Frankly dear I don't give a damn!! But it was not until 2006 when I understood the meaning of it. My journey with movies starts in 2003 in IIT Kharagpur. I remember getting a CD of "koi mil gaya" from Tech market to watch on 15th August, 2003 on a friend's computer. Two days later someone told me that there are literally 10000 better movies in the world and more than 2000-3000 are available on our local network. It took me four months to convince myself that I would use a PC for better and academic purposes only. So I got one in December, 2003. Before getting a PC I used to loiter around people's rooms and requested them to download this movie or that. Anyways, that's how it all started. But it was not until I watched "A beautiful mind" and "Braveheart" when I started to develop a taste in movies. I was already bored of bloody bollywood masala movies where you could predict the entire movie by watching its trailer those days. "A beautiful mind" led to a new concept of watching "psycho" movies - didn't really know then why those movies were in Psycho genre. Saw, Final Destination, Matrix, Silence of the lambs, Mind Hunter, Primal Fear - I thought these were the best possible concepts in the world. Anyways as we learn and grow we all know how it happens. Here are the trailers/clips of some of the lesser heard AWESOME movies.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
To Write Something ...
To write something obscure but meaningful a poem would be best,
For the next 30 minutes or so, prose, story, sms and facebook status all shall rest,
I will rhyme for the next half an hour till 4.00 am;
Cause' frankly poems without meaning but fearless rhyming is my game.
It has been 2784 hours since I have wrote anything
and it has been 2784 hours since I have tried to write something.
Since then I have been thinking of words, rhymes and emotions;
But have threw me off guard, life and its bloody commotions.
Don't try to look for hints here as this is no puzzle,
There is no secret, no hidden meaning; just do not nuzzle.
I just wanted to write some lines just to let it go;
Its simple, just take a deep breath and let it flow.
They say I am superb and a rhyming God.
First of all I am an atheist and hence I nod;
For if I were to become God I would like to be Hades or Pluto,
Forget sanctity, I would be Ulfa, Al -qaeda or NATO.
See, I promised you vacuous, meaningless stuffs,
My poem just as meaningless as Copenhagen bluffs.
Come to think of it I am hating all the dreamers of this world;
At Martin, MK or Velvet, I am waiting for my stones to be hurled.
Oh well, those were days; John would smoke;
Chill them all out - Coke, cloak and still joke
About how he enjoyed Dehradun and the Sitar maestro
Everything else is fraud like the "wealth of nations" and Fidel Castro.
But the world then lacked may be Coen brothers and Nolan;
And perhaps Seinfeld and Rushdie, Salman.
Much, good and quality entertainment they never had;
Even the women started something, long after the 1st, "the 2nd and the 3rd".
I wonder how the world never gets bored of it,
I got within 1 year, 1 month, 1 day, 1 hour and a minute.
Oh, wait a second, I was not supposed to write all these.
Ah well, these are as meaningless as ever the world would please.
For the next 30 minutes or so, prose, story, sms and facebook status all shall rest,
I will rhyme for the next half an hour till 4.00 am;
Cause' frankly poems without meaning but fearless rhyming is my game.
It has been 2784 hours since I have wrote anything
and it has been 2784 hours since I have tried to write something.
Since then I have been thinking of words, rhymes and emotions;
But have threw me off guard, life and its bloody commotions.
Don't try to look for hints here as this is no puzzle,
There is no secret, no hidden meaning; just do not nuzzle.
I just wanted to write some lines just to let it go;
Its simple, just take a deep breath and let it flow.
They say I am superb and a rhyming God.
First of all I am an atheist and hence I nod;
For if I were to become God I would like to be Hades or Pluto,
Forget sanctity, I would be Ulfa, Al -qaeda or NATO.
See, I promised you vacuous, meaningless stuffs,
My poem just as meaningless as Copenhagen bluffs.
Come to think of it I am hating all the dreamers of this world;
At Martin, MK or Velvet, I am waiting for my stones to be hurled.
Oh well, those were days; John would smoke;
Chill them all out - Coke, cloak and still joke
About how he enjoyed Dehradun and the Sitar maestro
Everything else is fraud like the "wealth of nations" and Fidel Castro.
But the world then lacked may be Coen brothers and Nolan;
And perhaps Seinfeld and Rushdie, Salman.
Much, good and quality entertainment they never had;
Even the women started something, long after the 1st, "the 2nd and the 3rd".
I wonder how the world never gets bored of it,
I got within 1 year, 1 month, 1 day, 1 hour and a minute.
Oh, wait a second, I was not supposed to write all these.
Ah well, these are as meaningless as ever the world would please.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Corridor
and i met my corridor again
i was standing in my garden
looking over from my wall
i saw an old man around the corner
jabbering words, men near him around the fire
laughing and having a good time
the old timer had many stories i guess
funny, exciting and sad i guess
however i tried i couldn't decipher
long and interesting, may be he is a chauffeur
for he must have seen places around
may be he knew places around
he must be telling stories from past
his past i mean, what could be they like,
his past i mean, what was he like,
he kept on for hours on end
i stood there for hours on end
probably he didn't have any wife
and he was talking about the love of his life
then suddenly i began to hear
he told about the fairy of his life
he rolled about the dices of his life
"once there was a girl named Li
she came to our class when i was three
i fell in love twenty minutes later
in twenty days i wrote her a letter
i used to be so afraid of her
so i gave Fo my best friend the letter
he read it, but i thought it was okay
the next move as i planned was the bouquet
the next move as i planned was the bouquet
but Fo laughed a lot reading my letter
i grabbed it from his hand and threw it in water
i became more afraid and ever since
i was so stricken never since
i used to look at her all the time
i used to look at her all the time
i used to look at her all the time
i used to look at her all the time"
come on grandpa' said young Xo
then what happened, tell us or we go
"all i did was i looked at her
her face, her bluish face,
her bluntly cut hairs,
i could go on just sitting there
for hours, hours and hours,
i never had much hope,
the only thing i ever yearned
the only thing i guess i desired
the only thing i think i deserved
was a head on impulse
back from black eyes
from depth of her her black hairs
a glance back
eye to eye
eye to head
eye to mind
eye to heart
an eye and a re-question
to solution from question
the confessions of a stalker
and the knowledge of an admirer
the perfect admirer and the perfect stalker"
why didn't you talk to her old fella
yelled with awe middle aged Ga
"how could i talk to her with only my guts
how could i talk to her when my mind was nuts
even if i could what would i have told
even if i could what would i have sold
even if i told would she have heard
even if i sold things so absurd
even if she bought there was no price
i was no prince and my heart was for free
Oh the decree, its as awkward as it was then
i have no eye and i am eighty three
tough was the time and funny was the pain
it was just not possible to do any talk
and i continued to walk and stalk
i walked up to her home after school
her home had a man in it
her home had a woman in it
her home had a dog in it
and her home had a home in it
they had a wall around it
there was no garden in it
they had a balcony though
they had some flower pots though
i used to stand up on the bench
lying near the outside of the wall
the bench had many a stains
and i used to stand up on the bench so tall
for hours and hours in vain
until she came with the jug of water
and poured over the plants instead of me
sometimes she picked some
sometimes she plucked some
sometimes she gazed at them
sometimes she razed at them
sometimes she stood
sometimes under a red hood
sometimes she looked
the sky writing her book
sometimes she was soon
sometimes she went back soon
and when she went back soon
sky goes away and comes the moon
above my head the moon
and far away the wolf's moan
i would be afraid but for the things i saw
sometimes through the door ajar
sometimes through the kitchen's jar
sometimes through the window
with the help of the wind though
she would be carrying her dog
she would be a carrying a book
she would be carrying a tooth brush
she would be carrying a towel
she would be carrying a plate
she would be carrying a glass of water
she would be carrying nothing
she would shake a little
she would run a little
and then she would act a little
and the she would tremor a little
and then she would
yes she would
which she should
dance a lot
near her cot
sometimes head afloat
sometimes hairs aloft
and gallantly fought with witch unknown
and gallantly fought with enemies unknown
and gallantly fall near the cup board
like the highway man on the purple road
but she would rise again and try some spinning
like those in ballets which by winning
she would rise up again and try some spinning
danced to the fullest and not to the meaning
and she saw herself probably in the mirror
and she drew herself probably to the mirror
and she stopped dancing probably
i always thought so, she did those probably
for i couldn't see all of it
with a little bit of corner light
over my head with the moon full lit
and the night without the heat
i wished the summer should come
my wish granted and summer did come
my wish granted and holidays would come
my wish granted and to the school no one would come
for sixty days no one would come
and to her home i couldn't go
and to her i didn't go
sixty days in a row
to her i didn't think i could go
after sixty days i was all lousy
without her sight a lot drowsy
a little crazed and a lot crazy
i reached school before bell but she was quite lazy
i thought i wanted her
i thought i needed her
i thought and i just thought
everything about her
after sixty days what would she be like
i never remembered her face
i only thought but never remembered her like
the brunet girls who you can forget but not their satin lace
i really never remembered her face
and thats why i needed to see her first
gone all of her without any trace
just to see her to quench some thirst
i waited in my classroom
yes inside the big blackboard room
with ten windows wide open
and the Bilimbi fruits so ripen
over gate of our school
which i could see from the room
with the windows so wide open
and she came just before the final bell
and she came just before my final bell
air i in took as i did inhale
to save my breath and to get her smell
and i looked at her
and i watched her
and i stared at her
but i was scared of her
and so i walked behind her
and i stalked her
and once again me and her"
you crazy old man what are doing
you wasted your time
your story so boring and
you are wasting Po's time
"well I must tell you the story
in its tiny and in its glory
as someday after the summer
not to watch her i would rather
not be present in Fo's cover
for the hooligan's game of soccer
but under the Bimbli tree be a lousy lover
watching her talk to her friends
watching her eat a Bimbli
watching her pinch a friend
and watching her laughing
and watching her shouting
and watching her skipping
and watching her jump the ropes
with all of her little dopes
with laser like beams from my eye
with sodium like lights from my eye
with rays so powerful
that i thought she would die
the rays carrying my message with them
the stream of my infatuation
may be i thought a little lame
but in her eyes should find a station
and suddenly i started praying
not to god but for prying
and i became desperate for her eying
to the great Bimbli tree king
and all of a sudden she turned towards me
i was under my protective tree
full of ripe Bimbli
but her eyes found me
her eyes found me
she found me
she looked at me
she saw me
she saw me watching her
she saw me looking at her
she saw me staring at her
and she stared back
i am sure not at my face
i am sure not my dress
i am sure not to oppress
and i am sure not to displace
her streams pierced me
devastated me so that i was numb
and since i was numb i couldn't look away
but behind her blunt hairs her one eye
the back glance and the glance backed
until somebody pulled her away
away and away on some god damn highway
far far away from the depths of my eye
and i was left under the Bimbli tree all dry
and then the recess was over
Fo had found someone else for cover
and anything more i cant remember
my life found me a little less clever
i was swept across the river
to generous highway where i am the driver"
the old man finished the train
and came down the wintry night's rain
i came back from the wall
through the garden's little lane
towards my lonely corridor again.
the only thing i guess i desired
the only thing i think i deserved
was a head on impulse
back from black eyes
from depth of her her black hairs
a glance back
eye to eye
eye to head
eye to mind
eye to heart
an eye and a re-question
to solution from question
the confessions of a stalker
and the knowledge of an admirer
the perfect admirer and the perfect stalker"
why didn't you talk to her old fella
yelled with awe middle aged Ga
"how could i talk to her with only my guts
how could i talk to her when my mind was nuts
even if i could what would i have told
even if i could what would i have sold
even if i told would she have heard
even if i sold things so absurd
even if she bought there was no price
i was no prince and my heart was for free
Oh the decree, its as awkward as it was then
i have no eye and i am eighty three
tough was the time and funny was the pain
it was just not possible to do any talk
and i continued to walk and stalk
i walked up to her home after school
her home had a man in it
her home had a woman in it
her home had a dog in it
and her home had a home in it
they had a wall around it
there was no garden in it
they had a balcony though
they had some flower pots though
i used to stand up on the bench
lying near the outside of the wall
the bench had many a stains
and i used to stand up on the bench so tall
for hours and hours in vain
until she came with the jug of water
and poured over the plants instead of me
sometimes she picked some
sometimes she plucked some
sometimes she gazed at them
sometimes she razed at them
sometimes she stood
sometimes under a red hood
sometimes she looked
the sky writing her book
sometimes she was soon
sometimes she went back soon
and when she went back soon
sky goes away and comes the moon
above my head the moon
and far away the wolf's moan
i would be afraid but for the things i saw
sometimes through the door ajar
sometimes through the kitchen's jar
sometimes through the window
with the help of the wind though
she would be carrying her dog
she would be a carrying a book
she would be carrying a tooth brush
she would be carrying a towel
she would be carrying a plate
she would be carrying a glass of water
she would be carrying nothing
she would shake a little
she would run a little
and then she would act a little
and the she would tremor a little
and then she would
yes she would
which she should
dance a lot
near her cot
sometimes head afloat
sometimes hairs aloft
and gallantly fought with witch unknown
and gallantly fought with enemies unknown
and gallantly fall near the cup board
like the highway man on the purple road
but she would rise again and try some spinning
like those in ballets which by winning
she would rise up again and try some spinning
danced to the fullest and not to the meaning
and she saw herself probably in the mirror
and she drew herself probably to the mirror
and she stopped dancing probably
i always thought so, she did those probably
for i couldn't see all of it
with a little bit of corner light
over my head with the moon full lit
and the night without the heat
i wished the summer should come
my wish granted and summer did come
my wish granted and holidays would come
my wish granted and to the school no one would come
for sixty days no one would come
and to her home i couldn't go
and to her i didn't go
sixty days in a row
to her i didn't think i could go
after sixty days i was all lousy
without her sight a lot drowsy
a little crazed and a lot crazy
i reached school before bell but she was quite lazy
i thought i wanted her
i thought i needed her
i thought and i just thought
everything about her
after sixty days what would she be like
i never remembered her face
i only thought but never remembered her like
the brunet girls who you can forget but not their satin lace
i really never remembered her face
and thats why i needed to see her first
gone all of her without any trace
just to see her to quench some thirst
i waited in my classroom
yes inside the big blackboard room
with ten windows wide open
and the Bilimbi fruits so ripen
over gate of our school
which i could see from the room
with the windows so wide open
and she came just before the final bell
and she came just before my final bell
air i in took as i did inhale
to save my breath and to get her smell
and i looked at her
and i watched her
and i stared at her
but i was scared of her
and so i walked behind her
and i stalked her
and once again me and her"
you crazy old man what are doing
you wasted your time
your story so boring and
you are wasting Po's time
"well I must tell you the story
in its tiny and in its glory
as someday after the summer
not to watch her i would rather
not be present in Fo's cover
for the hooligan's game of soccer
but under the Bimbli tree be a lousy lover
watching her talk to her friends
watching her eat a Bimbli
watching her pinch a friend
and watching her laughing
and watching her shouting
and watching her skipping
and watching her jump the ropes
with all of her little dopes
with laser like beams from my eye
with sodium like lights from my eye
with rays so powerful
that i thought she would die
the rays carrying my message with them
the stream of my infatuation
may be i thought a little lame
but in her eyes should find a station
and suddenly i started praying
not to god but for prying
and i became desperate for her eying
to the great Bimbli tree king
and all of a sudden she turned towards me
i was under my protective tree
full of ripe Bimbli
but her eyes found me
her eyes found me
she found me
she looked at me
she saw me
she saw me watching her
she saw me looking at her
she saw me staring at her
and she stared back
i am sure not at my face
i am sure not my dress
i am sure not to oppress
and i am sure not to displace
her streams pierced me
devastated me so that i was numb
and since i was numb i couldn't look away
but behind her blunt hairs her one eye
the back glance and the glance backed
until somebody pulled her away
away and away on some god damn highway
far far away from the depths of my eye
and i was left under the Bimbli tree all dry
and then the recess was over
Fo had found someone else for cover
and anything more i cant remember
my life found me a little less clever
i was swept across the river
to generous highway where i am the driver"
the old man finished the train
and came down the wintry night's rain
i came back from the wall
through the garden's little lane
towards my lonely corridor again.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Amidst the Flowers a Jug of Wine
Amidst the flowers a jug of wine,
I pour alone lacking companionship.
So raising the cup I invite the Moon,
Then turn to my shadow which makes three of us.
Because the Moon does not know how to drink,
My shadow merely follows the movement of my body.
The moon has brought the shadow to keep me company a while,
The practice of mirth should keep pace with spring.
I start a song and the moon begins to reel,
I rise and dance and the shadow moves grotesquely.
While I'm still conscious let's rejoice with one another,
After I'm drunk let each one go his way.
Let us bind ourselves for ever for passionless journeyings.
Let us swear to meet again far in the Milky Way.
Li Po
I pour alone lacking companionship.
So raising the cup I invite the Moon,
Then turn to my shadow which makes three of us.
Because the Moon does not know how to drink,
My shadow merely follows the movement of my body.
The moon has brought the shadow to keep me company a while,
The practice of mirth should keep pace with spring.
I start a song and the moon begins to reel,
I rise and dance and the shadow moves grotesquely.
While I'm still conscious let's rejoice with one another,
After I'm drunk let each one go his way.
Let us bind ourselves for ever for passionless journeyings.
Let us swear to meet again far in the Milky Way.
Li Po
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Communicate
Language is a way of communication. That is what was taught to me in school. Later I found out that words can have different meanings. Also, none the less, expressions as a whole. A little mastery on any language renders better communication in the sense that you can say multiple things at once. Well if you ever come across literature stuff that is too difficult to understand or simple too bad to be communicated just give it another glance, there is a very good chance that you will find more than one meaning in that or simply it will be communicated to you deeply.
What I am going to say doesn't depend on this abstract. My point is not communicating. That is right. My point is "not communicating". This thing is killing me right now. I am finding a little difficulty in expressing what I am trying to say. In other words I am unable to communicate my feelings through ENGLISH as we know it or better as I know it. Why am I unable to communicate with the readers of this post that I don't want to communicate with the reading process of the readers. Or better why am I not able to tell that I am trying not to tell which precisely I want to share with my readers.
Anyways, if not about my sleeves, my point is "isn't it possible to stop communicating without communicating with involving emotions ?" If I just stopped taking then the readers of this post or better YOU might think that I am trying to tell you not to talk to me. Let me be clear hear. NO. I don't mean that. I just mean the importance of "not communicating". Well it might not be the "importance" but I am just creating a hype which we might call "importance" for the time being. Lets assume that I am talking about "not talking" and you misunderstood (means I miss-communicated) that I don't want to talk to you. But there is a little chance that you, for some time, did want to talk to me. Now it has involved your feelings, emotions. Now I don't want to hurt your feelings. And if I carry on as the world carries on by simply just "not communicating" a little scope of bad hope emerges in you. That is dangerous, very very dangerous. And I don't want to hurt you over and over again. So, what if I am to tell you for real that I don't want to communicate with you in any matter. But I do want to make clear about my "feelings" of not talking to you. Should I tell you that I don't want to talk to you or should I just stop talking? Yes, A few days makes everything normal. If not now then someday soon you will get it. If you liked me and loved me then you might feel heart broken and the same day you will say to yourself, all these time how you couldn't know what was going on. You will question yourself as on why you did waste your so much of time on things that lead to peril. So, isn't it better that I made clear that I didn't want to talk to you. In other words, isn't it better that I communicated previously all these things? Anyways if you didn't like me or love me, then I like you and I love you as you didn't give me any kind of guilt. But communication shouldn't be taken granted as an opportunity to reason. You aren't reasonable enough to try to communicate your point or better satisfy your curiosity on why I am communicating that I do not want to communicate. Simply, why would you demand to know when I don't want to tell why I am not telling?
But I am making myself clear that I am not telling you not to talk to me. That point I do want to communicate clearly.
What I am going to say doesn't depend on this abstract. My point is not communicating. That is right. My point is "not communicating". This thing is killing me right now. I am finding a little difficulty in expressing what I am trying to say. In other words I am unable to communicate my feelings through ENGLISH as we know it or better as I know it. Why am I unable to communicate with the readers of this post that I don't want to communicate with the reading process of the readers. Or better why am I not able to tell that I am trying not to tell which precisely I want to share with my readers.
Anyways, if not about my sleeves, my point is "isn't it possible to stop communicating without communicating with involving emotions ?" If I just stopped taking then the readers of this post or better YOU might think that I am trying to tell you not to talk to me. Let me be clear hear. NO. I don't mean that. I just mean the importance of "not communicating". Well it might not be the "importance" but I am just creating a hype which we might call "importance" for the time being. Lets assume that I am talking about "not talking" and you misunderstood (means I miss-communicated) that I don't want to talk to you. But there is a little chance that you, for some time, did want to talk to me. Now it has involved your feelings, emotions. Now I don't want to hurt your feelings. And if I carry on as the world carries on by simply just "not communicating" a little scope of bad hope emerges in you. That is dangerous, very very dangerous. And I don't want to hurt you over and over again. So, what if I am to tell you for real that I don't want to communicate with you in any matter. But I do want to make clear about my "feelings" of not talking to you. Should I tell you that I don't want to talk to you or should I just stop talking? Yes, A few days makes everything normal. If not now then someday soon you will get it. If you liked me and loved me then you might feel heart broken and the same day you will say to yourself, all these time how you couldn't know what was going on. You will question yourself as on why you did waste your so much of time on things that lead to peril. So, isn't it better that I made clear that I didn't want to talk to you. In other words, isn't it better that I communicated previously all these things? Anyways if you didn't like me or love me, then I like you and I love you as you didn't give me any kind of guilt. But communication shouldn't be taken granted as an opportunity to reason. You aren't reasonable enough to try to communicate your point or better satisfy your curiosity on why I am communicating that I do not want to communicate. Simply, why would you demand to know when I don't want to tell why I am not telling?
But I am making myself clear that I am not telling you not to talk to me. That point I do want to communicate clearly.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
the last few minutes ...
As I wait for my workstation to be done for today, I keep looking at the time and every minute takes hours. Sometimes I feel I should be paid by the minute instead of the per day. In that case the last few minutes should yield me more money than the rest of the time. But suddenly I realize that this isn't a specific thought. This thought is as varied as the humanity and is diveresed throughout humanity irreespective of time and ages. Everyone feels the same thing and everyone falls into the iterative grasp for the last few minutes which just won't pass away when we need it to be ticking away the most. Its not that I have some important work to do or I 'want" to go some place, but the last minute makes the most emotions out of me. I attempted to defend this powerful thing that might make me irate as I wrote down patiently a lame poem in the last minutes of working at my desk.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Oh! What a wonderful life; cuckoo though as it is,
Did the therapist know of even random moments?
The last minutes, the unbearable and exciting last minutes;
Yeah my friend of everything that you could list......
May be even from when you were a baby - the waiting in mother's wombs,
Waiting for the last minute to be shot out of the impecable relation
Or when u thought u were going back to home from school - yes the last minutes,
tored by unrest, anexiety and waiting for some non-important recreation ...
They could count to almost good- those so many last minutes of my life
When I waited for the school bell, when i waited to the end of a lecture;
The labs, the enourmous queues, the meetings and the orientations,
The waiting for public transport when i could see the bus - Oh the adventures!!! .....
Now am a grown man, despite what they say and I have grown patient;
Tied by duties and routines & strengthened by attributes;
It’s imaginative and interesting but it’s not that roaring,
But still I do a disgruntled roar with the same unrest and anexiety while working in the last minutes....
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Fear
Fertile falasy, falsifying fancy;
for the fantasy of future fall,
find I never the fruit or freedom,
forever and ever of the freefall.
flora and fauna, fox and feline,
the flake on the mountains and the fountains,
make me feel the feelings of fine,
fail to fell the frowned and tense.
fire to flame and flame to fame;
the famished face of love and fond,
the absolute fuck ups and the faltered finds,
takes me for a famine foamed.
fecundity of my frosted fashion,
faltered nature and my forefathers,
all to defame and fallion,
and the final funeral, so be it rather.
for the fantasy of future fall,
find I never the fruit or freedom,
forever and ever of the freefall.
flora and fauna, fox and feline,
the flake on the mountains and the fountains,
make me feel the feelings of fine,
fail to fell the frowned and tense.
fire to flame and flame to fame;
the famished face of love and fond,
the absolute fuck ups and the faltered finds,
takes me for a famine foamed.
fecundity of my frosted fashion,
faltered nature and my forefathers,
all to defame and fallion,
and the final funeral, so be it rather.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Retreat
The silver attire, the mighty collar, the black coat and the dark hat;
All the glances, all the looks, that they prevent, my heart,
My golden desire, even as if a destitute;
I never meant it, I never wanted it, all these to defend but I am there mute.
As if the city will fall to my feet and ask me for my meet;
Know I live in dreams not, for what its worth, neat.
Far from forgiveness and far from insanity;
Oh mighty thy, why you put me in such a reality?
‘Thy’ my imaginary appraisal, I blame ‘thy’ for chattering;
For I feel afraid and lonely, so I have ‘thy’ over me scattering,
Oh! How fearsome is this, that I am not scared to fall;
The wind here is severe and my mansion stands tall.
I am not afraid to roam and I am not afraid to live;
But the fear that makes me afraid is the figment of what I have to give,
“Didn’t I give all my bids, all that I cared, didn’t I lose?”
But this postulating movie has still more to muse.
“Am I in that movie; am I the star, the silver spoon and the jaguar?”
Yes I am the star, I am the crowd and I am that tough guar;
For I can outlive this scorching desert, though I can’t take the water;
Even I can’t drink the rain; I can pick the drops later.
I am thirsty and parched a little; in all these time a little brittle;
No I don’t moan but a vain that I might whittle;
To self destruction, insanity and remembering the bird,
Yes the bird, which can beak inside me as I heard.
Was that, insane, blind, betrayed, envied, arrogance so foolish?
Was that so or am I just being ghoulish?
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
quest ..
my queer intelligence is delaying me here ... sort of startled and unlit ... a goof of all times ... the rules has been set in opposition as i find it ... quite funny actually ... anyways .. to take my mind off I think to write my self a lil story ... there are thousands and i am sure every single one of them is really good ....its like mumbai has given me wheels ... quite fast actually .... needs the oil sometime ...
i find the time quite less and lesser by the day ... and i can proudly say .. i can work for 13 hrs a day .... in my search to write stuffs i am quite confused .. should i write abt my ISP battle and gandhi giri where i sat for 5 hrs just to get my connection restored .. should i write abt the pubs where ppl take me for abhay deol ... should i write abt the loooong bike journeys across the length and breadth of mumbai and pune ... should i write abt my int. phone friends who once tried to sell me things ... may be jabber and jibber ...
no am not confused ... am not at all confused ... i am just trying to say ... am happy ...
i never had been so happy in my life ... i know it aint gonna last ... but that thought is just at the surface ....
i have painted my sadness whenever i found a chance ... i never knew expressing happpiness would be so damn difficult .... and the most interesting thing that makes me more excited is that i dont have a damn clue ... what i am so happy for ...
may be we need reasons to be unhappy ... the rest times suffers the goof ... the question is "is it the timing or just us" ...
cheers ...
i find the time quite less and lesser by the day ... and i can proudly say .. i can work for 13 hrs a day .... in my search to write stuffs i am quite confused .. should i write abt my ISP battle and gandhi giri where i sat for 5 hrs just to get my connection restored .. should i write abt the pubs where ppl take me for abhay deol ... should i write abt the loooong bike journeys across the length and breadth of mumbai and pune ... should i write abt my int. phone friends who once tried to sell me things ... may be jabber and jibber ...
no am not confused ... am not at all confused ... i am just trying to say ... am happy ...
i never had been so happy in my life ... i know it aint gonna last ... but that thought is just at the surface ....
i have painted my sadness whenever i found a chance ... i never knew expressing happpiness would be so damn difficult .... and the most interesting thing that makes me more excited is that i dont have a damn clue ... what i am so happy for ...
may be we need reasons to be unhappy ... the rest times suffers the goof ... the question is "is it the timing or just us" ...
cheers ...
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