Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Friday, May 12, 2006
Thursday, May 04, 2006
The LonersNeighbourhood noise Silence of the graveyard Away from these, The sound of the brook They call the seeker solitary And the brook too. Yet, they exist Only because the other is there Hidden from the prying eyes And the lifeless gasp. Noise is transient Silence is never for ever. Away from silence and noise The brook and the seeker Drift beyond the reach of time, The great devourer. Time does not like a rival You do not find time Where these loners are Alone, with each other.
Poem for a PoemMake a poem of me, she said. Poem! No tears, no splash of crimson Not even the promise of a volcanic orgasm Not even the frozen time of cold moon. Poem indeed! Only the chemical river The cast off, still wearing the label A river. You turn your back The stink chases you, more than the thirst. That river is commerce As full of life of its own kind Life, fast and anaerobic, almost anti-life. A poem breathes, even pain does If not in the market, hidden it breathes. Go and find it, feel it, live it It is not for asking, it is for being. If you know, you are If you are not, none can make it.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
The Leaking Life
We do not need labels if our life is whole. If it has cracks, life seeps through these cracks. If one wants to live longer in terms of time, one has to plug the leaks. So one covers the pot with labels. To ordinary people this does not look like patch work. These look like hard won decorations. As older ones wear out, he grabs new ones. More the cracks, more are the labels required. Bigger the cracks, bigger are the labels required. One whose pot is not cracked, knows the truth. He recognises a patched pot. One whose pot is cracked also knows the truth. At least about his own pot. Only he prefers to believe otherwise.
P.S. I have developed this thought into a book "The Last Pass" which has been published. If you feel interested, I can mail the file.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Death Be Not Proud
If death is a turn in the journey of life, then I die every moment, for every moment my life turns. If death is a sleep then I die every night. If death is an awakening, them every morning is a new death. If death is an extinction, then too I die every moment, for the me of moment ago is replaced by me of this moment. Whichever way you look at it, death seems to be an every day, mundane experience.