#10: Forgive My Ineptitude.

Nights like this-
     few and   f a r     b e t w e e n
With the full moon
Revealing all  that it's seen
To the blackened streets
Where we had once been.

So tell me if
You could dare once again
To turn the pages
And take me in the rain
To my storybook land
Down a forgotten memory lane.

For I crave
With a hurt chest
And a ragged breath
         halfchoked halfgasped
To have
  a night more
     a minute more
       a moonbeam more
         of what was once You
           and Yours in Me.

So don't wake the demons
Hiding behind my shadow tonight
Leave behind nothing
But an almost-not-there remembrance
That will hurt
On cold winter nights
Like a wound that never healed
And a man that never left.

#9: Of Tainted Skin and Sin.

A pale map
Of crisscrossed
Scars
Of juxtaposed
Realities
Of stark
Ugliness.

This doesn't fit me
Quite so well;
So tear it off of me,
And burn my shame.

From scar
To scar
To marks
To ruins:
Of what
May have been
Beauty-
So many universes ago.

Flay off this
Unwholesome undesirable
Loathsome layer
Of lies I live.

Hatemesomuch
Detest and despise
Look with distaste at
My decrepit desolation.

And when you
Leave me tonight
With three soiled banknotes
Under the broken lampshade
            Don't SLAM the door-
       Darling, even noises
     Make me ache sometimes.

#8: It Is A Beautifully Drugged Night.

'Tis a beautiful night
Too restless for silences
Too heavy with truthtelling:
So maybe it's time
You told me things.

Then

Tell me, sweet love
Of the first time you kissed
And how crimson stains
S
   p
       r
          e
              a
                  d
On all your unsullied soul.

Tell me of nights
That stilly stole sleep
Away from the eaves
Of misty murky memories
Of runny black ink.

Tell me what your fears are
And I will feast on them
Ravenous beast that I am:
Nibble and bite and tear
At the edge of your dreams.

To make you feel
Twice-bought, thrice-owned
In my need to devastate, and to
Possess and consume and devour
Satiate my appetite
           for you, and You are
    Afflatus to the dead dried
           husk of bad poetry
    Elate me, delight me
           with your ecstasy of notknowing.
             
So come over,
The night's young
And I am quite unfinished
At the art of self-destruction;
And I love you so,
And tonight, babe,
You are going down with me.

#7: Blocks and Bonds.

She walks on
She walks alone
Treading the razor's edge
Cutting too close.

Like a piece of paper
Clutched too tight
And then set adrift
Hollow emptiness.

She sways along
The tides of the
Cold winds that blow
From nowhere to nowhere.

Withering, withering
Feeling the fingers of the breeze
Pick and pinch and pull
Bits of her soul away.

With eyes glazed
That shy away
From every unkind
Gaze of pity.

She swayed
Then swung
Then swum
Then flew

Along the tides
Of winds that once
Wore away a soul
And gifted her wings.

#6: Of Uncomfortable Rhymes and Good Music

If you will go out tonight
Into streets that stink of shame,
Take me along, so I'll sing you a song,
Of terrible beauty and unknown name.

Into streets that stink of shame,
And shrink back into their own shadows;
Let us then run, with wild abandon,
As the moon fattens and grows.

Take me along, so I'll sing you a song,
That hides the million scars I make;
Love me not, for love is fraught
With the untold cry of soulless ache.

Of terrible beauty and unknown name,
The song resounds through the speechless sky;
It speaks of you, and of me too,
Now that we are left to die.

#5 : Because I cannot forget Prufrock.

Let me go, then,
Out of this room
That smells of cigarettes
Yesterday's midday news
And you.

Into the burning streets
Like a dream that flitted
In and out of your sleep
So many nights ago.

Sit by the window, then
On a table with coffee rings
Circles upon circles in faded rhyme
Of Morrison regretting lost time.

And think of me
When the rain spatters
Against the old stained rug
Where the black cat once sat.

For I hear the rain, too
In the dark confusion of darker days
With music in my ears
And oblivion in my head.

Out on the streets, again
To search for hidden meanings
In alleys that break and crumble
To hide the stains of history.

And I look at you in smoke rings
Still sitting at that window
And I wonder if you know
That I don't dream at nights.

So listen to the waves of sin
As they wash the lights out of this town
As shadows lengthen and stretch and engulf
The lives that could have been.

Look up at the blind sky
That cloaks the world tonight
And let the breeze stir memories
Of a childhood you never had.

But return inside, before the tide
Binds you in its hypnotic stare
And let the shadows retreat
Into their cold, cavernous lair.

And don't think of me
When the day breaks again
And grains of light creep over
The dog eared keepers of your solitude.

For I stretched out for
A grain of light
And stretched too far
Too out of sight.

I remain still, trapped
In wisps of smoke
In specks of dust
And your occasional sigh.
And you and I
Have left this room
So long ago;
Now, let me go.

#4.

Come, Hiya. They tell me you haven't woken up in four days- and that you probably never will again- but what do they know, eh? Still, even if you cannot answer, listen to me once again. Do you remember those days, when the longest of nights were consumed in the maw of conversations that never ended; hushed voices- rising rapidly to a crescendo-falling into whispers again- whispers that never died out, but echoed softly around the house, tracing lines on the old sofa, caressing the azaleas in the porch, swirling around us in a light promise of security.
When did those conversations die out? Do they still lie in wait somewhere, tucked between the pages of the monthly bills, in the corner of the drawer that holds your knitting needles? Somewhere along the way, the old sofa found its way to the attic, and I never found the time to tell you how good you made the garden look.

I guess the conversations didn't die. They aged and withered, just as we did.
Is this a conversation? An old man, rambling to his sleeping wife, praying for a miracle in a land where miracles are scarce.. I don't like this conversation. But have it we must.

Because I need to tell you so much. And I always thought I had the time to- until suddenly, I didn't. So let's make up for lost time. For the time when I didn't speak to you for a week- I'm sorry. You see, you were looking at that ring in the store, and you said nothing. But I knew you liked it so, and you knew that I couldn't afford it. And it's been, what, over thirty years? All the rings in the world cannot make up for that black sullen silence. I apologise.

It's just that anger is so easy, you know. It is just so simple, to siphon off frustration in a moment of red, blinded rage. But you made me want to take the hard way. You taught me that swallowing my pride every once in a while is worth it, when I saw your face and read contentment in it. Not mere satisfaction- but real contentment. And that made me the richest man on earth.

We are old, old people now, Hiya. Older than I ever thought I'd grow to be, and here we are, still hand in hand- are you still listening? Yes, you are, aren't you.
So let me tell you this, for time is trickling through my closed fist, and it's almost night. Know that I always, always loved you. From the day that you walked out of your father's house, your chin held high and your hand in mine, we have been inextricably bonded- and I have cherished every long-drawn, rushed-out second of it. In a world made up of countless uncertainties, you have been the compass that guided a terribly windswept ship home.
I'm home, Hiya.

Know this, that I am not afraid anymore. This world stopped frightening me a long while ago, but the strong fear of oblivion held on to me, stronger in the dusk of age, strongest as I saw you weaken in front of it. But, Hiya, remember how you once said that if parallel universes are real, then there is atleast one where we never met? Let me confess, then, that such a universe would sustain me, even if the faintest wisp of an idea of you were there to anchor me to life.

You see, I was weak. And it is your courage that binds to my soul, lending me the strength to face the pinpricks of somethingness, the vast spaces of nothingness, the cold floor under my feet and the stark vacuum that draws closer every second.

I am still afraid, Hiya. Because empty voids may not give any special benefits to senior citizens who still behave like infatuated teenagers. Because these bondages of body gives us a deadline too short. Because I never want to lose sight of you. Because I can feel my heart literally ache, in sight of loss. Because uncertainty is always scary.

Stay with me a minute more, Hiya.
Let me thank you for lives well-lived.
Let me chide you for the last one year that you haven't left this bed.
Let me hold your hand, warmish, pulse in tandem to mine, heartbeats in silent resonance, testiments to the existence we've known.
Let me love you, for whatever time is left, till time stops making sense.

#3

Hush, there!
Look at 'em, now:

Silently slithering
Through sordid streets
Into rabbit holes
And out of opium dens.

Here they go,
These heathen children-
Thirsty for more.
Seeking the unfound
Stories that lost
Themselves, somehow
In the dervishing whirls of time.

Let me follow their trail
A little while longer
Let me
Breathe their
     heat
Sing their
     nights
Touch their
     joyful-half-baked-dreamsoftomorrow.

Let me go
For a minute more
To taste wildness
In a world
That knows not
Of the word: Caution.

#2

"I cut a sorry figure,"
He thought, walking away,
Leaving behind the smell of her
In the sweet demise of the day.

Always too weary to care,
He dragged his body through the night,
Ignoring the incessant ignoble stare
Of soulless sight, born of dim desperate light.

fumbled for keys, dropped them to the floor.
picked them with shaky hands, unlocked the door.

and stepped into the cold expectant shade
of the sanctuary of mindless servitude that he'd made.

The bare walls still accused him,
The lighter patches of paint want their hangings back.
The bowler, the fedora, the wide-brim
Are no more there, but just shadows on the rack.

The nude floor felt chill against his skin
(He'd sold the carpets too, when the need was bad.)
Pawning was okay, 'coz stealing is Sin,
But he'd long ago sold all that he had ever had.

went back again, bolted the latch.
stripped off his clothes, chuckled "Now we match."

fumbled in pocket, brought out the Bag.
sniffed it deeply, let his shoulders sag.

He'd tried hard, again and again,
Till he broke himself on the rocks of misery.
A shiver racked his spine, worse than pain;
Drear realisation: "I'll never be free."

Through Sweat and Chills and Madness
He found Water, and Needle, and Fire.
Weak is the mind, weaker is the flesh-
Always allured by all-consuming Desire.

sitting, humming, "Hello, cold turk, my old friend,
we've come a long way, here's the end."

watching Water boil, pouring Packet in.
fumbling again in coat, for the tiny sip of gin.

He looked down
At the veins, streaked blue, green and shame,
The telltale pinpoint scars, the druggie's crown
Made of white Snow and Futility and Flame.

Everything was done, and so was he-
Empty man in empty room of void shadow.
He looked down in morbid melancholy
Leisurely life well-wasted, but no Keepsake for the Show.

sighed a little
    and plunged the needle
sighed some more
    all thought turned null.

looked for a memory, tried to cry
or move a bit, or laugh, or sigh.

NOTHING but potent ecstasy,
NOTHING but an endless fall.
      nothing to hold on to, nothing to lose
      nothing to try to live for at all.

#1

As the chilly, clammy night
Presses insistently on my skin again
             In a darkness that
               silently declares its entirety
                 so as to drown out
                   all cries
                     for Help.

As I let my lead-weighed, deadweight
Body succumb to exhaustion
                             I want to stand
                          a minute longer
                        so as to reach out
                      and call
                    for You.

And maybe I could tell you

That your fears are valid,
And the fright is real,
But your nightmares hold just as much power
As you let them.

That the Noise of the world
Is really just made of several silences
And every silence is eager to tell its Story
If you care to listen.

That the sobs that wrack your body sometimes
Are reflected a million times everywhere,
But the questions that stare back at you in the mirror
Are yours alone.

That most of your education was lies.
That pain isn't necessary to know of pleasure.
That the Universe doesn't really give a shit.
That Karma isn't real.

That it is your insignificance
In the greater scheme of things
Which lets you be gloriously SIGNIFICANT
For just the tiniest of moments.

That heartbreak is as bad as it sounds
And all morality is overrated.
Because all your truths, and mine, in the End
Belong to a larger lie.

That failure, once or many times, comes cheap
But surrendering is unaffordable.
That the men who refuse to meet your eye
Will never meet your expectations.

That the little girl peddling a rainbow of flowers
Never had a real chance at anything
And she is a reminder of how unfair life is
And how lucky you are.

That somewhere between heresy and blind belief
Our fear of the Inevitable End ties us together.
That women everywhere around the world
Have pretty eyes.

That I have tried hard and long
To make you believe in this one life you own,
And I hope the unbearable ecstasy of being pervades your days
And lets you sleep at night.

That as the night grows darker than darkness
I know you know all I could've told you
But I hope you're still around
To let me help you
To help me somehow.

A Revival

I have decided to restart this blog again after a while.
I encourage you to ignore all the weird shit that is published beyond this post, because
A> They were written by 2008 me, who was a semiliterate teenager, and

B> Most of it is just really ridiculous.

However, I won't be deleting any of it, so you can go right ahead and look at the weird shit a 13 year old can spew.

Cheers.