Sinbad the Sailor

He could choose to groom for the women
But he chose the wind which lived in his hair
He could choose to hide from the sun
But he decided to answer his own prayer

He would swim to the floundering ship at the horizon
He would secretly dance to his hum, furtively smile
A lone cloud, he could bring rain standing alone
A migratory bird, he would forget the miles flown

Everyday he would follow his love, never tell
He would compose songs for her, which he would sell
Those who bought, bought a part of his heart
He would later reclaim these parts from every tart

Che Guevara on his t-shirt, he could bemuse
He could gamble and loose, smile and refuse
He could ravage and plunder, and blunder
Make love to a flower, tear a cliff asunder

He would wipe his brow with his sleeve
He would kneel to the cross and grieve
However he never let go of his bottle of gin
And he would savor every kiss of its sin

He was a sailor of the high seas, when he was afloat
He would curse the gale which rocked his boat
But he would make amends by ginger ale
Inebriated, then Sinbad would blow at his sail

Napolean.

As long as it is the talk of life, talk is fine
I don’t intend to stay long for I am next in line
She waits with the last flowers at the door
If I have to smile I’ll reserve it for her implore

As long as you don’t blink, I’ll stare in your eyes
For I know it will keep you from hiding the surprise
But I will be honest, as long as you are strong
For I don’t know when you will be wrong

If she is smiling, it is for a reason known to none
She knows more than I do, as she has always done
Even on deathbed, I am the fool
I hate her, she makes me drool

You are my only hope, for you are inane
I know you mean your words and your wisdom is plain
You will be a toy all your petty life
As I have been all mine

But I have to face her one last time
At least this time all I can do is pantomime
For I never won a battle even in my heyday
She was my napoleon every single day

Clemency.

These are those times which were never meant to transpire. The fact that I jumped from a plane without a parachute was sufficient for it to rain. You can't call that unfortunate can you? But now as I am falling through a rarified ambience towards something I have come to hate, I don't know my probationary powers. All I know is that I have fellowship in thousands of drops which fall with me, none of them have chutes. Such indulgence would certainly call for reprimand, but I know I won't enjoy it, for it would put me back where I don't want to be. I am hoping to miss the ground with all my vengeance acting as a fillip to the parabolic drag.

I am reaching out to the iridescent diamonds; I am filling my imagination with their beguiled experiments with light. I know my eyes would never see this again, I know it won't be the same again. I am a flickering tort pursued by dampness, but it can't fall faster than me. I am a maladroit parachute in vacuum; I cannot feel what I can see. I am a deflated ego, following a Brownian trajectory, creating a perfect round halo. I never had a problem with striped shirts; I would look the same if I was wet.

I am flagrant for once, there were times when you could not unleash adjectives which defined the following paragraph, but we don't live in those times. I love killing the suspense. I love killing. Be it humour, fantasy, ego or rage, I know I have killed it all and thoroughly loved it. Never has pleasure for me assumed such hackneyed proportions, it is as if I would never be sad. I needed an infliction, so I decided to take the plunge. I am suffering now, the journey is the only respite.

Bitterness hits back with a rejoinder, and I rewording it. I swallowed something I cannot discern. Clemency was never a show queen, and never slept with me. I hate her. I love the bitterness of black coffee, I relish its cream. Under a leaking roof all I can feel is the rain. Everything else is a passing vagary, all mundane mildness.

Back to life.

I come across as a dispensable sketch by Picasso
Trying to leash my rebel shadow with a lasso
I am not running from the sun anymore
For I have given it all that I wore

Every motion seems like a hot pursuit
The air hugs me like water flowing through a conduit
I am watching the sunset in the rear view
I am giving up all the love I could ever chew

I am walking away from the wreck of the day
I am giving the stars a name, showing them the way
I am holding diamonds in my hands
I am running in search of unnecessary errands

I feel you in my veins, you are like winter
I feel like releasing you, search for a splinter
I still hang on the old oak in the field
My arms still stretched and the body still peeled

When you gave me that second glance
I knew I did after all stand a chance
So I sold my citadel, and I am free to jump
I am poor again, picking on the garbage dump

Lighthouse.

Two silhouettes block the sun, they look into the ocean
A ship smokes on the horizon, offloading its emotion
A man on the ship looks back, curses the shore
The couple at the shore is smug, they let the waves roar

The kiss when it comes, is hard and long
The light hides all that could go wrong
Hand in hand they accost me, etch me with chalks
I am a memorial for all those whom love stalks

They say the waves shout, as I stand in their way
They say the ships sink because I didn’t show them the way
I never ever felt the need of arms around me
And, yesterday a girl stole my dream to be free

Yet I stand, and shine for ships and couples alike
I am a their confidant, I am their secret dyke
I am their witness, to their promises to change
And, I watch over their past, till it is out of range

Sculpturing ice...

Here I am, setting alight a dark room where I play
A match ensconced between my fingers is here to stay
Icy crimes stare at me, repugnance in their eyes
I was just being myself, my naïve innocence cries

A table sits, in the center of the room
She sits on it, hallucinating amongst the fume
She has the cigarette she stole from the ‘liar’
She can’t find the light so I set myself on fire

I see her curl like the smoke, my breath tastes her
She tastes like early rain, she douses my slur
I could grab her at this moment, but I stare
She wants me to chisel her to memory, I dare

The blue flames, they dance to her travesty
She ain’t blaming me for lack of modesty
I am her potter, she relishes the my flames
I am telling her this won’t qualify for winter games

Tell me...

It’s what you did to me, that brings me here
It’s what you forgot to tell which ain’t fair
I still have with me the last words you spoke
Tell me you can’t feel me pulling at our ‘yoke’

Promises, they hold their secrets from me
Moments, mundane they were left to be
I don’t believe them, they never have to lie
Tell me you never wished I would die

I am here in a canopy, floating in thin air
I can see you, close enough to dare
But you have the sun in your eyes
Tell me you didn’t feign the surprise

You see me now; I still live in your insouciance
You can’t reach me in my moment of valiance
You yearn for me, you are tender again
Tell me I didn’t warn you about the pain

She Answers...

There he is, he would buy the flowers today
There he is, he was a hero in his hey day
There he is, he know they would mark his wake
Epigone rakes eye him for his immaculate fake

He walks this path, like a lion in his cage
They worship his spirit, belittle his wage
He forgets soon, that they remember each day
He is undertaking a walk he does everyday

The urchin is already excited, here come her flowers
For she is his favorite, on the street of ivory towers
Some say he found a treasure, some say he just unwound
Others say he discovered that the world was round

Daffodils under his arm he walks up to the child
Expectation is strong, jealousy runs wild
‘Why her’ ask the ploughing minds and eyes
She is one who answers my cries, he replies

Coward...

The guns fire in my ears, I bleed away to glory
The recliner carries me, while ‘they’ write my story
I am already a hero; though I would have to die first
Alive I still was, harassed by an unquenched thirst

The sun is no longer for me; I see the last of light
I breathe in the sea, it douses my lonely fight
The winter in my heart yearns for a warm lamp
The wolves are aroused, as death charms the camp

I am the cynosure, I feel ploughed by eyes
They carry me in fleet, the return is the surmise
I am prepared to be dumped, I believe its time
The chasm is near, liberation seems like a crime

The theatre is alive; the sun stages an encore
Faith has melted, tenacity plays the fixated whore
I draw my strength from the bodies around, parasite I am
Rise if I do, I’d run into a bullet, opaque as I am

So I lie, relishing within me the miracle of life
They dump more bodies, cadavers are rife
Suddenly I wonder how many like me fake and don’t speak
How many of us in the 'lake' are blessed by life, but death we seek

Emancipated City...

They wanted to harass me today. I am usually a mundane slug, unmotivated by the passing time. But there are occasional bursts of energy, more from guilt than passion. You don’t see them coming and you wish they wouldn’t ask permission to leave. They harassed me today. I call them spikes.

My mind is a brat. It won’t learn from my mistakes. It is a stubborn brat. And here I am nursing it, away from family in Bombay. Yeah Bombay, but I am somewhere apprehensive, for its going to be time to bid farewell, soon.

You know how the most compelling dramas evolve not from observation but by the discovery of ignorance. Living in a microcosm where clichés prevail and subvert adventure, we often find ourselves staring into a parochial sphere which has no corners. Such perfection usually clouds our vision restricts it to what we see rather than what we can.

Two years in a city like Bombay make you more sensitive to paradoxes. But you need commendable gumption to reach out and explore a protean culture like Bombay. I should probably digress to describe my uncanny willingness to absorb passing vagaries and make them my pursuits. No. I am kidding. This post is about Bombay, a city that caught and still dominates my imagination. It can be hard to relate to if u suffer from the ignorance of the north specially Delhi, but the unending night outs, incessant local trains take no time to drench you with the Mumbai spirit. Another notable feature is the dressing sense which prevails in our female counterparts, truly worth appreciating, a welcome change from the flab in Delhi. But the people in Bombay are only half the story for the other half is the Bombay in the people. Those eternal times spent observing people outside nightclubs, outside restaurants, outside Bade Miyan, outside Cooper’s, outside Leopold, Churchill and Mondegar, weren’t spent alone for there were always early however late you were. It is never late in Bombay, never early; your time is a good time. These first experiences put forth on my platter a lot to explore and savour, the music had set me rolling.

What was to follow stemmed from the acceptance of the superfluous, for it was always about challenging the limit of adventure of satiation.

Near the top of Marine Drive is the H2O Water Sports Complex, you can take a boat out to Suzie Wong's, floating in the middle of Back Bay, a funky pink, purple, red and gold drinking den. Down in Colaba, ultra trendy Indigo all low tables and flickering candles – is the perfect place to sip a Bombay Sapphire and tonic. For a cold beer in hot surroundings, but with views on to the bustling street outside, we had Leopold and Modegar.

The fascinating east – west divide and the lesser publicized north – south divide, holds the charm of visitors in Bombay. It is like wherever you have been you must see something better. The congestion, filth, the houses below the sea level perpetually in water, the dwelling of cardboards surrounding the high rises – well Bombay has most of everything.

Whether it is the negros and the Israelis on the streets of Colaba, trying to sell you dope, or the messages on your mobile which say - "For meeting broadminded male / females in your area, Call Poonam now @ 982.....”, or the late nights at JVPD, eyeing ‘out of work’ beer bar dancers. You could see hope in there eyes.

This would sound more like the script of clockwork orange, if we were people of action, people who could shoulder responsibility of notoriety. But alas as I had mentioned I am just a mundane slug.

Incite...

Six trees in a row, and the haziness in between
The sun embarrassed by clouds lined with sheen
The air needs whiskey, for the spring has run dry
Either that or I have an urge to cry

A cloud hangs from the sky; I catch it in my eye
And rain it does, every drop steals a lasting sigh
The trees sway wanton, wind plays the whore
The gaze is emancipated, souls implore

I sit on the wall, and I see both sides
I see a car in the lake, gracefully it glides
I see an airplane crash on purpose
Must have been suicide I suppose

Six Negros stand in a row, and I stand in between
They have the soccer ball, and I have the preen
The sweat breaks on me, the ball is set to roll
Either that or my pride can’t afford the toll

I am the resurrection, I look for company
My words are useless, intellect is loony
They give me a pass, for a petty bribe
I score with delight, win their ascribe

I sit on a wall, I see inside
The car survives the glide
I see airplane has run out of air
But once on land it doesn’t seem to care

presumption...

The sun sets across a straw field, an eagle soars to soak the remnants of the day
The camera refuses to shut shop, leaves under my feet rustle in a boisterous fray
The serene landscape stretches before me, my eyes sensitive to any vagary
None was to come though, for the placid setting rested in gratifying slavery

I was curious what the seagull could see, would it notice me in the shallows
I was curious what the ocean could hear, would it listen over its bellows
The misty air reeked of personality, a personality that secure and smug
I was curious if I was a part of it, or apart as an over zealous passing slug

I trade secrets with the rocks, while the sea punishes them for their resilience
The beach smiles, the dimples trap in the water; exciting the sea, instigating its belligerence
I walk, I can see the surfeit sand adjoining a ravaging ocean, and I am caught in between
Time wages this war, humbles me by its omnipresence; demolishes the hidden preen

Imperative it would be for every particle here to travel, claim its fate
As I have come from over the mountains to share my story and wait
But the charm holds all of them; the water renders them heavy with errand
And my sermons fall to deaf ears, for none moves to take my hand

A thousand suns shine on me; my imagination has never been so bright
A thousand friends await me, my travels have never been so fulfilling
Yet I fascinate the lonely beach, 'everyone' here seeks redemption
And I sit here on a thousand dreams, thinking it is only a presumption

Gumption...the celebrity!

She waits; her lips await the arrival of desire
It’s those moments before a kiss, a sinking quagmire
A drop hangs from a leaf, searching for gravity
The eye yields a tear, for dearth of levity

The final lunge of the tiger, the deer weakens in the legs
The beggar smiles like everyday, adversity begs
Virgin waves escape their platitude, a surfer delights
The gaping valley stares as the jumping ego alights

Eleven fifty nine on a new years eve, each second a new bout
A poet collects the images; words wait for the final rout
The poise is perfect; the painter’s brush hesitates in the hand
The rumour spreads, truth waits for the discovery of the errand

The smile is imperative; the lady is set to win the heart
The memory strikes déjà vu, the shooter releases the dart
They say ‘statue’, the kissing couple freeze
Gumption is rude; it never learnt to say please

zilch of vacuum...

Find me when I am alone, find me in a crowd
Find me in love, sharing, caring, find me in war
Sing with me tonight, let’s whistle a tune aloud
Find me in your faith; find me when home is far

Begin the day with glycerin, rob yourself of the friction
End the night in a trance, appreciate the dream’s diction
Bury yourself under your imagination, relish the resurge
Find me over the universe, hold my hand on the verge

Don’t let the days go by, be in them, feel
Don’t wait for your turn, perform a steal
Orchestrate a romance, punish yourself…yield
Find me by the tree in the strawberry field

Walk on water, float on sand
Find yourself, walk hand in hand
Take a bullet if you have to, be a target for once
Challenge the church, fantasize about the nuns

Pluck a rose sometime, tumble down a slope
Strum a guitar; compose a rhythm for a tope
Clap for the children on the street, find me between your hands
When I impose on you, breathe to make amends

Li'v'beral..

Closed for inventory! That’s how a liberal mind reacts to insurgency of thoughts. The mind manufactures and orchestrates a vivid romance of thoughts, a thespian performance of loosely connected incidents. However the paradox is evident, a liberal mind isn’t exactly a minefield of disconnected gaffes, and it is a concerted reminder of rational. Blasé thoughts are the prerogative of a liberal mind, though you cannot rule out bohemian interference. However, the scrutiny of thought is the most important and consequential feature of a cultured and liberal mind.

What are butterflies to do in an iron maiden show, they flutter from the beat, aspire for fame. What are poster girls for; they adorn the walls of Moscow, never ever aspiring for a place in the heart. Vodka does better. Let’s say poster girls are for the desperate times. They say desperate times last till they stay on your walls. There are men who are all over, and then there are men who over all. Never do dreams matter until they are the dreamy ones, they sleep when you need them.

I am fascinated by abstract stories which converge in the end, as if the circle of life is evident, as if every fucking happenstance is a reminder of that, as if everyone knows the end, but then everyone does. I don’t know maybe sometimes the greatest insight can be drawn by refuting oneself. Is that the basis of hope, hope that I will change for the better maybe. Well they say go get a girlfriend, she’ll find enough mistakes in you to reduce you into an introspective mule, I say nothing better than her to compliment my sexual pursuits, to dress them as pursuit of love, you even get a flower, a kiss as absolves.

But we are talking about the mind here aren’t we, liberal minds, open mind, minds left open to be fed upon, minds which don’t mind. I have no idea, if you have an open mind, whether you have been able to retain your brains from falling out, there is a tendency to sympathize, I advise you to refrain for you would be the only person feeling bad. I like music for its detachment, the fact that once produced one doesn’t own it; it belongs to the whims of its admirers, who attach themselves to it. It is the same with life, you it begins and ends with detachment, while everything between those extremes is the exact opposite. So a liberal mind, does it attach or detach? I say the liberal mind aches, that’s all it does, instigates a rebel thought and nurtures the pain till it find more minds to share the pain.
I hate to philosophize. FUCK. PEACE.

swallowed by a whirlpool...

A white sheet of paper stares at a bare faced liar
Quenched is the evening, united stand the choir
The song rusted in blood penetrates a soul so hard
Inkling overlooks desire, he opens his last card

A visage glows by the candle; the soot darkens around the eyes
Desperation plays its beats; the dancers wait to vandalize
In his eyes is her reason; in her eyes is his shame
The iridescent butterflies flutter, as they seek fame

Sex, how much of it is in the anticipation
Love, how much of it is in the fornication
She says you can’t do much without a plane
He says you can’t do much without air

The sparks they fly, seek the gleam in the eye
The shadows accumulate in an orgy, for skin they vie
Her brother died, she knew she had lied, she’d better hide
She would fight, kill, play, fuck but never confide

The card is an ace; her smile has no trace
Visions of her seduce me, as she walks out of her lace
By the wall, tepid beer has made them a pool
They sink together tonight, swallowed by the whirlpool

the beach out of reach...

Recover, whispered the waves as they capsized
Rise, demanded the sun as it beamed in my eyes
The sand coalesced under me to efface my depressions
While I carried my spirit, the zephyr lifted my expressions

Cocooned, I lay absorbing the hymns of liberty
Marooned, I lay performing the rescue act
Extinguished, I lay burning candles on the sand
Alone, I lay connecting the stars which shined for me

The moon, the maria, the hysteria of the tide
The nakedness which knew no disgrace
A soul on a beach who felt everything
A soul on a beach who didn’t feel a thing

Humbled by the infinity I stood, my pride stood next to me
The oscillating waters burgeoned, yearned to be free
I denied them the touché, to preserve the feigned elusiveness
Only to surrender to their mercy, being tossed about in effusiveness

Horizons converged or so they seemed, a celebrated liberation
Diffusion of illusion, a perfect allusion, an imperfect ejaculation
I sat in and stared out, sat out and stared in
All I could see is the hollowness I lived in

broken to peace...

For days now, I have been searching for a cause, an elusive cause, a teaser to my cerebral powers, a humbling experience. Alas having found it the journey doesn’t impress me in the hindsight, but I am resolute in subjecting myself to these journeys again. I am also resolute to subjecting you to the journey as I would not have you take pride in my discovery without accompanying me through it.
The one who forgets they say is destined to remember; only they call it déjà vu. The fall is as evident as the rise, seldom are they separated by time, often are they separated by envy. A clairvoyant mother protects her son from the battle, only to lose him to society. A blind man burns all his matches in the morning so that he would feel the sun. Exclusivity of a decision defeats the purpose of decision doesn’t it?
I see a line in a crowd and I think I see civilization, I look behind and I see another line and I feel proud. Then I realize, in a crowd everywhere is a line. I stare at the clock and I see time, all I know is I was born and I will die. I let the ocean waves hit me, I know they will keep coming back; I will not wear them down. My memory never exhausts, but neither do new experiences. I can’t take a decision which affects only me. I am not mine. I am not in control.
If loss of virginity is exclusive to those involved, why is one branded? Am I the one or am I one too many. Do I make a difference, or am I the difference. I don’t use game theory to calculate my dating prospects, but if you are one of those who do, you ought to know that the principle assumption is that the players are ‘rational’ and ‘intelligent’ and more importantly each player knows this about the other one. Now you know why smart guys fall for dumb girls and vice versa. Anyway it’s the decision process which interests me, for winning and losing are perceptions of an empty mind. So can you win and lose at the same time without calling it perspective?
It is clear we haven’t reached anywhere; we could either stop our search or call it introspection. Or we could wait for the cause to stumble upon us by luck. Did I say luck? How many of us have divided themselves further into more basic entities, how many of us believe we could do better if our cells worked independent of us. How many of can say that we love with our hearts alone (I know it would be hard for the guys). What are we without ‘indivisibility’? I am not sure…I cannot think! I figure I will be damned…all alone like I began. I am not broke…I am never broken. Save dope for the good times, hope for the bad ones. Mostly we’ll have them together. Peace.