FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Our gods reside in the cannon balls In the sermons of carpet bombings One god fights the other Amidst the sands of the east One god prepares to ambush On the bank of a middle-eastern oasis Another runs wild with .50 caliber sniper With the peace stamped on his forehead From 2000 feet above sea level The lord almighty spotted the man’s red keffiyeh As a reddish spot on the heathen land Gazing at the distant black beast in the sky The man kneeled as he saw the slow parachute mines descending As if to prepare himself for the divine vision Somewhere in that muddled image, he witnessed the power. When they removed the pall at the graveside They saw a complacent puzzlement on the dead face It seemed that he died believing in the love of his god.

BEING WATCHED.

Its a disturbing thing to realize that you are being watched over. Not by the inconsequential supernatural but the overtly consequential people, capable of consequential damages who exist in the real world.

We are the epicenters of our own fragile worlds, delicately built. Each new step we take is equally hesitant as the first step we once took, if we take habits and confidence as worldly adaptations. We would never stop expecting a listener for a word or a reader for the written like we once searched for a corners to hold on to while treading the house with our baby steps. But with the education that teaches to divide life in for and against, access to the kind corners is being denied.

In a world where people want to know everything about you, your religious views, political views, your favorites and reasons for you to justify it all and reasons for them to oppose most of it.... I would say I AM SIMPLE PERSON WITH IDEAS WHICH EVOLVE.. may be the ideas keep evolving inside my grave ... my views will not come in the way of your ascendency to the top.. so keep climbing with the bagfull of judgments and ideologies on your shoulders, while I sit in the corner-most branch of your tree of knowledge and have peanuts (if u will).
(ahhh... so much of bullcrap to escape the eye)

Denial of Artistic Responsibility

Those who talk about co-existence are at biggest odds with the world. If religion and ideologies were to make this world perfect then believe you me, it would have happened before Christ. And now that the gods have come and gone, allow my art to share my share of prejudices, biases, contempt and beliefs (see how we have been taught to name each differently). Because when the world will become flawless (opposition says after the next election) my art will cease to exist because new versions of the world will no longer please you.

Art demands nothing but individualism, a sort dominance of only me over myself. I’d quote Oscar Wilde ..he says “The only creative thought one can have in an institution is how to get out of it”. So when I look back I see not where I’ve left your institutions and beliefs. The first step towards artistic excellence is unlearning morality. New gods can rise only when the old ones razed down. So the artists need to take the responsibility of the essential blasphemy in the society and question. The best artist will be the last believer. All I ask is to not strangle the artistic freedom to question. For the muffled questioning voice will shake the faith of the faithful not the faithless. If my thoughts do not conform to that of the utopian image that your religion has constructed then consider me the purveyor of the doom …which you have been taught to fear and believe in it’s inevitability.

“Artistic responsibility”. For the world which unlearns tolerance with education…. Responsibility seems to be a word so inadequate. Why should I persuade you to believe in my art, when all that I am not convinced about is my art? Am I some trader in the market of the filth of morality who would bargain and haggle for better ideologies and faultless beliefs. This is no banker’s literature which goes out in the open market with a price tag on its head and like a rainbow-clown who aims to please all.

In a civilization of disastrous inconstancies and ruinous revolutions, I should laugh at the intolerance at a change that an artist proposes through his thoughtful musings and not political jargons. Acceptance and rejection are the two choices which human mind will possess till eternity. So let art be for art’s sake.

"A book is a version of the world. If you do not like it, ignore it; or offer your own version in return."
-Salman Rushdie-

As if I were God

I made midnight mythologies
For my heavy eyed children
As if I were God
Had burn marks and crooked nail tips
When I braved the kitchen fires
As if I were God
The domestic omniscience
That household omnipotence
As if I were God
The unseen resevoir of compulsive love
Yet my love ‘dare’ not ask for any love
As if I were God
I say, “Forgive them lord for they know not….”
But they know it all, still I cry
As if I were God
I wait for the bliss all my life
N I was told to see bliss in others’ smiles
As if I were God
I was the unseen guiding light
In the victories of sons and lovers
As if I were God
From the land of my father to son
I wander in my own dreary mid-heavens
As if I were God
But when the world saw me
In my beauty
In their distanced blindness
For once they had sighed.. “eh.. Goddess”!!!

COZ I write poetry when m told to do so..

give it whatevr title u want to... The Theme was transition.

All the clowns repainted faces
Drew all measured graces
Their acrylic smile
That glittered shine
They checked their weapons
For the newest crimes

They chained the human races
the gloom of the urban places
n lifted the world in their hands
Sped up to the heaven’s land
And in this chained transition
I unchained myself

I now see all glories
In the childhood stories
And now I smile at their laughter
That endless before and after
I will cross all seas
In the smallest boat
n if I drown in the oceans
retell my cries as anecdotes.

The Ghana Dudes

Here I am not talking about the kind of friends who your mom wants you to be with. But the real world morons you are friends with because your imperfections match theirs. Shipra joshi.. ur one of them. So what kind of literary marvels do these friends offer you to read? Literary pieces that enhances the intellect …. NOPE… it improves your …… well….. nothing. It just gives you a inside_the_head loud laugh for a second and blows big your pervert vein.
Shipra made me read some blog by an IITan some months back. The most fascinating thing about these MATH BITCHES is the self-constructed high pedestal they sit on. They are the science heads who’ll take the civilization to the moon someday… (RESPECT for that). They aspire for the best of everything, even the best girls.. a loud (WTF) for that. This blogger guy had engagingly entertaining romantic aspirations. His blog post had a live pervert mind commentary of his visual encounter with an out_of_his_league girl. Now the sole remarkable thing about this post was a similie that he used. The GHANA similie. He says the reason why he aspires for blindingly hot girl in his life is somewhat similar to why Ghana plays in the soccer world cup. HOPE. This small word makes the world of miserable-nothings go round. Hope that deep down all these complexities of a love search there’s a silver lining. Hope for the revenge of the nerds.
But listen up NERDS OF THE WORLD if the Republic of Ghana wins the world cup that’ll be an example of “undying spirit”… if I put it in the best words possible. But if we turn the imagery in context of this blogger guy it turns out to be a leap beyond limits. It’s unfair on God’s part to bestow an arm candy to undeserving ambitious aspirant. You guys have tormented us as little kids. You had the all green grades. Your ever-smiling parents flaunted your little crazy brain all their lives and they’ll continue to do it till the last seconds of their lives. You’ll never know how abused my mind felt when I was still writing the math problem and some front seat ass in the class would stand up and blabber some absolutely correct shit. But that’ll be an end of your classroom victory tale.
Expect no more.
Beauty by your side is beauty abused.

Words... Bloody words!!!

When I compose I write somewhere in the middle of an almost blank notebbok. And yes my notebooks are usually blank because i love erasing what I write. Its nasty and a flawed process but I feel it catalyzes the newness in ideas. Ideas are most celebrated by blank brain and paper.
I love to write when its dark or when it rains or when the world acts to be still. It gives me a feeling that the world is waiting for my words (its good to flatter yourself in this mean world). It makes me write like a child. Like a little child who simultaneously looks at her watch and the paper in the last few seconds of the examination hour. This sort of self-constructed stillness inspires. It gives you time to deconstruct and reconstruct when you write.
But I don't love the words that I write. I wish I had a thought pen or something like that where I could register all the swimming ideas. Because I hate words and what I hate more is the crafting process. I love the crudeness of thoughts. Words simply puncture the beauty of the raw.
For example (i have a habit of giving example coz i feel that people made me understand science this way.. so it must be the best way available). Coming back to the example:
A guy is looking at a really stunning girl (a Megan Fox or sumthn). Looking at her majestic, inspiring, supergorgeous beauty. (U know what I mean.. we're talking shallow here). There's an instant unstoppable train of thoughts that starts. You think about the girl. About yourself. About you and the girl. About how she's out of your damn league. Who all are actually in your league. About how hot girls don't always fall for gorgeous men so may be
you've got a chance. There's no bloody brake in this train of thoughts and there shouldn't be. You want to hit the pervert track. You hit it. And hit it hard. AND NOW writing this little tale of random pervertism is like.. Your mom asking you "What are you thinking my little boy."
DAMN I HATE WORDS.