The Drought !!!

Am I going to die on the streets ?
Will not I not be dying on the arms of my girl with the last few drops of precious tears in our eyes ?
Am I not going to meet her in this birth ? Won't I not talk to her of me, and listen to her with care and awe ?
Are those forests and beaches going to be uninhabited forever ? Aren't we going to be Adam and Eve ?
Am I not going to feel the resonance with her ?
I seem to be immortal suffering this pain.

Who is listening ? I am trying to communicate. I am thinking for long.
Even words betray me. I fail to quote.
Words that I fail to utter die; words that fail to express my longing are once again cremated. I am forgetting expressions. I am forgetting to write. I am losing my ink.

She remains, and reminds !!!

In Memory Of The Pleasant Days !!!

I hear heavy engines whirring. I hear them close to my ears. I am going to fly. Fly at great heights above the clouds. And fly away into a future which does not tell me if I will ever return. So now is the last of those volatile moments to enjoy the things I am going to miss.

 

I will no more be a democratic man. I will no longer experience true moments of freedom and the pride of exercising it. And for a long time, I will not be breathing fresh air, and will be paying for pure water. No more cool unpolluted breeze. No more self-analysing self-realising calm walks in the lonely evenings. No more ME.

I will give up my black coffee addiction after tonight. I will miss manoeuvering all my favorite cars (ofcourse rented) on the solid roads laid years ago forever. I will no more climb up more than 20 floors. End of the downtown season. I am going to miss flirting the cat eyed teen age girls on the street. Streets that are always parallel and aligned. Streets that are full of shops that never throw garbage. Shops that stock best wines at cheap rates. Shops that offer discounts for beers every week. But after tonight, I will have to stop drinking. The half one on my desk is the last of the best ones, my favorite - Gordon Biersch 'Marzen'.

From now on, there are going to be only sparse thoughts about my dream girl. I am going to miss the longings I have been suffering. I am going to miss the Fight Club.

Will this list ever end ? It is true that I am going to miss these and much more.
But I am flying to those who have missed me for a long long time.

{For The Passed Moment On The Night Of September 20}

Untouched Corners !!!

I remember......I heard this song, and it made me lose myself. Today, I read something; it completely blind folded me and left me somewhere, a place well known to me but not visited often. A place where music is only for one's ears, and light only for one's eyes. My vocabulary begs to describe the place I was taken to. Despite the heavenly aura, the place was distressing, disturbing and painful; a pain one would want to suffer.

There are these 'untouched corners' in all of us.......atleast me. It is a place not acquainted with all the time; not with all, not even self. A place where dreams are not to dream but to fulfill. A place so exquisite and pleasant or deadly and diabolical, the boundaries defined by the limits one take it to. My corner is an uninhabited one. It is just the two of us.

Until these days, my corners were a place to visit. She was mischievous enough to touch these corners....often. I do not know if it was my addiction or hers. And now, I live there.

Silence is the music.
Time and tide is still. The only thing running is my tears.
I do not age nor die. I just, AM........waiting for her.

Waiting To Propose !!!

I sat here on my penny-worth chair at my balcony for a 'little-alone' time. My sight is blurring......It is smoggy all around. I am no more sitting, I am just laying there, as if burned down. Ouch...............my fingers scorch. I hurl my hand with sluggish reflex, and one more fire bud flies to the bunch of others in the trash. The fire buds are still alive, including the last one that flew from my hand. The fire buds speak of the anger in me; Each fire bud reminds of a flower rejected by one of them to whom I did not have the courage to propose. And they lay there...............withered.........and reddened.

The last one that flew was for her.
Will that bud ever die ?
It will tell her that I am still waiting, still looking for her !!!

I can see the smog now, clearly. The smog is smoke, and I lay in my chair as if I have been shot in the mouth.

Thodi Raagam !!!

My humble prayers to Isis for showering me with good words
to write down my suffering. It is the only way I can have it
shared.

I am not afraid of joining the Fight Club. It is the interval between now, every now, and the moment I become a part of it. Until then, I know her exotic long hair will sway over my face. Yet I have not seen her face. I know I will be hypnotised like every time by the fragrance and touch of her soft skin. I know I have to be with her.......without her !!!

I fantasize her - passionately and widly. Her long black hair is smooth and flows like silk. Every time it flows over my face, I let go myself. My coarse hands shiver, losing their skill, when they trace her soft skin. Anytime I close my eyes, I see us always embraced - holding her softly like a proposing flower. She whipers in my ear with a smile wanting something. Her voice echoes inside me. At times, I have found it hard to distinguish if I am thinking or hearing. I can spare time and life if I could lay for more time beside her. It is the green(est) plains and I lay beside her caressing, while she smiles at the sky. That is her diplomatic way of provoking me. The soft breeze carries the fresh dew and they fall undisturbed on her lips. I touch her lips, they are cold and soft. I kiss them..............with my eyes closed; they overflow with tears. It is like a revelation of life. There is nothing but nothingness all around us. And there we lay frozen ............with our lips in conversation.

I am being tormented without her. It is a suffering - thinking about her, being engaged with her all time and not knowing if she is just a dream. I wonder why are dreams called so ? To me, it does not matter whether dreams happen. I am convinced if they elate me to the heights I dream of. So I treat them very real. Yet I am in the dream world. I could not make explicable meaning of these fantansies. These fantasies are a manifestation of a much great emotion inside me. Truly.......it is LUST. I could not find any other way to express it. If lust is sin, so be it; I am already suffering the punishment. Perhaps, my suffering will heal if spoken than written. And any way I try, my words are not going to sound poetic and genuine for a consoling pat. They sure may sound unorthodox and vulgar, and I am afraid of my suffering being ignored juvenile when shared. But pathetic.......I am an orphaned friend. So my fantasies shall remain as troubling thoughts inside me.

There are two kinds of men - those who give more love and those who always want more love. To be either of the two, I need HER. I realise that the Fight Club is an excuse, an escape, an inscrutable reflection of my sadness over missing her. And these fantasies are an evidence. Until the day, she comes out of the dream to my arms, I shall keep writing elegies of my unrequited longing. I shall write of the sleepless nights I sleep with her, the caressing, the momentary blood clots that my coarse hands make on her tender body. I shall write words wounded by the fragrance of her breadth. I shall write to discharge the unbearable suffocation. I cannot endure to have it all left unsaid.

Until the day I unite with her, I am cursed to bear the heat. I am cursed with lust. Hence, I wander......Ohh 'MY LOVE', where art thou ?

I am in LOVE !!!

A few words before I lay on my bed to feel the painful solitude !!!

Solitude is not the feeling of loneliness when there is nobody, but everybody. Solitude is not chosen but ultimately left with. Solitude is not exclusion but retreat without your conscious consent. Solitude is not sweet pain but agony. Solitude is not for sharing with others, it is only for you. Solitude is your feelings in prison, however poetic and genuine they are.

Solitude is being in love with a nobody and expecting it for the rest of your life. I am in love !!!

The Fight Club !!!

Silence Prevails..............so silent that the photons rushing in the through the window, like raging soldiers, can be heard. Disturbed by the high acoustics, I struggle not to open my sticky eye lashes. Like the soldiers with their shining swords, the photons attack my eyes and I can see them attack even with my eyes closed. I cry a dull tired 'Ummmmmhhhhhhh'. It is 9:00....9:30 - No, not 10:00 - in the morning. It is still silent. I wake up or somebody wakes me up. The light now seems to flow in like silk and is mute; although I imagine hearing melancholic notes of a violin from the farthest in my house - I am awake and in a conscious state. I wonder if the light made the sound to wake me up.

The birds on the trees got tired chirping and had flown away. The morning dew is now hot. And probably there won't be any children on the streets. It is not but seems to be mid day. And now all that is going to happen for the rest of the day is the curse on me. The pain of the curse is knowing the future of the day, and the future has been the same way for a long time I know. There is no 'future' in the day.

I do not remember if I brushed my teeth but I remember standing before the mirror. Was it yesterday ? I do not know if the days run slow or fast. They are not interesting, not worth remembering. I know I will hear a gushing sound of the shower water now or a short while from now. Oh I hear it now, and it sounds the same way like yesterday and like many many days before yesterday. The water hisses like a snake, and each droplet jumps from the nozzle smoothly like divers with open hands, floats and flies like a bird, and pitches on my face and shoulders. The water is warm. I no more greet the pitch of the first droplet with a unstoppable smile. I no more experience the comfort of my body. My strained muscles have stopped relaxing for the warm water. They have become lifeless. I feel like a lotus leaf. Sometimes, I stand staring at the water coming out of the shower nozzle. I still cannot guess what gets me out of the deliquium. I do not remember ever starting the day without a step in the shower, or the shower getting dried out.

If the breakfast is ready by the time I dress up and the shower tap stops ticking, would that break the monotonous mornings ? I guess.......it should. Because I know I am going to pour the milk on my white bowl, top it with the corn flakes or oat meal. I tried skipping breakfast a few times to make a difference. It made a big difference - bad breadth most times and I fainted twice. When I have a great battle to fight for the rest of the day, a difference in the breakfast would not make much of a difference. Despite that, I try to make things a lit different in the kitchen, and it strikes late for my polar express (train) to catch.

I have stopped responding to my senses that tell me I am getting late for the train. I deliberately hold up rushing and watch the suburban train on the bridge not wait for me. Ohhh.....I pity the train operator. How many times will he have to drive the same damn thing, over and over, over the same rail from hither to yonder and yonder to hither. Will he be cursed too ? Or does he sleep while the train goes on the rail ? No, he does not. Then how does the train stop for people waiting to board or to get off ? I expect my boarding station to be "Under Construction" or bombed. I expect that today there won't be any leaves rustling there, that sound like the scratch of a blunt blade. I expect a lot of people happily chatting with each other while they wait for the train. I expect to meet a good travel friend. I expect to see the most beautiful girl on the train or at the next approaching station. I expect to say hi to her, and flirt with her wildly. I expect a free ride from my drop off point to the office. I expect somebody to shoot an album with me while I walk to office. Nothing happens, nothing like that has happened yet. The train white in color for as long as I remember has not faded, has never been late, and has never waited for me or anyone even for a second. And I walk to office, imaging an album being shot.........I realise I am humming a good melody, I hum aloud, foreign sounds in a foreign land.

Well, the rest of the day does not work well. I have a job but I do not have any (interesting) work. Work is not what you are made to do but you do. At work, I am like a lone banyan tree in a vast hay field. Sometimes I just sit gazing, completely lost, and fall in a different kind of deliquium that leaves me in a state of imagination. When I get out of it, it would almost be the time when cars on the streets start racing in the opposite direction. I realise it is evening. I start home for no one waiting for me. Then it is time for the polar express story again.

The sun rests after its tiresome day. And i am tired for no reason. I want to rest but am restless. A few hours run along, and it is the night. My dark room is like an empty sky. And my confused mind fills it with incomprehensible thoughts. I fight my thoughts, and feel asleep (sleep ?) late fighting them. I am living like the dead. I feel no pain any more. My senses are struggling to get liberated, to function. But they are numb because of the 'everyday'. I wish to get angry at somebody, yell at them. I wish to get beaten. I wish to lay stray on the streets, drunken. I wish to ride a horse. I wish to laugh aloud. I wish to cry. I wish to sleep in a car on the top of a mountain. I wish to swim in the cold sea. I wish for my portrait. Would such feelings make my senses function ? I pray, not God, for something that would give life to my life.

I feel something now. I feel a change in the pace in my heart. What if this sick lifeless hopeless man gets a girl for his own and his only ? Perhaps, the love and warmth of a woman could take the boredom out of my life. What if she knows that spell ? What if she knows how to cuddle me but preserve my tears ? What if she could blow my heavy sleepless eyes softly and put them to sleep ? What if she could fight the photons for me, and instead wake me up with the most beautiful sight - her grace, her charm. What if she makes me cough many times in the day while I am away from her ? What if she waits for me in the evenings in her black dress, fallen hair, a red rose, fragrant candles, and a hidden drop of tear and trust in her eye for this hopeless man who in real is just born to live ? Yes, I hope that a girl could lighten up my life. I hope I would get the urge to live the day. I hope my life would make some sense. I imagine her, and I feel blessed and peaceful by her sanctity. Well, then is she there ? Will she be mine ?

I fear she never comes. I fear I will go mad. I fear these good thoughts will cease , and I will end up in the kingdom of boredom. What do I do ? So I imagine broken teeth. I imagine cruel fiery eyes, blacked out. I imagine my beard wet with beer bubbles. I imagine blood in my hands, on my wear, and in my mouth. I imagine a lot of people around me like that. I imagine Tyler Durden. I imagine FIGHT CLUB !!!