Search This Blog

Followers

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

A Poet



A manufacturer of processed passion
A mechanic of broken dreams
A doctor of ailing souls
An engineer that bridges worlds
A seeker of love and meaning
A pilot of hope and dreams
He's a concubine of words never told

A plumber of broken common sense
A soldier of justice, a guardian of truth
A sultan of rhymes, a sailor of words
A slave of destiny, a master of will
A prisoner of life, a keeper of time
A servant of age, a messenger of peace
He's a broker of stocks never sold

He's a lover of life and a liver of love
He's a beacon for the young and the old...

Solitary Eagle




There is one eagle in the sepia sky,
And he's not the same old one.
His form is the same, but
His spirit has changed;
He's not clueless any more,
He's not troubled by the wind,
He's stopped circling around,
He's out from the endless spin;
There's no one by his side,
Except his wisdom and strength
And a pride of the world within him -
No, he's not proud like a rooster
Delusional and oblivious of the truth,
With bulging muscles and tight t-shirts,
And the loud cellphones and the cocksureness,
But more like the owl, waiting and watching
Sure of himself, not bothered by the rest;
And definitely like the eagle he's meant to be,
Soaring above everything else.

Boatman



You can't stop me from loving you;
You can close all the doors,
And lock all the gates,
Seal all the windows,
Place fences around your island,
Barricade the roads as well,
And I will still love you;
For even if I cannot have you,
I still have an idea of you,
And I have a pretty good idea too.
And my love is not a static one -
Not one that will get me stuck;
No, it's an infinite kind
That will take me away,
From one manifestation of you;
And seek out instead, all the
Other forms you may have -
And while the current is strong
And my boat might be frail,
I will fix a broken part each day;
And while the ocean is vast
And my will has no sail,
I won't put my paddles away...

Aquafina



We're inside a womb, all cozy and sound
With a corkscrew to hold us inside
Getting fed all the while, dreaming without a care
And then we pop out bubbling with tears
Coz the comfort is replaced by the chill of the world
With anxious faces and excited eyes
Passing on the ways of this world
You try and make sense till you find your own way
Through the nonsense that's accepted best
You're rushed through your school
Grinding wisdom away
And building skills from the powdered flour
You race on ahead with a hat on your head
With no time to stop and ask
To find out where you're headed
To figure if you'd like to go there
Or even if you're headed the right way
And if you're lucky and not murdered or raped
Or sent to the prisons or bombed or shot
Or become a victim of circumstance
Or just are in general a jinxed piece of flesh
Then you carry on as you normally do
Making babies, passing on the lies
Pushing them right into the mess, into
A world where wifi is cheaper than Aquafina
And we're fighting and polluting our souls
Over invisible lines and absconding gods
We're always catching up and never at rest
And we're so sure that we're on the right track
But I wonder if anyone read the fine-print that says
Best before 9 months from manufacture?


Play



I sleep a lot more these days
And I dream on when I'm awake;
For you're still with me inside my head,
Where I play all those moments again;
And when they're done, I create new ones
In places I'd like us to visit together;
And when I wake up, I seal my lips
With the kisses you plant in these dreams,
So they don't mind not uttering a word,
And don't distract you from your lines,
So you can play those careful parts,
Without mixing up names on-stage;
I chain my hands with your warm embrace,
So my fingers don't write a word;
But what do I do with every ounce of me
That reverberates with your memories,
And resonates with your thoughts,
Even as I try to walk away gracefully,
To be remembered or maybe forgotten
As a bad actor who forgot his lines,
And walked away without a second glance, for
I can't read these lines from the fringes
And I can't play the lead in your play.

Saturday, December 27, 2014

Asteroid






There was a collision, quite a spectacular one;
I, a rebel asteroid, and you a tamed planet
Doing your rounds patiently, until we crashed.
I guess you spun a bit out of your orbit,
And yeah, you stunned my reckless motion.
We're still dazed and bruised I guess,
A tad disoriented as we try to find a way;
And the way I see it, only two paths remain -
We can either totter back to our old paths,
And we can let time do what it does best,
And we can live with just these memories,
As I limp along mine and you roll back to yours.
I know there's nothing wrong there
Things have been carefully placed,
All you need is to get back in line,
And continue your way on that eternal fall;
But then I wonder why you didn't hurry along
When you saw me, and stopped to crash instead;
I wonder if there's a reason in this we don't see,
A possibility towards something greater,
And if we could script our own path together.
Down with the system, down with the anarchy,
As we hold on to each other, and take the plunge,
And just go where this life will take us -
You, a rebel planet, and I, a tamed asteroid. 



Monday, December 22, 2014

Tell Me Something I Don't Know

Tell me something I don't know
Like the chicken that hatched this world
And what our job role is in this office
And the fine print that we should read
Like what's the bonus for killing people
The incentives for being cruel
For climbing over people's heads
So we can achieve our goals

Show me something I don't see
What's not on TV shows
Like the sense in fighting over pieces of land
Or over imaginary gods and lines
Or Putting jewellery on pieces of stone
While millions starve to death
Hoarding happiness in the basement
Instead of passing it on

Sing me a song I haven't heard
A song about peace and calm
Of not drawing lines across the earth
Or raising fences on them
Or raising armies to defend our land
From walls we've ourselves built
Of what the premium on kindness is
That makes it rarer than gold

Show me a path I haven't tread
Where people don't judge but live
Where the world is not a convenience store
And cries aren't drowned with guns
Where we've made our peace with age and death
And money is just a tool
Where love and hope lead to brink of the sea
Where the ferryman waits for all...

Musings of a Poet

What does it take to write good poetry? I don't know, for I'm not sure if what I write is good. I don't know how I can tell, unless I'm told by a lot of people that what I write is good, but then not many people read poetry these days, so one can never really be sure. One yardstick is to check whether I am satisfied with my poetry or not. However, since that is pretty inconclusive by itself, let's just leave the adjective out for now and just talk about poetry -  good or bad. So how does one make poetry? This is not about the technicalities of writing poems or about meter. Of course, it does help if you know your elegies from your panegyrics and if you know your iambs from your trochees, but poetry is not about just rhyme and meter. Sometimes it is not about that at all. In fact these things could sometimes be constraints that you impose upon yourself, and the more you do this, the more you limit yourself from being able to express what you truly mean to say; and the first rule of poetry is to be able to truly say what you want. Thus, poetry is about speaking the truth. Every time you speak the truth or write the truth, it is poetry. By extension, poetry is also about expression - one must be able to express the truth - and here we are not talking about objective truths about the way things are - that we shall leave to the scientists. Here, we speak about the truth about what you feel - it could be about anything from a moving lobster on someone's dinner plate to a girl you meet at a bar to a beautiful countryside to a general existentialist interpretation about the way things are in this world, and as long as you are able to effectively express what you truly feel, you are on your way to making good poetry. All you need to do is to speak your heart out without restraining yourself. It is not about the form - a lot of beautiful poetry can be found in prose as well. Read some of Toni Morrison's or Marquez's work and you will see poetry running across the texts almost everywhere. So how does one distinguish between poetic and non poetic texts? How does one define a poem? I really don't know. I may not be able to define a poem, but then definitions are not what poets are best at - let's leave that to the logicians and the lexicographers maybe. What I do know though is that in poetry, the words always dance. Even when they are still, they are only acting as a pause in the general arrangement of the music. So when you see words dancing, you witness poetry, and the better the words dance, the better the poetry is. Poetry also has a certain mysteriousness about it -  the words seem to be talking about something at a level more abstract than what happens everyday. One must suspend certain regularities about how things usually function and be willing to enter a different realm where we are willing to read between the lines, and also above and below and around the lines - for the meaning is not exactly in the words being laid out, but hidden thereabouts somewhere. 

So how does one create this mystery? How does one make words dance? It's a lot similar to how one can make me dance - possibly the only way to make me dance - get me drunk! Get me drunk enough to shed my inhibitions and flow with the music - one with everything around;  but words don't get drunk on wine, or beer. It does help a bit, but then you don't want your creativity to outlast your liver by a huge margin, and so getting drunk to become a poet is not the best idea. Words get drunk instead on inspiration, and this inspiration goes well with turbulent passions and emotions. When there is sufficient inspiration and a sufficient stirring of passions and emotions, poetry arrives and words begin to vibrate and dance. This inspiration can come from anywhere - it doesn't necessarily have to be from love or from a heartbreak; although a heartbreak can sometimes help in creating these circumstances, it may not be a great idea to go around looking for a heartbreak in order to write good poetry, for even if one does get their heart broken and then manages to write good poetry, the poetry will always be the next best thing, for I would gladly exchange all the poems that have stemmed from a heartbreak to not have my heart broken in the first place; for it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, but it is better still to be able to love and not lose at all. So this inspiration and excited passion can come from anywhere at any moment. There is no point sitting and waiting for it; it will come when it has to, and when it does come, there will be no stopping it. It may help to go and look for it forcefully, but then one might end up missing on a lot of other great things laid out for you in life in the bargain, and these things may be a lot more important than being able to write good poetry. Who has time for poetry these days anyway? And of what good is this poetry we speak about? Plato had banished it from his republic, and although several people have defended poetry, these were mostly poets themselves. I haven't come across many non-poets standing up in defense of poetry. So what use does it have anyway? Why would one even want to write poetry?

There are two reasons to write poetry - one is for the self and the other is for others. Firstly, good poetry is honest, and honesty can seldom be a bad thing. So the first job of a poet is to be true, and to also be able to express this truth well. A poet must first try and find out the truth about himself or herself - and this makes everyone a poet, as long as one isn't merely flowing along with fashion and is instead trying to think about what he or she is truly made of, made for, and about what their purpose in this life is, about the beauty that might lie in the smallest drop or in the might of an entire ocean or the universe. One must also use poetry to conquer emotions, and be able to present perspectives about incidents that others may not have thought of before. Good poetry, therefore, is about seeing things from different perspectives, and it is also about saying things in different ways, to make it appeal to more people, to make more people connect with your ideas. Once a poet is able to do this, the next step is to become a beacon for society, to point out things that are not right, to point out areas that are hidden, and to do this in the most non-moralizing way possible. Good poetry is about showing a mirror to people in the form of words that they can understand. Simplicity, therefore, is an essential ingredient of good poetry. Of course a poem can have several layers but even at the simplest level, a poem must make sense to the most casual reader. All other allusions, craftsmanship, showmanship and wordplay can be then woven into this basic framework of the poem to make it more profound, so that people with varying levels of initiation can interpret it in many ways. A key to good poetry is to connect with as many people as one can, for while a vast portion of the meaning of the poem lies in the head that it came from, an at least equally vast portion of the meaning also lies in the heads it is going to enter - in the way they interpret it, and the more the interpretations are, the more meaningful a poem gets, and the more meaning it adds to people's lives, the more purposeful it gets. 

So if I were to conclude, I would say that good poetry would involve the unrestricted expression of powerful truths, both about the self and about the world, where the poet acts as a beacon that shows the truth to those who do not see it from a similar perspective, in a manner in which most people can understand; and good poetry comes only when one is inspired and when one allows emotions and passions to reach a certain level of volatility required to make us reach out for that level of existence where we can speak with a certain mysticsm by making words dance. Poetry is about making people see things from your vantage point, and the higher you let your passions elevate yourself, the higher you let inspiration take you, the more novel your vantage point will be from the rest, the greater your sense of mystery, and the better your words dance, and therefore, the better your poetry. Poetry is thus about perspective, about passion, inspiration, honesty and novelty -  and good poetry must have all of these in it.

Friday, December 19, 2014

In the Arms of a Potato

Yes, I think of you still, of course,
Every now and then, as I ride on,
Stirring my boat with these rusty oars,
Bouncing along bumpy river-bed like roads,
Longing for the soft, paved tarmac of your smile,
Wondering what it is that I feel for you.
You, a potato under the ground, sowed
By fingers I haven't felt, like I have yours,
Growing in someone else's garden,
Cozy in your little space in the ground,
Happy in the shade it offers you.
Although I'd like to dig you out, look at you
Closely, examine you thoroughly,
And to take you with me as I chase the sun,
Trying to understand your beautiful soul,
To lie in the comfort of your arms,
Your hair shading me from the now cruel sun;
I will not to uproot your perfect world
That you have  so carefully organised -
Everything in it's own little place,
The floor sparkling clean, the plates
Rinsed dry and stowed away, the bed sheets
Neatly laid out, pictures carefully pinned
To the board next to your collection of earrings.

No I have no place there, I know;
The room is too small and I am unstable
Like an atom, too difficult to place
Where you would like, too volatile to rest anywhere
(Without staining the walls you must then paint over),
Apart from that one place that is already taken.
Yes, I'm like a fishbowl, I need much attention;
They say there are 'plenty of fish in the sea'
That might make me forget what I feel for you,
To ignore the beauty that flows through you,
The peace it brings to these restless bones;
The calm that you bring to these stormy shores,
Assuring me that there is indeed order in chaos,
And I'd like to pretend you're a rotten potato
Lying around, waiting to be stepped on, but I can't,
Though you're hooked on to someone else's rod.
Maybe we can laugh about this someday;
Maybe someday I can hold your hand
Without these gloves of guilt around them -
Both yours and mine, pulling us apart,
Weighing us down with consequences.

So I drift around like a log on a stagnant lake,
Or a stringless kite in a windless sky, like
A little puppy dog, just waiting for a call -
Waiting for you right here, where you left me,
Happy to make you laugh when you need me;
Ears always cocked for stories you might have;
Sniffing at flowers, barking after butterflies,
Scampering around, digging shadows of truth,
Happy to see the sparkle in your eye that
Lets out that year of sorrow still stored
In those little bags under your eyes -
The sparkle that I saw each time
You looked at me, every time you smiled.
I know I'm not a perfect farmer,
Never have been one really; I've mostly been
A better gathering nomad anyway, so I'll go
Chase cars, run around a bit, aimlessly,
Trying to overcome my imperfections,
Fetching twigs when you throw them at me,
Digging up flower beds when you don't,
And  when all the chasing is done,
I'll lie down, panting, not very far away,
Dreaming of those perfect moments
Once spent in the arms of a potato...

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Ride On

People don't always come in time
But people always go with time
Just ride on

If the gods have turned their backs on time
And you're just another forsaken child,
Just ride on

Life's for the living, it's gotta be that way
Don't ever give in, even when you've lost your way
Just ride on... just ride on... just ride on...

You're not part of a production line
So there's no need to toe the line
Just ride on

The wheels keep turning all the time
But the clutch and brakes are in your hands
Just ride on

Life's for the living, it's gotta be that way
Don't ever give in, even when you've lost your way
Just ride on... just ride on... just ride on...

Yes I tried to make you mine
And thanks for you were very kind, now I'll
Just ride on

We're just visitors here for a while
So take the time, follow the signs and
Just ride on

Life's for the living, it's gotta be that way
Don't ever give in, even when you've lost your way
Just ride on... just ride on... just ride on...

Even when you forget the lines
Just walk away, don't waste your time
Just ride on... just ride on... just ride on...

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Thus Spake the Little Ant

What are we
But mere blood vessels
In the veins of consciousness
Running errands
From the heart to the toes
Getting dirty, then cleaning up
Much like Sisyphus,
Only we imagine -
Devising little ball games,
(Or are we part of the ball game?)
To keep us occupied
On our trek up and down
Mere lubricants
Keeping the wheels turning
So the giant machinery doesn't fail
Insignificant by ourselves,
Invaluable as one
And yet we kill each other,
Living in the strange illusion
Called the self
We're at war with ourselves,
Destroying our strength
And there's only so much
That poetry can help
There's a storm on the outside,
And we're letting it in,
Turning ourselves out, crumbling
With our bombs and our shells
And our lies and our thefts
The good life is simple,
Much more than you think
As you run around clueless,
All you need is to blink
And break the hypnosis that
Makes you drift through
This miracle called life...

Friday, October 17, 2014

Fire and Ice





There was a little earthquake here;
The tectonic plates shifted,
Poured magma from within,
Burnt everything around it
And rattled everything for a while.
This earth shook with passion
And yearned for the rain you brought.
For a while, things erupted up this well,
Till the infection was all expelled,
But now the plates have settled
And the lava is turning to gel,
Solidifying as you sleep under your blanket,
Oblivious of the match you struck,
That left a forest burning, and a river dry.
The plates have moved a bit,
But they've found their footing again;
The landscape has changed a bit,
The continents a bit more adrift
Of each other, as water fills the gaps.
The trees are growing again;
There are little butterflies too
Now and then, but unlike the ones we felt
When we saw each other the first time.
The eco system has adjusted and evolved,
The cracks you caused have filled
And the newspapers and the tabloids
Have stopped reporting about you.
I've sold the archived copies
That were stacked inside the cupboard,
I've made room for some new clothes
And I'll buy new shoes too,
And while life here continues as normal
I hope your snow is melting as well.

Little Ant



Little ant, do you know
About the universe and outer space?
The millions of stars, the expanding space?
Have you ever wondered how you fit
Into the larger scheme of things?
Do you realise that we are travelling
At a million miles per hour across space
And that you are just a tiny speck
Amidst the vast chaos out there
If you could, would you build
Cities like we do, and guns?
Would you bomb other ants
Who did not agree with you?
Would you spend your whole life
Collecting things you'll leave behind
If I decide to crush you right now?
Do you know that I watch
Everything you do?
What we are doing here, little ant,
Sharing the same cabin
In this revolving spaceship?
As you go on with your chores
So purposefully and diligently,
Have you ever wondered, little ant,
What all this leads to
If we mean anything at all
Beyond this dot on this universe
That we have cultivated so well?
Our friends, foes and family, and
The roads we know so well,
Rising every morning, blindfolded
Till we close our eyes in bed
How long is this lifetime, little ant?
Where does this really end?
Are we part of something eternal,
Or mere shadows on a wall
That will cease to exist
When the fire ceases to burn?
Why do we labour so hard
And why do we fall in love?
Do you ever think in your bed, little ant
About what this is all about?
About if there's sense in people's heads
When they go around killing each other
And hoarding what they call wealth
Binging on fast food, wasting away
While millions starve to death?
Where does this lead us, little ant;
This journey that we share
So lively yet absurd at so many levels
What is the right life, the path we must tread?
You seem so sure, oh little ant
What is it that you know?
As you trudge along your prescribed path
Will you please show me the way?

Sunday, October 12, 2014

The Spring



I always had a tap on it,
So I could fill my bottles and flasks,
And the spring was always in control,
Till it was clogged one day;
Someone must have put another tap
Somewhere I didn't know.
So I ran around thirsty and dry,
Quenching my thirst in brothels and bars,
Till you found the tap and turned it on.
Years of passion welled up from inside
And before either of us could react,
You were swept away, and I was lost;
The flood wrecked all that we had;
And when the storm subsided to a ripple,
The spring had turned to autumn, bare
But for a hollow murmur now and then -
Maybe that's just some bees inside.
And now I have casks and kegs, strung
Around my neck, weighing me down
Big bottles of emptiness, and
Though poetry still flows on seamlessly,
Love comes trickling down,
For that's all that's left in this spring,
Till it finds another source some day.
And I hold on to my empty flask
As the ages whistle by like the wind
Hoping it will be full somehow,
Just enough for this lifetime.
And I know that it might take a while,
And I may never be whole again, but
I still sit by, waiting for that moment
When I can write that perfect rhyme.

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Abstracts



Maybe we messed it up last time,
But I have already filled out
The forms for the next attempt;
I proof-read my application this time,
The forms have been accepted too,
And it is now time to send the abstract
Of the life we plan to live next time.
Hopefully I shall have one,
And hopefully I shall find you again.
I don't know what to propose, though;
We could be those ants we didn't kill,
Or the dogs we loved so much,
Or maybe just be humans again;
Better aligned though, than this time.
Or maybe I'll be the moon
And just spy on you as you sit
By your window, looking at me
Dreamy-eyed; your lips on your cigarette.
The signs clearly don't work well on you,
So we'll make them stronger next time,
And although your sign is also required
On the form, they asked me to still apply,
Saying they might still accept my paper
If you haven't sent another one -
An abstract with other preferences.

But then I don't really love you now,
Not the way I did for sure;
I realise that it is the idea of you
That I am now in love with,
And that idea doesn't belong to you,
For it is the other way around.
This has little to do with you anymore,
But instead with where you stemmed from,
With all the abstracts you brought along
And dumped at my doorstep;
And although the door's still open for you,
I don't wait there anxiously anymore,
For I'm busy fitting the abstracts
Into tiny spaces I built for them
From the crater you left behind;
And once I have them all in place,
I may not really need you anymore,
For everything I ever loved about you
Will be right by my side, where I want them;
For we might part and we may meet again,
But these abstracts will stay with me forever.






Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Knots



I want you to come back to me once
So I can untie myself, for
These knots we tied ourselves with
Are far too intense
To untie while you're so far away
All these strings entangled
And taut with the strain
And though its now mostly painlessly numb
I suspect this might not be permanent yet
That there could be life in this flesh again
If I can find a way to cut you away
The signs are history, and what we felt
Is past; and the future is always hazy at best
But if you could survive
Without your ego for a while
Then I will try and make it quick
So why don't you visit for a while?
We won't talk if you don't want to
Just come and sit on a chair,
Though it's not fancy; I'll make you some tea
And I'll place some cushions for you
So your dress won't get soiled -
That pretty white evening dress you wear.
It won't take long I assure you
I'll just get my tools and straight to work
Just come close enough for a while
So the strings are lax and I can see well enough
For me to untie these knots and yank you out.

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Bungee Jumping



As the rush of the adrenaline starts
To settle down a bit, I begin to wonder
How to explain this to you
In words that you might understand;
That I was afraid of this too, just like you are,
But then I have taken the leap
And I'm falling head first, rope attached
To my feet, hopefully stretching every second,
And you were the one I fastened the other end to;
That this is something I've not done before,
And something I'd have never done
If not for your assurance, when you said,
"I'm sure about this; very sure";
And now I'm nearing the length
And though I'm glad to know in advance
That you may not be there to hold on anymore,
That I have this time to ponder
Over what went wrong, and to learn from experience,
You see, I can't seem to reverse this fall
And I'm now in mid air, with nothing to hold on to,
And gravity is mostly non negotiable.
I have tried to grasp frantically,
But there aren't many branches strong enough
To hold on to, to break this fall.
There are only two ways in which this can end,
And as I go on, I see that the ground doesn't pixelate
In real life, even while zooming in fast, and
I grasp, this time for some words to explain to you,
That it'll hurt when it hits me, and I know it was my call;
That it was I who took the plunge and put myself here,
But wasn't it your idea to go Bungee Jumping?






Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Snakes





You could be clairvoyant,
For the last you dreamt was of snakes.
And I have become one now -
I writhe with my belly on the ground,
Dragging myself, hiding in dark corners.
I zigzag my way, slithering up and down,
Hoping to shake you off somehow,
But  you're stuck to my skin, a part of my grain,
So I'll just have to peel you off now;
And cut supplies to the affected zone;
To that part of me still stuck on you
Like lips to a frosty ice-pack.
So I shake off my languor, wrench all my bones,
Contract my mind and bend my soul;
And push all that's yours right to the verge.
Then I peel off my skin for it's numb anyway,
And patiently await till it's done;
Until I've tilted every inch of those scales
So I can writhe out in hope for a clue,
And as I slither away without you by my side,
I realise you'd peeled me off too...





Thursday, September 25, 2014

Just in Case its Still Burning



Just in case its still burning,
I'm going to place it well outside;
So it doesn't set fire
To things not already fried.
Things combusting anyway
In the chemical process of life,
In the bowlful of time we have
To choose from a million strings;
To pull the ones we like,
And wrap the ones we love;
To grab the things we need,
And embrace the things we are.
In the spoonful of freedom
To roam the incessant world,
Seeking what is meant to be.

Just in case it's still burning,
I will extinguish it right now,
So it doesn't burn my forests,
And it doesn't wreck my soil;
So it doesn't soil the water,
Or smoke the air away;
So the beasts and the bees
And the birds and the trees
Can breathe in harmony
With the frequency of the times.
I shall keep a safe distance,
And walk a careful line;
I shall not approach a fire,
Nor leave the gas-knob on;
Just in case it's still burning...


Somewhere in the Distance

Somewhere in the distance
Love cowers away, trembling
Inside a cave, on a lonely mountain
She's made a home there
She got a bonfire, some firewood
And cooks her dinner
On a steel pot hanging over the fire
Where she cooks her stew and rice
And feeds her children to make them strong
Enough to face this world

Somewhere in the distance
Beside a desolate seashore
Must be dwelling peace
Deep in meditation, as she searches
The cosmos' deepest crevasses
To find the strength she needs
To stand a chance against 'progress'
In this endless race to death
And she starves herself on morsels
That we toss at the bowl she holds

Somewhere in the distance
On an island, lost in thought
Lies meaning, waving a flag
But our boats don't go that way
No radar notes her distress signs
So tired of waving, she sits
Reminiscing, of days gone by
When they'd place her downtown
And there were carnivals in her honour
Where people danced and played

Somewhere in the distance
Beyond the clueless mob you chase
In another direction lies truth
She's stoned out of her mind
And she doesn't give a damn
For she is what she is
And if our worldly ways and fashion sense
Can't stand the sight of her
Then behind the curtains of our eyes
She'd gladly wait away

Somewhere in the distance
Maybe somewhere in your head
Lies the key to many things
That you chase and seek in vain
But your eyes are pointed westward
And you're all empirical
While wisdom lies buried under
The garbage dump of 'advancement'
And you might be all that's needed
To make the sisters re-unite...






Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Blue Eyes

You had blue eyes,
From what I can remember
You rose from still waters,
and walked on the golden sand.
With the sureness of your feet
And your well-rehearsed lines,
You taught me to dream
Of a world different from mine;
A world that was yours,
And one that was better than mine
Because I loved you.

I did not know that your eyes
Were on my chest pocket,
Where I keep important stuff -
Like my credit card, notes, my numbers,
And not on my heart,
Where I keep important stuff
Like my values, my principles,
my beliefs, my loved ones.
You wanted the minerals and the oil
And the land and the money;
My women and my cattle.

I welcomed you with open arms,
And you had concealed all your arms.
While I was busy washing your feet,
You were checking your balance sheets.
I was busy tilling my fields,
An you were busy selling my soul.
While I was slaying my goats for you,
You were throwing the bones at me.
Till my people were at your command -
Their heads in your god's hands.

You took what you wanted
And gave  what you chose,
And I was a benevolent monk
Till I was too weak and empty -
Devoid of my substances,
Devoid of my substance.
I became a mirror image of you,
Except I knew that I was the mirror
And I knew I would shatter someday
And only you shall remain -
With everything that was once mine.

And so you wanted me to shatter,
To cave in from within, soon,
So you could have her all to yourself.
So you sent in your planes,
And you dropped all the bombs;
You sent in your soldiers,
And pronounced me the terrorist.
My children with stones in their hands
Were crushed to the ground by your tanks;
Until we bowed to your image,
And melted ourselves in your mould.

Moulds that were blonde and fair,
Tall, pale and outspoken,
With long faces and sharp noses -
Mere clones of each other.
With a sponge for a brain,
We spoke of 'technology' and 'progress',
Of countries and boundaries,
And other such imaginary lines and gods -
With a Bible in one hand
And a shotgun in the other;
And from what I can remember,
You had blue eyes...



Thursday, September 18, 2014

Familiar Stranger

Sometimes the world spins away from me; everyone keeps stepping on my toes and reflections never meet reality; but I don't find it hard to find my way with rhymes in spaces way inside my head, where the days aren't lonely, the springs bounce with water and the curtains remove shadows from reality.


Back here I call my sleep awakenness, for my dreams begin to taste reality, and lying close to that faithful shadow of yours, I wonder if the sun would ever change its ways - I travel along like a palm print on a dusty windscreen and I don't even see the same old face in the mirror anymore.


If falling didn't involve getting hurt, I'd fall back in again, again I swear; I learn a lesson, fail to prove my point - I had become familiar with a stranger, but now I've become a familiar stranger. Yeah, I've become a familiar silly stranger; and you've become a familiar stranger, a familiar little stranger...

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Purple Shades


Verse 1:

The lavender skies are full of screaming souls
with shadows of hope
You listen a while as you choose your shades
from the kaleidoscope
The vision is gone, the bridge is down
Stumbling blocks of hope all around

But you live your own
Among faces unknown
As the little girl is hurtled by the crowd.
you see her purple robes
and an empty begging bowl
and purple tears rolling down her soul

Bridge:

Turn the stumbling blocks to cornerstones
Build a bridge and you'll know you're not alone
On that long way to go...

Verse 2:

The spirit of truth is burning in the fire
of solitude
Your purple shades make that purple haze
and your attitude
Purple clouds, purple tar,
the crazy guy with a purple scar

You dream your fears away
as people pass away
The riots grow wilder everyday
Purple swords flash, purple torches burn
As you drive by a purple bloodshore

We've got a long way to go
Yeah, we've got a long way to go...

The Songer

Walking down the lonely road
There's a girl he'd like to meet
Whistling out a distant tune
His footsteps keep the beat
He looks around to find some peace
But there's hatred all around
Cautious hearts and careful tongues
Love's a thirsty hound

And he says my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-
my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my
And he says my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-
my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my

There are windows that he can't repair
Stones he can't unturn
Souls that go through wear n tear
Virgins don't return
Gods that bless and gods that kill
Stretchmarks on the sun
Presley, Marley, Jackson gone
And Bieber's number one

And he says my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-
my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my
And he says my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-
my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my

Flocks of people on the run
In a race that never ends
Clueless minds and blinded souls
Crashing at the bends
He plucks his strings and croons a tune
His heart is what he sings
You can choose to race the rats again
Or heal your wounded wings

And he says my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-
my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my
And he says my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-
my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my-o-my

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

The Room (III)















I still go back to the room sometimes;
Sliding my fingers along the charred walls.
You might find my fingerprints if you happen to visit -
A few here and there, on the walls, the table, the shelves,
And many next to the cracked picture frame still by the bed.
I looked for your prints too, but couldn't find them;
Nor the fragrance of your perfume, conditioner or body lotion;
Just an overpowering presence of charcoal and dust.
I hope you have found a better room somewhere;
I hope you really have been able to forget
These broken pieces and torn fragments
Like you said you would.
But in case you'd like to know,
There are two corners still intact -
The stool that I had sat and dreamt on,
Empty and bare, except when I sit on it to rest.
From there I see the other corner,
With things of yours that weren't destroyed -
Like the dressing table you had sat on
To put on your make-up before you left,
The oven where you baked those cakes
To take with you while I slept,
And those wine-bottles you emptied,
The wine glass with your lipstick still on it -
Just a few things that remain intact in all this mess.

I look around for things I can salvage.
No, I won't take anything that is yours;
Just your memories are heavy enough any way,
And I walk a lot these days, mostly by myself,
Singing songs, seeking love, meaning and hope.
No, what I look for is my pride,
Stowed away somewhere, covered in soot,
My ego that I had peeled away for you,
And my sense of self-esteem.
I've got a sack with me this time,
For I find them all in pieces -
Some burnt, some stained, some broken,
But I will take them with me, on my back,
In my little sack, to fix them with what I can find.
And before I leave, I turn around
To look at the room, hoping it's for the last time,
Though I realise we might be back here again,
You less likely than me for sure, and we?
Almost definitely not together.
But if you do come back here sometime,
Please see if you have the part of me that left with you -
I assume that you don't need it anymore -
You can place it on the bookshelf,
Not on the top shelf, just somewhere you can reach -
Maybe next to the charred pages of Kafka...

Saturday, September 6, 2014

The Room (II)

We got curtains and latches,
And locked ourselves inside;
We played our music
And the lights were all dim and warm;
We got high in each others arms -
A high that dreams are made of,
As I sat on a stool in the corner.
Everything was perfect -
The towels neatly folded, tucked away in the closet,
The tea-cups neatly arranged above the kitchen sink,
The bed-covers laid with all the creases ironed out,
There was nothing before us, and nothing after.
Everything else was either forgiven or justified;
I was on a mountain-top,
And the valley around was beautiful -
This was the promised land
That I had trudged towards for ages,
And I could sigh in peace at the beauty of it all.

You had awoken before me I guess,
For when I woke up,
With 50 strands of grey hair and a missing tooth,
I caught you staring out the window,
With an expressionless face lost in thought,
At a swirling past you hadn't left behind,
As it's waves lashed against the window-pane,
Knocking against your head until you let them in.
They were inside - in our room,
Quietly taking everything apart.
The smile that had masked your mind was gone
And the words were now only in your head,
Outside-a stormy silence.

They came and pillaged, bombed and raided,
And by the time I was in my senses,
They had melted the pictures and stained the walls,
Made fire-wood out of the floor,
Smashed the tables and pulled down the shelves,
The kitchen sink was broken and the bookshelf on fire.
And in all the mess, you had walked out,
And all that was left was either burnt or broken -
Remains of a dream we had dreamt together,
A dream I was still dreaming alone,
And a little note by the doorknob said,
"Sorry for the mess, but I did love you truly"

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Da da Dum


Living Sin, letting go
Wished a while upon the closet
Washing pain like a wicked dream
Getting high on a whirlwind
Sipping truth, sipping truth, sipping truth...
Very sane, insecure
Lying stoned by the washbowl
Telling time, "you're the best thing!"
A weeping smile on the go
Running slow, running slow, running slow...

Smell of stew, caring arms
Misty Churchyard in the past
Blaming fate, naming relations
Deep inside lies love asleep
Passing by, passing by, passing by...
Soothing sighs like a carol
Warming touch and those tears
Trying hard, so unsure
Is she mine, or will she go?
Am I alone, am I alone, am I alone...

Da da dum dum dum da dum da da dum dum
Da da dum dum dum da dum da da dum dum
Da da dum dum dum da dum da da dum dum
Da da dum dum dum da dum da da dum dum...

Hard Way to Heaven

I dunno I dunno
Where she go where she go
I dunno where she go all alone
I dunno I dunno
Who she see in the dark
I dunno who she be with all night long

Well, there's a hard way to heaven but I know that she wana have fun (X3)

Dawn is breaking and she see the light
She like it when the stars are bright
All she give me is a smile that tell me I should hold on
All she give me is a smile that tell me I should hold on

She gonna get over him soon now (X2)

I dunno I dunno
When the trouble gonna go
I dunno why she never see me cry
I dunno I dunno when she comin home again
I dunno how she gonna know the way

Well, there's a hard way to heaven but I know that she wana have fun (X4)

Saturday, August 9, 2014

Loving You Comes Easy

In the night she said
Loving you comes easy coz
I see you when I'm crying on my pillow
In the cold, she said
Loving you comes easy coz
I feel the tingle underneath my skin
In the rain she said
Loving you comes easy coz
I see your face in the raindrops on my window
And when the sun comes out
I'm happy coz you make me smile
And I'm sure that what we have for sure is real

But it all came tumbling down
All the walls came crumbling without a sound
And the city that we built with our dreams and our words
Was nowhere to be found...

Yeah in the night, I said
Loving you comes easy coz
You're a star that guides me
Through these stormy waves
And in the cold, I said
Loving you comes easy coz
Just the thought of you brings me
Warmth and peace 
And in the rain, I said
Loving you comes easy coz
The signs say these clouds will go away
And when the sun comes out
You're like the promised rainbow
And I have no cause to doubt whatever you say

But it all came tumbling down
All the walls came crumbling without a sounds
And the city that we built with our dreams and our words
Was nowhere to be found...

Now in the night she says
Loving him comes easy coz
She sees him when she's crying on her pillow
As in the cold I lie
Lost without a clue as I try to
Get her off my head and skin
And in the rain I lie
Searching for the answers
In the droplets flowing down that silly window
And when the sun comes out
There's nothing I can see
Except promises that were broken
And her face, her voice and the emptiness inside

Yeah it all came tumbling down
All the walls came crumbling without a sound
And the city that we built with our dreams and our words
Was nowhere to be found...


Thursday, July 17, 2014

This Heart

This heart has many scars
So my love does not fear heartbreaks;
Not as much as it used to,
For it has been bruised and punctured,
Pierced and cracked into several pieces
And joined again with borrowed glue
Several times before, and has yet
Managed to trudge along with a smile.
This heart longs for you
Not with the confidence of youth,
But with the despondence of an aged wreck,
Clinging on to the last straw of hope
Offered to it by the kindness of your soul.

You undressed it with the calmness of your words
And then pierced it with a silence so shrill
That it cracked and shattered me
Into a million pieces that I am now
Picking up and framing into this heart again -
Not because I want to love again - maybe I can't,
But because I have to live on
With everything else around me,
Perfect as it is, though a bit like
A rooster without his crown.
And without you, this heart is all I have to live with.
I may have lost you,
but to have lost you like this is a shame,
Like a man who set out to conquer the world
With every weapon in his armour,
Only to return home embarrassed,
Defeated because his pants were torn.

Monday, June 30, 2014

Another Day

Hoping and dreaming
Of a sunbathed horizon,
The dreams that we cherished will surely survive,
For love will surely find another way.
Hoping and dreaming on and on I get
Carried away by your dreamy eyes,
Your head on my arm and our lazy sighs;
Carried away by the mysteries we see;
Carried away by the cheerful smile,
The shrug of the shoulders when you can stay a while;
Carried away when you're lying next to me...

But there's a storm that keeps taking us apart,
And I shiver in the cold, in the rain, the dark,
Until I hear your voice and it makes me alright.
Yeah it brings me peace and tells me love is worth the fight...

Silence and patience
And a hopeful tomorrow
Were all that we needed
Through the rain and sunshine,
But soon we have to walk another way;
And how we wish we had another day.
Hoping and dreaming on and on I get
Carried away when you hold my hand,
As we dream away and we make our plans;
Carried away though you'll soon be gone away;
Carried away as I hold you tight,
Watch you sleep and feel you breathe at night;
Carried away that you'll be back another day...

But there's a storm that keeps taking us apart,
And I shiver in the cold, in the rain, the dark,
Until I hear your voice and it makes me alright.
Yeah it brings me peace and tells me love is worth the fight...

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

An Ode to Poetry

Your presence fills me with purpose;
Your mere touch the strongest embrace,
As you trapeze between the ages,
Vanishing and reappearing, ageless;
Each time more beautiful than before,
Fertilizing my thoughts in your bosom,
Knitting my words with your restless arms.
Formless beauty I cannot fathom,
Except when you are within,
My reins between your thighs;
A wandering oasis feeding those who desire, imagine,
Making the mundane beautiful with your breath,
Your beat driving out the stillness within,
Stirring up passions and emotions
In an otherwise placid world,
Creating currents of rhythm and longing
From a stagnant suffocation,
Teasing, tantalising, making me speak your words,
Filling me with belonging; and then
Leaving me with your fragrance,
Controlling me, making me long for more.
My mistress in a world unlike we know,
Visiting me only when I’m alone as you,
Turning me inside out, emptying the darkness,
Without judgement, without ridicule,
Filling me with pure, passionate desire;
Slow-dancing with me, Bringing time to a standstill,
My muse, my music, my Poetry...

Monday, May 26, 2014

The Room


We sat there in silence
Palms on our chins, elbows on the table
With no tablecloth, vase or flowers,
Surrounded by bare, cracked walls
With spider webs and stains from a careless past;
No paintings to hang, no bookshelves to stack;
Mere bruised egos lying amidst broken glass;
Empty picture-frames that were long since trashed;
Curtain-less windows and latch-less doors,
For there was nothing there to see or hide.
We had locked our selves in our mind's vault -
The only place we knew as ours,
As the world stared in to the empty room, 
Curiously gaping at the pointlessness of it all.

Then as our eyes met, and our arms followed,
We spoke in kisses, your hand clasped in mine.
We unleashed our thoughts, fearfully at first,
Watching them intertwine and colour up the room.
We got up to walk, taking careful steps,
Clearing out the pieces, mopping up the dust,
Painting the walls with promises and plans;
Hanging pictures of our conversation.
There was music too, as I held you close
And we whispered, lest they should hear -
"Let's get some latches now
And bring along some curtains too,
For this is us now and ours to protect;
This room is not theirs to share".