Keep me undefined
And the truth will rise
From the rawness of my soliloquies
They vanquished my heart
What victory is it to acquire organs of a dead?
You left it beating in the sewers of your indifference
Now you come to cradle it when there is no sound
September rises every year
It shall for many years
But where will it go when I cease to exist?
My September is lost
Is yours?
21-Sept-2006
Saturday, September 23, 2006
I shall live
A fall of a tear
in thy love, carried upon
rivers where thee lives
amongst depths
therein I shall confess
my worship, my God
thy presence
In awe I build
willows of thy essence
lost in blindness
falling within
thy shores of wisdom
with thy light,
a heartfelt guidance,
I shall live
draped in ornaments
of thy love
forgotten amongst
earthly deeds
I shall live
lifted upon ambrosia
of thy paradise
intertwined in
sweetened melancholy
of thy jewels
of amethyst, emerald
and sapphire
I shall live
in a fall of a tear
reminisced for all eternity
I shall live
in frisson of thy one glance
shed upon me,
encompassing sadness
of my entire life
I shall live
16.10.04
in thy love, carried upon
rivers where thee lives
amongst depths
therein I shall confess
my worship, my God
thy presence
In awe I build
willows of thy essence
lost in blindness
falling within
thy shores of wisdom
with thy light,
a heartfelt guidance,
I shall live
draped in ornaments
of thy love
forgotten amongst
earthly deeds
I shall live
lifted upon ambrosia
of thy paradise
intertwined in
sweetened melancholy
of thy jewels
of amethyst, emerald
and sapphire
I shall live
in a fall of a tear
reminisced for all eternity
I shall live
in frisson of thy one glance
shed upon me,
encompassing sadness
of my entire life
I shall live
16.10.04
Mitti Ki Gudya
I was made out of clay by the greatest works man. He put me in his shop not to sell me but to gift me to someone who could cherish and love me for all his life. Many passers by came, glanced at me and walked on. There were a few however, who stopped by and picked me up. They were the ones with an eye for detail. Perhaps there was something in me that intrigued them. Perhaps there was something in me that provoked them. Perhaps there was something about me that fascinated them. Or perhaps they were merely interested in my durability and nothing else.
And so they came inside the shop. They picked me up. They swayed, twirled and twisted me, playing with my strings. They broke a few, lost a few. They pulled on my limbs just to hear a few cracks. They played with my hair. They wanted to know if it was real. They rubbed my lips on the walls to see the pretty red colour. Their bewilderment and curiosity of a child took them to explore every inch of my surface. For some, it was the most overwhelming joy to play with a doll for the first time. Some already had a few.
Later they put me back just the way they had found me. They moved on then. Their satisfaction was tagged with a number. Some had found me very play full. They gave me five out of five. I knew they would return again for a few more rounds. Some on the other hand, had found me completely useless. Perhaps I was unable to give them what they wanted of me. They grew indifferent to me just after a few rounds. I was given nothing from that lot. Perhaps I had failed to mesmerize them. Perhaps I wasn’t their type of doll. Perhaps I was just too inferior to their likes. Perhaps I was simply a bore. Mind you, they did touch me inspecting how flexible I was in their hands in the beginning. I guess the tantalizing sensation of my body against their palm soon faded away.
And so they put me back. They moved on.
I seemed intact but only my maker knew how badly I had been damaged. He created me with such love and care that all the other things seemed so trivial in those moments of his fine creation. He was proud of what he had created. It was all for only one reason; to gift me to some one. No one bothered to take me. Perhaps I should have been named something else instead of being called a “doll”.
Perhaps I made myself too available. After all I was lying on the shelf unwrapped. Yes, perhaps my maker should have wrapped me, unseen to others, hidden to their eyes . But he was afraid that I may die of asphyxia. After all he had created me for every one to see me and marvel at the intricacy of my delicate features. He knew there would be the one who would come one day to his shop, look at me, and take me with him without even touching me. He would be the one to be the most grateful of his creation. He would be the one to decorate me just like the way my creator had. He would be the one to love me just how my creator did. He would indeed know the true worth of cherishing something.
I in return would give him the world of my unspoken love. But you see, now that I’m daggy and torn, that some one will pass by without even noticing me. I will remain where I am now and rust away towards my end.
I am not too sure whether it was my responsibility to seek my own home or was it my creator accountable for my true destination. All I know is that I am ragged and decomposing in my own tatters and shreds. All I fear is that some one may pass by and pull on my aching strings again. All I seek is my end. Nothing less. Nothing more. Nothing else.
26.03.04
And so they came inside the shop. They picked me up. They swayed, twirled and twisted me, playing with my strings. They broke a few, lost a few. They pulled on my limbs just to hear a few cracks. They played with my hair. They wanted to know if it was real. They rubbed my lips on the walls to see the pretty red colour. Their bewilderment and curiosity of a child took them to explore every inch of my surface. For some, it was the most overwhelming joy to play with a doll for the first time. Some already had a few.
Later they put me back just the way they had found me. They moved on then. Their satisfaction was tagged with a number. Some had found me very play full. They gave me five out of five. I knew they would return again for a few more rounds. Some on the other hand, had found me completely useless. Perhaps I was unable to give them what they wanted of me. They grew indifferent to me just after a few rounds. I was given nothing from that lot. Perhaps I had failed to mesmerize them. Perhaps I wasn’t their type of doll. Perhaps I was just too inferior to their likes. Perhaps I was simply a bore. Mind you, they did touch me inspecting how flexible I was in their hands in the beginning. I guess the tantalizing sensation of my body against their palm soon faded away.
And so they put me back. They moved on.
I seemed intact but only my maker knew how badly I had been damaged. He created me with such love and care that all the other things seemed so trivial in those moments of his fine creation. He was proud of what he had created. It was all for only one reason; to gift me to some one. No one bothered to take me. Perhaps I should have been named something else instead of being called a “doll”.
Perhaps I made myself too available. After all I was lying on the shelf unwrapped. Yes, perhaps my maker should have wrapped me, unseen to others, hidden to their eyes . But he was afraid that I may die of asphyxia. After all he had created me for every one to see me and marvel at the intricacy of my delicate features. He knew there would be the one who would come one day to his shop, look at me, and take me with him without even touching me. He would be the one to be the most grateful of his creation. He would be the one to decorate me just like the way my creator had. He would be the one to love me just how my creator did. He would indeed know the true worth of cherishing something.
I in return would give him the world of my unspoken love. But you see, now that I’m daggy and torn, that some one will pass by without even noticing me. I will remain where I am now and rust away towards my end.
I am not too sure whether it was my responsibility to seek my own home or was it my creator accountable for my true destination. All I know is that I am ragged and decomposing in my own tatters and shreds. All I fear is that some one may pass by and pull on my aching strings again. All I seek is my end. Nothing less. Nothing more. Nothing else.
26.03.04
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Flesh
Lingering… softened
A world of handful
Grabbing my sighs
Why does she mourn so loud?
Dust… silenced
An ounce of thousand wishes
Hurdling to be heard
Why can’t she count more?
Colours… darkened
Palettes of lust
Grinding idiosyncrasies
Why has she grown mute?
Sorrows… Deepened
Lavishly brutal
In your own solicitude
Will she ever forgive?
Flesh… Adorned
With daggers of love
Cutting their way to you
Will she ever forget?
14.01.05
A world of handful
Grabbing my sighs
Why does she mourn so loud?
Dust… silenced
An ounce of thousand wishes
Hurdling to be heard
Why can’t she count more?
Colours… darkened
Palettes of lust
Grinding idiosyncrasies
Why has she grown mute?
Sorrows… Deepened
Lavishly brutal
In your own solicitude
Will she ever forgive?
Flesh… Adorned
With daggers of love
Cutting their way to you
Will she ever forget?
14.01.05
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Sunset 2004 With Three Shades Of My Life
Little bit about this Painting:
This painting was my very first attempt at Abstract Expressionism. I still remember the exact date I bought it; 15th August 2004.
2004 brought along with it a beautiful spring for me which unfortunately did not stay for too long and I relinquished painting for a long time. I started painting again in spring 2005 and painted all over the canvas of this painting. My frustration seeped in again and I stopped painting yet again. It was not too long ago, I painted for the 3rd time adjusting the shapes on this canvas.
I thought I had finished with this painting. I was wrong. The final piece you see now is my 4rth attempt, an idea, an inspiration and a reminiscence of spring 2004.
This painting was my very first attempt at Abstract Expressionism. I still remember the exact date I bought it; 15th August 2004.
2004 brought along with it a beautiful spring for me which unfortunately did not stay for too long and I relinquished painting for a long time. I started painting again in spring 2005 and painted all over the canvas of this painting. My frustration seeped in again and I stopped painting yet again. It was not too long ago, I painted for the 3rd time adjusting the shapes on this canvas.
I thought I had finished with this painting. I was wrong. The final piece you see now is my 4rth attempt, an idea, an inspiration and a reminiscence of spring 2004.
Completed on 16 September, 2006
Sunday, September 10, 2006
How does it feel to be part of something you don’t belong to?
You are to live a quarter of a century
And add another three quarters to your imagination
I have lived far more than what you have seen of me
And here is where a story begins
There is a new story on every step
With the old me
You were part of one of them
And I will always be part of you
How does it feel to be part of something you don’t belong to?
11.40 PM
10-Sept-2006
And add another three quarters to your imagination
I have lived far more than what you have seen of me
And here is where a story begins
There is a new story on every step
With the old me
You were part of one of them
And I will always be part of you
How does it feel to be part of something you don’t belong to?
11.40 PM
10-Sept-2006
Saturday, September 02, 2006
September
I remember the time when we said our goodbyes. I had to let you go because you had to leave. We were both young and ignorant. You knew you had your direction that I was not to be part of. What you did not know was that you had been lost. You were still lost. You knew all that you wanted to know. But you failed to know what was needed of you. Me. I thought I had lost myself in pursuit of the unreachable. You. I was afraid of losing myself further into spirals of the unknown world of yours I had plunged into. What I did not know was that I had just found myself and I will always find myself out of all the troubles and fears this life throws me into.
On many occasions, I thought I had died. Only later to find out, that I had fallen asleep, a long, deep sleep. In my sleep, you were part of me and I was part of you. Our worlds matched perfectly. If you were the sun then I was its shine. And if I was the moon then you were my light. Back and forth, I have played hide and seek with myself. I lose myself, only to find all the strengths my weak soul can endure. Am I that weak? Do I doubt myself so much that I feel the need to test my intentions? I wear a tattered soul, scavenged by many others like you. Yet, it calls for you and only you. And somewhere, in the cosmic world of made-belief we find each other and pray for what is yet to come.
What is it that is yet to come? And how far from each other we have traveled? I see the dotted line on the map of our lives where we met and crossed each other’s paths. For you it was a mere few days. For me it was all eternity. Sometimes, I reach back to it and pick up its remnants. I try hopelessly to assemble the broken pieces and make a perfect sculpture out of it. Of us. Yet I only break it further. The pieces are so fragile that they vaporise in my hands like burnt paper and vanish in the air right before my eyes. When they did not last and stand firm in their present then what good would they be in their past?
Was it our past? Or does it only belong to me? Am I the only one who visits it every so often and see the dead people in it, you and I. Do you still exist somewhere in the deepest cores of your soul or does the present holds only the new you and the old me? Was it just a few steps journey for you or do you feel you have walked a thousand miles, how I have? Will you not call it strange that I have come so far, have taken so many steps forward to new beginnings, yet every step takes me to a place where the old you awaits me. It is a joy to be home but there is no one to welcome me except the ghost of you. Perhaps, it is best to be welcomed by ghosts who cannot hurt one’s emotions, than the people who make a game out of slaughtering other’s souls.
I do believe that I had a soul once. It was white and pure. It represented me and my perfect world of innocence. Among my mundane chores I am made aware of the emptiness and the hollowness I feel inside my body. Could it be possible that my soul does not exist any more? Could it be you who tore it apart and left it dying somewhere far where I could not reach and save it? No, I do not believe that it was you. It certainly wasn’t my God. It was me who snatched me from myself and took my soul away.
I have a habit of hiding that soul of mine, every so often, in the closets where even I cannot reach. It is only while all the fun lasts. And when they have taken their pieces I gather myself in search of a closet where that soul is hidden. I do find it at the end and patch it back. I cover myself with its black and white drapery. Once, it was white in its all entirety. I think I have to quit shutting it away from me. Because when I do retrieve it, it cries out for you. It asks for your shelter. It asks to be with you and none other. Only you.
Only you. You are the word that I could associate to so many of them. But it is you who shall always be you to me. None other. Does it not suffice your reasoning? I may be a thing of a past for you but I still exist. It is just that you choose to shut your eyes on me and make me disappear. Will I ever re-appear in front of your eyes and shine in them how I have once? Or will your eyes remain always shut, perhaps until the day I am truly gone? Do I still live a fantasy of a 22 year old girl who you had spotted among the crowed of innocent and had pulled her away from it for a little while? I kid myself sometimes by asking myself these meaningless questions. You always said that I asked you too many questions. And I still do. The difference now is that you can see me but cannot hear me. Before you heard me but failed to see me. I was only another voice that echoed behind the curtains of your indifference. Nothing else.
You chose to let me wash away how rain is washed from slippery edges of a verdant leaf. But do you know that it is the rain that its stomata absorb that gives it its vivacious colour? You only saw me in the outer layers of your existence, someone who could touch the surface of you and vanish without a trance. But did you ever find the traces of my love in hidden cores of what covered you? Perhaps you did not. And perhaps, it is best left it be.
I confess that I have come to a simple realisation. A realisation you had been aware of from the moment we met. We could never be, we. We were always You and I. We will always be You and I. I have learnt to live with it. I am living with it. I always will. What I want you to know is that, when night becomes very dark and when a day becomes a tiresome journey; when light is taken away from my sight and when I relinquish the brightness in my life; when happiness ceases to exist in those minute passage of my life and when I draw myself to anguish; when the autumn of April rejoices of our first kiss and when the Spring of September brings upon me the shadows of our parting, I remember you.
I always will.
(Ha, the paradox of one’s life – never fails to amuse me)
03-Sept-2006
This turned out to sound really pathetic. Apologies.
On many occasions, I thought I had died. Only later to find out, that I had fallen asleep, a long, deep sleep. In my sleep, you were part of me and I was part of you. Our worlds matched perfectly. If you were the sun then I was its shine. And if I was the moon then you were my light. Back and forth, I have played hide and seek with myself. I lose myself, only to find all the strengths my weak soul can endure. Am I that weak? Do I doubt myself so much that I feel the need to test my intentions? I wear a tattered soul, scavenged by many others like you. Yet, it calls for you and only you. And somewhere, in the cosmic world of made-belief we find each other and pray for what is yet to come.
What is it that is yet to come? And how far from each other we have traveled? I see the dotted line on the map of our lives where we met and crossed each other’s paths. For you it was a mere few days. For me it was all eternity. Sometimes, I reach back to it and pick up its remnants. I try hopelessly to assemble the broken pieces and make a perfect sculpture out of it. Of us. Yet I only break it further. The pieces are so fragile that they vaporise in my hands like burnt paper and vanish in the air right before my eyes. When they did not last and stand firm in their present then what good would they be in their past?
Was it our past? Or does it only belong to me? Am I the only one who visits it every so often and see the dead people in it, you and I. Do you still exist somewhere in the deepest cores of your soul or does the present holds only the new you and the old me? Was it just a few steps journey for you or do you feel you have walked a thousand miles, how I have? Will you not call it strange that I have come so far, have taken so many steps forward to new beginnings, yet every step takes me to a place where the old you awaits me. It is a joy to be home but there is no one to welcome me except the ghost of you. Perhaps, it is best to be welcomed by ghosts who cannot hurt one’s emotions, than the people who make a game out of slaughtering other’s souls.
I do believe that I had a soul once. It was white and pure. It represented me and my perfect world of innocence. Among my mundane chores I am made aware of the emptiness and the hollowness I feel inside my body. Could it be possible that my soul does not exist any more? Could it be you who tore it apart and left it dying somewhere far where I could not reach and save it? No, I do not believe that it was you. It certainly wasn’t my God. It was me who snatched me from myself and took my soul away.
I have a habit of hiding that soul of mine, every so often, in the closets where even I cannot reach. It is only while all the fun lasts. And when they have taken their pieces I gather myself in search of a closet where that soul is hidden. I do find it at the end and patch it back. I cover myself with its black and white drapery. Once, it was white in its all entirety. I think I have to quit shutting it away from me. Because when I do retrieve it, it cries out for you. It asks for your shelter. It asks to be with you and none other. Only you.
Only you. You are the word that I could associate to so many of them. But it is you who shall always be you to me. None other. Does it not suffice your reasoning? I may be a thing of a past for you but I still exist. It is just that you choose to shut your eyes on me and make me disappear. Will I ever re-appear in front of your eyes and shine in them how I have once? Or will your eyes remain always shut, perhaps until the day I am truly gone? Do I still live a fantasy of a 22 year old girl who you had spotted among the crowed of innocent and had pulled her away from it for a little while? I kid myself sometimes by asking myself these meaningless questions. You always said that I asked you too many questions. And I still do. The difference now is that you can see me but cannot hear me. Before you heard me but failed to see me. I was only another voice that echoed behind the curtains of your indifference. Nothing else.
You chose to let me wash away how rain is washed from slippery edges of a verdant leaf. But do you know that it is the rain that its stomata absorb that gives it its vivacious colour? You only saw me in the outer layers of your existence, someone who could touch the surface of you and vanish without a trance. But did you ever find the traces of my love in hidden cores of what covered you? Perhaps you did not. And perhaps, it is best left it be.
I confess that I have come to a simple realisation. A realisation you had been aware of from the moment we met. We could never be, we. We were always You and I. We will always be You and I. I have learnt to live with it. I am living with it. I always will. What I want you to know is that, when night becomes very dark and when a day becomes a tiresome journey; when light is taken away from my sight and when I relinquish the brightness in my life; when happiness ceases to exist in those minute passage of my life and when I draw myself to anguish; when the autumn of April rejoices of our first kiss and when the Spring of September brings upon me the shadows of our parting, I remember you.
I always will.
(Ha, the paradox of one’s life – never fails to amuse me)
03-Sept-2006
This turned out to sound really pathetic. Apologies.
I am sorry...
I would like you to know
How miserable I feel,
For not knowing the answers to your questions
For not knowing the purpose of myself
I would like you to know
How sorry I am,
For not letting you see the real me
For not letting you leave
Perhaps, it’s my sketches
And perhaps it’s my paintings
And perhaps it’s my poem
(fucking each other)
cursing me for I am a dead artist
and they, my memories
I feel sorry, and I feel miserable
It’s not about anyone else
It’s only about me,
And when I write, no one can understand me
It is best that it’s left in the hands of that greater being
And it is best that you never come to know me
One always wonders,
What did I do to deserve this?
What they don’t question is,
No, there should be no questions
I am a fool to even think of any question
I am sorry...
02-Sept-2006
How miserable I feel,
For not knowing the answers to your questions
For not knowing the purpose of myself
I would like you to know
How sorry I am,
For not letting you see the real me
For not letting you leave
Perhaps, it’s my sketches
And perhaps it’s my paintings
And perhaps it’s my poem
(fucking each other)
cursing me for I am a dead artist
and they, my memories
I feel sorry, and I feel miserable
It’s not about anyone else
It’s only about me,
And when I write, no one can understand me
It is best that it’s left in the hands of that greater being
And it is best that you never come to know me
One always wonders,
What did I do to deserve this?
What they don’t question is,
No, there should be no questions
I am a fool to even think of any question
I am sorry...
02-Sept-2006
With You…
When I cannot arrange my syllables in coherent succession
I am deeply sorry…
No Sir, I am truly sorry
No Sir, You are an asshole
What am I doing?
And what is my purpose?
I am lost just like you are
But you have a reason to lead astray
And I don’t
I am still a little girl seeking the truth
And somewhere along the path I stumble
And fall.
My life comes to halt but the world keeps moving around
And so does the years.
I am with you today
I will be alone tomorrow
You are the people, who come and go
In and out of this little space called life,
It shrinks as I reach my end,
Yet its vacuum grows
Yes, I am deeply sorry for my promiscuous deeds
Yet, I smile like a devil
And screw around with the rest of them
Today I am with you
Tomorrow I shall be a saint
And you… you will not exist
You scavenge from what the others have left
And you call me a complete fool!
Ha, what is it like to dissolve into one’s ignorance?
And ha, I am aware of what you will never know
Yes, I am deeply, truly sorry
Not for your ignorance, but for my pending punishment
They make a whore out of themselves
I only stab from back
And for that you must know
That there is a meaning to every word I write today
If you failed to decipher it, you shall fail to know what I am
And with that you shall fail me.
02-Sept-2006
I am deeply sorry…
No Sir, I am truly sorry
No Sir, You are an asshole
What am I doing?
And what is my purpose?
I am lost just like you are
But you have a reason to lead astray
And I don’t
I am still a little girl seeking the truth
And somewhere along the path I stumble
And fall.
My life comes to halt but the world keeps moving around
And so does the years.
I am with you today
I will be alone tomorrow
You are the people, who come and go
In and out of this little space called life,
It shrinks as I reach my end,
Yet its vacuum grows
Yes, I am deeply sorry for my promiscuous deeds
Yet, I smile like a devil
And screw around with the rest of them
Today I am with you
Tomorrow I shall be a saint
And you… you will not exist
You scavenge from what the others have left
And you call me a complete fool!
Ha, what is it like to dissolve into one’s ignorance?
And ha, I am aware of what you will never know
Yes, I am deeply, truly sorry
Not for your ignorance, but for my pending punishment
They make a whore out of themselves
I only stab from back
And for that you must know
That there is a meaning to every word I write today
If you failed to decipher it, you shall fail to know what I am
And with that you shall fail me.
02-Sept-2006
When my sorrow is born,
I had forgotten
to add your picture
to the words my eyes weave.
To what limit, are we to march
against our wishes and desires?
Forgive me for keeping you alive
in passages of my life
and forgive me for letting you
blame yourself for that.
I am but a forgotten piece of memory
that still lives at the back of your mind
like a black and white string.
I made your world bright
by painting it black.
Will it not suffice your reasoning?
Or need I shed away the truth behind my lies?
I was nailed to the crucifix
to echo my victory
and you got on your knees begging me
to come to my defeat.
But I chose death
over a mortal life spent with you.
Be aware, that I shall return,
my body, my soul and my mind…
And when my sorrow is born
and when its oceans rise,
it will divulge and drown your entire world
16-08-2006
to add your picture
to the words my eyes weave.
To what limit, are we to march
against our wishes and desires?
Forgive me for keeping you alive
in passages of my life
and forgive me for letting you
blame yourself for that.
I am but a forgotten piece of memory
that still lives at the back of your mind
like a black and white string.
I made your world bright
by painting it black.
Will it not suffice your reasoning?
Or need I shed away the truth behind my lies?
I was nailed to the crucifix
to echo my victory
and you got on your knees begging me
to come to my defeat.
But I chose death
over a mortal life spent with you.
Be aware, that I shall return,
my body, my soul and my mind…
And when my sorrow is born
and when its oceans rise,
it will divulge and drown your entire world
16-08-2006
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