The Fool

The yellow moon in an orange, and the smoke on the streets
He saw the bodies and heard sobs and screams
The dame by the alley, and the widow by the broken window
Rich men’s pride and the naked monk’s wisdom
The mighty facades, and the stink of secrets buried within,
Though neglected these facets of life passed
From the edge of his grave, the fool smiled, as he saw it all.

An unmarried mother, a doped brother
The pretty girl singing requiems,
He saw pointless wars, and sacred propagandas
The fat belly’s of ageing sailors, and the whitening brow of losing fathers,
He saw people who became friends and the strangers who lost themselves to trends,
The breeze sang and waves roared
The stars burned, planets turned, and galaxies shattered themselves off existence, forever
Men and women succumbed to their desirous lives
While, from the edge of his grave, the fool saw it all.



Find me a shade darker than the shadows
of all men, and beasts
Let me wallow in it, let all my agitated senses rest
Lend me a silence that surpasses that of the dead, and decayed
Let no voice be heard, no song be played,
Gift me the isolation that reigns over the stretches of the Thar
And let me the repose of soldiers dead in the war,
Let a bleak ambience take over my shape, and my soul
Make me a shade darker and stranger than the ghosts
Let me be forgotten as those trifle twigs that make up a sparrow’s nest
Find me a cocoon in which like an oblivious worm, I can lay myself to rest.


Keep your petty sarcasm to yourself
You 10-to-7 money-cum-ass lickers,
All your acts are as hollow as you are,

Which side of paradise are you going to buy with your money?
A castle on a mountain or a penthouse by the seaside,
Your shadows reek of dishonesty,
Your games mirror your shallowness,
As you stoop low to feed your pointless existence,

My mind wonders as it witnesses your joy in the false triumph,
That you try to conceive more than children,
Looking up and down at each other when you should look in the eye,
And your deception is so obvious
That it almost makes me smile inside
and instills sheer disgust,

And such lowly your ideas of prying are
That I feel like puking on the computer,
You and your groups and the groupies within them,
(Who the FUCK are you to test me?)
All your dreams and desires feed on others,
And you deserve the company of each other and none else,

So that you can preach, pry, deceive and lie,
Live your life in and for the 10 to 7,
And then you die.

( I hope you go to heaven)

What do you do?

What do you do?
When you have nothing to.
Do you sit by the window,
And look out, 
Look out at the world,
Wonder, what it is like to be that bee that hums and hovers over that red rose,
Or think about the decisions you made; the path you are walking on; and the people you chose.

Are you disturbed when you are alone?
Shhh! Come close
Close to yourself. 
Its cozy and comfy and lonely,
Better than those who are but are not
And those too who want to and cannot.

What do you do?
When you have nothing to.
Do you look into the mirror
And embrace the facade,
Click yourself and then edit
Whilst nature loses its credit.
Or do you rather see into your eyes
Try to locate the scars on your soul.

Is there a want of death lurking  about?
Hmmm! Shut up. 
Why to bother with it,
Or why to try to grasp its arms,
It is on its way to you anyhow.
So, you better live and act
Before the final bow.

What would do you do?
If you had something to do.
Hold someone's hand and with them stay
Or by yourself walk away,
Chain yourself with the laws meant to bound
Or hustle to change the things around,
Sweat and bleed to carve your way, 
Or would you let go and give away,
Dream a reality
Or lose yours to a dream,
Mediate in silence
Or burst out in screams,
Try to find what you desire
Or would you lose yourself in the world's mire,
If you had something to do?
Would you hold someone's hand and walk away
Or in your solitude forever stay.

At my behest

At my behest
At my behest,
Get me a decaying leaf,
Or a new born butterfly,
Life of a dead thief,
Or demise of a woman sly.
Get it to me now, come on
Bring me a broken pencil,
Or may be a coral red,
Get me an unfilmed reel,
Or a flower dead.
Get up, will you now,
Listen! Just bring me a lantern,
Or a half burnt cigarette,
Show me a haunted mansion,
Or may be a mystical amulet?
Don’t be so rude to me,
Just bring me a candle,
Or show me a dug up grave,
Or your old bycles’ handle!
May be a hidden cave?
At my behest,
At least get me a picture,
Or instead a bottle of rum,
For all my inspiration is lost,
And my lady refuses to come.

The reel

The reel

In some way or the other
Memories find their way,
In some form or the other
They creep into my heart,
And rewind the reel of life
Taking me back to the start.
And then again play
But on fast forward,
The film of my past,
As myriad images of myriad people, and moments begin to flash,
Both good and bad-
Both joyous and sad.
And they play on, until
They trace back to my aching heart,
And to me, in the present,
Where I sit in solitude
Watching, as they fall apart.