tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-362378832024-03-13T13:11:05.818+04:00when alice walked aroundgi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-5904232738864631982012-02-06T03:30:00.002+04:002012-11-26T02:58:13.389+04:00three hours.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="color: #1d0101; font-family: Cousine; line-height: 21px;">'What's the time now?'</span><br style="color: #1d0101; font-family: Cousine; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="color: #1d0101; font-family: Cousine; line-height: 21px;">'Yes, I am sorry..'</span><br style="color: #1d0101; font-family: Cousine; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="color: #1d0101; font-family: Cousine; line-height: 21px;">'Yes. </span><span style="color: #1d0101; font-family: Cousine; line-height: 21px;">Do you know, for how long I've been here?'</span><span style="color: #1d0101; font-family: Cousine; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1d0101; font-family: Cousine; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="color: #1d0101; font-family: Cousine; line-height: 21px;">While alice wanted to talk more on her waiting, a question, <i>what could've happened in the last three hours, anyway?, </i>passed her mind. </span>Time, sometimes stalked her like a loud voice from behind, sometimes left her alone, too alone, that she could not guess if it was three hours, three days or three weeks -</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent;">They walked the street down a hill to a city, holding hands; passed an empty afternoon restaurant, sharp sirens of fire brigades, a church that never </span><span style="background-color: transparent;">was</span><span style="background-color: transparent;"> open. People walked by, talking in loud voices. And then there was nothing, time had ceased to exist. But wasn't that a cliche’, a long forgotten and a despised one - </span><i>time always exists</i><span style="background-color: transparent;">, alice reminded herself - she was twenty seven years, six months, three weeks and three days old and tomorrow she was one day older.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><br />
Alice had waited for him by the street in front of a door to the empty afternoon restaurant. And there was snow falling on to her face, with the winds, for the first time in her life, so unlike her country in the tropics - it drained the sky, so unromantic so cold.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><br />
She stood there under an unlit marquee, shivering from first times which always were longer and heavier than the other times;</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">like kissing an ice cream dripping pair of lips</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">a pair of hands holding her breasts</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">nipples erect for the first conscious times</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">a slight beating pulse on a right hand - while she asked;</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic;">Is it really possible </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic;">to be silent, could you not</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic;">hear your own heart beat</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic;">in every noiselessness -</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic;">so could it </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic;">really be called silence</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic;">ever?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><br />
That word <i>ever</i>, sent a nerve unwinding across her body, when she first said it to him and when she remembered it now again in an afternoon of pale-white shiver,</span><br />
<i style="background-color: transparent;">why did we use such words so much,</i><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><i>words that no longer decompose</i>.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><br />
And then he came, they held hands and walked down as she waited again, for</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">another three hours three days three weeks, may be there was another one</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">of the first times - as they walked past the ever closed church, the ever loud people, noises.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><br />
She looked down the hill to an evening sky,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">there was no more snow falling -</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">saw large clouds - of thoughts</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">of all those who went by and were ever there</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">spread across a city skyline;</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">endless lists</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">of me and mine</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">of the very first times</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">of kisses</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">of one's own cliche's,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">they floated above and flowed with the winds,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">slowly decomposed-</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;">as did time.</span></div>
</div>gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-55912077320125976982010-07-11T17:03:00.005+04:002012-11-26T00:57:14.131+04:00that woman and this music<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There was this music,<br />
she was sure.<br />
There were silences <br />
in between<br />
and then<br />
there was music.<br />
<br />
The woman<br />
of this room<br />
saw the day's<br />
dramatic slowness<br />
merging <br />
melting into <br />
long yellow street night<br />
outside her window.<br />
She stood<br />
by a burning bud of cigarette<br />
a cold cup of coffee<br />
saw clouds <br />
passing by.<br />
<br />
It was raining outside,<br />
and then, the music.</div>
gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-35907792039994365392010-06-12T17:53:00.005+04:002012-11-26T01:06:16.781+04:00Things Like Pure Pleasure.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When you can't think of it<br />
in terms of words;<br />
images such as these,<br />
dark nights of thick green forests<br />
or deep blues of undersides of the ocean -<br />
you will have to refer to,<br />
in order to explain<br />
what you have in mind.<br />
<br />
You could also <br />
use phrases such as<br />
rats running<br />
on my rooftop<br />
or a rainy evening sky.<br />
<br />
Thats what I was saying,<br />
about what happens<br />
when you wish to talk about<br />
things like<br />
pure pleasure.<br />
<br />
Tell me, what would you say<br />
when my fingers run through <br />
your skin -<br />
when each hair throbs, shivers <br />
becomes inexistent <br />
on the exact moment<br />
the touch moves on<br />
just to shift<br />
the throbs and shivers?<br />
<br />
You might never<br />
completely tell it,<br />
neither with words,<br />
nor with phrases.</div>
gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-23806595715803496652010-06-01T16:15:00.006+04:002012-11-26T01:07:41.486+04:00mornings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
in and out of this room<br />
i gather a thousand sounds<br />
ghosts of my past<br />
flutter<br />
out and about<br />
its wide open window panes<br />
<br />
this room <br />
floods with stories <br />
images i've been pretending<br />
to forget, <br />
all the wrongs<br />
painfully accounted for.<br />
<br />
my head crowds <br />
with fear,<br />
some plots of conspiracy<br />
and other instances, wounds.<br />
<br />
and then<br />
you wake up<br />
i look at you <br />
i try to see,<br />
would you still love me,<br />
the me i've never completely<br />
let go of.<br />
<br />
you don't understand but yawn<br />
i look around, <br />
find everyone gone.<br />
<br />
i try to smile.</div>
gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-12683900535456350332010-05-16T17:54:00.005+04:002012-11-26T01:08:45.243+04:00one fine morning,<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
after years of debates <br />
and discussions on freedom,<br />
they've decided to be totally free,<br />
ajayan and remya.<br />
<br />
they've decided that <br />
for everything in their house,<br />
for the broom and the tea spoon.<br />
<br />
remya struggles<br />
with her days and nights<br />
she's not used to<br />
that kind of a notion<br />
when she can do anything<br />
she thinks and thinks,<br />
what should be done, really.<br />
<br />
ajayan roams around <br />
room to the other room<br />
whole nights and days<br />
doing everything<br />
he had ever wanted to.<br />
<br />
none of them had encountered<br />
freedom that directly.<br />
now,it may take years again,<br />
on how to leave oneself alone<br />
- and another fine morning.</div>
gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-83954290077448966432010-05-15T17:17:00.005+04:002012-11-26T01:12:21.746+04:00Paranoia <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
she talks and talks to<br />
herself<br />
and finds<br />
echoes and counter echoes<br />
as answers.<br />
<br />
at 7 in the morning <br />
she decides to stop this.<br />
at the afternoon 2,<br />
some strange thought string<br />
holds her subtly.<br />
<br />
at 5 pm, <br />
she decides <br />
to let it go, again.<br />
but at 7,<br />
an infinite loop<br />
of what-could-have-beens<br />
afloat in aAnxiety cloud above her head<br />
as she walks <br />
looking for<br />
potatoes and cooking oil <br />
on the streets.</div>
gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-90264852886173574512010-05-12T19:42:00.006+04:002012-11-26T01:33:23.413+04:00Of Determinability<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
it was just when <br />
a car dashed past alice<br />
she stepped backwards<br />
from the street to pavement<br />
and thought<br />
isn't it so weird<br />
one has to bear with oneself <br />
the whole life?<br />
<br />
a frog's carcass<br />
she stepped on<br />
and saw how successful<br />
the wheels of vehicles can be<br />
in battering things<br />
down to an exact impression<br />
how lucky the frog was<br />
to look like itself<br />
pressed to a suface of tar.<br />
<br />
she reached home<br />
and it was just then<br />
a cockroach inside the cupboard<br />
leaped towards her<br />
and she thought<br />
isn't it so weird<br />
one has to bear with <br />
a lot of strange people<br />
the whole life?</div>
gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-66334559166536792552010-04-30T14:03:00.007+04:002012-11-26T02:36:43.524+04:00The Mirror<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This afternoon,<br />
I am prepared for a <br />
complete show down,<br />
I tell myself.<br />
<br />
I've known Seena for years.<br />
There are many things<br />
she wished she did.<br />
There are many adventures<br />
and misses<br />
that circle her room<br />
in the night time.<br />
<br />
Like, last night <br />
she was taking some steps down<br />
somewhere in the middle of a garden.<br />
But then, when she looked up<br />
she saw fishes over her head<br />
a huge aquarium for a sky.<br />
No, not like <br />
underneath the sea with a blue backdrop -<br />
everything was green,<br />
even water.<br />
<br />
She lied a lot,<br />
I remember.<br />
Sometimes it was just how<br />
she thought it was.<br />
And some other times,<br />
she was scared.<br />
(If I told him <br />
it wasn't really interesting<br />
being me<br />
would he still stay?)<br />
The stories she narrated<br />
were almost believable.<br />
When someone asked her why<br />
she never had answers.<br />
<br />
Today<br />
I am her psycho-analyst.<br />
I know she would talk about <br />
the dream of fishes<br />
and a green aquarium above her head -<br />
I will look into her eyes and say<br />
That's okay, my dear, don't worry about it,<br />
It's curable.</div>
gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-90792846236578756562010-04-27T08:57:00.004+04:002012-11-26T02:37:31.293+04:00The rear side of a poem<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
She,<br />
trying many<br />
skirts on<br />
to match the yellow one<br />
he wrote about.<br />
<br />
He, <br />
sleeping enough<br />
to write<br />
i slept too long.<br />
<br />
City streets, rivers,<br />
lizards on the ceiling,<br />
all on their final touch up <br />
inside the green room.</div>
gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-60204177691157655932010-04-24T14:05:00.007+04:002012-11-26T02:48:59.422+04:00An Old Acquaintance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Someone <br />
a ten thousand years old<br />
mute<br />
and scared <br />
woke me up last night.<br />
It was between a disturbed evening<br />
and a cold morning,<br />
I was trying to sleep.<br />
<br />
She was my master for the longest time,<br />
she got calm when<br />
I fed her what she asked for.<br />
<br />
There were times<br />
I was almost dead<br />
or wounded and needed an escape.<br />
Right then she wiggled her chains around<br />
made noises<br />
said No with the corner of her eyes,<br />
<i>Are you sure</i><br />
<i>you can?</i><br />
<i>Wouldn't it be scary out there, alone?</i><br />
She made me late,<br />
she made me miss my trains.<br />
<br />
She waited for me <br />
at every step in and out<br />
of my room,<br />
<i>No, you are too alone</i><br />
<i>my dear</i><br />
<i>don't go, try</i><br />
<i>find someone to help you</i><br />
<i>try listening to them,</i><br />
<i>they love you.</i><br />
<i>You don't get love, hope</i><br />
<i>gods or civilisations, easily.</i><br />
<br />
It took me so much time<br />
to learn<br />
I was tied to her. <br />
Tired and scared of being lonelier,<br />
each and every loop<br />
of those knots<br />
I thought I untangled<br />
with patience.<br />
<br />
But last night,<br />
she came back to me<br />
<br />
between a disturbed evening<br />
and a cold morning;<br />
<br />
the slave inside me<br />
a ten thousand years old<br />
mute<br />
and scared.</div>
gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-20227614626839021892010-04-22T09:24:00.018+04:002012-01-26T20:54:55.789+04:00Now that we know.Drenched in hot yellow light<br />of a summer afternoon,<br />eyes shrunk and<br />have you ever been to the snow?<br />Sam asked Bina.<br />but i've been to the sea, she said.<br /><br />Heavy breathing air<br />and a winter crow<br />struggled out of his ear-hole.<br />cold shiver mornings<br />haloed pines<br />blacks and greys in contrast with <br />a blinding shining whiteness that spread<br />from this corner of the eye<br />to that empty trunk of the tree.<br />why wouldn't she <br />want to be there?<br /><br />It was just then,<br />the warm sea<br />on the left side of her heart<br />surged and wavered.<br />it covered, touched<br />the ends of a horizon<br />of a purple-orange sun.<br />it's a kind of weakness<br />not to know the sea,<br />she answered.<br /><br />The next morning,<br />when they woke up<br />she asked him,<br />we just miss <br />some kind of vastness,<br />is it?gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-85893554615594928802010-04-13T09:41:00.010+04:002010-04-14T15:51:59.138+04:00Sarah's Monologues1. <br />every now and then<br />something fell off <br />from what i carried home,<br />grocery, books, oranges<br />i slipped many times<br />on my way upstairs <br />and everything <br />shattered on stairs<br />- ground zero.<br /><br />2. <br />crows speak<br />a hundred languages<br />using the same syllables<br />or aren't languages <br />a mere physicality<br />but i can't understand a word of<br />what you are saying<br />its dawn<br />and i am at the edge <br />of an imaginary boat<br />as if i remember<br />i was never my hero <br /><br />3.<br />there is one single wall <br />between me<br />and the crows<br />thin air <br />that separates<br />your words<br />and my breath<br />as i lay <br />on this one brick wall<br />i watch you <br />falling<br />reaching those <br />thousand crows <br />who fly away from inside you<br />in as many directions<br />the same instant.gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-9299856734615107772010-04-08T12:28:00.017+04:002010-04-09T14:33:13.999+04:00Sarah and the Snake soupEating snakes <br />is weird <br />only when you aren't Chinese,<br />thinks Sarah Easoph <br />on a drop from a half swing<br />between sleep and conscious<br />by her desk,<br />where computer generates <br />noisy warnings.<br /><br />She tells me<br />she dreamt of <br />of delicious snakes<br />salted, in chilly sauce,<br />in honey.<br /> <br />Every evening,<br />she walks all the way down<br />a narrow street<br />from her office <br />to a 150 sq ft room.<br /><br />Have you tried<br />walking that street?<br />Men emerge from the bushes, <br />behind the walls -<br />on bikes, in auto rickshaws,<br />running.<br />Clusters of men pass by<br />they stare they pull <br />they hurt <br />your skin your nipples<br />sometimes<br />there are others who walk <br />their way<br />they are better <br />till you call for help<br />and they don't hear.<br /><br />Last night<br />a wild Mongoose<br />shine in her eyes.<br />Sleeping cuddled <br />pillows between her legs,<br />she dreamt of <br />peppered snake soup.<br />she says<br />The meat melted in her mouth.gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-51354632714788066402010-03-26T12:20:00.005+04:002010-04-16T13:31:19.417+04:00daysstraight narrow streets<br />sun burn tree<br />black & yellow reflection<br />crows, eagles<br /><br />waiting <br />dark hours <br />on a ceiling <br />of cloth rails<br /><br />music across a blue lit<br />building <br />a night bar<br /><br />kitchen's heat<br />perspiring humid<br /><br />i wake up choking<br />from a dream<br />a vine with grapes <br />unreachable <br />in the midst of <br />a cold roaring sea.gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-72131907087393835162010-03-25T11:22:00.007+04:002010-03-26T10:56:33.122+04:00some more..----<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Child games</span><br /><br />she knew too many<br /><br />jigsaw puzzles,<br />snakes, <br />those long ladders,<br />games on a computer<br />badmintons<br />crickets<br />or footballs<br />hides or seeks<br /><br />she knew it all<br />before she was born<br /><br />dive into<br />my salty waters<br />she danced on my <br />uterus walls,<br />a rock star<br /><br />the little feet <br />clutch inside that tiny sphere<br />of long narrow corridors,<br />a bike racergi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-15808642382593862882010-03-25T09:58:00.009+04:002010-03-25T15:41:39.032+04:00some of my Malayalam poemsfrom http://bodywheels.blogspot.com/<br />-----<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">homophobia</span><br /><br /><br />i've heard many <br />asking<br />what do two women do <br />when they are together?<br /><br /><br />i wonder<br />what all can two selves do<br />with each other!<br /><br />---------<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">At all</span><br /><br />i never fell in love<br />with Krishna<br />or any of those gods<br /><br />i just had dirty a wish, <br />dear crucified Jesus,<br />could i see behind <br />the cloth that drapes <br />your thighs?<br /><br />i used to like Buddha<br />when i know<br />i am full of desires.<br /><br />every corner, <br />every street,<br />there is a new prophet.<br /><br />and now that<br />i can only see fans <br />swirling over<br />lying blank in <br />this emergency ward,<br />i wish <br />i believed in someone<br />someone at all.<br /><br />-------------------gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-33866208138871174972010-03-23T13:12:00.003+04:002010-03-23T13:44:47.946+04:00fakethese<br />many ideas<br />words stories<br />songs <br />that come through<br />aren't mine<br /><br />i have carefully stolen them<br />from a thousand<br />others<br />i have rewritten<br />every word<br />altering its meaning<br /><br />i was lying about<br />everything<br />you me<br />the notions of freedom<br />i don't live for<br /><br />in fact, i don't live for anything<br /><br />there were times <br />it was <br />supposed to be hard for me<br />but it wasn't.<br />and when i was to be hurt,<br />i got irritated,<br />why don't i feel a thing?<br /><br />it is not easy,<br />this feeling,<br />of knowing<br />one's own existence doesn't<br />really exist.<br />it hurts slightly to know,<br />i'm a fake.gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-54062340094024375982010-03-05T14:01:00.005+04:002010-03-05T14:14:21.133+04:00night trainan endless swamp <br />of thousand incoherent<br />broken discontinuous <br />sleeps<br />a dark grey noise<br />a thousand people<br />in a moving train.<br /><br />it stops, <br />(pausing the giant cradle)<br />someone new enters<br />the lights are on<br />she is waiting for a ticket examiner<br /><br />eyes closed,<br />everyone waits <br />waits <br />unbearable light - eyes hurt <br />bodies grow restless, tired ,irritated,hopeless <br />and someone says 'would you please put <br />off the light?',<br />finally.<br /><br />it took just a moment.<br /><br />and everyone back to the <br />huge lone swamp, <br />of broken sleep-<br />peacefully<br />in a night train.gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-24298581900188351182010-02-27T10:55:00.008+04:002010-02-27T13:30:00.850+04:00tell you what.you say<br />poetry is on <br />depression<br />you say <br />poetry is about <br />just the lost <br />days nights <br />stillness <br />and longings<br /><br /> and i tell you,<br /> no, see...<br /><br /> last night we were <br /> home talking <br /> that meant <br /> nothing much<br /> on that social networking<br /> and that virtual activism<br /> on those people<br /> we don't give a damn about<br /> laughed on someone..<br /> we laughed everyday <br /><br /> went high<br /> higher<br /> on music love <br /> and all that dope<br /> till the time<br /> we never remembered<br /> what time it is,<br /> went silent<br /> fingertips and toes<br /> dancing <br /> lying dead or <br /> forming shapes<br /> and shadows<br /><br />it is exactly this <br />i remember,<br />i lean forward<br />to kiss you<br />and i see<br />your eyes closed<br />in waiting<br />i wait with you<br />to see how beautiful<br />it is to wait<br />a moment pass<br />and i remember <br />i was here to kiss <br />it took me a slow<br />and soft one<br />and then <br />i knew<br />there could be <br />some other <br />poetry<br />there could be <br />one <br />just like this.gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-20336938432698026872010-02-22T08:46:00.002+04:002010-02-22T09:02:11.884+04:00falli flip out<br />of a window<br />of a stranger's party<br />there were men and women<br />me and you<br />in our exaggerated selves<br />i was weary, weary<br />through my sense of time<br />there was music<br />there was dance<br />i did want an escape<br /><br />so this is how it happened, <br />into an open window.<br /><br />it was a fall too slow <br />i sensed<br />the earth revolving <br />beneath<br /><br />spears and things pointed upward sharp and blunt, torn and <br />rusted waiting exactly where i was falling to, every moment <br />a little faster-i close my eyes just when they start piercing <br />my flesh, i just saw my broken umbrella limbs<br /><br />no.<br /><br />it <br />dint <br />happen, <br />yet.<br />i haven't reached anywhere.<br /><br />in a side-ward glimpse<br />trees, green and overgrown <br />surround me <br />the sound of water<br />flowing through pebbled path <br />to a river, a sea,<br />i float on<br /><br />just the next blink<br />i reach there where<br />i whirl to the winds of a hot summer <br />over exposed afternoon to the plain desert<br />one or two withered trees in a wide horizon<br /><br />i fall and again<br />and again i fall<br />i fall now<br />and through<br />where i've been to<br />and never, <br />through <br />the songs and stories <br />i've heard and missed, <br />through <br />my own incognizant <br />voices<br />i fall<br />never to reach<br />nowhere.gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-71972220446963366622010-02-02T17:28:00.000+04:002010-02-02T17:29:24.032+04:00sense and conversationi thought<br />they were<br />talking to each other<br /><br />over a coffee table<br />they were<br />not facing each other<br />they might be in love<br />they might want to speak facing<br />but they couldn't<br /><br />sometimes<br />the conversation<br />made sense<br />sometimes<br />it dint<br /><br />and then<br />i saw they<br />never knew each other<br />they were<br />talking on their own<br />mobile phones<br />one looking at a spot<br />on the wall<br />other watching<br />people crossing the road<br /><br />and i also knew<br />if i heard<br />that conversation<br />to someone they knew<br />sometimes<br />it made sense<br />sometimes<br />it dint.gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-50496785574862088182010-02-02T16:16:00.001+04:002010-02-02T16:17:59.295+04:00seek or hide?many words uttered <br />you spoke no i <br />spoke too that means it <br />was we, days nights minutes<br />seconds and a few <br />of them each sent <br />us back to our rooms<br />with no windows there <br />silence plays music<br /><br />shed all that skin<br />shed the fucking curves<br />on your forehead<br />lets play some game<br />why not hide and seek?<br /><br />it was all hide hide<br />and escape<br />the door cracks a little<br />while it opens<br />and on the blinding first beam <br />we<br />see<br />that <br />we were.gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-75053760890560440082010-01-30T10:21:00.001+04:002010-01-30T10:21:34.446+04:00Days of the suni did look for <br />a poem in <br />a twenty seven <br />years of <br />days that <br />started with the sun <br />rising and ended <br />with it setting every<br />other day i waited <br />for the next<br />sweating breathless <br />afternoon<br />a silly orange luminescence<br />a clown outside my <br />white plain<br />windowpane a twenty<br />seven years and <br />will i ever<br />find a poem <br />in my days?gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-1305448223967276602010-01-25T08:55:00.001+04:002010-01-25T08:55:53.476+04:00A light dislocationon a bench <br />blue sea<br />red checkered shirt<br />you <br />look around <br />air boiled road <br />you look<br />waited<br />on the bench.<br /><br />across the road<br />i see you<br />seek me<br />i see the sea <br />blind you the beam<br />spying<br />my fingers daze<br />a light ray <br />cross<br />slow<br />on gravity<br />i float<br />the ground a feather heap<br />green like grass<br />i see you <br />a still<br />a halo sun behind<br />a curved moon.<br /><br />i float on a feather green ground<br />and then <br />the light ray<br />touch <br />the blueness out<br />an ugly yellow, <br />you turn to me.gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36237883.post-11957780596555413842009-04-13T11:42:00.002+04:002009-04-13T11:47:42.069+04:00long time isn't it?what has happened to me?<br /><br />hmmm.<br />am happy, yet confused as ever.<br /><br />where to be?<br />what to do?<br /><br />and all the more sillier questions like<br />what is life for me<br />what is love<br />and what others have succeeded<br />so far<br />is to make myself<br />feel a lot <br />guiltier than i should be.<br />or why should i be?<br /><br />i can't communicate this enough.<br />but guilt lies there<br />a snake that gets bigger and bigger with time<br />within me<br />and refuses to move out<br />or just, even, move.<br /><br />it fails me.gi.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08786938090892619318noreply@blogger.com6