Why are you here?

Any question does not necessarily have an answer, or rather, a perfect answer. Maybe the answer is there somewhere inside, but not in your mind. Maybe you don't even know, but it exists. Maybe you really didn't get a chance to ask the reason of your existence. Perhaps you don't even know why you are here...

I ask you this. Why are you here?

While I'm trying to solve the mixed up collage in my head, I'll be asking more questions rather than finding words for the answers. What I see is that most of these questions are without a question mark!

Many a psychologically aristocratic minds say that we live because we choose to live. Did you really choose to be here in the first place? Did you really choose to be born as the "guy" you are, in every damn way? Did you really choose to breathe like humans do?

I am an artist. And I know that I did not choose to possess these fine creative qualities. Neither did a pianist choose to have fluent harmony in his fingers. Nor did the runner wish to posses those human legs of a horse. Who did? Why? Think... Why are you here?

You are not me...

I, for now, just for this moment, wish to die. I wish not to be the tormented for one more moment, not any more. I wish to see him, not me, no more. The pristine example of irony poking my existence is something that you will feel for. A dead man is a dead man. And once he is dead, he is left with no qualms for anything. I, being in a state of lucid torment while trying to comprehend both sides of black and white, find the joy of the dead much more alluring. And for no reason at all, today I wish to tell you that the purple haze exists, on the other side.

I can see my white face without the crisps and wrinkles caused by mere human emotions. I am not human, not anymore. I do not know what I am. I do not have a name for it. It is not necessary. Yet I know I have a privilege, which you didn't have. I can feel for you, while you could just feel your own pain, and perhaps grow more wrinkles. You cried and cried but no one seemed to understand or even listen. Whoever did, couldn't do anything to make you feel any better, the way I feel now. I don't have to cry, not for myself. I don't need to laugh, not on myself. But I would like to speak, just speak with myself. I would like to forget you, and everything yours. I am not fed up. I need a fresh mind. I wish to transcend into my other life, an existence which doesn't even exist for you. Blessed I am. You are not me...

Some unattended restlessness...

Never did I feel the slightest urge to scribble down anything all these months. Today I know I have to... Perhaps finally the stable equilibrium somewhat sedimenting on my life has started showing signs of unattended restlessness...

Let Go

You want to hear about me?

A head that's stained with cannabis patches?
Surreal seizures of insanity?
Obsession with every damn thing that's black?
The matchbox with red and blue matches?
Or,
My dream girl who looks like a crack addict?

Is that what you want to hear?

Life, tears and the smile
Have become the scratch on your burnt lips
They'll heal...
Only if you stop licking it.
But you fucking can't!

You want to hear more about me?

Sick veins, green blood...
Euphoria...
Rapturous insanity...
Deja Vu...

Parasites cling on to my white face
They're all there,
All over my fucking face
We do live to die, ...don't we?
So just let go!
Fucking let go!!

Creepers with claws like barbed wire
And cold drops of ecstasy
Play ping pong inside my head.
And then the slut knocks on my door
Now, why? Why do you hold yourself?
Just let go!
Fucking let go!!

Some things don't need no question
Neither do they have no answer.
"Speak up!". I won't.
I won't if I don't want to.
Just don't cling...
Like parasites clinging on to my white face.
Let go!!
Fucking let go!!!

It's not an insect that's in my head.
It's just a sting; some poison.
It won't heal till I want it to.
Listen to the beats that don't rhyme.
It's noise. It's splatter.
It's without an end...
Why do you hold yourself?
Just let go!
Fucking let go...!!

The black rubber band across my fingers...
It's getting too tight
I don't feel it. I don't want to feel it.
Pain is sweet. Pain is warm.
It brings a rush. Makes you feel.
It turns you on. Yet,
Lone walkers keep walking lonely.
they don't know. They need to know.
They need to get here.
They need some pain, some real pain.
They need this rush!
So don't fucking hold it no more!
Let go...
Fucking let go...!!

I stand in front of the mirror
I see myself
Yet I see him
I know he's there.
He is the king.
His blood oozes the colour of life
Not red
Not blue
But black
Black
Like an obsession
It drips in drops
And I let it flow
Don't fucking hold
Just let go...
Fucking let go...!!

The holy smoke from the peace pipe
Creates serpentine figures
And the little sparrow dances on
With tiny timid hops
It tries for innocence...
Innocence, is that a word?
A person? A book?
A feeling? An emotion?
A what???
I would only know if I had wanted to know!

I can write lines
And make rhymes
And draw signs
But,
Will I ever be what I want to be?
Can I just let go?
"You have to."
Let go...
Fucking let go...!!

Sometimes I just get blown off!
Off the track, off the shelf,
Off the world, off my fucking head!!
I just lose it.
I love to...
Be what i should be!
Without any hook-ups or hiccups...

No one cares a fuck what dogs have to bark!

Just let go...
Fucking let go...!!

Peace Rests Among Us...

P rEparE tO gO iNsanE, ...blOwN, ...muNdanE !
E acH draG brinGiN' eteRnitY a li'L cloSeR ;
A lthO' everY puRplE droP oF blooD begS foR meRcY,
C harreD seNseS makE teaRleSS zombiEs oF crippleD meN,
E verY singlE straW of flesH shRiekS froM heLL, likE GoD...

R uineD pieceS oF mY rusteD minD

E ngulF foRgotteN desiReS oF thiS pitifuL souL...

S oaRiN' dreamZ hidE beneatH tE sulleN clouDs, ...anD,

T imiD minDs don'T stanD a chancE nO morE...

S ilhouttE oF mY nailS makE lineS iN veRmillioN gorE !

A ll comeS, aLL goeS, leaviN' nonE but nothiN' behinD !

M ightY mazeS thaT mesmeRizE, tE joY ain'T wortH tE paiN...

O verwhelmiN' mY poweR, mY strength, ...tE TrutH !

N inE liveS foR tE velveT caT, lyK He playS thiS rutHleSS gamE...

G ivE mE ThY wisdoM, thO' i neeD nonE tO indulgE iN thiS bliSSfuL shamE!

U topian depthS oF darKneSS keeP hauntinG ouR minDleSS headS...

S tiLL, wE fathoM noT whY... peAce restS amonG uS...

Like a dog?

They say, in destiny I've heard them say, that I can see spirits. Even if I fucking can, does it really matter?

I lie down on the beach, my furry stomach drenched in the wet sand. Lying there alone, even with the companionship of my fellow tail waggers, I feel a strange 'nothing' inside me, inside everything I see, inside every damn living form that can somehow reason my meaningless jittery existence. What is the true reason of me living like this? Like a dog?

This nothing doesn't change. While everything else does. This is the truth. I am the dog without a pimp without a bone.

Phurono shei asha

Chotto` hashi... chotto` byatha... harano bhalobasha`.....
Purono shopno`, purono bedona`, phurono shei asha`.....
Bhebey bhebey din jaaye ,
Shobuj dhoan urey jaaye.....
Bukey mor lukiye tumi thekona` ;
Hariye jao, bheshey jao, mishey jao.....

Dekhechi tomar horin aankhi, kesh urmimaala` ,
Duto shobdo boltey giye kete geche dui bela`.....
Mugdho kontthey snigdho` hashi, jeno kokileyr kolaahol ,
Aalohito` shei gaaley tomar kaancher asrujal.....

Chokhey chokh melano`... borshaaye chul bhejano`...
Obaastob kinchitth unmaadonaye`.....
Koto poth hetechi... koto dhulo` mekhechi...
Bukey raakha choncholo` taaronaye.....

Tobey aar noye.....

Chotto` hashi... chotto` byatha... harano bhalobasha`.....
Purono shopno`, purono bedona`, phurono shei asha`.....

Bhebey bhebey din jaaye ,
Shobuj dhoan urey jaaye.....
Bukey mor lukiye tumi thekona` ;
Hariye jao, bheshey jao, mishey jao.....

Tobu keno je` amar mone` porey.....

Tomar nogno` ongey modhur chhondey momo` aardro bhalobasha`,
Ami tomar prem bujhtey giye bujhini tomo` bhasha`.....
Duur digontey chhutini ami, shudu mishechi ghono` kuashaaye ,
Dekhtey pao ? Dekhona` tumi, dekhona` amarey e'doshaaye`.....

Aapon korecho` tumi taharey.....
Taara khojey he` tomaye` kaatarey kaatarey.....
Jano ki tumi`, tumi khojo he` kaharey ?
Naa... ami jaaniney, jaantey ami chahiney.....

Shudhu jani shei...
Chotto` hashi... chotto` byatha... harano bhalobasha`.....
Purono shopno, purono bedona, phurono shei asha`.....
Bhebey bhebey din jaaye ,
Shobuj dhoan urey jaaye.....
Bukey mor lukiye tumi thekona` ;
Hariye jao, bheshey jao.....
Muchhey jao, mishey jao.....
Tyajo` e' nirortho chholona` !

Puppets pretend to be happy...

They strive to be happy, they know not why. They're nothing more than common people. They don't care. I don't care as well. Abominable creatures, should I call them? What other impression do they exhibit? Sometimes I ponder. Though I know its just futile sorrow, depravity, frustration, defeat, suffocation that plagues their existence. They can't breathe. The oxygen isn't just enough for them. Their blindfolded eyes have long gone unnoticed. Nobody cares, not even themselves. Perhaps, its all forgotten now - the real truth. They grope forever, and every step brings them little but bloody shards of estranged loneliness. The red brine flows, but to no use. And their faces hide in an inexplicable blankness. Fear, shame and grief in all make an expression that screams out for mercy. Pretensions of their faces are left uncared for. They are often needless, unjustified and unfathomable.

I do not understand, what do they live for, why? Its not a question, but rather a pity i would say. Their lifeless bodies live like jute puppets stuffed with black charcoal. In my mind, they don't smile, they don't frown, neither do they cry. Zombies in their heads, they keep breathing without a purpose till there's no more breath. Once, it just so happened that they glanced at my face, and raw hatred shrieked from hell. My ears were deaf already. Souls without a destiny is what they are. They haunt you like a plague if you be merciful. Don't be human in front of zombies. They'll suck out life as easy as parasites. They are people insane. Cannibals. Gothic. Lost. I've seen them more than God. They are puppets who pretend to be happy...

What beckons is Truth...

Tis' a Viking voyage full of woes,

We know not brother where it goes ;

Fighting the wind, braving the storm.....

The ship keeps sail, in golden form.

But the journey is big, and the battle strong,

Blind eyes keep praying, from dusk till dawn ;

Faces of no feelings overshadow all.....

Tis' nothing, maybe void is what they call.

These pitiful puppets just eat and kill,

Do little but totter at His ruthless will ;

"They're not guilty, to be thrown from thy ark.....

For tis' none but You who keeps 'em in Dark!"

Good souls hath forsaken this struggle inevitable,

For they doth not 'prehend, this forlorn babel ;

But hapless souls forgotten by time.....

Find no truth in Truth sublime.

Everything's a mirage deceiving the Truth,

The wine, the robe, the golden tooth ;

They keep striving for needless bliss.....

Instead seek thy heart, I say this.

Yet what beckons is Truth, high and wise,

With no clue on earth where it lies ;

Thus ignorance is bliss and I don't lie.....

Let's know nothing..... let's smile and die.

Passed out

"You think you'll be able to leave politics behind?", I quizzed Rana as the peace leaf was already burning bright. Still a couple more to make the rounds merrier. Taking a sharp deep pull, Rana's reply almost came like a pat.

"That's exactly why I am IC (Independents Consolidation). Leave it when you need to. We are all independents. Its just you and your decisions, nothing else."

Rana spoke as the heavy clouds heavenly dispersed slowly through his nostrils.

"You see Shubho, there are a lot of reasons I joined IC. And there are a lot of stories to tell. You can bet on that. More than I learnt, I have lived and experienced politics to my core. I suppose, I've got my full share of it already. Time to look further.", he finished like a dad speaking to his son.

"So you'll be post graduating in Bio Informatics, preferably from JNU.", my voice sounded almost like a tone asking for reassurance.

"You know what Shubho? For us the situation isn't like yours. It feels like passing out of school rather than becoming a graduate."

I pray I feel like just passed out from school forever. A short while of silence interrupted. It was full moon that shone like a shield on a sky of shining armor. The thick white smoke ascended cautiously as it eclipsed parts of the steel blue sky in frequent successions; and the reefer passed on...

An Incomplete Love Story

Lately, Arjun had been seldom speculative about subjects that didn’t bother him. His thoughts had precisely reduced to things that made his heart skip a beat, or perhaps, bring a faintest smile. Love was almost an unknown territory he had failed to conquer in the last six years of his checkered life, although by now, big words seemed like past things forgotten; like the forgotten Pharaohs of Egypt hiding in royal pyramids. He had tried and tried, to flourish in love; but in vain. The silver lining between love and pain seemed to have vanished already. But now, these things didn’t matter anymore, he believed, or rather he pretended to believe. He was ready to move forward, and look for greener pastures. He believed, life will have its better moments soon; that it was time to forget everything, and have fun, and be free, like a free bird. Arjun hadn’t exactly been searching for anything, but this day, he felt as if, his search got over.

___________________________ 

Ani was quite an impressive character, taking indulged interest in photography, painting, and politics; poetry, peace, and pot. That day, Shome had happily escorted me to Ani’s place to smoke ‘sweet marijuana’, as he had already mentioned. I had intentionally asked him who all were coming. And he had said, apart from us, only a college guy named Riju was expected. Not that I was expecting anyone else, but then, I had heard pretty stories about pretty girls smoking pot in their college. Though, this fascinating fact was meant to be an untold secret.

“What is this place?” …I enquired with a crooked smile, bursting with suppressed excitement. The grey sliding door made of thin plywood, made a grinding sound as it opened sideways.

“This is the room I was talking about!” …Shome blocked a part of my view as he stood awestruck in front of the narrow opening of the plywood door, whispering to himself, “I don’t believe this… What-A-Scene !”, pausing deliberately after each of the last three words. “Who on earth would have expected this today?” …he continued, in sheer disbelief. Shome’s voice sounded so vibrant that I could almost feel a strange pang in my stomach, difficult to explain. Had he seen something which was not expected, I thought. I couldn’t wait to see more.

“Ha, welcome stoners. Come inside.” …I recognized Ani’s frail voice as Shome cleared my vision, resting his stout shape sideways on the door.

“No way was I expecting you, …not in my dreams!”, Shome spoke with exuberant exclamation, looking towards an unseen part inside the room.

“Expect the unexpected brother, when thou art with me.”, Ani recited like a graceful Shakespeare, deeply lost in a translucent white paper held in his fingers, rolled like a fat cigarette.

I hadn’t got a complete view of the interiors, when a sweet but alert voice from inside cautioned us, in haste, “Fast! Get inside boys… For God’s sake Ani, close the door!”. In less than ten quick seconds, we had crammed ourselves inside. And I saw a beautiful girl sitting at the other corner, exuding a faint smile, bright with joy. My heart skipped a beat, maybe two. No way was I expecting something like this, …not in my dreams, I repeated Shome’s words in my mind, as I felt a quick rush of adrenaline through my veins. Unnecessary questions started clotting my thoughts, almost immediately. Will she smoke up with us? Did she know about me? Had Ani told her I was coming? Did my shirt look alright? My mind juggled with the string of silly questions as I hoped someone would introduce me to her, and then, she would tell her name with an expected sweet smile. There she rested, folding her silk legs like a knot, and her head against the shadowy background of the wall opposite mine. I felt a compelling urge to move closer and find a place somewhere beside her. But unknowingly, I decided not to budge, and briskly dropped in a valley of Bengali novels, facing the unexpected beauty, waiting for something to happen. I thought she looked at me, for a moment; or more.

The room was as big as one-fourth of my mother’s kitchen; probably smaller. The Dutch Duke would have had to crouch to stand inside. The width could almost accommodate a pair of Siamese twins. And the longer side was no longer than merely a couple of meters. Probably, prison cells were better. The grayish white hue of the lonely walls looked strange, if not dirty. Heart-rending lines of poetry, lyrics of nostalgia, and painful graffiti etched on the walls added to the eerie surroundings. All four of us had somehow managed to get some space in the devouring mess of unknown books and settled dust; history to photography, painting to literature. I could feel colours inside in spite of the dimly darkened ambience. The scent of Ani’s room had caught hold of my senses already, while I reclined puffing a stick of Classic Milds.

“Who reads this stuff?” …I quizzed Ani turning the third page of an unseen booklet by Jackson Pollock, making a conscious effort not to stare at her. Ani uttered something in reply, but my ears, curtained with thick hair weren’t quite listening. Her bare hands rested on her knees like sandalwood branches. She would ask me something, I hoped. Or perhaps, maybe say something; anything; about Jackson Pollock’s abstract art, or Satyajit Ray, or even her favorite book The Da Vinci Code. The well defined eyebrows threw a rare but elegant character to her glowing face, I thought. And her red top looked so bright in the fading dusk-light penetrating through the tiny window.

The window looked like an aged hole carved out during Independence for the purpose of installing an exhaust fan. It was located somewhere near the top right corner of the wall facing me. “This was supposed to be the puja-room. But I hijacked it.”, Ani continued sitting on top of a square wood-colored table just in front of the window, hiding a part of the yellow sky. His throne remained carelessly decorated with pieces of his precious menagerie, most common to mankind. Three and a half piles of thick and thin text books protruded against his back; a bunch of black and white stationery lay scattered like tin soldiers in a battlefield; and loose pages of modern art sketched with beautiful quotations, longed to flutter in a fresh breeze.

Two empty cigarettes playing with the tin soldiers, rolled away to a distance as Ani exhaled a thick stream of azure smoke from his mouth. Leaning forward, he passed on the unfinished cigarette to Shome as he posed a wry smile at my face, still maintaining his awry posture. For a moment, I feared he had sensed the whirlpool of tingling emotions inside me. After all, he was a student of art, quite obviously expected to perceive more about human feelings. My gaze turned from Pollock’s abstract strokes to the wet mascara on her eyelashes. It looked like velvet peacock feathers dancing to a rhythm. Our eyes met for the first time, though for less than a second. We never spoke, but it seemed as if, a thousand words were exchanged. I felt I knew her for years, perhaps in my own fantasy. The moment was long enough to observe her striking beauty, almost omnipresent.

“Happy stoners, I think its time to shoot the stars!” ...Ani announced gleefully and continued, “What say Arjun?”…I smiled back, taking a paused second. My fingers dropped Mr. Pollock on my lap and started groping for the treasure buried in one of my cargo pockets. Both the chillums had been bought from the uncanny neighborhood of Nimtala Ghat, after a sweet long bargain over two rupees. And this treasure was the principal reason for today’s celebration.

In the next few minutes, one of our expert hands rushed through preparing a perfect blend of weed and tobacco, while the patient silence was overpowered by discussions on Presidency College and IC, the ruling political party. By now, Ani had descended from his untidy throne and secured a place beside the door to my immediate right. One of his knees had pushed back an array of framed canvas standing against two skeleton legs of the table. Shome to my left and Ani to my right, their lips moved incessant, pronouncing words that never meant much to me. I just listened, swinging my head to and fro, like in a tennis match of unknown stars. She listened as well, but with a lighter heart, as if she understood the few words which I didn’t.

Her dreamy eyes, as calm as the swan, was finely outlined with black kajal, rich with oil. The prolonged discussions went unheard as her sweet smile lingered in the purple haze of smoke. During breaks, she described, almost like an innocent child, how she had crushed the green herb in her mother’s smallest mixy, and how much score she was still left with, and that Mangal Singh had told her, gahnja is good for health. She was not necessarily talking to me. In fact, I think she just wanted me to listen, and smile. Like me, maybe she also made a conscious effort not to stare at my face, or even my nice blue shirt; and maybe, say something stupid by a mere slip of tongue. And her mellifluous voice continued to enthrall my senses like never before. Like the Queen of Nile, she curved the free flowing locks over her eyes till behind her ears with the index finger, while leaning over to see if the pot was ready. Her sweet magic had captured the moment, already.

“I didn’t get your name.” …I rehearsed in my mind, as the goose bumps on my spine reached a state of frenzy. I knew I wouldn’t ask her; at least, not now. What if she wasn’t expecting any conversation? Perhaps, she would just tell her name, and never say a word after that; and suddenly her smile would dry up; and she would stop glancing in my eyes, even for those few precious glimpses of time. I pondered, reclining on to a set of cracked drawing boards behind my back; and Shome sprinkled the finishing toppings over the pot, filled already, almost like a devout Rastafarian.

“Time to shoot! Arjun, your privilege” …the pot brimmed up with brownish green weed, as Shome forwarded the chillum towards me, his face gleaming with a concealed smile.

“My privilege …my pleasure. Let’s shoot…” I took the pot close to my face and closed my fingers around it, in a way done by potent devotees of Shiva. Two matchsticks were lit together and I puffed on like the chimney of a steam engine. And then, …a blank moment of indulgence passed, in silence. The heavy white smoke escaped through my nostrils slowly, as I thought aloud, counting birds in the yellow sky, “Where are we going after this round?”

“We are going to the moon!” …she answered in joy, as she came a little forward, resting her elbows on her thighs spread like a lotus, palms on her flushed cheeks, looking straight at my face.

“But moon isn’t that far away…”, I replied instantly, before anyone else could, without thinking, as my gaze turned from the yellow sky to her jet black eyes, sparkling with timid anxiety.

All of us were already laughing aloud at the humour, in amused merriment; and the burning pot passed on. It was our first sweet little conversation.

The pot went round and round, from me to Ani, Ani to her, then to Shome and back again. And the holy smoke churned up in swirling motion, like confused eddies, as we steadily indulged in sheer happiness. It seemed as if, the stars will never fall from the skies again; and the flowers will never wilt; and the clouds will never come. And that earth had moved far away, farther than the moon; and the skylark’s song was the sweetest symphony; and her placid beauty would never fade.

Everything else seemed so less important, and the first round had just finished, with plenty more to go. All four of us were already lost in translation of petty things never thought about by lay men. We acted like philosophers in our great minds, while we had traveled to the moon already. What better time and what better place to have a sweet long conversation with the sweet naive beauty, I thought as my sublime mind groped for subtle humour to start with. I knew girls were fond of humour, sometimes more than anything else. Or maybe, I should merely start with simple questions, to be on the safer side; questions that didn’t mean much, questions that didn’t reveal my effervescent enthusiasm about her; maybe something like, was she on Orkut? Or, when did she start doing pot? Or, did she like bungee jumping? Whether she painted or not? Or maybe even, which cuisine she liked the most? And the questions would bring in answers, turning to conversation, then to a discussion, and then, perhaps into a bond… called friendship? Maybe, maybe not. I lit my last stick of Classic, and had just decided on my first question, when the plywood door interrupted with a grinding sound, again.

Riju, almost a cynical cipher of a character, much heard about during the unfathomable discussions of Shome and Ani, peeked inside, trying hard to see each of us in the stuffed chamber of dense smoke.

“So you came huh?” …she uttered, with a huskier voice, and continued dreamily, “Brother, you’ll have to walk me till the junction.” This was the first time she spoke on a high. And her voice oozed a strange appeal in a stronger sense than before. I was as if, enchanted by her soft melody, and almost forgot the new face by the door.

The next moment, I saw her hopping like a blissful grasshopper, searching her way out of candid captivity. Her careful legs whizzed past my shoulder as she squeezed herself between Ani and me, skittering towards the open door.

“I didn’t get your name.” …I asked, almost in urgency, this time without any hesitation, or the nervousness, or the goose bumps. But my heart surely skipped a beat, maybe two; once again.

“I am Amrita”, she hopped out, and did not turn back. In a couple of moments, my lady in red slowly vanished down the stairway with her beloved brother Riju, leaving a trail behind, unseen by other souls.

A Dream that meant Nothing

Nevertheless, it was just a dream. A dream seen at dawn is supposed to come true. I can't really think how much truth lies in it; I don't want to think.

I think it was her, a vague glimpse. I knew she was hurrying off to the metro station. Unknowingly, undecided, enchanted I chased down, almost without any reason. I was still not sure that I had seen her, but I briskly walked towards the station, as if searching for something unknown. I wasn't really expecting anything or anybody, as a surge of unreasonable desire rushed me through a sea of unseen strangers, which looked like inanimate objects moving with time, like snails in slow motion.

And suddenly, she was standing in front of me, on a slightly elevated platform. Perhaps, she was waiting for me. But why? She looked so different; like a new face, a different person. I almost couldn't recognize her, as my eyebrows pretended to frown. The smile was hiding, or perhaps it wasn't there at all. She looked more beautiful; or more attractive, more appealing than ever before. Her hair cut short, straightened from the bowl of her head. Her face was whiter than milk. The eyes looked pretty with artificial liners, and her lips were as bright and luscious as the pink rose. I couldn't deny that her restored beauty, though unnatural and unexpected, was not unwelcoming. She was dressed in ivory black, much like the corporate ladies I had started liking recently. She stood almost like an object of oozing desire I had longed for in dreams not too old. My aroused feelings made me feel numb, but I remember, she spoke nothing; nothing that comes to my mind. Maybe, I wasn't prepared to listen at all.

I found ourselves in a dingy corridor, square in geometry, leading to many a haphazard rooms. It was evident that the owner had tried very hard to maintain a tidy ambience in the hotel, hoping to be liked by us. I can't say whether I liked it or not. I didn't have time to think. She led me to a room containing nothing but an orphaned bed, lying in the centre. I think it looked like wrought iron, as the lonely room reminded me of our long afternoons together in her bed back home. We were already tumbling over, clinging on to each other, with nothing but a thin flowery bed sheet wrapped by chance around our naked bodies; the moments were sensitive. Sweet smiles exchanged for nothing; and the deep dive in each other's eyes for endless time; and the wiggle down my spine when she pressed her knees against my chest, shivering in sweet ecstasy. All seemed so pretty, as I stood with blind eyes and deaf ears, lost in my happier moments, my past unforgotten. Now, I didn't care. I didn't even care whether she noticed my blank eyes indulged in better memories of us. I still don't know why I had chased her, or why she was waiting for me, and for what reason she had brought me to the hotel, or what was going to happen next. All questions remain unanswered, still. I saw a door leading to an attached bath, and another door, perhaps leading to another room, and then to another. The imagery almost created a jigsaw puzzle in my head; and a glass showcase, made like a wall separated the room from the corridor, with net curtains on the inside and darker ones outside.

Inane things happened after that, like a histrionic circus of foolish things. I was kicking on a checkered ball on the roof. Hazy faces of known friends seemed to accompany me in silly amusement. Strangely, our hands and feet were tied in thick ropes. My lady sat in a distant corner like a mute spectator with few others of her same gender, some known, some unknown. We struggled on the ball with desperate legs stuck in a knot, while the rain drizzled incessant. I glimpsed at her eyes and thought, she would offer me an oil massage afterwards; like she did when I lay on her bed, with nothing but my bare flesh and the sweet aroma of rich oil. And paradise would come nearer; and I would offer her the same in return; and perhaps, the happier times will be back again, just for an hour, or a little more.

The owner sitting on a dark purple sofa in the corridor called me to pay the bill as I descended down the stairway with no one in front, or behind me. The amount was probably rupees three hundred. Maybe the others are resting in the room, I thought.

I stood lonely, in the deserted room, with a thin tube light to accompany me. Perhaps, she would come in a minute, I hoped. Ice drops of cold water trickled down my wet hair to my neck, then slowly climbed down my bare chest as I waited, almost for a lifetime. I was wearing a new pair of cream cargos which I didn't recognize, and perhaps the blue jeans was lost in the rain on the roof. But she never came. Perhaps, everything that I was waiting for had already happened, and I don't remember. Or perhaps, she was busy with somebody else in some other room. Or perhaps, she had left already. Or maybe, it wasn't her at all.

I don't remember whether I paid the bill or not. But I left with my hair uncombed, like a sparrow's nest. I still don't know what had happened, why it happened. I can't find reasons reasonable enough. Abstract weirdness clouded my mind like lost souls in a rain forest. But maybe it was the last time I saw my girl, in my dreams, or in reality.

Nevertheless, it was just a dream. A dream seen at dawn is supposed to come true. I can't really think how much truth lies in it; but it seemed without a reason, it was a dream that meant nothing.

The Pharaoh's Requiem

Light of the Halo surrounds the sullen.
Shimmering like gold or even the stars,
Rich Robes cover the flesh ever unseen;
And the Beholder walks through Eternity...

“I am the fair soul, and all of you Black”;
Pride of His, summoned destiny for all.
The clouds had turned forever dark;
And all hopes seemed insufferable...

Till the white Zephyr flowed;
And the undone was done.
Tears of thorns were there no more;
And the chains for now, breathed in peace.

Dead Peace; As the Pharaoh lies still.
Souls fly free, praying and hoping...
Their Dark Phoenix won't rise nor feel…
This joy unseen that lingers between.

Million souls have flown to salvation now;
And the sceptre lay buried, for ages to dream.
Ceremonies forgotten in time; They know...
Tis’ time for the Pharaoh’s Requiem.

My Big Collage

This moment ~

A concoction of strange melodies ;
This world of unsatisfying Beauty ~
Does justice to My Big Collage.

The river of Life ~
Don't seem white to be happy, to be True ;
Still it flows. It flows ~
Searching a glimpse of the colour of Truth.

The lonely walk ~
Never expects me to reach the beyond ;
But then, the grass has turned brown ~
Searching a glimpse of the grasshopper.

The White Abode ~
Has this written. Written all over ;
Still I die, leaving my scorching Soul ~
Searching a glimpse of My Big Collage.

The Dormant Wind

"Shards of Darkness chafe through my flesh unseen;
And the red brine flows incessant.....
Tho' Truth seems so bitterly far away";
What I speak is to render the innermost outrage.
Still my soul keeps searching.....

Lightning fears the dark.....
Tis' afraid to stay for more than a moment;
The black days are never gone.....
And the Dark lingers in the unfathomable light of Hope;
It lingers even as the winter passes by.....

Few words can make the unwise feel freedom;
Though their freedom is not meant to be.....
Some figures never have a meaning;
They stand for nothing, for the void Destiny.
It’s written. It’s written already.....

The onslaught of time.....
Stirs the dormant wind within us;
'Cos we who write destiny ourselves.....
Will never hide the charcoal from the canvas,
Will never lose even when we are lost.....