Tuesday, September 7, 2010

of seventh and above...

walking on clouds seventh and above
de black of white and brown, the crowd below
the muddy foots on hills and mountains
with humps for backs and worn out hands
de mud underneeth the sodden floor
of slaves and unworthy below below
the heeps of human mass straining for de top
the one on top with burden of all
the carefree with their careless lives
running amock in the fields of grey

walking on clouds seventh and above
with grace and humour he pulled and shoved
the ones above the ones below
with equal eyes he measured them all
for more than a year he saw their pain
for more than an aeon they had toiled below
but above he sat with that twinkling eyes
and thought of how better a life below

bodies in front breathing and sweating
bodies around all breathing and sweating
the crushing of bones and the squelch of blood
than take it all he walked on the seventh and above
with a smirk for a face he looked at those
the golden tint of the crowned ones
de stooped up ones de ones in pain
but he was just one of the bodies
he walked on clouds seventh and above

Saturday, August 28, 2010


when the world comes rushing and am outta breath. the cough creeping behind my throat.
the surreal nature of everything else and de beauty in de peace.
de silence in a fish market. de infinite of de chaos loop.
where words dont form coz they are swallowed up.
the moment is past and wat remains a fool.
gawking looks of fantastical propotions. the itch beyond my arms reach.
tumbling down de memory lane. in search of fancy tales of seen and done.
lost is one who doesnt look, nube de one new to de game.
like every past, or most, i c de suckle of de pacifier soothing u down.

den de me de mind de bitch.
on its own a realm of nowhere.
fighting on a battle unknown.
silent potrayals but chaos born.
de throne above wer the soul seats.
de lazy bastard watchin it all.
sleeping through my day
and spooking my dreams.

de goblin with his wicked potions.
taking us on a road trip. we ride we ride we ride.
we ride on to de green haze.
wer father sits and ideas are born.
wer gods are born and divine is urs.

but de dying cells die alone.

Monday, August 23, 2010


"I'll tell you. I'll tell you what we'll do of all those hundred million nuclear warheads and a couple trillion more wild ammunition we have."

Science from the very beginning has been a two faced coin. It gave us the X-ray machine, the nuclear bomb. It gave us planes and missiles. Houses and barracks. Life and death.

Without the sacrifice we could never have reached so far. The Good the Bad the Twins. So now we have the grey between the white and the black.

This ever growing store room of pure destructive power, the cracked walls strain now. The hands are itchy. The frustration is high. Restraint, society's gift. The act of restraint has bent us all on the floor.

We have to be rid of this weight. Lets get something out of this chaotic system. Lets bend a few rules and release some of this restlessness we have. Lets destroy something. But the society? How can the morality of society commit such an act? the morality of humanity?

And yet the itchy hand..

On a different note, what a dump we have made of this green home of ours. It probably looks black now. Waste, we have too much of it. Useless crap that no matter how much we convince ourselves, cannot be recycled completely. Let the stench out.
Why not? Lets just pack the whole thing in one huge pile and rocket it into empty space. You know, like a meteor of trash. Funny it will be. Funny it is, coz we sure seem to have enough trash to make a meteor of.

Oh! I hear you my purist friends. Trashing space is no joke. We shouldn't abuse the empty storage space given to us by God Almighty.

Alright then! Lets take the warheads, the nuclear ones, lets blow up the trash meteor. Lets blow it up to empty space. We can have our fun. We could even name the planet Pakistan or something. And the jobless population gets something to do. - The destruction is done. A new start. A cleaner safer greener home.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

in de garden of eden..

god made us. we lived. adam and eve den deir children. a happy life. de children of god in his lil park.. de wild jump over de brushes and the skyscrapers. de water tumbles over, de sun was nice n gud. de dead had moved on de alive were kickin ..

angels r born, from de dead revived. god was born. he knew us but we didn't. father hiding behind de trees. run and find him. catchers winners.

we roamed around in, a frenzy we did. the bastard child ran amock. mountains across seas behind. under de rock and beneath de pond. in deers and monkeys and deir trivial life. brothers they climbed over. and patted his shoulder. de branches were broken, rocks were thrown. deir search was only deir own.
dey saw him in books and in sticks and bones.

de genetic algorithm we humans are... every generation we move de search continues for the perfect gene.. the perfect human being. its obvious, none of us are it. none. de search goes on. de god gene. de one who frees us. de one who turns off the power of de genetic algorithm.

de day had been as any other. de children were playing. the garden was serene. the pebbles plenty. the child picked a pebble. its color was red. unique. playfully he threw it. it bounced of the boulder and the straw caught the spark. fire was born. fathers thunder sons fire.

heat. de jumping orange. unique. red forgotten. burn. pain. flee. burn pain flee. burn pain flee. fire hot. fire burn. fire flee. the charred potatoes. wafting its waves. fire smell good. fire good. fire bad.
good bad. knowledge. forbidden.

moma choked. the smoke the smoke. the heat the burn the pain. the child'd pain. eden de potrait of moma shuddered. father loved mother. even more than his children. pain of hers he couldnt take. his child he couldnt slay. the bringer of pain. into the potrait he fell. de search went on. wen de forgiven son. de bringer of peace. the child de father is born.

Monday, September 14, 2009


Those slightly squinted eyes, behind the thick glasses looked at me with a look of superiority. Face marked with amusement, enjoying the moment of his own glory. I stood in front of him squirming with unrest bubbling inside, yet shamelessly, arrogantly smiling at the freckled face of my neighbour. I didnt speak a word, frankly, for once, words failed to present itself in my mouth, to justify me, to protect me, to humiliate him.
For once , my ego had failed me.

Dreams. Dreams fed by the handle of a spoon, dreams that were passed down every generation, dreams that were my own, dreams i couldn't bear to doubt now. It all lay right there, in front of me, motionless, groaning in pain, dying. I stood looking down at what i once was, what was still a part of me, what i had always wanted to be. I didn't know whether to smile or cry.

Long ago, when it didn't even matter, the seed had been planted. As the weeds grew, some were removed, some more were planted, some just were burnt to death in the baking hot sun. One though, was watered quite regularly. One was aldready chosen to live. The trees all around, they too knew which of the weeds they were to let live, which they had to kill. It grew, the weed grew. Ants nibbled at its roots, the mongoose tried to pull it out. It stood the test of time. The weed flourished.

He knew what he wanted, he knew what he had to do. No point wasting time, he got to work. He loved his job, yet was never any good at it. He loved what he did, yet never did more than make mistakes and loose hope, though never long enough to hate his work.
He loved what he did.
He had wronged again, wronged himself with the lost war of hope. He bowed his head, panted for breath, cried out loud. He was lost. Lost more to himself than to anyone else in the world. His path had always taken him back to where he had begun.

Never, not once has a human lost hope enough to say that in a better time he would still not succeed. And this I say, better times, i wait for thee. This I know, better times were times long gone, better time is time still ticking. Yet I wait, if not for the time then for me.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

with a broken heart
this journey begins.
With a saddened mind
i walk the line
passion i search for
not the lustful one i mean
the one that fuels life is wat i desire.

So long i walked
with one such in mind
Its broken, Its shattered
its too lost to renew
though the pashion still burns
my hope is dead.

Like an addict
to find some dope
An animal to find some blood
A bee out for some honey
I roamed, I roam...hope to stop now..

the way back..

A long way back 
to where my home lies,
A sad story to tell
once i get there.

They say,
that the dread of wats to come
hurts more than wats to dread
but tht doesnt stop me
from dreading wats to come.

A long way back
to where my home lies
the journey ahead 
is not an easy one

To eat the food, i wish to eat
to see those faces i long to see
for those are some things
u know not the value of
until they are gone, long gone from you..

A long way back
to where my home lies
A short while there
but better than none at all.

To run along our private beech
to eat the cone under the rainbow bridge
A visit to bread world once a day
dont miss the stadium every day

A long way back
to where my home lies
my heart is heavier
to think of the way back..