Noises

She said a lot, and it hurt him. Not as much as this though. He never had a doubt in his mind that what ever he was being told was not quite true and after a while he stopped persisting for it. but she never stopped persisting on what she was saying  was correct. He was curt and suddenly distant. He had a sudden sense of empowerment  as he detached himself from his feelings. However there were silent squirms inside him that he gaudily pretended to be unaware of.But he wanted to be right and for that she had to be wrong. The eggshell was intact, and that was the bad news. After a while the voice talking to him just faded away as he was no more receptive to any amount of convincing. She stopped talking and he felt at ease, as if victorious in his belief. Her silence to him sounded like the testimony of his distrust. But just as his detachment was complete and the shell was strengthened beyond any permeation she said something. She said  "I am not a liar" as she beautified the world with a few pearls and was gone. The walls that drove her away, went away with her. He collapsed inwards under the noise of those words around him. And he no more wanted to be right.

Mind monsters

Demons of my mind are out and  crawling all over me again. They are strong enough to keep me awake yet not strong enough to make me snap out of my unawareness. I am at my cynical best. I am afraid to think, for I fear I might figure it all out right now. For if this inquisitive bastard is satiated, it would make way for another new monster who I don't even know of yet. This daze is preserving, looking after every one of them and all things good about them. Keeping them the way they are is far from easy, since there is  an impressive world around me, around them, and the fallen angels are impressionable. They are ruthless and cruel at times and at other times gullible and pliable. They are like fishes which get startled when you knock too hard on the aquarium glass.
They are also like the gushing flow of a torrid flow of water, always finding it way through come what may. Every time I talk, I have to raise my voice over theirs to be heard. In every conversation  I have to painfully weed out their noises to hear what everyone else is saying. But then there are times when I summon them, with my thoughts. I think, so they are.My thoughts, monsters.

Chase

No chase ever just ends. Its not a endless circle nor is it an infinite road but yet the chasing never ends. It goes on and on, as long as we live. We chase things, we chase ideas, we chase people and we chase dreams. And  sometime or the other we have all given up on a chase, burring a dream or just letting go a deep want..We give up. Just that the chase never gives up on us. The goals that we gave up chasing ,start chasing us right back. Give up on a long cherished dream now and try moving on. It will come back in the form of people, events  or moments you encounter in your life, to shout right on your face. Or some time the buried dream will just come calling back in your head and have you wishing you hadn't given up when you did..If we are able to reach our goals the chasing gives way to keeping. Can u maintain the passion,can you handle the wear and tear of life.Can you survive  real life with the rose tinted glasses of desire off your eyes. now. No chase ever just ends, When the chasing ends, keeping begins.. .

break my hear ,. will you
and let me go

if you have danced a song or had a drink with some one.. the two of you are never the same

f f

When you build a bullet, you create a victim
and when you make a bomb, you create a target too.

When you say a harsh word, the hurt finds its way in
 and when you flip on your word, the trust finds its way out.

Far back in time

On hindsight, every solution would have worked
and on hindsight, nothing would have ever gone wrong.

On hindsight, no one one would have had to leave
and on hindsight no one would have gone.

On hindsight, there would have been no misunderstandings
and on hindsight some one would have tried to resolve.

On hindsight, even the obvious would have been said
and on hindsight the harsh word would have been held on.

On hindsight, people would have agreed
and on hindsight, no one would have tried to force.

On hindsight, it would not have been so bad,
and on hindsight it would not have been at all.

On hindsight,some one would have called it off
and on hindsight, the paths would have never crossed.

on hindsight, arguments would have died down with time
and on hindsight conflicts would not have arose.

On hindsight, expectations would not have burdened any one
and on hindsight, promise would not have led to the fall.

On hindsight, the past would not have mattered
and on hindsight there would have been no past.

Yet

Shiny,                                                    
you are mine.
The kind of moments,
that wear out the replay button.
 

Comfort
is the snugness you bring.

The calm  that transcends
words, expressions or actions.

Difference,
your presence makes.
The same feeling all the time
like its always three weeks to Christmas.
 

Speak
to me,is for me.

Never did the words
matter so much.

Scalding heat,
you warm my heart.
Frigid fingers maybe
but frigid heart no more.

Forever

could it be?

For now
its just you and me.
 

Inhibitions
you make me lose mine.

Yet
that's exactly what you are.

Playback

Me and my heart,
have never been so far apart.
Even though the distance is just minutes
and not days or hours.

Neither my face nor voice or words
give my feelings away.
Long after,long long after,
the moments stay.

I stare endlessly,
far but at the wall.
with a hope brewing
that someones got my back.

Extreme emotions and wired reactions,
I am getting pulled in different directions.
There is no reason for me to pause
or  to get rid of my thoughts.

I hear it echo endlessly in my head,
far too much longer than I would want.
stuck up yet stuck up.
I speak, but I cant.

Holding a few,
well just really trying.
yet no remorse, when i cant,
as they rush past me flying.

Whats distance, whats time
when it all plays out perfectly in my mind.
I am the one on the hook,
and I am the one holding the reeling line.

Red

Red has always been the color of love, seduction and danger. But for him red had only been the color of her nails. Its been almost an year of him traveling on that train, which incidentally was red  too. He had seen her, well her fingers really, most days of the week every morning for about the same time. Her nails, were always painted immaculately in the the shiniest of red and both the color and her fingers did justice  to each other. For months he had noticed the reds rise,to adjust vents of the AC duct right above her seat, or running through her hair, or when she just stretched after a long time sitting in those faded train seats. And each time the same reaction. as he looked at them intently and with appreciation. He was never obsessed with nails, nor  did he have any freakish fetish for them. He lived his life, plain  simple and mostly in shades of light brown and pale blue. Those reds where his daily dose of color and a symbol of the frolic that life is supposed to be, of being confident and in love with one self. By the time this became a part of his daily routine, he had thought of and  dismissed the idea of  walking over to see how she looked about a 100 times in his head, He no more cared to see how she looked. When he got on the train , she would already be at her seat.that day was no different.  She had been animated like always , but he felt a little different though he could not say  why. That night he stayed awake  in his bed trying to figure out what was different  that morning, when it finally stuck him. That glittering platinum band around her ring finger. Oh yeah he exclaimed as he figured out what was different  today. His liking for the reds was unchanged the next day too. A few weeks later she stopped coming on that train and a few years later  he woke up in  his bed with some lady he had met at a singles club last night.
It was a Monday and he needed to get to his train, yeah the red train he had still been taking  for all those year. As he moved  her hand off from over him he noticed the hands, and then the fingers,and the nails. Red,shining, but a little jaded. And the untanned skim  on the finger where it seems , used to be a ring not too long ago clearly visible on the  ring finger.He hurried of to work, but he never took the train after that day.

Whiff of the past

The Strange thing about this airport was that every time he walked into it, the lefts and the rights seem to have flipped over from last time. And depending on different times in his life, he was some times going home and some times going away through that airport.  His mind would be dulled to a point  where he could  not care less.Today was no different. Last time he left this city, that he so dearly loved, he knew he would never be able to come back here. That day he had walked  through those security check gates,  impermeable as they were,  with a conscious feeling of what he was leaving behind. Questions like will he be able to come back  and claim whats his, will he even be able to come back and what he is leaving behind would still be there, danced  in his head. As he walked  away , forcefully breaking her embrace, he felt the need to look back  at every step.But he didn't. The massive structure of the airport  was filled with her fragrance for him and he walked into those gates


Years had passed since then, and he had buried the hope  some where in his heart, as he toiled  hard with life. Time had helped settle things but like they say, life gives you chances when you least expect, and it doesn't take too much to rekindle a long lost obsession. He got a chance to leave his home, and well, come home after years.He toiled even harder once here, but  it was like he always knew what the end result was going to be. He just wanted to deal with that feeling of not having tried.  He didn't know for how long she had waited, and if at all, if she was still in the city or some where else. But one thing he knew for sure was that no one was going to be left behind today as he walked across the long empty corridors towards the gates out side which  he had left her last time around.The air once again smelled of her hair. Last time around  he wanted to come back to her, but this time around he wanted to come back for her even more

Whiff

I need you wrapped around me
with your nails healing my back.
Your breath making me gasp
and your teeth nurturing my chest.

Limbs defused together
as if trying to become one.
Yet bodies pushed apart,
like opposite poles of a magnet.

Your hand to run through my hair
and gentle tugs to turn unsympathetic.
My hands to try and hold on to you
much more than they can.

For us not to care no more
if the embrace suffocates
or the pleasure enthralls
as it turns to pain.

I want the predation to begin soon
be it dark or bright, cold or warm.
I want you to go on
and deliver me the harm.

The palms clasped to each other's body
and inhibitions a thing of the past.
A whiff of me and a whiff of you,
and a room full of love.

For the touch of lips to linger on,
long enough to enthrall.
And the hands to get rough and quick
yet make the time stall.

You pull me on towards you
and pull me deep within.
The bodies to move in unison
as you soak me up through your skin.

I want your smile,
to be the smile of tyrants
as you take the power
and me.

I want all my senses
to elude me
as you start to feel
for me.

I want the crescendo
to be shrill and high.
For it to end with a cry
and a dash of blood on your lips.

I want you wrapped around me
even if it kills.

Love song

Where will the love song come from

Tragedies

I have realized that I am a sucker for Tragedies, the good old fashioned ones. The piercing little low moments in life are what I feed on. I am a Tragedy junkie.

Tragedy is such a sugar coated bitter pill which might as well be a bitter coated sugar pill. Tragedy is not only in separation or failure or losing out in a close race. It’s also in staying together with a fear of separation, coming on top with a fear of being bettered and keeping the lead but worrying about being overtaken.
The abysmal ebb might not be a place that I would be able to rise from often, but I rise from the troughs occurring in plenty day in and day out. While I do not in any way self inflict myself with misery of any sort, I do get uncomfortable when all stays well for too long in my la-la land. And that's when I need something or someone to jolt things up a bit. More then a bit actually. A bitter relationship, a failed project, taxing time at work, a terribly lonely phase, bad health or just a promising stranger not living up to it. Any such nice little tragedies. The exponentially high number of times that the life pleasantly surprises me, makes me thing that I only really start to expect, just to be short changed. And I pull it of with comfort as if it’s a well rehearsed act. Being surprised and pleased, even when I know nothing ordinarily good ever gets thrown at me along the flow of life. And being shaken, even when I can already smell the extreme pleasure I will derive from getting out of this one back to normal. Recovering has become my favorite pass time since long and I never seem to get enough of it.

Love to agree

We always love the ones who agree with us,
but we don't always agree with the ones who love us.

The onsite thing

I feel its high time i blow the lid off this much ado about nothing thing called on site. Its a highly coveted and much desired across all genre of professionals. Its a yard stick of success at times and an indicator of promise a person shows. For reasons completely my own, i flinch every time some one tells me "wow man.. on-site. great" or when some gullible soul asks me "you must be having a lot of fun". Onside or working right under the clients heels is a corporate equivalent of having been deployed at the war front, right under the fire. And its not just the work that gets you. As one spends more and more time alone in an un-inebriated state the more one would realizes the challenges.

Circle

The Roads look familiar, but its a dismal distant memory from far back in time . There is a park and in the park is a bench. There is a blind man sitting on that bench and he is smiling. The guy with a slightly crocked upper lip is walking on the street dragging his feet. His feet are a light shade of pink, visible through his worn out slippers. His face on the other hand is pale. Sun is out, shining brightly on a cold winter afternoon . Pink yet pale. Sunny yet cold. The lull around the area is like the deepest hour of sleep, right before one wakes up, and the change in his pocket is making a sweet noise. Silent yet melodious. The lady on the balcony has a curious, almost dumbstruck gaze on on her face. Dragging his feet he walks to the corner and turns, only to come across a girl walking towards him. She has the coy look of affection in her eyes. He braves out a smile, but his face saddens even more. The color returning to his face quickly turns back, as he walks on. smiling yet saddened. He is walking into the sun now, and the walk feels a little uphill. But the steeper it is getting , more interested he is in walking on. The sun in his eyes is blinding, but he exactly knows where he is heading. Blinded yet sure. He takes another turn and walks into the warm cozy shadows of large buildings, blocking the cold wind and the blinding sun, but letting through the afternoon warmth. Out there yet shielded. Worn out slippers, pink feet, pale face. As he starts to get tired, he stops for a moment, but the feeling of déjà vu is getting stronger in his head and he wants to find out why the roads seem familiar. He looks back, for a long time, but walks on. He takes another turn and walks a while, feeling sad or happy or excited on the way. A little further there is a park and in the park is a bench. There is a blind man sitting on that bench, and he is smiling.