Digging for Meaning

I have made up my mind, About your unsound mind. I have made up my mind, About your unsound mind.   aha.. and so have you, is it? And yet, here we are cackling at each other. aha.. and so have you, is it? And yet, here we are cackling at each other. I can shout louder and I have stapled shut my ears. and how dare you look away? look at me! hear me! I can shout louder and I have stapled shut my ears. and how dare you look away? look at me! hear me!  listen to me! LISTEN TO ME! listen to me! LISTEN TO ME!  and stop pushing me, stop talking Your problem is YOU just won't listen. and stop pushing me, stop talking Your problem is YOU just won't listen. Oh yes, oh yes? talk sense you numbskull. YOU are a lobotomized dandelion you are a snowflake robot. Oh yes, oh yes?  talk sense you numbskull. YOU are a headless cocroach You clueless sheeple. YOU shut up YOU shut up Listen to ME Listen to ME You You ...

Read this while listening to this .  ________________________________ Stay still, Stay still world. You are moving too much Too fast To everywhere and staying nowhere waiting for no one thinking of no one bumping into things breaking things blowing up things can you please take a break? where are you taking us? where are we taking you, you ask? who's driving this thing? who's in charge? i am?  i don't even... where's the breaks? where's the breaks? who put me in charge? Let me out of here. Let me out! there is no way out, is there? and i am not the only one driving this either, am I? I am craning my neck here and every time I exert a little, I see another head driving this thing. in every direction. Time please! hey, i am calling for a recess. goddamnit stop every one. fucking deaf, everyone. Stop dragging me. alright, I will run with you, will you let me catch up, please. asshole. alright, alright. you know where you are going? ...

Things turn into cash once they are stripped of their lives - their breath, their freedom, their dignity or their joy. A fish on the table and a cubicle dweller.. both are united in their solvency, their ability to be stripped of their lives and turned into money. This solvency is our own making Hold up your hands against the sun and your favourite gods Do they dissolve?  Hold up your heart and see if it beats for them Hold your joys in your hands and fling them towards the system, does it stick? For a better world first we need to walk away from this world.

If I were a king, I would declare it a birth right & a duty to look up and feed one's soul with the beauty of sky. Every soul deserves to feel the majesty of the great above -  The ominous greys rolling whites serene blues or the orange blue kisses of the setting sun... There is beauty in every sky. Every sky is free of our smallness, our worries, our angst. All hopes, dreams and realisations converge upwards above clouds and above satellites in the great beyond that our gazes seek and find above us.

In the middle of the maelstrom, the saffron vortex of hatred, The man stands battered, by swirling dust of ignorance eyes stinging from all that wide-eyed and yet blind outraging ashamed by his smallness ready to lash out impotently against his own interest against his own people.  ___ Flag bearers must be blind for if they had eyes, they would desert to join the throng at the sidelines screaming to stop the madness. But how can they stop anything without getting sucked into the vicious vortex? unfortunately the only thing the blind understand is the remorseless fist. and the ones with open eyes at the sidelines can't close their palms into fists without succumbing to that old human malady - remorse and guilt. ___ Who with open eyes will take up the challenge of raising and raining fists in-spite of the remorse and the guilt against the hate engineers, the profiteers of commotion, the instigators of dust storms?

Come fall, what if our house sheds its roof? like helpless leaves, slaves of seasons. Decay collecting underneath naked sky piercing us with its raw hostility. Should we rather be moths and caterpillars then enjoying the delicacies of the decay? Or the birds who roam in search of a house they can call their own for awhile.

Centipedes running through air in distance the mystery of a hundred quick feet the arc of motion - swifter than comprehension.  ____ Hundreds of ghost lamps undimmed & unflickering circling the city, above our heads.  ____ Metal thundering on concrete Air shimmering on Metal Eye on the shimmer of the air.  ____ Behind the glass monsters it glides without sound, without consequence air sliced by the swift samurai sword. ____

Oh god. Let the day be simple. Like it was written for a cow from the prairies. Let no sludge of pointless meetings block the flow of my life. Let the fall leaves of ideas float down gently on the fertile soil of my mind. and actions flow in tandem through me unhindered & forceful. and if its not to be please quicken the day and let me go to sleep. amen.

Cloud, the color of the sky one into another, seamless A slow movement, wind escaped from a hurried eye a frantic eye, inconsolable terrified by what it didn't see a moon that was supposed to there but is not. The eye does not know, it only sees. a moonless sky on a moonlit night. what's real? what's a shadow? 

Levi's has come with another commercial from their 'Go forth' campaign. Here's an embedded video of the same. It instigated me to write what I felt about such advertisements, in the form of a poem. It follows the video, please scroll down. An empty shell of decaf coffee and air conditioned adventures. Running in the city streets stamping out mindlessly images of its own. All the running flattening the world into a 2D image-nerium from a living breathing 3D world of yesterday. 'You are a kid' & 'you are the next living leader of the world' and all that lies in between is a piece of cloth that drapes beautifully and consequentially. The 21st century gods in jeans and T-shirts and shades smile their blessings on you - you whose image is now as big as those very god's. And smiling sideways, the gods bestow powers on the soles of your designer shoes and the threads of the Made-in-Bangladesh shirts. The global dreams ...

Uncertain fists in the air Raised for causes ill understood. Uncertain fists as proofs of desperate existence,pumped in empty air. The proof of a life lived sustained on the noxious fanning of outrages. The sadness and badness of the world continuously pumped through the digital veins of the world. The connected soul, battered incessantly by the tidal waves of outrages. Before comprehension can dawn, submerged in another outrage. skin thin outrage, blood thick issues wasp's lifespan worth interest ageless reality man. disconnect. DISCONNECT.

when the lights go out and the city's TVs and chat windows are left lifeless the lonely legs bring the living souls to the windows and balconies of the lonely city. and in that honest dark time, the city sighs. empty heavy gazes converge in the heat of the city. hearts on window sill breath for life in the hot mist.

Do you think you are an aam aadmi? you are a voyeur in the great playground of this nation. You are outside the playground. You are a consumer. you earn your white collar dollars and spend it on processed snacks and shiny things. and that's the only thing that excites you or the people high up. They are concerned with nothing else about you. Sadly, neither are you. The only things that hold your gaze are TV and your ever expanding belly. The shining rectangles are narrowing your minds and squeezing out all empathy you've got . You whine for a while when shit happens. But won't try to affect any change. At this moment you pick up the placards in the name of aam aadmi and walk in circles in your living room. But there's nothing 'aam' about how you see yourself. You are world unto you. That world is small but richly invested with your emotions. That narrow world doesn't entertain logic or differing opinions. Once painted with a favorite color, the personal b...

a bird, a weightless soul pouring out its music into nothingness...

There's a book in me. But its not just a book. Its a yell. Its a war cry. I can't just sit in the sidelines. I can't just live a life without a purpose. I can't let myself detoriate to a middle-class stupor, an existence stripped of any passions, any measure of being alive. I am a born stirrer. Though often I remain in sidelines cuz I believe that i don't have a right to interfere or fight on someone else's behalf; I am not going to just swim with my surroundings anymore. I am going to react to what affects me. I am goin to stir questions in people close to me. A life without questioning one's self is a life in coma. Its not long that I realised i was in coma for the last year or so. The stupor accelerated in the comfortable Hyderabad, where my job is morally defunct, intellectually empty and value worth zilch. All it did was made me fat with all that still sitting and emptied my brain with the stupor of mindless excel sheets and dead silence of office. Th...

Chapter 1. The order This is a story about a maverick government officer who was unlike any. He was driven with passion for his pledge not pennies. A pledge that all took, but few followed At the feet of powerful did most find grounds hallowed. The pledge was a looking glass that made everyone seem equal. And justice was a given, not a mirage of ‘coming soon’ sequel. But alas, the real world was none too congruent. And the supposed builders of bridges of equality were playing truant. When the majority abdicates its duties and a few uphold the ideal, the mirror of the truth is sought to be sabotaged and its shard are used to kill. Normality is enforced and differences are annihilated. Opinions are agreed upon and beamed down into gullible brains emaciated. The hero of our story was no idealistic zealot he was just a human, and felt for his lot. His conscience was not squeaky clean but questioning that conscience was his daily scene. It was just one such day, when his boss asked him to g...

Hands Such grace Creation chose the medium of creativity to be bestowed with such divine grace. They flow like water, and flap like wings. They deceive time, and deliver stillness. They break and they fuse. They play with air and water, and elements delight in their touch. They move and they feel. They are alive. They are life. They hold and they love. They fly and they jump. They nourish and they punish. They are us and they are the world. Our hands are sheer grace.

Watched Werner Herzog's 'white diamond' now. every time i see this man's movies, its as if a call. the movies are a beacon to me. beacon to a way i should be living my life. I have written about him here . I am in awe of him and for the first time in life, my hopes and aspirations are taking clearer shape in my mind thanks to his movies, to his lingering nimble gaze, light and studious. the perfect student. the traveler. Remain true to yourself, but move ever upward toward greater consciousness and greater love! At the summit you will find yourselves united with all those who, from every direction, have made the same ascent. For everything that rises must converge.- Pierre Teilhard De Chardin Its about time. 

The sun's been down for a while now. Everything in the commute is a blur except for the magnificence of the duration when a phone conversation tried to bridge the distance in-between our delicious love. Walking the steps to home introduces a buzzless calm for the first time in the day. The everydayness that troubled earlier, pacifies these days instead. The love has settled sweetly in a corner of the heart and is content (for now, until a few hours). The tired mundanity and contentedness of love cancel each other out and my face is left mostly expressionless.. its turns into a shell through which the senses operate but leave no footprint on. A few final steps and I sit heavily on the bed. Feet have been bound in the same shoes since morning. Thoughts from work never quite enter my mind, but they don't quite completely leave me as well. (it makes for very amusing absurd dreams at times :P) No music is playing right now, no thoughts willing to raise their questioning hands. For ...

dreams and hopes. heavy shapeless things. high on life, we smoke up reality and puff out dreams. they are round and edgeless, because we want them to be likewise. how free and light it felt while smoking it all up. how wonderful and colorful and full of love. and then while we were dreaming, bloody scheming silent slimy serpent of time slithered past us without us ever letting know. and all remained is the slime of memories, that touch of the serpent. just the nagging alive feeling of some dead moment of past and from time to time, the cloud of dreams clear up and we are left staring at the brutal blandness of reality and we are left wondering, 'where the fuck was I all this while?' and 'what the fuck am I doing now?' and 'why the *your favourite expletive* have i not tried flying?' all this while, afraid and dreaming letting the dreams add to itself weight of rust until it gets too heavy to fly. giving up on the fact that reality and dreams...