledge but at the same time firm in their conviction of the truth. Atheists are meant to be people restrained not overboard about proving that they are right but at the same time holding on unwaveringly to the fact that they are right…and wait for the change in tide of things.
Atheism is an extreme philosophy, it does not stand for half measures…either you are an atheist or you are not…if you are not then why pretend?

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Rain Messenger's Diary 3...The Singular in the Plural

Inspiration, they say, is a spark, a sudden unwarned entity that comes on you stealthily and claims its prey when you least expect it, which is totally unfair in itself, as I feel proper warning should precede such an inspiring bout. Creativity is equally uncooperative, even though it is said to be at its sublime best when you are close to nature reverent in its majestic power, it rarely comes at the moment when you want it to fill you. Both, however share a deep bond, its useless to have just one of them (maybe you can still work with neither as I have seen and heard many do) I, inevitably, find it beyond me to catch the both of them in what most heroes in thrillers could do in “one elegant fluid motion” . I am left “slipping and sliding” and looking for uncertain footholds in trying to express what I see or maybe, what I don’t see and rather would have seen.

I am writing this sitting on a lonely beach at night. It’s new moon’s night. I looked into the infinite darkness over the sea. It seemed there was nothing beyond except a huge void waiting to draw me in…of which I knew nothing. The absolute blackness was jarring…it seemed obscene, the perfection of the black envelope almost intruded on my senses it was almost as if it was a personal insult. It reminded me of the incorrigible sea of ‘humanity’…teeming millions yet unworthy of notice…unforgivable in its mediocrity…its forgettable convictions and its sickening desire to do with whatever is given to them as leftovers of someone’s charity.

Contrary, to what you maybe thinking now I am not bitter towards them neither do I feel pity…its just an observation of a statement like the sun rises in the east (forgive the cliché…somehow all of us come up with this only one example when talking of absolute truths in this relative world)…and in the irrevocable truth of the statement I also find a resigned acceptance of fate. I do not feel or dream to be the avenging crusader who will change the order of things. I merely, observe and sadly, comply with the mass trying to be “as honest as you can make of a dishonest thing”…as in spite of it all we are nothing else but an assimilation of masks and unabashed liars---human liabilities.

Call it weakness or cowardice but somehow I do not think the Howard Roarks (or maybe you cannot refer to them in the plural they are unique in their singularity) are real in today’s world. Is it really possible to hold on to one’s belief…one’s idea of ‘right’ in this world? In this world where truth is merely what the majority believes…Is it possible to hold out against all the scavengers of the hypocritical civilization with just one’s perception of the ultimate beauty as the sole weapon?

The strength comes from the acceptance of numbers and no matter how indifferent we are to their ignorance …it pulls us down. It is something like what we learnt in Physics called ‘group velocity’…you may have a very high velocity of your own but you are still moving at the group velocity.

However, this does not mean I believe in bending over or changing myself according to the whims of the mass, which sadly is more unstable than the Indian Bureaucratic system. It is just that I feel in order to make a small difference in the system you have to be part of the system. If you are out of it, then you are just an insignificant nonsense caught between the infinite void of the universe and the infinite void of the mass’ mind. We have to be singular in the plural.

It is surprising how people change in groups, how one’s perception of beauty with what other so-called experts say is beautiful. No one will ever say he disliked a piece by Rembrandt, because then people would question his sense and brand him naïve and hence, we blindly comply, we fall in, and march on to oblivion.

As long as it is complicated enough, or seemingly complicated enough to appear incomprehensible respect comes naturally to us, it is like the truant who respects all his textbooks but never touches them. How is it that one sees or recognizes perfection? It is again not advisable to talk of perfection in a world that believes in “self”-lessness…that believes in the greatest lie ever formulated---“working for the greater good” and “work without expecting results.

We are all egotists or rather we should really want to be egotists, to take pride in what we do and not crib and go crawling on our knees for approval, looking for redemption begging for pardon as for the sacrilege we have committed for doing something just because that defines us, makes us stand apart…ugly yet beautiful in its blatant refusal to be the textbook hero and ride into the sunset.

The greatest egotist is maybe Nature. Its insolent indifference to all the adulation and appreciation heaped on it by mankind and yet its absolute ignorance of the apparent insolence that it exhibits towards humanity, makes it so loveable to all of us and yet its distant beauty is never touched, seldom understood and rarely remembered but the Nature goes on. Its motive itself and herein lies its success. We are all lonely but how many find it in us to be indifferent to it?

The Sea Inside


I tried to learn from the sea
The ease with which
It finds harmony
In the ceaseless symphony of chaos

Driven by the unsatisfied hunger
The undefined urge to achieve
I sought its energy
To withhold the pressure within

The bittersweet nostalgia
Of meeting an old friend
Remembered in the crashing of waves
And the whiff of salty air

Stinging my eyes
Bringing unwanted tears
Yet it’s great to be back
To find that someone’s always there…

Friday, May 30, 2008

Rain Messenger's Diary 2...No Apague La Luz

“When the music’s over, turn out the lights.” –Hitler’s last words. Arguably, one of the best quotes of human history coming from the depth of human insecurity and the refusal to believe that the lights burn on forever, we are the ones who get extinguished in our journey towards the light. The most controversial, infamous character of maybe, all of time has something for us in his parting words.

Really, is there anything after we are gone…why can’t we believe that that I am…therefore the world is…and when I’m gone…so are the lights. The eternal music of life slowly fades out from inside us and in spite of our desperate screams of don’t turn off the lights, we will be left alone in the dark.

Terrifying though the thought is, not unlike the ingenious torture method of making one realize how puny, he is in the universe and how insignificant and unimportant his life is, we are forced to acknowledge one fact that we are the centre of our universe. All of us by nature are self-centered and we like to believe that we are important in the larger scheme of things. Take a short bus ride and you will find more than half the people trying to explain how indispensable he/she is in his/her field of work. We do not like to believe that we are replaceable and we find bliss in this life of denial.

Thus, we are content sucking on the candies of after-life and rebirth, refusing to believe that one day the game’s over. At this point however, I am forced to stop by a disturbing notion. Man really needs something to hold on to and the fact that one day ‘I’ (somehow using this word after one is dead seems meaningless to me) will have to go into an infinite abyss of darkness of which nothing is known and I will have to leave everything I worked so hard for…my entire life behind (am not sure whether ‘behind’ is the correct word to use as we do not or I believe we do not really go forward anywhere…termination may be a better word in the context) lets face it, is not the most pleasant idea I would like to wake up to in the morning.

Maybe, this is where the concept of ‘I’ comes back to us as very important, what if we can believe that everything is happening because of me and after ‘crossing-over’(once again am not sure of the phrase, because I really do not believe we cross something, we are physically spread all over the atmosphere as molecules is more like it…) all lights will be turned off and will be dark here, rather than where I am going…if at all we go anywhere. Somehow, I find what I understood in class 6 physics way more comforting than any of these…the law of conservation of mass completely assures us that we cannot be destroyed, we will always be there in some form or the other. Isn’t that what we want? Yes, I know your answer The Soul…but again its presence is quite controversial ain’t it, kind of like a 2kg cat eating 2kg of meat and still weighing 2kg…if that’s the cat where’s the meat…if that’s the meat where is the cat?? Even though it might be striking a hornet’s nest but I feel its brave of a man who can call for the lights to be turned off…because as I see it we are all afraid of the dark.

Taking a leaf out of Robert Frost’s book, where he puts forward an idea that death can be an inspiration for life…we can take life to be the limited day-time period after which there is darkness. This reminds me of a particular description in a book called The Hungry Tide by Amitav Ghosh where he talks of a village hospital, in the Sunderbans, which has been gifted a generator. This generator is run for only two hours every night and then there is absolute darkness. Everybody has attuned themselves to this to this routine such that there is a brief flurry of activity during this time and then there’s quiet. Life is somewhat like this two-hour generator time…a sojourn of sorts and we go back to our tryst with eternity.

I come back to the point where I started this unimportant, distracted and disheveled rambling…the fact that Adolf Hitler was a notorious man, notwithstanding, I find an acceptance of the truth in his last words but how many of us really dare to know, understand let alone accept the truth?

Friday, May 23, 2008

Rain Messenger's Diary 1....Wine of the Night

The urge to write…a sudden, overpowering desire, like the feeling of being forced to go through the merciless examinations against our deepest wishes, has suddenly taken hold of me. Thus, after having promised myself I will stop putting my thoughts into words here I am back again. Surprisingly, however, the desire to write though a peerless thing, has one fatal flaw, it simply refuses to come with the idea of what to write on. One of the biggest misconceptions or misinterpretations or “mis-potrayals” of human history is the statement that you never forget to swim or ride a bicycle. True, though the statement maybe it fails to crystallize the most important point that even though you do not forget it, it gets awfully rusted and every movement is strained. So, in spite of writing being my sole vent of my very insecure soul, I find every word strained, halted like the first steps of a baby into the new world. The difference is that the baby is very hopeful (or so we think it is…) about the world, I am still laughing at my audacity of thinking that words would come back to me again…

As I write, I reflect on the futility of our existence. We are all very busy running after an elusive purpose in our lives and in that desperate chase, unknowingly it becomes the purpose of our lives and we keep running. Unfortunately, in spite of being an asthma patient, physically unfit to run for long as my heart gets over excited at the prospect of running and starts running a 100m dash of its own, leaving me short of breath and gasping, life has refused to excuse me from jogging on this cartwheel that we call life .

There are times in a man’s life when he comes at a junction where he has to choose, or as somebody once told me, we never choose, because we never have a choice only an illusion of it, whichever you like but we start understanding that or maybe start getting used to the fact that “Zendagi Migzara”----life goes on. And, we dance along drunk in the wine of the night, exuberant in the omnipresence of our neon God and humbled by the power of our high priest Money. We adjust…make room for…give space to…sacrifice for the team…and give many more names for doing the same thing…LOSE.

The wine of the night has become our very existence, the very meaning , our only excuse for the insanity of this sane world…it has surrounded us…to the extent that whenever you see, people are falling in love with darkness…blackness defines them…we are happy with our grief…we are at home with the night yet the irony is once again we have somehow “managed”. Hats off, to this infinite human capability of adjusting… Even I love getting drunk in the El vino de la noche but what are we going to do about the hangover?

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Nights like These


Ecstasy of a mindless haze
The joy of numbed sensations
Yet, a night spent in rowing down the tear-lane
Why did he cry…he knew not…
But he took comfort in the warmth on his cheeks

Forgetting is easy in the crunch of his existence
His fight for survival gives him no space
Yet the blood flows from his unhealed wounds
He feels it not…and nobody sees it…
But on nights like these he takes solace
In the almost forgotten sensation
Of the unending black flow down his soul

He spends sleepless nights
Yet he waits not for sunshine
An irony that has become a part of his life
He wants, desires, craves and waits for…
The person who hates him the most
Through nights like these…he feels her again
And assures himself that he hasn’t yet forgotten

He is foolish…
Misunderstanding himself…his needs…
He goes on taking punishment…
Yet he doesn’t find redemption
In pain…he finds an ally
In love…he finds a mirage

Saturday, May 3, 2008

City Life


The morsel of blue sky
Snatched away by the windshield of my speeding car
Only for me…its beauty
To marvel and experience
Only for me…its caress
To feel and reflect

The whiff of fragrance of the spring blossoms
Amidst the acrid smoke of everyday running
A sudden reminder of a happy interlude
Amidst the usual gloom
Only for me…its message
To hear and keep
Only for me its glow
To bask in and rejuvenate

The calming presence of the imposing cathedral
Among the petty jungle of the concrete monster
The assurance of humanity
Among the maddening race of “belief”
Only for me…its embrace
To rest and cry
Only for me…its existence
To praise and glorify

In the meaningless bustle
Of the innumerable ants
I find you my love
Ever beautiful and forever young
My city life…

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Dream On


“The child is grown, the dream is gone.”
-Pink Floyd (Comfortably Numb)


Life has lost its meaning
We are all actors out all alone
With ever changing masks
Forgetting the faces we were born with…

We are taught to be successful
We are taught to survive
We are taught to live
Yet no one teaches us to dream.

Thus we exist with an excuse of a life
We wait for the perpetual stillness
The thick fog of silence…our only armour
Our only cloth to protect our nakedness from prying eyes

Yet we forget to dream…we relinquish our lives
In search of a better one
We continue with the show…weary actors of an outdated play
Doing the same roles for so long that we do not remember our selves

We all have philosophies
We clutch on to them as if it’s a lifeboat in a raging flood
We do not want to be washed away into the infinite abyss of nothingness
No one wants to accept the truth…no one wants to die

So we continue…
An insomniac’s dream…
Justifying our existence with petty victories
Yet we look down on those who dream…

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Touch Me Not


“I have a phobia that someone’s always there”
------ Iron Maiden (Fear of The Dark)

In my desperate search for freedom
In my futile search for loneliness
In an aborted attempt of escaping civilization
I always find you my guardian angel
O! Why don’t you just leave me…

Your presence triggers vengeful hatred
Bitter spleen… at being cuddled
Stop holding me…
Its time I walked alone
Please just go…

You never let me breathe
Give me back my space…
I always feel you there
Your stench makes me sick
Why don’t you let me live?

I am down on my knees
Let me sleep…
Loosen the noose of love
Give me a few precious moments of loneliness
Let me fall…Let pain bring me back to life.


Inspired by the artwork of Lois Cordelia(Picture of the same name as poem).An artist who never ceases to amaze me...another of her work which forced me to create something unworthy yet a token of my respect towards her genius. Please visit her site to see for yourself.http://loiscordelia.com/home.htm

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Sleep


I did not want to wake up today morning…
Feeling suddenly rebellious…
Wanting to throw away the peace of known restlessness
The comfort of accustomed hurry…

Yet there was no time for such wishes…
A lot had to be done and
I was stuck in a life…
I wondered where was I free…

Time refused to acknowledge my presence…
Marching ahead as obstinate as ever…
Trampling me like many others before me…
Who dared assume it could dictate him

Yet I did not want to wake up today morning
I wanted to laze and feel like the master of my own fate
In the deliberate extra minutes in bed...
Or maybe...I never wanted to wake up...

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Music

When music decides to flow
Crystallizing the momentous emotions
To honour those silent teardrops
To fill the empty pages of life…

Reverberating through the mindless void
Shattering frozen belief
Rejuvenating dead hope
To give meaning to the journey of the soul

Surrounding the very universe…
Hitting our very being…
Heightening our senses
To give solace to the wounded flesh

I bow in acknowledgement
As it encompasses and fills me
As it heralds winds of change
To make me aware that I am alive…

Hope You Understand


If you want…
I can be the storm
Powerful in its silence
Majestic in its magnificence

If you need
I can be the earth
Calm in its vastness
Fiery in its turbulence

Yet if you crave
I can’t come back
Even if you ask
I won’t turn back

If you look
I’ll always be there
If you feel
I will always love you

But I can’t hold you
If you fall
...I cannot breakdown
The unbreachable wall

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Flight of The Phoenix


Tenderness of love unbound
The exhilarating essence
The wild rush of a stampede of thousand mustangs
The drunk silence of the night

They left me raped, wounded my soul
The smell of a tremulous rose assaults my senses
A curse besmeared the golden words
And I was left alone

The black wings of a dark angel
The towering inferno in the mansion of love
Reprimanded for numerous mistakes
Slighted for every moment spent

Life’s taken a new meaning
Should I look forward to an unknown flight…
The pain of the crash still blinds my vision
Yet, I wish…I could fly

Futile Wishes


The transparent glass is now opaque
It’s hard to see the road ahead
Swirling mists have encompassed me
I am trapped in an airtight bubble

I am suffocated, frustrated and angry
The memory of your kisses burn my flesh
The longing of the warmth of your body
Makes me numb

I wish I knew what to do
I wish I knew the way out
But above all…desperately
I wish I had you back

Mistakes have been too many to count
Beautiful moments too few to mention
Yet I wish…
I could turn back time

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Colours On A Palette


Have you ever heard the story
Of the dried colours on a colourful palette
The story of promise broken
The story of falling from grace

I wish I could bring them alive…
To paint a butterfly’s dreams
To take flight on the rainbow highway
To give their shriveled lives a purpose

Do they ever wish…
To be part of someone’s masterpiece
To always bask in reflected glory…
What is their purpose

I wish there were odes written to them
Odes to life spent in being the wind beneath other’s wings
Forgotten and dried up…
Yet colourful in its anonymity…

Monday, February 4, 2008

A Journey…Interrupted but Continued


Woken up from the trance of love
Allow me to embrace the world as it is…
Let me feel the rhythm of life…
To discover what I lost but never realized

I seek to keep the pain with me
Just as a souvenir of the happier times
To experience the joy of success
To be the master of my own fate

Its been a long time since I felt the caress of your warmth
The joyride of my desires screeched to a halt
But, life, refuses to slacken its pace…
So, I keep up, the wound just a prickling scar of the past

I seek to undo the hopelessly complicated knot…
But, what is the fun, if life lies solved?
So, I leave it by…and move ahead…
Seeking to face the waves as they come…

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Phoenix Burning


Dawn came upon me with her gentle caress
With the beautiful reminder that night is past
Her warmth drove the pain away
I took flight on the strength of her kiss

The beckoning infinity emboldened me
I spread my wings…in the mad desire
To hug those beautiful clouds
Her companionship made me forget all wishes to land

My wings of fire took us to new heights
Rising on the crest of every wind swell
Soaring gracefully in tandem
All inhibitions left far…far below

My shadow unseen in the ground arose inside me…
It engulfed me…as you left me…
So, here I am at the end of another beginning
Crashed into night…I am the phoenix…burning…

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Wait


Bereft of all emotions
Windswept and raped
I stand free…

Robbed of sorrow
Happy and numb
I stand silent

Denied of sunshine
Cold and hidden
I stand alone…

Life in hand
A song on my lips
I stand dreaming…

Here I am
Standing…Waiting…Desiring…
That eternity will end

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Tonight


Tonight I can dance
Just to let go…
To forget that they are watching
All those fools who are judging

Tonight I can sing…
To the tune of dawn’s harp
Just to play hard to get
For all those who took me for granted

Tonight I can write…
Just for the joy of creating
Just to anger them
To break the rules they set

Tonight they have come to jeer…
All those who hurt and haunted me
All those who killed the dreams they made me dream…
So tonight…I break free…

Thursday, January 3, 2008

The Tree



The moon smiles at the gnarled tree
Rugged…Hollowed…
Ugly with scars of forgotten battles

No one knows why it stands…
Braving the mockery of the winds
Hiding the pain in some dark corner of his wooden heart…

Hope has become the greatest curse for him
Sunshine its greatest enemy…it bares him for the world to see
Rain gives the final blow…the fatal mockery of someone he adored

Yet he stands…
Remembering the music rain played on its leaves
The shivers that arose when she encompassed him

Now he wishes some merciful axe-man
Would come his way…
But no one has time for a useless knotted tree…

So he stands…
With cruel reminders of a beautiful past
Is it pity he feels for himself ?


SPECIAL THANKS TO LOIS CORDELIA
FOR THE BEAUTIFUL PICTURE WHICH INSPIRED ME PROFOUNDLY. AN AMAZING ARTIST.
http://loiscordelia.com/home.htm (Artwork Porfolio)
A MUST SEE FOR EVERYONE