Thursday, April 28, 2011

You know what?

I am exactly 7 poems away from my final "manuscript".

So my target was June but I think i'll get there quicker and then wheeeeeeeee - send the final works to the "publisher" and we get rolling baby!

Personal target? I publish a book before October and then go for the Lit fest in Bali, this year. So what if i missed the one in Jaipur? I shall be broke but I shall go.

A very heartfelt thank you to people who actually care to read my stuff and who've literally threatened me to publish. I would have never  come out of the closet, otherwise. Errr..he writer's closet, not the other kind. Sick minded fools. ;)

Love and a lot more love.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

The writer's song

She sees a whole new world
From somewhere inside of her
Reality spells boredom
But from the ordinary, inspiration she will spur.

She walks in the city,
with the traffic upbeat
But her mind's in the mountains
And her heart's with the beach.

She types away to glory
On machines named fruits
But there's ink on her mind
The sacred pencil, so divine.

Machines and wires
How unimaginative could those be
So she lives in her dreams
And dreams of what could be.

She talks with passion
About both politics and love
Secretly she slaughters
Your reactions to each of those above.

She'll tell you she's sorry
When she won't really be
But she lives on your reactions
So she can write about them in glee

She weighs her every word
With caution she speaks,
But you'll think she's so simple
Manipulated, you shall certainly be

She will kiss you with maddening intensity
Enamored, you feel?
Well, she was just knitting poetry
She didn't mean to sweep you off your feet!

She'll smile when you hurt her
Or indifference it could seem
Act upon all those contemporaries
You'd think she believes

But at night, when no one's looking,
she'll weep to her pillow
And her heart will ache,
A frightening deal.

She's a writer to herself
And her temporary muse you can be
Don't judge by the surface though,
There's volumes that you don't see

She's a poet in her head,
You don't know all that she can be
She'll trick you into anything,
Elusive? Ah well, she's a writer, you see.



Now, right here
Can I capture this moment
In just memory alone?

Memory that fades not
from the mind so selfish.
Memory that blurs not
But still has blunt edges.

Cmon, stop thinking
Distractions, so many?
watch closely as my eyes
Pierce yours, so blindly.

I stare so curtly
Straight into those coal-like eyes
Brutal, they call my glance
But I'd given you many a chance.

with me,
as I run my fingers through yours
And slowly, secretly let my mind wander off...


Train of Thought

I picked the last word I read before I opened this page and decided to document my train of thought. It's an interesting exercise because when I look back at this, am sure I'll be amused if not surprised. Next time, I'll do this in a perfectly peaceful environment with no background disturbance like today.

scared ....fear ....courage....copy.... originality.....distraction...the tv.. interruption in between as the tv was loud....scream at the eyebrows...mother..laughter...warmth... love, maybe?....ahh sweet love... but other love? love...lust...attraction...seduction? intelligence...long nails painted off white...preppy wear...bohemian, but?...yellow.. so much yellow... my room's yellow wall...i glance sideways now...see the wall and smile.....they were going to make it pink...but am glad i fought for yellow... brighter than sunshine....memories.. i cheat now and dont mention names... all the names come back... bittersweet endings.... new beginnings? ..but still bittersweet....running away..escapism... sarcasm... peace... writer... there's no peace, there are just necessary but uninspiring... 


I don't know what to name this one.

Written a while back, this was never intended for the blog. But as people become but memories and memories become distant, the intentions tend to be forgotten and pieces like the one below become, but, another attempt at poetry put on a public portal for all to see. :) 

Chitter, chatter
Some rather useless banter.
Did he too think it is beautiful,
So random, this laughter?
For all the digs,
And the sarcastic humour,
Little did he know,
How she smiled, when he saw her.


Starry eyed

There is this ache inside of me
I wish I could write about it
It would make a painful song
The one to which they'd still sing along

There is this child in the distance,
I wish I could write about him
As in his mother's hair, he entwines a finger
And stares at her face in pure wonder.

There is this little girl I see
Oh, how she reminds me of well, me.
If I write about her,
Would you just name it as useless banter?

There are fireflies and trees
You'd rather I write about all of that, no?
How I watch you embrace with love
The stars, the moonlight and the open breeze!


And I declare.

Post some thinking, reflection, looking back in retrospect and all that fancy jazz, I've nailed a few realizations. My language seems incredibly popular culture influenced, you're thinking? I write in either complete abstract or in a manner similar to those "celebrity" bloggers whose life particularly revolves around the number of "followers" they have. Good, at least I got you thinking about the same shit, my bored mind is wrecking itself over. I love poetry, but there are times I want to shake people up. Times like right now. What I wouldnt do to go around bursting bubbles- metaphorically and otherwise too. My mind wanders off to India Gate.


As usual, we digress. Let's get back now to my super intelligent realizations. Ah well whom am I kidding! They're not particularly intelligent (though, in person I'd never admit that). They are however bizzare, amusing and almost definitely bloody bang on!

  1. When you're out at night- alone, defying all the rules a girl in Dilli is supposed to follow, trying to prove to the world that you will punch any man who attempts to get cheeky, prove to yourself that you don't need anyone to drop, pick you up or be concerned about you, your phone always and mark that word- always  runs on low battery. Not amusing, not in the slightest degree. 
  2. Days that there is a lot of work, the head aches and you curse capitalism and consumerism and the boss and the boss's boss. Days there is no work, the head aches even more with boredom and you curse louder. 
  3. Facebook is a great temptation only when you're avoiding a task. At a time, when there really isn't anything to do- its just an annoying community gossip mechanism taken to the internet. 
  4. When you're with a smart guy, you wish he was just a little prettier; when you're with a pretty boy, you can't believe you're with someone whose not even smart. When you find someone whose both, he is almost definitely a figment of your imagination. 
  5. In an interview, every candidate is always hard working, smart, analytical, passionate, committed. Once they start working however, they all become lazy, lazy, lazy, uninterested, complaining and oh lazy. 
  6. Single people hate their friends who have boyfriends- especially the best ones. Un-single best friends always want to set their single friends up, that too after a one hour rant about how all men suck and they wish they were single themselves. 
  7. Self- deprecating humour is never a sign of low self esteem- it is infact a courteous way of telling you, you're not even worth a good laugh. 
  8. Pseudo people will never tell you they are pseudo. But it sucks when you find out. 
  9. Sex has to be the single most popular subject of discussion across all ages, genders,sexualities, regions, communities. And yet we make a hue and cry about it. 
  10. Yellow is the best colour... EVER. 
  11. Most people who are upset, have nothing else to occupy their mind with. 
  12. Illness is in the mind, mostly. 
  13. This new generation, needs  to read some good old literature and get a grip on their vocabulary. 
  14. Everything is awesome and just what you want until you get it. Oh make that everyone too. 
  15. It is only human to be sickly attention craving, power chasing, anti-authority and shamelessly hypocritical. 
Happy working! :)


Sunday, April 17, 2011

A trip back to childhood

I wish I'd taken pictures.
As always, I did not.

The best memories are those that are in the mind alone. But, off late I want to buy a dslr. I want to capture what I see in more than just words. But that's for another time and another post. This post is about a trip away from home, after really long. A trip back to my childhood- the childhood that seems like a dream now, a memory from another universe, another time, a long long time ago.

Madras never can disappoint. This time, it was just that white spot after  series of grey. I dont want to sum up the specifics of the trip- they are too personal and too beautiful. But this trip soothed me- I think i really needed this calm. Life's been a havoc lately. Am back to grind, but I feel so refreshed.

I love the beach.


Monday, April 11, 2011


And then there days like this one, of complete exhaustion.

It's not just about today, it's about all thats been going on. I need some fresh air, some perspective. I need some change, some inspiration. I need some dreaming, some imagination.

Everything that can go wrong, is going wrong. Very much so. I'm suffocated, but there's little I can do about it that an overcome my claustrophobic tendencies. It's been so long since I've even reacted. Frankly, I'm too tired to react.

Then, when all's wrong I remind myself- I've always struggled and had to put in extra effort for all that I've ever achieved. I've always dealt with my shit all by myself- alone and sometimes even lonely. I've always cleaned up my own mess. So this time too, it shall be the case.

But what do you do, when its just fatigue you feel? Today, I actually told someone I'll give up. It feels strange to feel these things.

Rock bottom can be an awesome place to reach because from here you can only rise upwards. But you know what? I'm tired. Period.


Thursday, April 7, 2011

Whirlwind Moment

Steaming coffee
A conversation or two.
The laid back laugh,
That reminds me of you.

And then when I look up,
The ceiling's gone away
Them stars and the moonlight
To a new rhythm they sway.

I laugh so loudly,
I make them stop and stare.
While they frown, unamused
I could barely even care.

But when I look up again,
It's the ceiling, all white.
Then I dream of the abstract
Because I don't like what's in sight.