thoughtless ranting

and apart from that dream there's not much i can remember of the night. you're laughing your eccentric idiosyncratic laugh and i'm trying to see through all the smoke and darkness that has become a part of my vision of late, and yes, there's true smoke and darkness here. there's a loud background music playing the kind of music i cant stand but since i'm pouring beer into your mug i cant wait to see you drunk and i'm all happy cuz inspite of the smoke and haziness all around you still look wonderful tonight. i'm so desperately hoping that this not be a dream and i'm almost into tears when it strikes me that this IS a dream and that you're still miles away and only a fragment of your mesmerizing memory is what i can grasp in my waking life. but i quickly gain control and tell myself this is not a dream and that you're here, and you're here forever, to be loved and more importantly love me. and as your laughter becomes louder and cacophonous it drowns the noise of the lunatics singing along the god-forsaken band that's playing relentlessy and remorselessly into my deafening years and i love it cuz your voice is real, as real as it was on that winter afternoon in the park where you rushed up to hug me and tell me once again what you'd told several times that week while your cheeks blushed red and soft and your eyes had twinkled diamonds against the shy sunrays piercing throught the crazy clouds. yes, your voice is still the same 16 year old voice which has not yet smoked cigarette and your face is still that prettiest thing in the world and i'm blessed to remember your face so vividly and i thank my dream for reminding me once again of how lucky i'd been to have an angel so close it's almost death though i know i'll lose you in your entirety with the morning cup of coffee.

i m tired

there's a song of happiness
sung by the birds of distance
its sound, like a lullaby found in debris
like smoke fumes high, dissolves, and dies
songs in the distance
by birds clipped wings of happiness
this perpetual fear is killing
of tomrow being same as today
there's a song in birds,
of happiness distanced by time
but my pillow is too small
and i am so sad tonight

A Story(Left Untold)

when the last of the guests had left, he closed the door and shambled his way through the unkempt room; the unmistakable smell of whiskey reluctant to fade away, and into the room which awaited his desolation in greed. he thought of the young boy who accompanied his uncle. the boy had curious lofty eyes that saw a hazy picture of the gruesome future that lay lurking just around the corner. he thought of the boy as he drew out an old family album from one of the drawers. he turned the leaves without once making an attempt to stop the train of memory that ripped past his inebriated head nonchalantly. but he had to stop, he knew that. it was his 10th grade farewell photograph.

he stands amidst a group of 16 year olds, their hair nicely groomed for the occasion and their faces outshining the spotless new suit they wore. he is standing to the left of the class captain sachdev who, as always, is smugness personified. to his left is rajany, his girlfriend, and the only thing in the world he could feel proud of, the only thing which placed him above sachdev.

soon the photograph session will come to close and the party would begin.

seated on the wicker chair and blinded by the mirky uncertainty of what could have been and a contrast it held against what is, in a figment of pang-filled moment, he realized there never was a party. only a postcard of derailed imagination.

a jerk of emotion overcame him as he fought the tear that would refuse to be held back. for once, he let go of it. he let go of himself and his bruised ego. for once, he did not think of what sachdev would think of him in this pityful state. 'soon there will be a morning craving for me and i dont have to care'.

he thought of the young boy again and how he submitted demurely to his uncle's orders. it disturbed him immensly. he banged his fist upon the table. a few photographs flew up and floated in mid-air. the others lay concealed in his heart-shaped box.

The Elusive Girl

When she danced with the breeze, she was fire. And if i touch her flame, she would recoil in shame.
When she danced on my palm, she were a butterfly, And if i ever open my eye, she can never again fly.
When she danced in my dream, she was an angel. And if i tried to make love, she'd never dance again.

Optimism - A Paradox

And yes, there's light in everything you found dark, hope in everything bleak and shallow. a petal will bloom in your garden of misery, when you wake up to the blue skies tomorrow.

And while the bell is still ringing i will battle till the very last, for i'd rather drown in a sea of uncertainty than live an embodiment of holocaust.