ARC

Yesterday, I got drunk
On-
The staccato rumble of
God’s laughter

Igniting pillars
Of crazy thoughts

Consuming
With a passion
The rare bliss
Of heavenly communion

There were angels
Dressed like drag-queens
Smoking pot and
Drenched in cool acid

The Old Man
Lay in four dimensions
Absorbing-
Layers of Earthly sin

Weird sounds
Grew from his ears
Blowing holes
Through the fabric of logic

I sifted
Through the sand
Under his feet
And found the spirits
Of mortality and immortality
Lying side by side

A curious copulation
Of beautiful extremes

We were surrounded
By a band of satyrs
Sampling the delights
Of drug induced paranoia

There was a crowd
Behind us
Filled with
Schizos and hypos
Crazies and homos
Prostitutes and publishers
Capitalists and Christians
Pornographers and politicians

All chanting
The true name
In unknown harmonics

God smiled
And created a new world
Out of the surreal images
Floating in his blank eyes

I touched
His cloak
Made of lightning and thunder
To glimpse a vision of bright orgasm

It smelt
Like burnt ozone (there)
Oozing through
The leaky holes
Of my shattered brain

Wicked laughter
Echoed around me
From time to time
Pulsing like young stars
Shattering the crowded silence

I was restless
To undream
These fantastic visions
From heavenly hell

A slow dance
Of deep bass
In the confines
Of my confused mind
Disoriented, vague

I realized
The cruel weakness
Of proletarian mortality
A class struggle
Even in utter infinity

I

These
Aural delights, and
Thought poems
Light up
My grey body
With the light of
Exploding stars

—–

Blue blades
Of thought
Pass through
The low valleys
Of my mind
Setting fire
To the dry wood
Of my ego

—–

Inside my head
A dream
Unwrapping
Its maroon wrapper

Delicate, fragile
Like a child’s smile
Like a woman’s womb

I peer
I await

Snow and glow
Ecstasy and intimacy

II

It’s all sounds
Out there

Bird trills, car whooshes,
Flower blooms, wind whispers,
Insect buzzes, cycle bells,
Exhaust blows, human sighs,
Heater burps, love tweaks

And in the midst
Of this golden orchestra

Your clear tenor
Spreading wings
Singing my soul songs

—–

I missed you
Today

On cold benches
Inside my heart’s trenches
In wet paper
In my thought’s vapor
Beside empty halls
In dark cellars
Outside barred doors
Under tiled floors
Between withered trees
Around my mind’s chimneys

—–

Covered in red
I sit here
And try to imagine
The quiet warmth
Of your soft body
Entwined with mine

—–

In the new room
I sit
Old sounds
Crashing
Around me

I wait
For you
To come back
From your painful picnic

III

We dreamt
Together
Of future love
And painful patience
But you
Lost interest so fast

—–

Now
Are you happy?
Having shattered
My moving
Thought-empire
My fragile
Feeling-fellowship

——

I was looking
At the other side
When you plunged
The dagger of hate
In my back

You cut open
My lacerated heart
Like a red melon
And feasted
On the pain
On the hurt
On the seeds of love
Like a starving succubi

—–

See the rain
Sweep away the silver
From our volatile dreams

—–

I hope that
Sometimes
In the quiet solitude
Of your lonely dreams
You wonder
What if?

What if
Life hadn’t
Changed lanes
Switching to the
Opposite lane
Of slow obscurity?

——

The walls
Of familiar politeness
Are up

Let me celebrate
In silent apathy

What a letdown!
What an anti-climax!

True love
Is a perfect
Oxymoron

An interview with one of the few prominent Americans with, what I’d like to call as, a global conscience. The interview seems to end abruptly but it is still very interesting. In this age of corporatised media and selective reporting it is necessary that we have people like Noam Chomsky questioning the established view and offering a different, perhaps more realistic take on current affairs. You can read the interview here.

Time crying
In golden streams

Lifting spirits
Bending wills

I pause
With answers

“The line is straight”

Time laughing
Like wind chimes

Breaking bonds
Burning bridges

I run
With fear

“The line is a circle”

Time thinking
Like old trees

Forming connections
Erasing emotions

I look
In awe

“The line is a loop”

Time absorbing
Like a black hole

Painting pictures
Fading sounds

I weep
With sadness

“The line is an ellipse”

Time leaking
Like broken umbrellas

Filling outlines
Masking details

I cry
With pain

“The line is a full stop”

At last, one actor from the Indian mainstream film industry who has the guts and the brains to speak out against the current state of the Indian media. Read the interview where he rips Indian media to shreds here.

Reading it felt like as if he was speaking some of the words in my head. I wonder why more people do not talk about this or is that a stupid question in itself as which mainstream media will permit such a frank criticism of itself?