Away

Away away...from laws and lessons...away from all regions and religions...away from expecting stares..away from all the cares...away from governments and all kingdoms...away from badlands and the promised land..away from seeds of tomorrow and fruits of yesterday...I have come here to build a temple to my solitude...

A Rant

We live in a world where creativity is replaced by information copied and pasted. The origin of every thought is the Cloud.

All we do is perspire, we don’t inspire.

We wait for the sun to set, and when it is about to, we whip out our camera-phones. We have more pictures and less memories.

We love screens, which is why we look towards the stars with a screen of smoke between us and them.

We don’t innovate, we don’t create, we replicate. We create plastic and recycle ideas.

We make our own caricatures when we click ourselves, and we check each time, not to see whether it is beautiful, but whether it is caricatured to perfection.

We work hard, we party harder, we are soft only in our skills.

We sit on a time bomb with one minute left. On the 59^th second we extend it to another minute and watch it till its 59^th second.

We think we are individuals, but we are consumers. We abuse our body and clothe it well.

We express our interest in serious issues through one-liners on the internet. We argue more, we act less. When we act, we feel less.

We have more apps and less aptitudes.

We are teaching our computers how to feel, lest we might forget one day how to do it ourselves.

We can talk with anyone on the planet, but we cannot talk with our own heart.

We don’t perceive anymore, we check for patterns and criticize. We look at things, we look through things, but we never look into things.

We are unoriginal. We buy things to experience them, after we have read through others’ experiences.

We are feminists, nationalists, anti-chauvinists, not humanists.

We sing songs, not of love or dreams or the road. We sing about parties and booze and the hoes.

We are not wrong, no. We are right because we have the right to be ignorant and crass. We have a right to speak, and we use it to blabber.  

Ramblings

No rebel is without a cause

Polythene grows on trees

The monkeys do not try to be human now

Wherever was silence there is darkness now

And the sounds of darkness

Boxes are good

Everything should be compact, even our empathy

You are living every moment

Or dying

You were the most living when you were born

Calm is not the answer to everything

Questions are best friends

Answers are the mommy and daddy of best friends

Because they give birth to more questions

Is that what we are?

Questions of our parents?

Heirs to man’s quest of WHY?

Laughter is music to some

And mockery to some

You don’t shed tears

They shed themselves, the uninvited guests

What kind of a host are you?

The laughing host or the crying host?

Life is music

There are low notes, there are high notes

Live anyway, make melody

The sky blackened...

The sky blackened,

The rain fell,

Our bodies slackened:

We were in a spell.

The wind-swept rain sprayed on to us

And the dullest of thoughts were cleansed.

In this coolness of ambience

And the warmth of our friendship

The weariness of ambition was drained

In the sewer of oblivion, and all that settled

On our hearts was the gladness of existence,

The gratitude of this perception invaded by heaven,

Of the gift of consciousness to feel this and feel

Nothing else: no want, no grudge, no property,

No debt, no height, no depth; nothing;

The gift of wanting nothing but this.

The trunk is too large...

The trunk is too large for embraces,

The sea too large for a swim.

Eternity mocks the clock as it races.

Our life too real for our whims.

What is a footprint on a snow clad berg

Many times larger than the largest?

A mark that changes

The face of infinity.

What is life?

A grain on the endless beach,

That mountain-peak beyond our reach.

But the omni does not contempt.

It knows well that a grain in the eye

Is worth all on the beach.

And so he says, 'Oh brother,

I have so much, yet I'm not full; while you complete in yourself.

I'll be less if you left me, but you not less nor more.'

Illusioned

We used to run, just for the fun of it. We would chase each other, run for the hill top. Then, one day, someone drew a line on the hill top and offered something for the fastest runner among us. Material was involved, and what was once friendly sport, now became a competition. We had established occupations so that we could provide each other with a variety of things. Then, one day, a tendency to collect as much money as possible became THE purpose of life. Occupations also became competitions, businesses; careers.

Unmasked

Passing poles, passing faces, past people, his eyes did not move in his sockets. His was an unsettling meditation, his was a calm face. Behind the indifferent countenance, there's a constant tumult as of gusty winds and wavering sea on a palsy ship, toying with its pathetic efforts to hold up. Distraction offers its hand. Who can refuse? He's taken on the ride as gently as would betoken royalty. He's flung out in the world of reality as the foul bones out the kitchen which invite only the drooling dogs.