If there's something I desperately want now, it is to write. To write endlessly and without a care or even a thought about what I'm writing. And write a poem after what I think must be ages, and a good poem for which I wouldn't have to try hard at all...easy like ink flows from a nice gel pen...a smooth green ink that shines a little against a white paper pregnant with possibility and breathless with anticipation...winding letters, small upright letters, little letters. Whether writing should be for the sake of writing or a cathartic exercise I haven't been able to decide. Just a series of words, side by side, sibling like, lover like, discrete, disparate, lonely...connected by an imposition they can only silently and mostly ineffectually rebel against. Does a smile and a laughter seep inside and travel deep inside through the narrow glacial arteries and reach the head-quarters of all emotions 'the heart' and down to the little toe nail? Imposition and appropriation and alienation are not just heavy sounding common words, they are the aftermaths of colonisation...mainly of intellect. I hope my resistance holds.

People say they have reasons that keep them going...big reasons...small reasons. Wonder why I keep going though, with reason or without. Most probably because I can't but keep going and I would, if I could stop, put an end to, terminate every business of 'going','moving','living'.
Waking up to the same old selfish angry world that claws and gnaws with its multi-coloured talons, squirming under the harmless looking baggages of expectation and then this self that is given to paroxysms and hysterical rage that builds inisde, seethes inside and then goes back to dormancy...inside...never an outlet, never an outburst that helps , fighting, fighting, fighting with itself and others...to sleep is to die...I wish. And familiar faces and familiar endearments,familiar names and limited free association, familiarity everywhere and such frozen oceans of difference in between...I am running inside a wheel. Nice looking familiar faces with unconditional love make me uncomfortable but they guard my peaceful sleep anyway. Thanks. I love words. They are the prefect examples of detachment.

I am black, bleak and blank
with layers piled in stacks
...cement of neglect
in between.
Do you see a tiny flame?
you imagine I'm sure.
It's all soot,
it's all ash
of a flame that once was.
All left now is a ghostly wick.

Bad, Sad, Mad.

And I thought it's tougher for those who stay back when somebody dear and precious bids a goodbye...because they are still surrounded by things and places all of which trigger chains of past events and bittersweet memories...and cocooned in a flimsy, misty wrapper of memory they stop collecting tits and bits to store for retrospection anymore...so it's only the past and glimpses of an imagined future while the present wheezes past!

So I thought it's easier to shake a hand, drop a tear, paint a dilute smile and say goodbye.

But it's not. It hurts to say 'bye', trying hard to not look into eyes, and make nothing of the moment the fingers touch and brush away a hint of tear from the eyes and the voice while making sure in vain one doesn't notice. And then one starts living in the memories that seem truer and dearer and lets the present wheeze by...

I am making an issue out of nothing and I am afraid the mush quotient might get on the nerves of my very few readers, so I end my post here. Erm...I'm off to Orissa for a week or so on vacation.

And why why why why why!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Why you cowards! Why you brutes! Why do you open fire on a bunch of unarmed innocent people? why do you kill???? Since when have you started believing that you are gods of destruction and harbingers of welfare and a people of a grand new world! GOD DAMN YOU ALL! Why do you channelise such a lot of energy, dedication, single-mindedness in something that is so destructive? How can you sleep at night? How can you ever look straight into the eyes of someone you love? Do you ever have a moment of peace, do you ever see a spectacle of beauty? Can you listen to a child's cry without blaming yourslef? How is it that you have turned yourselves into such unfeeling death-vending automatons? How is it that blood and gore no more churn your insides? For every man you kill, you kill a thousand more and perhaps you don't even realise that you killed yourself the first time you killed one.

Deliver us God, from this abyss of helplessness. We don't want strength to endure but to resist and counter.

May you rest in peace!

On some days there's so much beauty around, such an absurdly huge amaount of poetry flowing in the air, I almost choke with joy. On somedays tears glisten and gleam on my face soothing the tempestuous insides that seethe in a beautiful fury of emotions...Oh God, sometimes I wish I could die...so that beauty is the last thing before my eyes and on my mind.

Sometimes I wish I could do away with this irascible, interminable rage of mine that engulfs me and blurs my vision, sometimes I wish I could be beautiful and normal...and not so claustrophobic.

You fill up my senses
like a night in the forest
like the mountains in springtime,
like a walk in the rain
like a storm in the desert,
like a sleepy blue ocean
you fill up my senses,
come fill me again.

Come let me love you,
let me give my life to you
let me drown in your laughter,
let me die in your arms
let me lay down beside you,
let me always be with you
come let me love you,
come love me again.
-John Denver
I couldn't write anything better for you.