Monday, December 7, 2009


Today I shall speak of those moments
Where I trifled in the glory of a fool’s parade
Breaking my fingers, tearing my hands
For words that came by a chosen few, bitter in spite
Knives set on each other, the hilt to a heart of grit
And the point to mine
There I condemned myself to wither and die
Before I knew, the cold steel point dangled and prayed
On the very rhythm of me heart, all three of them
Months changed, Seasons passed and years sighed
And I remained where I stood, watching the world go by
The anarchist, the poet, the man to be hanged
His voice and words to die, reckless in a misgiving fight

And then the angel tilted the light to his darkness
As the walls came down, ravens ran crimson in pride
Blades flew to tear flesh, cackles of blood lusted laughter
But the eye opened, and captured a refrain stolen in time
The boundless prince savaged in words of madness
As the legends and mythology despaired of an era that went by
Two and Seventy hours waning, sleepless and broken
The words she spoke of love, music in her ears
Since her years of wanton muse and innocence
He growled to her as a beast and reminded her of abandonment
Till the angel broke down and cried
The moon caught in the sparkle of the tear filled eyes
But the blade fell free, and he caught his heart as it came to break

Boundless though he walked from the paths of trust
Of the pure, of innocence and the vision of faith and credence
With every word she spoke she proved him wrong
And caressed the vision of him as she did so, unknotting fears
Till there was a world beyond madness, against the world
That had the moment of every day without the sight of her
So now he knew, if there be anything of a word called love
It came in her, along with harmonious laughter and a shy whisper
Serenity traced her high cheeks, lips that tasted wine
Drinking to his name and the essence of guileless arrogance
The god of sleep walked envious, scoffed of his lovely possession
And the ticking moment closed on four months, eight and twenty days
Of excruciating penance, austerity and longing of the angels grace.

To the day she will walk the earth again, on the soil he stands
Beckoning the lost man, the fallen child to take her hand
And leave the stolen glances behind, the days in her wait
The barbarians of the centuries far, the villains of yesteryears
To Grecians who live beyond the distance of marble and columns
High and above the thoughts and reasoning of mortal plane
Grateful of the sun and heaven,
Watching her smile, call out a forgotten name
Asleep and smiling, watchful and willing of the time to come
Caught in her sleep, so peaceful, so silent, adorable as a gentle dream
She sighs within her tender breath, and in longing, my words lie in a fret
Though the days be far, noble lies that soft road wherein every turn
I’ll remain locked in the enchantment of her name, Jezebel…

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Heavens Denied

I, the artist, am going to search for the very essence of beauty in this world. For I know, only the eye that cares to see it would claim it once it comes in sight. I will know and understand innocence and joy of living even though I will search for a long time. There will be pain, there will be sorrow as well; but I am knowing enough to realize that there will be happiness at the end of the road and it will wash away everything and leave them all behind as a simple memory that would search for a smile for those yesterdays. And eventually she would come and I'll taste the very grace of love and how it defines my life. I am the horizon.

He, the poet and the dreamer, is going to question forever and be lost within the search of answers. The very woes of complication would befal him as he knows of no start and would reach no end. Though with time and the amourous grace of a wordsmith, he'd unleash numerous works and poetry for everyone to read and those that give even a glance would have the answers he seeks. And eventually, when he is touched by kindness and passion, he would turn to his heel and run as far as fuel and his feet would take him. He is the mirror.

Who am I?

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Wisdom Of the Gods

...and before I knew what I was doing, I had kicked the typewriter and threw it around the room and made it beg for mercy. At this point the typewriter pleaded for me to dress him in feminine attire but instead I pressed his margin release over and over again until the typewriter lost consciousness. Presently, I regained consciousness and realized with shame what I had done. My shame is gone and now I am looking for a submissive typewriter, any color, or model. No electric typewriters please!

Rick Kleiner

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Wisdom of the Gods

It will be of little avail to the people that the laws are made by men of their own choice if the laws be so voluminous that they cannot be read, or so incoherent that they cannot be understood.

James Madison (1751-1836)

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Fenrisulfr : An Excerpt

De temp en temp?

Fenrir: Love cannot be seen with open eyes and can only be caught with closed eyes; because with material and shapes being the only sights the open eyes can see, but what to make of love which has no shape, sight or colour. Therefore love can be seen with closed eyes, felt with open arms and understood only with a heart. And we ask why love is blind?

Anastassia: Please, you should stop now! You're making me feel-

Fenrir: Feel of what?

Anastassia: Loved, lovable, loving: something I considered stupid or not worth the essence in time or impractical, foolishly sentimental, need I go any further?

Fenrir: But you are, my love! And I'm merely pampering you, though it be not what you expect-

Anastassia: I beg your pardon; though it may not be what I expect but can you sure it is not what I want? The enthusiasm of a woman's love is beyond that of the realms of realization.

Fenrir: It might not be what you desired, but haven't you been lain in wait for? Might I go far as to say it be what you may have strived for? Saying so might make less of me extending the complement to me alone, but you know it be just and true.

Anastassia: The tides of love takes off masks that we cannot live without and before you know of it, we cannot live within. I've come across its first light and I may have taken a glimpse at the second. But what might I make of you? Is this what you desire? Ask yourself of your happiness and you cease to be so-

Fenrir: And these are the moments where I wish to say "time alone will tell".

Anastassia: No, not time but by your lips alone.

Fenrir: I know I am happy. I know I want you, and I have known that I always did and now I look for a lot more.

Anastassia: Then perhaps, we have a lot in stock to say. As a wise soul once said,

Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No:
It is immortal as the immaculate truth;
'Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth,
It lies not in our power to love, or hate
For the will in us is over-rulde by fate.
Where the two are stripped long
ere the course begin,
We wish that one should lose,
the other win.
And one especially do we effect
Of two gold ingots like in each respect
The reason no man knows, let it suffice
What we behold is cons ensured by our eyes
Where both deliberate, the love is slight

Fenrir: :smiles languidly: To think an angel aloof and proud fell from the grace of heaven just to caress the matted fur of a man-beast, kiss his chapped hands and look tendre in his raging eyes. All because he howled to her but the moon.

A: Whoever lov'd, that lov'd not in first sight. Pardon me, my love for quotes and rhymes gets the worst or the best of me and at moments as these, I would not be wrong. I am all but arresting that there has never been a time like this.

Fenrir: Take heed, woman, for you hold my heart within your hands.

Anastassia: You must be speaking of the past, my Leander, for tonight what was in your heart is in mine and for ever.

Fenrir: Bless me, and them fools say that you fall in love, I did admit so once but since I've courted your grace I have done all but fall and learn’d to rise.

Anastassia: Then rise to the level of the sun, so even he would shy away from the brightness in your eye.

Fenrir: And now I am at a loss of words, and only you can make a poet stumble upon his tongue. Is it passion, or could it be a lot more?

Anastassia: What might be your thought; does passion inspire a poet against the gods? Or does it give you to free everything that has been hidden till now? Passions are no more forgiving than human laws and burdens, though they reason justly so. Are they not based on a conscience of their own, infallible as an instinct?

Fenrir: And pray, tell me how would I come to know?

Anastassia: Hark, I wish to speak more but I have to make haste. I hear them searching for me and they find you there would never be the promise of another night. < exit>

Fenrir: Till how long would you wound me so? Oh, the Gods be to curse, for he showed me the the vision to her and lit the path to her, but snatched oft the sands of time which binds my fate to her now and for ever. : thoughtful: For-ever - oh, for how long would this be so?
This is an excerpt of a bit I wrote in College and hacked it when I saw that it couldn't go the direction I wished it to go. However, the charming part of this bit is that it is based on a real conversation which took place between me and a remarkable lady a long long time ago.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Oath to Mars

I live alone with the dark
My very soul a sword
Except to those under me
Fatal to any coming close
Since I have nothing to lose
A fearless blade is sharp
Walk on mountains of rubble
Crush anything left standing
I fight, slay to roam tireless
Need only a path to victory
Know not of the word defeat
If I lose, life itself will end
I conquer, loot and plunder
No love for a soldier’s heart
Gone are smiles and pleasure
Just a blade and scars to show

This poem dates back many many years and is the only one I have memorized. I wonder how many would understand the essence behind these staunch words...

Ballad of the Fallen Angels...

Beyond the holy light of the moon
Echoed your voice piercing night,
Angel of Eden, pray who are you?
Beckoning me to claim the fruit
As the doors of fate are lost forever;
Never to reveal what it once held,
And anxiously I hold me breath
For I know where my zest lies;
Within those eyes that tell a tale,
Red fumes within a mystics seal;
A smile that ebbs away slowm
For the sorrow that comes with it
Sweeter than the taste of first rain-
Our journey is yet to begin, love;
Call the winds to cushion the fall,
Kiss away the pain that will come,
But the heart that throbs so hard
Can never forget what it heard;
Tossed like a scarf into the draft,
Dancing with the clouds for days,
Just waiting forever to be caught;
Brimming in the wanton desires,
Whisper for time to chime a call;
A breath that tells of eternity,
The wild flowers ruled the land,
Heaven entwined in our fingers,
But the wolves that ran died;
Their howls just echoing now,
Without the voice behind them,
The brambles they slept on froze,
Earnest to be remembered again:
But it is time alone that will tell,
Within the pages of our destiny-
The tale of the angels who fell.
An falling attempt in making something out of the mumbles of a drunken fool… this is as far as I could go...

Friday, August 7, 2009

To be, Rogue

Boo! You call that writing... :hangs his head in shame and turns to the book rack:

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Ode to the Smiling Face of Death

Oh, death, the goddess of eternal darkness
Who comes smiling with arms wide to embrace me,
Like a child I am to you, innocent and fearful
Though you know of no human curses
For you are never vindictive, never quick to anger
You grant freedom from the misery and woes of man
To take me to the land that turns on its head to ours
And yet, I remain fearful of your power over me
Oh, death, glorious in such dark radiance
Justice is a virtue for the weak, as revenge is for fools
Why must you make a soul wait to see your face?
Longing to kiss you, so to part the gift that was taken
Do you not see that time beckons no knowledge in us
Coy and conniving he is, toying with our flesh and mind
Why must you keep us bound in his chains for so long?
Knowing that you are our guardian to what lies beyond
Oh death, forever benevolent and gracious
Why remain silent, with radiant eyes dulled in wisdom
And I know that blessed are those that die young,
Though you rob those that love, the one of their joy
Why do you not tell them that she has found peace?
And that she waits for those she loves patiently
As we are alive, we are also dead; don the smiling mask
So to lead us to where there is a beginning and no end
La Mort est certaine, l'heure uncertaine.

This might probably be the last poem I write for the next few months to follow. Though I doubt that there is anyone who'd care, but there is life to catch up to and demons to put down again, though it be a battle lost before it is even decided on.

Wisdom of the Gods

But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what I shall soon cease to be - a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.

Mary Shelley 1797-1851

It is strange to observe that considering the odds of gambles and coincidence, we might be fools to persist. Nevertheless, once in a while you have to tread the steps which might lead to a self righteous demise whereas the measure of the will might falter and succumb.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

To where I’d belong

Where the winds blew, turned and parried
There I went, far from the course of man
In search of a new land, in search of destiny
Where I’d build a home, free of all woes
And come to terms with this life
Know where I’d belong, know of what I am
What sort of a man am I? Never came an answer
Knowing that I have no destiny, I have no dreams
For I eat if I hunger, and drink when I thirst
And Bleed if I need to, though be no reason just
As fate seems to elude me, the beast I am
Hanging lonesome like a torn kite on a tree
There are flowers withering before they blossom
But the blessed moon of harvest has come to rise
The fires of the crude stove burns bright again
Golden light shimmers in a glory of promise
No woes to those sleeping on a content stomach
Though tomorrow may bring drought or raiders
There is dancing and much merriment to see
The clothes t’were on my back are torn
And there is no-one I know to lend me even a rag
Still I want to see my wife and child dressed gaily
And their smiles in the light of moon is enough
To know I belong here, even as the winds blow far
Its still crude and I have to edit it a lot. Noted diction errors and unstructured thoughts. Will finish and update later. I'm so lazy now-a-days...

Sunday, June 14, 2009


The wanderer walks eying the spire of ambitions
In the distance endless as the want of eternity
He has no money,
He says that even when he thought he could buy pleasure
There was no form or shape in its rustle for a smile
And the heavy paper could not be writ on
Leaving him bare as the road he walks upon
The roads upon which he walks looms long and far
Never does have a bed to sleep or a pillow to rest his head
He has no house,
He mused that once where he thought he had somewhere to be safe
The walls took to grow upon him and swallow him whole
All he had was stolen or taken save for his soot and solitude
And there was nothing to which he could hold or call his own
And so walks the wanderer in search for meaning
Trees struggling against the wind, a lake frozen white
He has no lover,
He says that everytime he searched for one where he'd belong
She took to be a silhouette walking upon the hard ice upon water
He slipped, he sank, he drowned, he burnt and he suffocated
Never came her slim white wrists to pull him from the blindness
And he came to the day where he took his final steps
The footsteps of the gods which he chased never came to sight
He struggles for breath,
No money, a fugitive of love, no house and one without a job
He died as he came, with nothing to have or hold on to
And all that remained of him was the beauty of life itself
Closed eyes still chasing dreams free of hunger, debts or a will
I was studying philosophy and catching up with the schools of logic. Every word has a function and every sentence has to take a form in sense for the sake of argument. But what of the heart which knows of no reason or the scheme of rhyme and purpose. What be the use of words and its purpose when life in itself for most make for little or no sense.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Eternal Vows

What is love to you?
She said
A lot more than you know,
Said I
What might it mean to you?
She asked
I wish I could show you
Claimed I
Is love not everything
Granted to me
Touch of Venus
A sweet dream
To hold you in my arms
Languid bliss in serenity
As long as I like
With my breath
Entwined in your hair
A rose of desire, promising
Parched for long
The dew of morn
Is not a kiss in a vow?
Do you love me?
She said
Do you really want to know?
Said I
Tell me with all your heart…
She asked
I wish I could show you
Claimed I
Heavens may come to fall
You are forever
Within my heart
Everything I am
The life to which I belong
Is simply yours to keep
As you are mine
Where we swore by choice
Us in eternity for all of time
My fate and destiny
Is in your shadow
You belong to me
Your love makes me whole
Is this not pride?
She asked
Do you really think so?
Said I
Tell me then what is it?
She held
It’s better felt than known…
Said I
All you need is love, and within that moment life itself feels complete.

Friday, May 15, 2009

Nero’s Song

An ocean of fire
Rampaging flames
Fiddler is dancing
Join these games
Time to be merry
When they scream
Sing the chorus
Toast a falling city
What is life?
An excuse to live
Drink to get drunk
Fight to survive
Charade on a roof
Worry not the fall
Just a nasty spiff
As paint on a doll
Pieces and ashes
All that shall be
Rome is burning
The great city
It shall be built
All over again
Man is a brute
Skilled they say
Live a lifetime
Within a moment
Die if you wish
The soul still lives
Run if you desire
But can you hide?
Lie on the shores
Wade against a tide
Sol simply drowns
In the sea so blue
Douse the inferno?
Pails are too few
Why tarry about
It is all of no use
Come along here
Dance to my tune…
If my memory serves right, I wrote this when I was still a kid, sullen with people kicking bits of my own prose in my face. No rhyme schemes, no reason and nothing in the gist... yet it has a slight charm dancing within.

Behind Walls

What can I make of a heart that is forever true?
For years I've been building walls of ice around it
Can’t you see I’m down on my knees for you?
But those words of a bloody vow are closing in
And I wish but cannot let my soul pass through
Though my heart is calling for another chance
I know that I have always and will need you
Beyond the ledge of reality I’ll keep stumbling
So dress up, get your feet to run towards me
Chance me those words which I wish to hear
Take another life and thrust to set me free
Lift those obscene fears, cleanse me of dreams
Fighting the demon poisoning all my life within
Show me a line that divides sanity from the world
Whisper in my ear comforting me that I will win
I might just show you the life I can live to keep
How many eons you now need to simply realize
With one word of yours I’ll leave all this behind
This life which once threatened to tear us apart
Would never come into our world of tomorrow
Know that no god will come down for us
Neither spirits care nor people would bother
But shouldn’t one do what the person must
Or wait till the consequence starts to matter
And when the walls comes closing down on me
I’ll still be holding on and breathing your name
Stubborn as I am, biting my tongue till it is raw
Where’re you? You ne’er came! So bitter to say
The heartbeats in life for you could not change
And when that day comes I’d struggle for me breath
A glory of fighting the times, the common good
So now one must cease and give birth to another
Nothing has, nothing would prevail the age
Dawn has ebbed, with a dusk writ in smoke
Today sacrifice the life of one for obscurity
And ‘morrow comes the sun of a new world
Just musing over my old journals. Saw this and thought it might be a nice addition to this box I've created for myself. Any theories?

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Wisdom of Gods

Do not be in a hurry to succeed. What would you have to live for afterwards? Better make the horizon your goal; it will always be ahead of you.

William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863)

From a child looking up to a GOD. AMEN!!!

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Word Play: Drunken Lingo

I hereby declare that the following words will be a part of my active vocabulary hence forth!

1.Goo goo g'joob

Taken from the song 'I am the walrus' written by John Lennon and popularized by Bono and the secret machines of late. Used in movie across the universe, lyrics hailed by one and all in the world.

To be used as a noun, pro-noun, adjective and a verb



Hey! I drank as much you if not more... how come I wasn't goo goo g'joobed?

If you think I'm gonna write more about this knowing my grammer, just goo goo g'joob with the first thing you see. I suggest a yellow umbrella, a brick and a leotard.

Thought of the Day

I am not simply a man, but an evolved being reserved in the power of thought and reasoning. I refuse to believe in eternal damnation, the contraries of heaven and hell and every ludicrous galore the cultural and societal text has to say on our day of judgment. I know that the life I am blessed with is simply a test of my salt eying my spirit, my wits and my depth. Nature as I perceive has seen fit to bless me with senses far beyond my mind, lips, nose, ears, eyes and skin; now I vow to make each breath and every ticking moment count.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Serenity, the child of a forlorn sight…

Serenity, beckoning in the realm of closed eyes, blind and shy
As reality turns to tear away her grace, the child of a forlorn sight
Trembling I stumble to stand, looking at a figment of my mind
Amber eyed, curly locks of silk that dances within the light
Is it loneliness, illusions, perhaps the solitude of a doomed man?
Taken to hide behind the wool of sheets, ink and black sticks
Wavering on the cliff wondering on the depth of existence
Yet crystal clear is her voice, telling me not to take the plunge
Whereas I, lost in my stand tipping upon the edge, beckoning
The grime of shadows in all the sins that I have come to forget
I see my blood drip on the stead of sand in the hourglass
Closer and closer I begin to lose my grip, knuckles bone white
Thumbscrews piercing the depths of my heart, senses excruciating
And a moment upon her essence, bearing a fragrance of her breath
There I slip from the courteous audacity of the ticking hand itself
Dusty brown and black of haze to break the strain of the conscious
Or club my wits reckoning to break the glass and so to sleep forever
Condemned to claw the air grasping at the mere ghost of a woman
Praying to eight hands of divinity each clutching my kindred crimes
I stand far from reach, a mirror in between and her on the other side
There is no search of the lands I lost without her hand in mine
And there be no glory in my words if not whispered into her ears
Meager are the days I live cursing the solemn mind not to pass
And I know that the reapers blade edges near upon my throat
Eyes closed but peering at the steps of a nymph-like smiling angel
Toying with a heart forged as the clash of razor edged steel
Broken shards of the sinister arm, a blind man instead of the shield
Losing my sanity as my eyes agonize upon the seven shines of blight
My serenity is within her, and far is the plane upon which she stands
Be it a babbling fool left of me, dreaming of the child of a forlorn sight
Catch the cobwebs of the closing mage

Friday, May 8, 2009

Fading Depth

Watching the sun rise to see it drown
Miles and miles of foreseen, running far
Running away from every familiar sound
When did life catch up to my blistered feet?
When did my dreams botch and fade?
Destined to the land of asleep angels and now
Take me to the paradise where I wouldn’t be
Mesmerized on the flesh of misunderstood love
Rejected in my passions of a smirking solitude
Stains of a million hopes broken in its need
I don’t want the vultures to pick on my carcass
When I collapse on my feet, tired from the run
Searching the innocent, oblivious of the meek
Towards the shores of insanity and cigarette burns
Would you not take me to the darkness of kismet?
For the words I heard was less then what I could hear
And yet in the bleak of penance and silence
I found no wisdom smoking the dust of the sages
Only a day or two, before I lose my mind again and
While I’m out there, there is only one adversary
Compared to the thousand I spend in my wake
Trying to catch the fleeting lights of broken thoughts
Knowing that I wouldn’t be the man you hoped for
Running away from the glory of belonging
To be where I wouldn’t breathe the dirt thrown at me
Cigarette stubs, dregs of tea and disappointments
Of the strangers glaring at me, morose and damning
Till I fade and come to terms to the man I couldn’t be
Chasing the path of surreal depths

Friday, May 1, 2009

Expression: Loom of Summer

This blog is showing all the signs of becoming my obsession. I have always known of my ardent interest in creative writing, but lately the flow of thoughts have been connecting deep within the rhythm of my being. No mysteries there, I can gleefully say that it is too hot to venture out in the sun, too tedious to work or to do anything that requires dexterity and active sensory-motor functions, and not to mention too boring to take up chores. Therefore abstraction is the only viable solution I see and here is another one of "dear diary" moments...
Let us consider the age old cycle on the battle of the sexes whilst we take a dash on the planes of passion. Lately, it seems to be the season of romance and I have noticed a fair share of a few good chumps of mine taking the fall. It is yet another day promising of an Indian summer, the relentless Delhi heat where everyone seems to be ducking into the shelter of a cool shade to hide and spend a moment or two with their muse. Once again, for the abominations:
Dimension : Battle of Sexes
Factor A : Man
Factor B : Woman
Objective : To understand the functions of the wonderful process of romance
Variable : Summer
Hypothesis : Love is in the air?
Therefore, here are a few random thoughts of expression, or quotes if you will dedicated to the young and dauntless:
When we speak of love, we need to understand a few logical aspects of desire and its implications. For a man to fall in love, it takes just sight and the awareness of a single moment, but for a woman it takes the knowledge of the man and the palette of his dreams, aspiration and his perception.
For a woman to know a man would take between a couple of dates to a few good years to pass, but for a man to know a woman, it is easier to say that even a lifetime would fall short.
And on the journey of life, a man makes many mistakes, so does a woman. A relationship can never be perfect. You can say love has done well when both the man and woman can cross over the misdeeds, and harbor each other in the goodness of faith, trust and the fulfillment of commitment.


First of all I would like to mention that lately there is no freedom of thought, expression and individuality. In most cases than naught, the source is a bitch or rather a group/organization of morons running around under the guise of professionalism and the fallacies of the ink and heavy parchment.

Those who know of me, both past and present, and are reading these words know exactly what and who I am speaking of. Nevertheless, it is pitiful to see such caprices of Mother Nature abusing their positions, and proving their lack of subtlety and the faculties of mental processing wasting not only air, matter and space but precious moments in the great parallel of time.

If only a few set of parents had been practical enough to beat some sense into these afore mentioned works of art, instead of condemning them to a life of repressed and anally retentive social deviancy. Would it not be better for such abominations to take a walk off the roof of a building which has at least twenty flights of stairs? You could prove me wrong regarding my opinion by doing so and if you would like, I’d be but happy to point out a few pious works of architecture to do so. But then again, ignorance and idiocy are an indulgence.

I guess it stings when an eloquent tongue comes under poison. And oh, I feel a lot better now, but let us move on to a healthier subject.

Monday, April 27, 2009


I wait patient, suffer in silence
She refuses to hear the cries
My hearts moans in whispers
Not enough to reach her walls
With her I dreamt true
Of glory days in paradise
Till a blackbird came
And sat on the far tree
T’was far yet so near and,
She ran to its raucous call
She asks for recollection
I wipe tears before they fall
Said ‘look within your self’
Why, it screams out your name
I never knew meself
But you saw the man
The blackbird called
And you threw him oft
Ripped me to the soul
She’d have more to ask
I love my lady beyond Eden
But she taunts its existence
Yesterday I could but dream
Tho’ you gave me the faith
It was all magical
A little lad’s fairy tale
The blackbird toyed
Its words twisted it all
‘if have done naught
With dignity, be gone’
She is deaf to my words
I see me dying within life
One year to build a tower
A minute to burn it down
The rain got us close
A kiss was left to forge
This blackbird sung
And she turned around
Now without her smile
I remain without breathe
I ask why the bird over me
She jests to make it leave
Never could see her this hurt
Could I stoop down so deep?
Saw my world with her
Felt peace in her embrace
The blackbird flew again
Swaying her with illusions
As I fell from her grace
Rotting in the hands of fate
I wrote this piece when I was still a youth, and I look back now and think what a fool was I. And then I look in the mirror and I see my nemesis. Where once I was a fool, open to life even if it beckoned the world around me to crumble, today I see a man whose eyes have glazed over. Feelings, emotions, a spirit that used to blaze in a reckless fire. Now I feel as if I spent a lifetime staring at a few broken words, knowing that no matter how hard I try, I'd never outgrow the chains that have bounded my hands in submission.

Thought of the Day

I wish I could write a poem for every day of my life, but then again, what might be the taste of sour grapes against the flavor of wine...

Monday, April 20, 2009

Depth of Illusions

Languid and cloudy dreams I saw
Reveling with a glory meant for me
Beautiful as not knowing tomorrow
In a virtue of courage and integrity
Pulling against this might of time
Nearing end, how far could I reach
Holding my breath burning my skin
Ripping me to watch my world fall
Pain is in the tolerance you display
Willing feet to take a step forward
Only to be blind and lose my way
How long do I wait for the ashes
To my days and the sleepless night
Call the parade so to hang the man
How far could that destiny escape to?
End a struggle in the Promised Land
Romeo clasped her hand to the end
Those fingers were pale in his death
Show me to be the last man standing
Happiness wouldn’t be just a word
In the tides of those are now or not
Forever to me seems to ebb too far
Dreaming with eyes that shall not see
The dice of fate rolling against favor
What you call eternal glory is a farce
Who is the enemy, who be the savior?
Does this make any sense?

Friday, April 10, 2009


Even before we rose to surreal depths
We knew the other was a simple mistake
And ever since I have forgotten
The days where heaven and hell met
As I lay my dreams in your closed eyes
Lost in the rhyme of shallow breaths
I know when I am defeated
But what are the spoils of your conquest
The gold in the avarice of Cortez
The spitting fire of your intuitions
A simple gift of a native twisted fate
Braided by the locks of angel wings for you
Have you forgotten I am all that you seek?
For my defeat would unbind all that is true
Our destinies entwined by the hands of god
Your devotion, my victory, a feminine ruse
But let us get rid of your entire pretense
Stolen kisses of passion that broke off refrain
Plucking words of love that are never spoken
And measure more in time’s weighted grain
I know the look of victory
But where be the smirk to which I desire
And what of your many ambitions
Guided in reckoning of a woman’s intuition
Spearing through my stead in noble reason
Turn back before you walk away, pure in mind
To evoke the many lives we have waited
And mold the love of us so as to never sever
In the passions of a tender ruse, bracing against the tide of fate. I dedicate this to you with all that is within me. Perhaps my words say more than what my voice beckons in haste... after all you were there, and you've known me...

Monday, April 6, 2009


Life is like a dream that ebbs with the tide, where reality is but the illusive moon that hides behind the clouds. And so only when we sleep we find to have woken and see what shape is given to our reflection in the mirror we face in the eyes of the world.


Day after day is a battle fought, won and lost. Screaming in the face of the society only to find ourselves in tears for the time we lost. The youth and strength we were once proud of is replaced by the manacles of compromise and the promise of the never to come ‘happily ever after’. The choices we made were always wrong and the right ones were those that never seemed to have crossed our mind. So far, so good; is always the answer which is murmured in twisted words every other minute to offer solace to a bleeding heart.


Ours is an age like none other and life is less than what we see. The only gift given to us is to make the minutes ticking away count. Who am I is not the question to the answers we seek, rather it is what can I be?


However, each day that passes by, I watch the expressions of the dawn that lapses into the tawny dusk. Every ‘individual’ I see and come to know seem forever twisting in their worlds which they forever have strived for. There are shades of grey in all of us which invariably or rather involuntarily seeps out from time to time, but what to make of the pools in neglect and shades of misconstrued acts which we believe are the said answers to circumstances? There were those dreams which once fed the aesthetics in us. Now overshadowed in the illusive chaos of reality where the toast to life, our expression ultimate, is lost in the throes of the joining the mass.


At times when the intellect and the thirst for control took over the better of us the conscious in the mist of looming desperation; the words that reckoned belong to manipulation and irrational pretense. Or rather the object forces of overwhelming emotions to make-believe a curious play to sustain our measure in the world.


Far away from the monotony of life and existence, there are the days of the fresh spring air where the very earth smells of the magical effervescence that the rain casts on the soil with its heavy drops. The leaves and the grass are quenched of the thirst and the fiery summer gloom is finally extinguished. There lies the scent to a new beginning! There is the moment when magic can be achieved by the hands of man. Just a voice could be the silent spell that invokes the stormy fervor of ardor within us all creating the afterglow of a serene sanctuary. A moment where we realize we are alive and the joy of life is not really far.


I shall beg grace from the people I drew inspiration from to write this expression of extraordinary events. What I write here did happen and there are only a few instances that differ in the time line and order of veracity. But somewhere I hope you would walk with me again on those blooming days and see the face we left on each other in our vivid memoirs.









A simple abstract from my manuscript which I wrote many a month ago, philosophizing on certain unembellished thoughts of expression. There is a lot more of course, it leads to a few chapters I had written not long ago.

For more, follow the white rabbit:

Simply Quote: Quote of the Hour

If the world thinks that you're wrong, prove yourself right. If you don't know how, instead of crying, moaning and weeping, find your path. If you cannot find your path, ask of those close to you to help you search. Start with your parents, they'd know a thing or two. If that does not help, get a shrink. If you think that the shrink is a shmuck, try an astrologer or even a fortune teller. And if all fails, I suggest you seek religion...

Simply Quote: Reflection

This would come to be a section which will recur from time to time, these are the favorite few in my moments where I was stunned at the words which I surprisingly uttered. Mark you, all of these have been taken from real life conversations:
#10 Its just a night of philosophical grandeur, rum and a lot of blazing words...
#9 Tyranny, crime, revolution... nothing new to it and its all been done before...
#8 -its like your favorite football team, or the wrong woman for you! You keep going back to them no matter how disappointed you are...
#7 'If I ask you to give the art, poetry and the staunch thoughts to be a normal man and live with me; would you?' she said,
'If I were a normal man and half the fool than what I am, would you even have taken notice with just me looks?' asked I
#6 I chase to where the wind frolics for I am but sure that if I reach there I would be greeted in the arms of a thousand angels.
#5 It is not that you don't understand me, its just that I don't let you...
#4 A perfected method for adding drama to your life is to wait until the deadline looms large upon your head...
#3 You'd be the death of me and yet, I look on to you as does a beggar to an angel which magically appeared afore him.
#2 When life comes to be but a wilted rose, death would be sweeter than a lover's kiss. And this goes to most. As for me, when I awake most mornings I feel wonderful to be alive. And then in half a moment I realize that today might be the last day I be alive. So I put on my sunday best, groom myself as a king, and steel my nerves to that of a prize fighter. For if death be my curious seductress and chooses me as her paramour for the day, I would most like for her to swoon.
#1 I prefer poetry, not cheesy one-liners.

Friday, April 3, 2009


You are the calm of my days
Like a light in life, alive in every breath
Like the passion of the rain
Mellow in an unforgiving storm
You are every moments delight
Whereas I,
I am a cold and cynical man,
Bitter in my ways struggling against odds
Always seeking that I would never find
Pretensions beyond living in lies
But beyond the mask of a happy face
Laughter and a comic gait
Much unlike the rose of your stride
I realized, that I am but nothing
Even a stray is loyal, and I am unworthy
I brought you nothing that I promised,
And wrecked only sullen grief
You deserve a lot more, a lot better.
Though I know I lie beyond forgiveness
I am sorry for being the biting pebbles on your path
Perhaps the single cloud against your clear horizon
Or worse, the curse that threatened to tear your life.
I hope for the day that I could but tell you
Even if I choked on my words, died
I’d never redeem me act, it’d still be a lot less
My life be yours and yours to take
No matter how many hours that goes by
My thoughts gaze the silence in regret
Think of me the shallow fool
Walk away and look back no more
Condemn me for all I have never known
And I shall promise you
That without your sunny demeanor
I’d be but the rose that withers
And in my last breath, I would nevertheless say
That all my happiness lies in your simple smile
Blessing me like the child in a gentle caress
No matter how time fades away; where, how or why
I'll be here, begging my forgiveness, from you
When most look back on their time they find there is a lot to regret on and a lot smile for. When I looked back on mine, I found no regrets, no memories, no smiles. Strangely, I found a lot to apologize for. I cannot help but wonder, If I were the man I am today, would I still come to do those deeds and someday choke on my arrogance and wish I'd have apologized?

Thursday, April 2, 2009

The Beast Awakens

When the rain washes away the grains
Soon the beast shall wake
To another life stabbed in our pain
Breathing the doubts we kept
See what we lost through all the years
Hiding our wishes in ourselves
We searched for red within the darkness
His venom brought forth blood
In his fangs we shall seek another future
Engrave our lives into the winds
Will we build on the hatred we all saw?
Tearing our very own for a morsel
Or will we show the world a new love?
Where all we see is pure for once
In the darkness that this night brings
Soon the beast shall wake
Open his eyes to another frozen heart
Broken and glazed in fear
A soul within the body it belongs not
Take me to paradise, my love
And his rage shall be put to rest again
With his wings you’ll conquer
Every dream that you ever craved for
Will you bring forth destruction?
Placing terror into the heart of this land
Or will you show us salvation?
Taking us all away from the sins created
Showing us the faith you held
And as all the tales I ever told ends
Soon the beast shall wake
Open his eyes to a mind full of lament
The will craved never there
A pure voice echoed but was unheard
I just thought of my despair
But his eyes will show a yearn to fulfill
The beast shall take him forth
To lust and create a world so beautiful
Will I bring forth hypocrisy?
Poisoning the young with fools trifle
Or will I show men humanity?
Where jade peace forever shall reign
Simply put, the answer to the previous post. Warning: Interpretation varies to readers discretion...



Sometimes I think I’d chase to where the clouds hover by
Where all of our dreams and wishes fly towards paradise
Burdened by such inquisitive hopes is told to be nowhere
Locked behind the doors o’ my heart, the keys are stole’d
There’s so much passion to surrender, all that we can’t do
Whom do I open to; such pleasures are not for this life?
Leaving me another arrogant fool, unworthy of our savior
Within yourself, live to for destiny of tomorrow
Where like the path of all slips: sand
Even in love is this life’s bawdy joke, a prankster
Of three words and ill-got deeds
Illusive collisions between two tides off a course
Sometimes I dream to make a world be within us forever
In serenity, forever free where our sight is what be reality
A stairway of light to climb the day where the sun rises
But to do anything that we choice is a mere act of fate
The virtue’s we practice are the saga of this day and age
Another conquest, the mediated spice of a million games
A half written poem, an ink stained paper, a false wage
Forget what they droned and chalked on the board
All they taught was but fools gold
The toys of faith is the key in the spark of the soul
Of betrayed hope and lost dreams
But would that not seem, what seems to be?
I found this in the rubble of what I once called a manuscript. I can practically see myself reflecting the confusion of life, emotions and blood that boils within the exterior of social mask. It easier for most to donn that rather than flipping off the endless masses who seem to frown upon every single thought that comes to mind. Insanity borders the path where there is one lesser to you telling you what to do regarding all that matters to you...


You, seem to get ahead as the days go by

Farther and farther in the distance

Whereas I, I am left here where I stood

In the days of our youth, I reminiscence

Even then, you were busy with the scores

And I was trying to even out our woes


Why can’t I let it go?

Shed my skin to be born anew

Blind in deceit that only sees

Your eyes, your smile, your touch

So plastic, suffocating me…


You, dine amongst the finest, philosophical

To the tomorrow of green and all economics

I, stick to a bottle of malt and grass, demented

At days end, I picture you undressing

Brushing another man’s scent off your skin

Tainted and stained in my thoughts and ink


What might be to question?

Sins only add to all that is original

Obsession is another name to feeling

Your hands, your voice, your words

All plastic, choking my existence









Bank your gold, little hamster and hope they don't seize it. Forget a healthy diet, and see if can they leech the excess. To six pack abs, stairmaster, treadmills, botox and everything plastic... how do you like me now, mate?