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Sunday, December 05, 2004

I wish...

I wish for so many things.
Like sleep
Like quiet
Like a good look at the sky.
Like sounds of the stream and the flowers
Like the noise of the trees.

But all i can hear are the cries and the screams
And the thunder of hatred.
And I feel the shame of the helpless.

There is nothing I can do.
To stop this.
Nothing anyone can do to stop this.

Thursday, November 18, 2004


With the mad wind howling in my mind,
And the clammy wetness of rain all around,
The noises refuse to stop,
Nature has gone nuts. Dirty.
Sleep is so wary. And damp.
How do people sleep?
That never ending wonder seizes me by the soul.
I guess, you need to be lucky to sleep.

Monday, November 15, 2004

Starve or Sell?

What do you do when your choices are but two: starve or sell yourself.

She took the second choice.

I cannot cast a stone. Not when you have known what it means to go without food or even hope of food. So she was given the age old name. And and she went and got herself with child, and died after childbirth. I mean, you dont stand much chance when you are barely in your teens, certainly not when you have to hide the bulge in your belly. So the little girl died, leaving the barely born son alive, to live a life of shame in a world filled with the righteous. Maybe his maker will know what to do about this mess.

And then there was this other girl. She chose the first option. And starved. When she couldn't starve anymore she suicided (committed suicide, if you prefer it that way). True, she held out for a long time. But there are limts, I suppose.

People call the second girl a victim, and the first girl a whore.

Well. What do you know !

Sunday, October 31, 2004

A question

I know this is silly, but can some one tell me which war has ever solved any problem. No, I am not talking about the guys who cause the war. I am talking the unfortunates who are caught in it.

Saturday, October 30, 2004


Whiteness, desolationn all around.
Withered leaves slowly vanish from
Weeping trees.
Wild fantasies flood my mind.
Will this ever end?
Will it turn red again?
Wounded and dying earth crying for, for,

Friday, October 01, 2004

Another Fall

Yet another fall dawns. The colors are glorious. Who could have thought mere green leaves could turn into such a collage! And yet as surely as they change colors, so must they perish. The tragedy is not that they must perish. The tragedy is that they are so heartbreakingly lovely while they last. It is a lot like love. But unlike the seasons, unlike fall and winter and their cycles, love is for once only. It comes, if you are lucky. It breaks your heart. And then it disappears, forever. All it leaves behind is the shell of what you were. And never ending loneliness.

Monday, September 20, 2004


No, that is not Unix. It is who am I?
What the hell am I doing over here?
Hey, am I the sum of feelings, emotions, dreams
And whatever other nonsene you can think of
Embodied in a stupid human frame?
Is that all?
What a waste !

There has to be some other reason.
Why do I cause so much anger in others
Just by opening my mouth?

The winter is nearing.
It is getting colder.
The jays and the flowers will wither away.
The snow will cover the lakes and the waters.
And I will continue,
Isn't that nonsense.

I mean, how come i weather this, and more.

Sunday, September 19, 2004

Times Of Death

Life is slipping away,
Like a mudslide.
There is so little left to hope for.
Most family, friends, and neighbours are gone.
What is there to live for.
Nothing seems worth the trouble.
I suppose, that is life.
In troubled times,
In times filled with strife and hatred
In times where the quickest remedy is killing
What can you hope for?

Thursday, September 16, 2004

The Difference?

What is the difference between war and revolution, includng the so called American one. One, revolution, comes from the bottom, from the very dregs so to say. From people who have to do something just to stay alive, live decently, sometimes just to survive, as in France. The other one, war, is a question of ego. You hurt my papa, I hurt you.

Don't get me wrong. The guys who actually fight the war are still like those old Roman gladiators. You watch us die, guys, that is entertainment.

And so it was that it came to pass, that the armies were arrayed on the battle ground of Kurukshethra. Theye were kin. Aren't we all? What is that word. Homo sapiens. That is it. So I guess you could call every one kin.

By the way, were did those Neanderthal guys go? So much for kinship !

Sunday, September 12, 2004

Wrong Words

What you say is what counts!

Funny. All this time I had thought that what counts is what you do! Trust me, that isn't true. Words have the power to hurt and wound and destroy. Nothing you do after the wrong statement makes the slightest difference. The damage is permanent. Maybe more permanent than the actions themselves.

Who was it that said, the pen is mightier than the sword. He forgot the tongue!

Tuesday, September 07, 2004


When was it I slept the last time?
The gift of the gods, denied
To raving minds.
To the witness of lunacies.
Sleep is a balm inevtably denied.

My wish is so simple:
I wish I could sleep.

Monday, September 06, 2004

The Very Beginning

In the beginning,
In the absolute darkness of nothingness
Before time itself was born,
There existed nothing but the source,
The egg from which all that is today came to be.

This was the cosmic egg, the Brahmanda,
You could call it a singularity, naked or clothed,

In this egg, which had no features,
Nothing associated,
And yet in this was contained everything

Even the gods themselves were contained in the cosmic egg.
(Did I hear the word singularity?, That is Ok. It was singular.)

Saturday, September 04, 2004

The first Lines

From where shall I begin?

The roots of the conflict ran deep.

Indeed it starts with the creation. Of the universe. Maybe the creation itself was wrong, flawed. Else, why should the creatures of god fight and kill each other. Or should I start later, with the families? And the small quarrels which grew with the children and finally flared into the great battle?

The story can be told briefly. Hundreds of thousands of men, most of them kin, fought for a throne. eight survived, and those who survived lived more mserably than the dead.

One, the most accursed of them all, wanders the worlds yet, the boon of death withheld fom him. He has a mark on his head. Call him Aswa-dhaama, Call him Cain. It is all the same. For the fugitive wanders, forever. Alone. The dark brroding of mind shall never know rest.

Or maybe I can start with the remorse of the victors. The days which hung like dead weight upon their souls, and the nights when they couldn't sleep. Till they eventually abandaoned their palace and their people, to wander and to die on the way, with not even a drop of water to quench their everlasting thirst.

Thursday, September 02, 2004

The Story Begins

Having rested and partaken of the frugal evening meal
Ugra-sravas asked those waiting around him:

"What shall I tell you, worthy friends?
What would you be pleased to hear?
I have been to many places.
I have seen many things,
Listened to many stories, mostly real.

Is it about gods you wish to hear?
Or is it about men who were like gods?

Two generations are now gone since the great war.
But the sands of Syamantha-panchaka are still red
With the blood of great warriors.
Men who fought and died
Some valiantly
Some like cowards.
Whn the war was over the bodies of the dead
piled almost to the heavens.
Half eaten by wolves and jackals
The destiny of the monarch, to be eaten by a jackal.
To fulfill the blind egos.

Would like to hear that story?

Men such as those are born but rarely.
But once born they are committed to death
like a lover.

For, out of that great battle,
Only eight came out alive.
Five were the victors, and three the vanquished.
Those five, they died soon after, in great anguish.
With parched lips,
For none were there to give them a drop of water.

Did they win the battle, only to lose the war?
Did they lose their souls because their ego made them blind?

That story, my friends, I shall tell you.
That is a story worth hearing.
Especially, in these times,
When wars are fought agian fought
Over egos of some men.

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

The gift of nature

Death is the very best gift of nature.
How many times,
How many uncounted times
Have I wished
Nature would be kind to me.
But, no.
Maybe it has a time and maybe even a place.
To fulfill the destiny.

It is hard to forget those days,
When men were cut to pieces
And blood flowed like rain
How high it rises
When your head is gone !

It is my destinty to carry this image of carnage
Even past my own end

The Visitor


The deep, silent night was broken only by the half hearted cries of crickets. There were other sounds in the forest. Unknown sounds. Only the very foolish or the very brave would venture out into the forest on such a night.

The half starved creatures movng around the fire burning like a deep red eye in the darkness looked human. They were human. Some were chanting , mumbling slokas. The others, the novices had little idea what was going on. They wondered about their decision. But they knew they had no choice. This was destiny at work.

Then they saw the lonely man, weak from walking, tired from lack of food, and sick with the burden in his soul, moving like a shade, towards their camp. His name was Ugra-Sravas, the son of Lomaharshan, the keeper of horses .

Anything was welcome in the stillness of the forest. The monotony is hard to believe. Any visitor was almost a hero to be worshipped. So they welcomed him, like a hero, and bade him take his seat on a heap of grass, for they kept nothing to sit on or sleep on.

And once he was rested and fed, they asked him "Where are you coming from? What have you seen. What stories do you bring us?"

And then Ugra-Sravas began his story.

The Dark River

It is funny how suddenly you can die
Or how slowly

The way you are born, slowly and painfully.
Maybe it has something to do with karma?
I don't know.
All I know it is taking a long time with me,
It's own sweet time.

The air is still,
The flowers are sleeping,
The growls and screams are slowly ebbing away.
And the river, dark and red
Still flows.

But I remain.
Witness to a carnage.

Tuesday, August 31, 2004

The Beginning

The beginning was sibling rivalry.
Believe it or not. It is true.
The brother's couldn't agree.
So all the people died.
Not in hundreds, not in thousndas.
They lay dead in the hundreds of thousands.
Killed in combat,
Because the siblng's couldn't agree!

The night after

The smell of blood hung heavily
In the air, the ground, the soul.

The air thick with screams and groans.
The silence of the night rent
By the wimperings of the dying,

The lucky ones were already dead,
And half eaten by the creatures of the night.
Who snarled as they bit pieces off the live.

What was all this for?
Don't tell me about victory.

Monday, August 30, 2004

The Lie

He was dying. No question about that.

He wished the agony would be over. It had to be soon. The arrow was poisoned. And how it hurt!

More than the pain of the wound on his body, what hurt most was the terrible lie of which he had been part. Which actually he had made up. And now so many, so many had paid for that Lie.

But was there any choice? Does God have any choice?

The lie had to be. And the payment had to be made.

Sunday, August 29, 2004

The exodus

The exodus commenced.
There was no room for hope.
So they left.

Some chose to stay back,
Foolish beings.
Nothing will be left of them.
Not a trace.
Nor a tear dropped over their extinction.

The thunder grew ever so louder.

What made them stay back?

The trees are gone.
The lakes and rivers lie dead.
The soil weeps red tears.
Yet they remained.
The fools.
Knowing they stood not a chance.
Knowing there could be just one ending.
Hats off, to you,
Brave fools.


There is something abrupt about loneliness.

You are lonely. That is all.
Nobody, but nobody gives a damn.
It is you and your eternal companion, like that guy, Selkirk.
But think of the bright side. You don't have to put up with all the bums who would otherwise be sitting on your shoulders.

Face it, Man. There is no way out.

Yeah. I know, that sounds like a tag line. That is not my fault. Life itself is a tagline.

Saturday, August 28, 2004

Distant Thunder

It is night, and I can hear thunder far away.
It is far away, but it is coming closer.
I can feel it.
I cannot see the lighning.
But I know, that soon the thunder will be here.

Thursday, August 26, 2004

The Silent Night

It is night
The distant noises have ceased
Maybe for today.
Maybe forever.

I can hear the deadly silence
Wrapping around me
Fondling me like a lover.

There is some deadly calamity
Hanging all around me.
How do I handle this.
What can I do when I do not understand what is gong on.

Tuesday, August 24, 2004

The Unholy Dream

Today is a bad day even by my standards. I feel so down, I have to force myself to write all this nonsense, garbage.

One dream collpased. That is nothing. Dreams collapse all over the place everyday. The problem now is I have my own doubts about what really collapsed. I suspect it was reality. I don't feel real any more. It is a dream. It just refuses to go away. I know, it is a dream. It has to be. I am for real, right?

What in the name of all that is unholy possessed me? What is life. Huh? What is it anyway?

The blooms are done for. The jays that so merrily flew around and talked so much. I cannot see them any more. The waves and ripples of the lake wound me right down to my soul.

Why am I here. What am I supposed to do, to be. What did I do. What went wrong.

Sunday, August 22, 2004

What do you know !!
Today was better than most days.
Every one I talked to told me I am nasty.
And as far as I know I did't do anything nasty.
Or say anyting nasty.
Or even think anyhting nasty.
Glorious, man, glorious.

Saturday, August 21, 2004

The Howling Dreams

Dreams howl in my head.
And I don't know if they are dreams
Or reality.
The same problem old Plato had.

But reality has become rather more harsh.
How about sleeping and
Never ever waking up again.
The bones crumble and powder away.
And the worms eat away the rest of you.
And the red giant will not have the pleasure of frying your ass.
That is one consolation.

Friday, August 20, 2004

The Night

The night popped up
Like a lover from sleep.
The owls and other unknown inmates
Called out to my soul.
I seemed to hear that sweat voice
Bekoning me in silence
To join them
In their dark and eternal pleasures.
In the wonder of night
What holds me back?

Life is like Coffee

Life is like coffee
Tastes best, strong black and without sugar
But take that and you fall ill
Although it does take a lot of coffee to do that.
Unlike life.

Today was bad. When I say bad, I mean bad. Like in nasty, stupid, screwy. Whatever. Got that hell of an anger frothing and gnashing within me. It is very well talking about life and dignity and you know what, nobody, but nobody, really gives a damn. Not that I care.

Thursday, August 19, 2004

What do you mean talking about marriages? Not the kind that is made in heaven. They went dead long ago. Anyway, what is a loner-too doing talking about marriages. But frankly, I don't get it. Just what is a marriage? Union of two souls. Bullshit is too milld for that crappy description. Propagation of species, and thanks to the long time human prgogeny need to grow up enough to make nuisances of themselves, so the gals need the guys around. So? Isn't sex enough for that, although guys do float around rather. And who is dumb enough to say that sex is all for procreation. Kids are an accident, right?

Deep stuff this. Way beyond me anyway. Maybe some of you other wisecracks out there can enlighten the world about this. I give up.

What did Hammurabi think of marriage?
So what is marriage after all.
A legal contract under the common law,
A mechanism for screwing up more than one life at one go
Whichever way you look at it.
So isn't it time to ban marriages,
I mean all of them.
Let the kids grow up as the common asset of humankind.
So, what is new?
Ever read Marraige and Morals?
That was one chap with his head screwed on all right.

Monday, August 16, 2004

The silent screams of sleep
Seeps out of my being.
Would I be immortal.
I already am .
The crumbling buildings,
The smoke , the noises.
The death and the decaying bodies
All around.
Yeah, dude.
I love this
This is life.
The endless eons of darkness
Stretching out Like a bad program.
Crumbling hopes And buildings
And death.
That is the word I was looking for !

The noises of sleep.
Brimmming from my being,
Fills my dark days with
Tidings of more sleepless eons.
Screams of the silent ones,
Splitting my ears.
Hopes and life all gone.
Glory to thee .

Sunday, August 15, 2004

What is power?
The power to create, or destroy.
The power to wipe stuff out.
The power to snap your fingers at the big bang.
The kind of things you think about
When you cannot sleep !!
Life sucks. That isn't new. Don't we all know that.
The trouble is, life these days sucks you absolutely dry.
I have nightmares, just thinking about sleeping.
When I sleep and those creepy things cuddle up
I realize I am one of them too.
Another creep.
Am I responsibble?
Do I owe it to anyone to say sorry for things I never did,
But did't dare to protest in time.
When sleep is terror, what are your options?

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

When it rains real heavy
And water boils all arond you,
If you put foot one step wrong
It could be the bottomless pit
And there are carcasses floating all around you,
You know, animal and the other kind
Rather bloated up, if you know what I mean,
That is when you know all is well with the world.

Wednesday, February 04, 2004

The strange thing about life is that
It is so hard to end. 
Hardly ever crashes.
Maybe it didn't come from Microsoft.
Anyway. Winter is now almost over.
The snow is slowly receding.
Temparatures have started going up.
And election heat too.
Was that a Jay I heard?
You know something,
It ain't all that bad,
Provided you listen to your shrink!

Sunday, January 25, 2004

Why did I remain silent for so long?
What yearnings kept me off
And what new sadness has brought me back to you?
Life is now so badly tangled up,
Like some hyperstring
With no way out,
And no redemption.
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