Thursday, November 14, 2013

Ragestorms on my Mindscape

My Mindscape,
a living breathing land,
grows and sprouts ideas and emotions.
In a dynamic balance
Between three fiefs
One of Peace
The other of Pleasure
The third where Putrescence thrives.
They grow, they shrink
At each others' cost.
Ideas are born and emotions emerge
Ideas disperse and emotions are buried
Lurking incessantly like phantoms,
Their aggregate is seldom lost.
They grow in Peace 
And animate Pleasure
They subsume, consume and thrive on each other.
In this indelicate balance remains
An unstable ecosystem of my Mindscape.

In bouts of extroversion,
I split the skies or let it rain
Then shut it all, in dark, dank pain.

Summer came by and beamed.
Once balmy, then sultry
With sensuous, sunny, warm rain
And a rainbow shone above.

Pleasure flourished
With crops of joy,
With harvests of stupor
In a happy haze, 
Gushed complacent gutters.
So, Putrescence too made gains,
Wailing at Summer never to go away.
Ideas were dying and Peace surrendered,
Pleasure could grow no more.

And just like that,
Summer left,
Leaving a bilious, victorious
Palpitating, pubescent, putrescent Mindscape.

Such filth foments floating rage
The anger it spawns is suffocating scum,
That dries, ignites and swirls in time.

Monstrous storms of rage,
Tore and tilled the Mindscape
Flaming past the sky
To singe and blight Summer,
To never let her beam again.

And then the Mindscape,
Still as a graveyard,
Through darkness and doom
Revived, rejuvenated... relaxed
As a convalescent corpse,
Grew Stronger. 
Peace reigned again.

The scum of rage still floats about,
Igniting, combusting at ever blithe Summer,
Torching infant ideas in its wake.
Peace polices the squalor,
Though barely keeping it at bay.

Ragestorms die, Peace revives,
Pleasure is shown its place.
Each time this happens I've wondered,
What the Mindscape has gained from age.

Sunday, September 08, 2013

A Venom of a different strength

In breaths of different strengths,
Light as I felt when she smiled,
Heavy as she smiled at another,
Knowing each time, who it was.
The cycle rolls over, and over.
I inhale every time.

The stench was of love,
That rotted like a bright picked apple
The one apple which felt special
Not knowing how many lay beside it
Not in a crate for memories
But a casket to elsewhere.

I have loved blossoms,
Each one of them,
Buds that bloom,
And please many.

There she was, stumped by the other
That other, a connoisseur of nectar
There she sat, full in bloom
Waiting, glistening, oozing,
Perfusing her aura with glee
with a secret wish to wilt.
Whole patches like that one,
Luring everyone that passes,
Taken only by an imagined perfection.
Whole patches have wilted,
And I, have watched.

There she was,
Almost bearing fruit
Her fragrance was once touching
There was solace in her feel
The solace turned thorny
Sending hurt my way.
And I watched.

There she was, sans her scent,
Uncaring, unfeeling, stolid.
Her colors now glossless
Still with the essence I loved
The eyes and smile,
Hardly as brilliant anymore.
I'm still enchanted,
But I watch.

She has lingered my mindscape
Oh ssooo much so.
She has been my muse
And doesn't know
When I nearly died, and I thought of her
Which was when I felt the most worthless
When I told her of my fixation, she said to me,
"Thank you for saying such nice things about me."
I laugh, I weep, I sweep it up
And one by one, let each petal drop,
Yet, I watch.

There have been buds
That I've seen open
Imagining I'm the sun.
They've been lush
They have blushed at me
And brushed away every bee
All for me, just for me.

I, Sullen as a once favorite toy
Stowed away in an attic somewhere
Not imbibing such sweetness
Unappreciative of the honeyed mist
The smiles I let float past
A love that would last
If only I let go of the past.
And yet, I watch.

I bear such venom
For me and all.
What does it take to find the blossom,
That doesn't rot away before its time?
For whom you don't turn to grime,
Admiration for whom just won't die
In whose ecstasy I can lie.

And yet I watch.
I watch and watch and watch.
Adding to the zillions
Who have watched, are watching and will watch.
Hoping the adages are true,
The journey is worth it,
And its better to have lived and loved
Than never have loved at all.

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Dear You,
I hope you don't mind being the recipient of a long email. Sort of felt like writing something. :) I just recently went on nice road trip. I needed to get away from things. It's amazing what kind of a degenerate, self cannibalizing rut people get themselves into. I did for sure. But anyway, I found, like many others have, driving is a wonderful way of getting your mind off things. Literally, your mind needs to be on, the, road. Anything less and that you'll be smusch in no time. America is a good continent to drive. You drive and drive and drive all day and not see the same scene again. That again, is subjective. You could drive and drive and drive all day and still be in the middle of nowhere Texas where everything is flat and dry and just like Oklahoma... or Arkansas or New Mexico. :D
But then again, it's enough to make you stop thinking of what you thought would happen. The only transition I saw was when between Missouri and Illinois. The rain helped. Cottony clouds floated on a sky with unabridged horizons. The cotton decorated the lovely deep light blue blanket, if that can be said. The corner of the windscreen stayed aligned to the divider. The engines had that speedy yet strong hum that   people wish their lives, careers and family have. It is funny how I am all praise for my hail damaged, fourteen year old Camry, Dimples. She's like a pint of Guinness. Not of the aroma and summery flavor of delicate Belgian ales, but still full and dependable. Yes, she doesn't spur well between 60 and 80 miles an hour, but then again, she reaches and stays there, still giving 30 miles to the gallon. I guess I identify too much with my car :D I love fine scotch, more than is healthy almost. Then again, I don't identify with them so much. :D

It was nice to see Noshi after a year. The last time I saw him, I didn't feel the need to talk. Just having him sit by my side outside the airport entrance where I picked him up, sharing a smoke, was overwhelming. He's a mirror into my personality in many many ways. I saw him at his office in Kansas City and he showed me off to his colleagues. In such times even a man understands what it must be like to be a pricy girlfriend. :D 
We cooked and watched videos all weekend. It was nice to see Sowmya from HCU after so long. I loved it. Familiarity is beautiful. Familiality is beautiful too. I feel like seeing everyone I ever knew once again. Makes you reflect and think, 'huh! not done too badly so far! '
Seeing Pavan was just wonderful. I hadn't seen him in a decade. He kept talking and I was all ears. I think him and I are the only people from school who get the motivation behind what we do. It was nice. We really spent no more than 5 hours chatting because I had to go to bed for the twleve hour drive (that's right, twelve hour drive) back to Dallas. The whole trip was exactly what I needed. The last time I felt like writing was a llooonngg time ago. I've got plenty to spill. But my blot just finished transferring.
Cheerio and all of that sort thing. :D


In that room, that big room
That big room with light and breeze
Where bright minds strutted,babbled and cackled
With the grace of ibises
And agility of hawks
The beauty of peacocks
And seductive persuation of Koels
I sat, in the back and breathed it all.

They could say, 
What they already know.
That we do not know
That we don't know it all.
In stead they're grandiose
Like their sires and mentors
Convinced their half truths, 
Are magnificent edicts,
Edicts of an imagined reality
A truth we pretend to clasp.
Just so that we can say to next man,
It is now in my grasp,
And still not yours to have.

I breathed the stench of pettiness
Of an ailing noble endeavour,
Its spirit pickled in vanity.
The stench of a macabre dance
On the slime of ignorance
The semi dirt of half knowledge
In a rain of pretense,
A fetid play of power,
The violation of truth
In an obscene mist of joy.

I imagined it different,
My noble pursuit
My religion of reason
The pilgrimage to truth
Was to be a celebration of discovery 
An treasure hunt and worship of fact
Facts that are nature's jewellery
The principles of existence 
Of all we see 
And all beyond.

I swallowed my venom.
I hold my venom.
Waiting to do things right.

Monday, July 22, 2013

Who do I tell about the moon now?

Thursday, February 28, 2013


Embittered by the Moon
I sit by myself and mope
Not feeling love again
Sitting here with no hope.

I wanted a smile and warmth.
Venus gave me that and more
Her warmth caressed me in stupefied sadness,
In the isolation of being away from home,
The abject loneliness of being alone.

Venus knows she has it all
Many a poet have noticed.
The artists won't stop,
The sculptors' jaws drop,
Stargazers remain fixated.

She pervaded my thoughts,
Nearly seeped into my heart.
That seared some scars,
That have been opened before.

The Moon was like that,
Glowing over many skies
Glinting in admirers' eyes
Turning stony resolve to dust.
My eyes had glinted
My soul was splinted
Until I could trust no more.

Venus, I don't blame you
You tried and tired
Never getting the trust you desired 
And shot right off my sky.
You'll shine your rubor
And sink men in stupor
Glinting in many an eye.

I'll stop right here.
You'll understand.
I'll walk again,
I'll walk alone,
Under a starry, moonless, sky,
The journey goes on.