Sunday, September 24, 2006
The dark path under a moonless sky
A silhouette walks along, shadowless
The rain hasn't lost its bite with the journey
It stings the flesh but the silhouette is unperturbed
It has lost its mind
Lost its heart
Lost its face
It moves without a sound
It is but a silhouette
Onlookers stay faraway
For though it maybe a friend
It might even be a foe
Or a robber who'll strip them off their possessions
It walks on, head hung down
Lost in thought, or can it even think?
No one knows, and no one dare find
For the silhouette carries a cloud of misery
All of a sudden it disappears
A sigh of relief is emitted
But curious voices ask... where has it gone?
A splash in the lake gives them the answer...
All around me
The world is a burnt-out ruin
A memoir of man’s seduction
By the seven deadly sins
I come across death, destruction
This land, irrigated with blood
Now gives a rich harvest
Guns, bombs, arsonists alike
I now lie mortally wounded
A new addition to the growing list
I have been left alone in death
This is the only place I find peace
The eerie silence is music to my ears
I have been know to destroy
And to self destruct
Yet I always return
Never my lesson do I learn
Burn myself in one hell or another
No one seems to mind
For that is my designated job
Only this time
I shall not rise
For there are no ashes
Only a little bullet in my head
But the supreme confidence I have in my kind
Someone shall take my place
Someone from the burnt-out ruin
Shall rise from the ashes, again
Torn in the confusion
Pacing the distance between the horns of dilemma
Burning in the cathartic fire
Waiting for redemption
Is a natural way for me
Not by choice, but chance
Approaching a fork in the road
No clue where to go
The foreknowledge haunts
For this is purgatory
All roads lead the same way
Pictured at the fork
Sunday, September 17, 2006
ah don bosco! my alma-mater... i miss those days. not a care in the world, no emotional complications whatsoever... just going everyday, enjoying life with the bhailogs, talking trash about "hot" teachers... not doing any kind of serious work, getting 43% marks in Class XI 1st term... never once was there any blot (except the marks probably) on the mind...
and now, not a day goes by without thinking about various career matters, emotional matters (read: women-created troubles) etc... how i hope one day i could go back to those days...
Monday, September 11, 2006
The half stub sticks out of the box
Sticks out even though it is the smallest
Humbled I stand today
The flight is over
Was good while it lasted
Who wants to sit next to me?
The past blurs by
The future flies past
Scoots beneath the surface
What are we doing?
One of the thieves was saved
Fifty percent redemption
Caught in the inferno
The hypochondriac stands
Oblivious to the fire
That envelops his existence
The charred remains; and
The charring, remains
Yet the realization
Fails to appear
Trapped he stands
Procrastinating the inevitable
Till the flame
Burns his inflammable self
The half lived life
what is life but a long, painful wait for death (or redemption for the optimistic-minded)? we're all waiting for something or the other in life... D's waiting for deliverance from her emotional tumult, shadows is waiting for the 2 years to get over and im waiting for... what?
the answer wouldve been simple 3 weeks ago, but now, im not so sure. maybe one thing or maybe the other. or maybe im just making excuses for extending this half-lived life...
Sunday, September 10, 2006
come on guys, he is 37, has been racing at the top for 16 years. give him a break. and lets celebrate his success, not mourn his retirement. he has broken every record there is to break in the sport, and the new records will be virtually unchallenged. let us, his fans, cheer him all the way to his 8th title this season and celebrate his unrivalled success...
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet...
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse...
thanks D for giving my number to shadows. And thanks shadows, for finally forcing me to start my own blog, late though it might be...