They are white and charged,
Charged like me but inert,
No hormonal discretion or control.
In small villages, children study at night,
It’s a luxurious thing,
Urban – a right to discharge.
How sickly, medicated and calm,
How dingy for someone so bright,
My companion, my friend in arms,
Is a groaning tube light,
Silently twined into the night,
Where the smell of books devours me now.
There’s an emerald of a paint box,
With wings of the city at night,
It lives in a shadow,
In a moment as she whispers ,
Do you ever see the stars?
There’s a house on a hill,
In a picture in a dream,
The winding road calls me in the flow of a stream.
Freed ripples of deathlike grace,
Ever-changing in form are breathing low.
Like a fire without trace,
The games are playing us,
Like a bodiless face ,
We are lit by a haze.
In the tunes that we are,
In the lost note of a parade,
The gong of lust in us engraved,
We have fought for our grace.
Flaming crescent of violent release,
Dew on a leaf, silent breeze,
Bound by clocks, dual mechanic,
The wonders of thy grace – cruel orgasmic.
On the streets today emptiness does sting,
Motion follows where the mind gives in,
Gaze what prisms conceive.
A stone for all ages, not a moment free.
And if everything was flying not static,
And the silk in your eyes was glowing ecstatic,
Awkward tremors would be a symphony,
Time and form would be me.
Bismarks bismillah was playing shehnai,
Some sheiks were shaking because they said truce.
The tories folded inwards, the balanced ’mush’,
The rave in the rain of the moonforest was unfolding.
Some people were arled others laughed on,
We both knew the treasure, that’s me an inborn Gemini.
Swords well drawn, their teeth clenched jasmine,
The souring rainbows of a whispering tree.
A man forced co2 another N try oxide,
You sparkle with co3.
In the most ‘fragrant’ sheets of shitty villages,
We tried to be another me.
For what asked Abdullah?
He said for a machine.
The wind was drawn and violet,
The songs marine.
No need to be wild,
‘truth’ is shivering the spine.
No need to say where,
I’ve been immersed and fried.
No guitars, no cars,
No velvet rings.
I’m just canned by,
The silver spring.
Split by a splinter,
Lit by a flame,
Caught by a sinner,
Lost and insane…
Darkness not gloomy,
Brightness not gay,
Sorrow lifting spirits,
Joy ever immune…
Luckless like a diplomat,
Atheist like a priest,
Killed like an angel,
Blessed like a dog…
Drifting like a building,
Floating like a stone,
Raped like a prostitute,
Stripped like a nun…
Poor boy’s blues,
A lady’s clues,
Ripe like a corpse,
Striped like a knot…
The beauty of haste,
The poetry of waste,
Black in the white,
Like a peaceful fight…
‘ a man’ sits alone on a park bench in the middle of an uptown colony, in the middle of the city, in the middle of the country, in the middle of the globe.
‘A boy” rotates the globe that he carries from the staff room to the geography room,
remembering the furious tides of the ocean and a raft from outside his conscious experience.
‘a mystic’ tells four disciples on a rainy day in a tropical rainforest,
how the unit of life is an experience of four dimensions and how much is the meditation fee for the esoteric course for non nationals.
“ a political leader” tells an upcoming model at a socialite party how the strings of his pyjamas hold her future in a sideways glance as he chews on his paan.
“ a prostitute” sheds her first tear since she was twelve , when a gentle virgin boy caresses her face. In an instant she explodes like an injured horse, and accuses him of not being a man.
‘a coward” floats serenely in the sky as he descends from the 40th floor, thinking about the beautiful movie his life has been.
“an ex heroin addict “ thinks of integrating music, meditation and visuals that he stumbled upon inside himself with a sport hes created called VIBGYOR , to fight the agents of power conditioning.
‘the black sheep of the family’ remembers how complete he felt as a sick child, rocked to sleep in his mothers lap all through the night,’
“the responsible son” sits at a business school in Boston acquiring the guile to usurp the monopoly rights of his uncles business in Bombay.
“the bright , ambitious , likeable girl” thinks of a way to break her idealist boyfriend as he
kisses her shoes in the ruins at night.
‘the fat girl” licks a pillow as she tries to sleep thinking of the love she has to give, listening to “everybody hurts” playing distant on her neighbors radio.
‘ a wildlife photographer” frames all of the above characters in a long shot and instead decides to go to a bird sanctuary.
‘ an aspiring documentary film maker’ fights with his father a bureaucrat to go and live in the refugee slums of yamuna pushta for a year instead of a film school in California.
“ a schizophrenic ” looks at his shadow moving on the walls of an asylum, which reminds him of an old bengali folk song and a kite he sees all the time swimming in an ocean or a galaxy of purple now and crimson then.''
‘ a slacker” sits hunched in his filth studded room with spit oozing out from the sides of his mouth and suddenly his nails bite into his three stringed guitar with a premonition of notes and raging rhythm , discovering a riff which means everything to him.
The purple shade of the liquid night sky was mocking his shadow – inverted and transported a catalyst was missed. Then followed the realization of a moment lost.
The imperfection and precision of the sound of his footsteps was like a drum solo.
Scheme of time and self thus lost, the shaman could be sensed. Passionate surge, frenzied wandering. Lusting for the unknown amidst the forest with the beasts, rocks and gurgling streams. A RAINBOW COULD BE FOUND – THE NEOLITHIC SOUL.
The stories and the breeze in the village at night in early winter, the smell of earth, the expression of earth and all the melodies that freed us.
The sound of seagulls, buzzing distant traffic, a bent finger and an empty gaze.
Blue like the freedom to float, electric fading creating. Creation is the kingdom…
Now he begins to understand the language of the blues. Clouds hide it but you sense it – THE CREATION OF LOOPED EXISTENCE, ONE SQUARED ANOTHER SQUARED ANOTHER TILL INFINITY.
BLUE
