I bleed every night.
And in the morning I find myself
among the brown stains.
I am supposed to be shameful,
but I am not.

"Why aboli?"
"Because you are not the screen.
You are the projector."

It was a huge mental effort, to strip down, bare my heart and stand with shame and vulnerability as my only armours.

When she returned at the twilight, she found him engrossed in his work and then she loved him even more.

There are just as many wrongs as there are the rights.
A turn is both a left and right. Depends on which direction you are coming from.

Four letters

There has to be a feel. An emotion. A drama. Love.
There has to be a story. Characters. And a hero.
There has to be a reason. Decisions. May be a tragedy too.
Only then the four letters will come alive.
l.i.f.e.

Intimacy

When you do something, you belong somewhere, to some clan. When you change, you change your clan. The sense of belonging keeps moulding. There is perhaps no intimacy. No privacy. Nothing of your own shades. No true reflections. Yet you keep matching. Greys with greys. It becomes exhausting. And when you are exhausted with the world, you crave for intimacy. Then you take respite in womb of literature. And the more you read, the more beautiful you feel. The more beautiful you feel, the more peaceful you are. The more peaceful you are, the more intimate you become. With peace. With beauty. With a thought. And with that thought you try again the next day to do something. To belong somewhere. What a fool! You don't realise you'll lose it again. 

Foolish

It was a foolish talk.
A foolish expectation.
A foolish fakeness.
A game of fools.
And guess what....I won.

Solitude

an exquisite surrender...
like a tear drop under the spell of gravity...

My nails

I asked them if they want to be grown.
Came the reply: We have no purpose.
So I slaughtered and buried them under the old banyan tree.

You do, I do not.

It didn't seem nice
I wouldn't have done that
But my heart won't allow me the sin
So I'll forgive and try to forget
And write you a beautiful poem instead.

Sometimes the shadows of anonymity are much more interesting than the resplendence of familiarity.

Unreachable

When you read to me that night, you touched me deep inside without letting your hands off that yellow paper. It was slow and gradual, like wine diffusing in my senses. The warmth of your words comforted my skin. My cheeks felt the tears rolling down your cheeks. I could not lift my arms. I could not hold you. You seemed unreachable in your own world. Yet you touched me as if through a different dimension. The piano next to you played a familiar tune. I remember it was what I had asked for, to be played, at my funeral. I loved every note the piano was playing. I was drenched in fragrance of white flowers placed next to my bed. Candles and letters, they were all for me. I saw everything and felt everything yet couldn't reach anything. I looked at you. Your eyes were swollen and you were whimpering soft words of the first poem you had written for me. I looked beautiful in the white. I knew you loved me. And I loved you too. But how could I have told you? You seemed unreachable. 

Mode: Switch off.

I love going out alone, eating alone, sometimes talking to strangers or feeding the street dogs, watching kids play in the park and the elders do yoga in temple. Evenings are pretty. Much prettier are the mornings when I notice the nascent flowers, dewy leaves, gigantic trees and sometimes, if I'm lucky I get to spot pretty birds as well. I love the sounds squirrels make all through out the day as much as I am scared of the sounds which bats make at midnights. I like kites sitting high on some antenna. They look so majestic even from such distance. Those creatures! I love walking down the unknown streets staring at the pretty houses. I wish there were more cafés around which gave a comfortable feel of solitude, where you could cozy up in a sufficiently lit place for reading Leonard Cohen's poetry, order a cup a coffee and have a lovely sandwich. I love being just so slow with nothing significant running through my mind. There are streets I haven't yet walked. I feel like stepping out and exploring in every direction. I so love making mental notes of what is where. I love to guide people. I love to interact with kids playing on streets or just wave them with a smile. Sometimes while walking I just stop and stare for long at something which I haven't seen before. There's a lot to observe and take in. But surprisingly I don't do anything consciously. The walks and the observations are so luxuriously spaced with nothingness. I do not think actively. I call it 'the switched off mode', when I am so empty and that emptiness is comforting. I do not really know how I enter this mode. My generally troubled mind gets an off on such days. The world moves before my eyes. But I step aside to observe as if I have eternity to do that. Well the switched off state is eternity!

And oh! I love the rides too, in the car, or on the bike as a pillion rider. Back in university, I always had a strange feeling about the stillness of the nights there. I always said, a place should change face. It should not be so static. No wonder I love the motion of the place when I am in the car or on the bike. I always feel that it should last a longer. The cool air hitting on my skin and that feeling of temporary perpetual-ness! Haaaahhh! I love that! Much lovelier are my bike rides, when I just decide to go out with no specific destination in my mind. That perpetual motion is what I crave for! :'( That blankness, those trouble free experiences I miss. I never think so lightly about anything. The processor is off and I am just taking in through all my senses and letting those those inputs disappear in the maze of my mind. 

At such times, I don't feel vulnerable. I am not afraid that the dog will bite me or someone might think I am crazy to stop in the middle and stare above in the sky. I do not care if the other gender is noticing me. I am not protective of my belongings. I walk super leisurely at the crossings looking at the vehicles, with a strange awareness -- they know I am at peace.

Peaceful and detached. 

May be tomorrow I'll dance,
to the tunes which never played.
But today I need to wait. Patiently.

For once, I need to start loving myself
DO what I feel
And believe in the powers of healing
For once. At once.

When you move to a new place

You fall for the beauty.
You fall for the ideal.
Then you decide to journey on,
to the unknowns,
leaving everything behind,
except a stone in your heart.

Fights

Fights.
They energize the air,
stimulate the auditory sense,
blind the eyes,
race the pulse, the hormones,
burn each soul down to ashes,
mar the love that was meant only for you.
You don't think of the beautiful gone years,
care, dreams, vows or respect.
All you feel is the blood.
Tainted maroon blood.
Who is to be blamed?
Fights.

Midnight madness

I love this midnight madness
when emotions shoot like rockets
and words dance like puppets
There seems no end to this
And I want no end 
I cry listening to the dream of Martin Luther King Jr.
I sing the song of angry men
I'm overjoyed watching V play Tchaikovsky
I reminisce listening to Ekla chalo re
I shout O Captain my Captain
I write in my diary -
if you are going to try 
go all the way
otherwise don't even start
I wander among the woods on a snowy evening
and think of death which shall have no dominion
I feel like rising dust
like an ocean sized loud speaker 
a phenomenal woman
a voice contained in four walls
echoing the beating of the drums
I am the centre
I am the amber
I am the untouched cold of the night
I divorce the world just to be 
my own surreal dream tonight.
And every night I shall rise from dead
to walk and paint
the unexplained
Every night I will invite
the words mightier than swords
Every night will be a fight
with pain
But still I will dream
for the beauty.
and I will be the beauty.
like I am tonight
I will be every night.

A Closure

So far. So long.
I have come all done and clean.
Not only was it organized, I disinfected it too.
It looks much more like the GH-155 now.
"Absolutely Absolute!" 
Relaxed.
So bloody relaxed.
So so so bloody happy with the burlap origami
The entities connected, perfectly wired.
The circuits and sockets all understood.
I wasn't alone.
I communicated with 'They'.
Morse wasn't required. MY diary did the job.
Now that I am out, I will say -
"The depths I love and the depths I admire
And the depths are for what I am wired."
So dear seductive gravity,
I am ready for another entity 
Pull me.... "Intuitions".
I'm game! B-)