Released from Confines

Free to Bare

Loss

A picture cracks, and
Shards cover my floor.
Who knew my life was made of glass,
Imagined it was carved in stone.

How do I put these together?
My little angel weeps,
And with red puffy eyes
She looks lost.
I was never the shepherd,
Shepherd of lost sheep,
But my true love WAS.

A part of me lay
Shattered, cracked, and irrecoverable.
How big a part, I wonder;
For losing a part of myself
Makes me feel heavier beyond belief.

Slivers from the past
Lay scattered in thousand pieces.
They rip me from the inside,
But only a moment later,
Salve my deepest cuts.

Why did my sun set this early?
She promised
Ten thousand more sunsets with me.
Why did the curtain fall mid show?
She promised
Ten thousand more showings with me.

Memories,
My curse, my panacea,
I refuse to let go.

Advertisements

S1:E7 Possesion (Penny Dreadful)

That which must be let out,
Like a dog scratching for a walk,
Can’t be held any longer
For my body suffers trying.

I shake, I rock, I grit,
But no good, I must submit.
Squatting, and in fear,
Knees held with crossed arms,
I resist the force
That from within marches
With no sign of distress.

Over the pain I shout, and
Summon strength from heavens above
To hinder its progress.
With a whimper,
I launch a final show of strength,
But no match, no match
And I must relent.

Through every pore oozes
A beast so fierce and evil, it feels.
With a loud maniacal roar,
Proclaims his emergence
From years of containment.

Darkness rejoice, as light cowers
Behind dark gray clouds.
My body, a pale thin shell
Lay abused and almost lifeless.

Last Thoughts of a Victim

Is this the day, I wonder,
Staring blankly at the door?
This door below-ground,
Has kept me imprisoned.

Two months have passed
Since that fateful night,
When I was captured
After a prolonged gun fight.

I am a mere pawn,
But then who isn’t so,
In a game, bloody and foul,
And, it feels, centuries old.

The game, I feel, emboldens
With every life that it fells.
Convoluted, it grows harder
To tell the Good from the other.

The Good has a version, and
The Bad has one too.
A version of justice based
In a God whom they pray to.

Purported rationale, peddled to masses
In houses of worship, spreads
Senseless violence, a vile presence,
That crushes innocence with persistence.

Loss breeds hate, I should know,
Hate festers, and billows overhead.
I watched him die in my arms
And lay dead, ignored and wasted.

Under a cover of dust and smoke,
Raised by bombers in the sky,
My son, a young man of twelve
Laid contorted on a concrete pile.

 

At a tender age of thirteen,
He, my son, fell prey to a bullet.
His tender unblinking eyes,
Unspoken, raised a million queries.
I bellowed in pain, tears poring,
Summoned for strength from deepest self.
An invisible coat, a cloak of hatred
Wrapped around me in warm comfort
To the cold and freezing touch of
Painful, crushing reality.

This is the land that fed my body and soul;
But today, I am a mere piece of the whole.
Rest of me lay scattered like a riddle,
On this land covered in ruin and rubble.

Echoes of the gunshot

The gunshot still echoes in my ear,

At a tender age of thirteen,

Lost my son to a bullet in his chest.

Devastated, infuriated,

Who are the good guys, I do not know anymore.
Who are the baddies, I can be sure no more.
The Good has a story, the Bad has a story;
Stories rooted in justice, they say
Rooted in God to whom they pray.
Ask me, both are equally scary.
Purported rationale, peddled to masses,
Is oft woven from a yarn,
Spun from select strands of history,
To further the agenda of a chosen few.

Senseless violence, a vile presence,
Crushes innocence with stead persistence.
Forces, Good and Bad, spread wide and far
Feed the frenzy like they don’t care.

Confined and chained to the wall,
I feel relegated to hell.

This game, like no other,
With unrelenting surge in bloodshed.
Who are the goodies,
I do not know anymore.
Who are the baddies,
I can be sure no more.
Gone are the days when
Villains wore devil’s horns.
No more evil laughter,
Villains wear a smile like you and me.

Soon I expect to be herded To a dark corner in this land. Bumped, shoved and pushed along the way, Escorted by men (and boys) hardened and armed.

The wait to this day

To the town center only to be murdered.
Gun to my head or knife to my throat,
In front of a camera, I will be put to rest.

Soon after, my death will be on your screen
Telecast, broadcast, and published to be seen.

I will be discussed all over,
Without my voice to join in.
I will be, a few days later,
Replaced, substituted, and forgotten.

 

The Good has a story, the Bad has a story;
Stories rooted in justice, they say
Rooted in God to whom they pray.
Ask me, both are equally scary.

This is the land that fed my body and soul;
But today, I am a mere piece of the whole.
Rest of me lay scattered like a riddle,
On this land covered in ruin and rubble.

Dare I speak a few words
Out deep from my heart?
Dare I risk unearth,
Alas, that infinite hurt?
Dare, I must, But to dig up is hard, Before I am blown to smithereens And thrown far far apart. For to reminisce is to hurt.

Our night sky, like yours,
Was dotted with tiny stars,
Before wings of fury, set it ablaze,
And drove away those dream ticklers.

An Album of Love

Chennai
December 2006

Sandy beach, gentle breeze
Sinking sun, golden waves
Flip and flop of receding feet.
Folded chairs, closed up shades,
Clink and clang away in peace.
A lonely bench under a tree,
On which we sit, She and I.
She rests her head on my chest,
And buries her ear in my heart,
That whispers my love
In sweet lub-dub tone
forever, forever, and beyond.
Locked in an embrace, I relive
Her kiss, kiss on my hand
forever, forever, and beyond.

Fremont
January 2014

Sinking sun, haven’t seen,
Honking cars, traffic sounds
Suburb town, homeward bound.
Banging door, toy strewn floor
Children 3 and 1 having fun.
Opposite to a TV, a lightly worn couch
On which we slouch, She and I.
Marks of time gentle but shows
On our skin, bone, body and soul.
She rests her head on my chest,
With a weary sigh and shut eyes
And buries her ear in my heart,
That whispers my love
In sweet lub-dub tone
forever, forever, and beyond.
Locked in an embrace
With a crackle from aching joints,
I relive her kiss, kiss on my hand,
forever, forever, and beyond.

Bay Area Kinda Life

Its a bay area kinda life.

North of Silicone valley,

In the silicon valley
Techies like sand in a beach tick
Tick tock round the clock
Grind away hunched over desks
At garage offices, home offices,
Coffee shops or corner bars.

Agonizing, prepubescent, charting ways
mortar and stone,

Garage offices, office homes
Endless days & nights
For years straight

On the Dream of ringing in an IPO

Rent a two-bed pad in the ‘hood
Where school is a looker (a 10)
And home price a shocker.

My pad is tiny and tight
For 4 of us it is not right.
Still, we try to make it work,
In hope that school will help kids embark
On a career path to the very top.

Don’t mind closets stuffed to the top,
This school is a looker (10)

Here if school is a looker (10)
Then home price is a shocker.
So, rent a two-bed pad in

You got a two bed pad
Squishing from all sides
Try to make it work, still
Too tight nit right

Piece of green at your back
Without a million bucks, ur out of luck

German-mades crowd roads all over town
I want one just like that to own
Wake up at six, out by seven
Not back until the sun goes down
Its a mad rush, a rat race
In pursuit of all things waste
Can’t Stop to think coz I’ll be late.

Comments on Information Plumbing

A decade ago, a question meant a journey along expected and unexpected paths leading, hopefully, to an/the answer. A journey along paths laid by words resting on pages of books was an immersive experience, surely not exciting at all times. This experience helps create new thought patterns that can lead to few other journeys at the end of this one.

With the advent of information technology, we have information consolidation-yes, I am talking about you Google, Wikipedia, Facebook etc. What this means is that one is deprived of the journey, where at times being lost is all the fun. Today, destination is just a click away from the question. As a result, we are missing out on the learning from the journey.

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: If I choose to, I can still take the long way to the destination. But for how long, I wonder? An argument that less time spent on a journey leaves time to take more is reasonable. But it begs the question, what is more important: quantity or quality? The write-up is meant to be a thought exercise rather than a whiny rant.

For ages, mankind is perfecting ways of transferring knowledge (apriori), in the interest of hastening development, from one generation to the other. Prior to the invention of paper and proliferation of written text, knowledge was transferred through repetition whose efficiency by today’s standard must have been abysmal. For instance, today Universities in the US preserve a copy of all doctoral dissertations in nuclear bomb proof bunkers. A coherent and centralized distribution of apriori is expected to improve the pace of technological development. I guess the question is: Is this argument true along the time asymptote? Delivery of knowledge with superior efficiency and consistency can curtail thought diversity which may result in stagnation. People burnt up at work or day-to-day life decide to back pack across the world to recharge and rejuvenate. In the future, how do you expect to accomplish a break from thought uniformity? Once my brother said, “You know a lot of factoids” and I guess he is correct. Lot of us are turning our brain into a dump for pieces of information that are weakly or barely connected. I understand, we don’t have to be this way. Except my point is that we have to make a conscious effort in avoiding this trap.

Plethora of articles in magazines and newspapers discuss similar issues from various angles and they all seem to agree that technology is making us all a scatterbrain. Often reports of productivity loss from incessant checking of emails, facebook updates grace major news articles and some workplaces, as I remember, have reduced internet access in order to regain productivity. I wonder, not without reason, if we are setting up ourselves for an age of “information high”.

A shrewd reader of this piece would have questioned the following declaration: “Delivery of knowledge with superior consistency”. The argument likely to be placed against is that the internet has democratized information and therefore, every view point is likely to find its way into, at least, a corner of the digital space. Yes, this is likely to improve thought diversity. In fact, recent democratic uprisings in Egypt, Libya, Tunisia, Turkey and other countries are testament to murmur of frustration ringing in unison. A large part of striking this unison was achieved through information exchanges on the digital space. Remember this does not happen often enough and in fact, agreement among people of these countries on the ills of the then government did not translate easily to a resolution about its future. I imagine, in a democratized information age it will get more and more difficult to work an effective compromise across various belief groups. Especially, if none of such belief groups has a clear majority in number. Even if a compromise is achieved, resultant piece-meal solution is typically quite ineffective. For these reasons, I believe democratization of knowledge will slow “progress” in the long run. For sake of clarity, I will repeat that I am not advocating a return to the age of strangling censor on information proliferation but conjecturing on the impacts of information plumbing on the future of mankind.

Power of dreams

He is pulled into a small room by a stout shortish looking man in his fifties. He can feel the man’s hand, holding by his elbow, shake with fear and see beads of sweat drip down his forehead and from the tip of his noise.

I am pulled into a small room by a stout shortish looking man in his fifties. I can feel his hand, which is holding me by my elbow, are tremble, which I can only guess, with fear and beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and from the tip of his nose. A ruffled patch of hair, what appears to be thinning at a rapid pace, covers his head. In my head I told myself, even if only for a fleeting moment, he is bald if not for the unintentional distribution of hair over his head. I pulls away from his gentle grip in an effort to recover and understand the sequence of events that unfolded in the last few seconds. As I raise my head to shower him questions stemming from confusion, anger and curiosity, I see that he is peering out the small window in the room with great caution. He sticks his face out from the corner of the window to look for someone he is expecting but hopes not to see.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”, I finally gathered up words to put a sentence together. He didn’t respond for he was too keen looking out into the crowd through the window.

“I don’t know who you are but I sure don’t want to play your game. I am leaving.” As I started walking away, I heard him say, “But you should stay. There is something you should know and it is important.”

May be it was his voice or the lack of physical aggression from him that calmed by nerves just a bit and I decided to turn around and hear him speak.

“Okay, you have got a minute and it starts now.”, I said.

He spoke, “I know you don’t know this consciously, but have you ever wondered about coincidences that have become rather too frequent for comfort?”.

A strange question but a clever opener, I thought-clever because a No ends the conversation here and now but a Yes keeps him going-strange because I have been wondering about these coincidences for sometime now.

“But, how do you know? I haven’t told anyone.”

“How is a difficult question to answer in a short time but”

I interrupted him and said “So you hacked into my private blog?”

“No,” he said vehemently and went on “

Rambler

Don’t ask when, don’t ask why,
Open your ears, wait for my cry.
I voice my fears, for all to hear.
Voices in my head, may just choke my throat
Words will trip and make no sense at all.
Loud shrieks in my ear bleeding me dry,
Before I drown, I’ll shout them out from here.

Rationale is an itch, I like to scratch
Chaos is a bitch, I like to slap.
I like to fly, don’t mind the fall.
I like to swim, don’t mind to drown.
I like to dart, don’t mind the limp.
But why do they laugh, when I bite dust?
Why do they think, they know any better?

Failure is feared, failure is shunned.
I let the wind waft over me,
Why shouldn’t I let the sun burn me?
I let words of love shower over me,
Why shouldn’t I take a punch that lays me down?
Get up, they shout, dust up, they shout,
But closer to ground, ain’t bad as they make.

I say, find me a hole in the ground,
I say, find me a space far over ground.
Find me a hole, deeper than most
Find me a hole, darker than night
Find me a hole, narrow and tight.
Help me crawl into chasm of my soul.
Deep in the bowel, I still hear murmur-
How does it travel the space void of air?-
Of accusing voices of judging prats.

Rambling Sid, sure makes more sense
Against this lunatic’s morose rant.
For those who call this worthless ramble,
I say, what’s wrong with jumbled up thoughts,
Beauty ain’t partial to eloquent rhyme.
This tall brown dude won’t play his part,
No, my pants stay on my hip,
No, I ain’t fly with jangling bling,
No, my parents didn’t mess up my head,
It’s just the way I was born in hospital bed.
Spitting words of venom with bites of a shark,
Poison courses my vein from toe to the top.
Clutching at sanity,
Do I cry for help from top of the mound,
Or quietly feel the shriveling to a dry leaf on the ground?

Rationale is an itch, I like to scratch,
I fail at it, let me admit once and for all.

Wish I had the Strength!

Wish I had the strength!

Beside me sits a girl,
Young, slender, and tall.
Her curly hair dances in
Cool breeze of fall.

She looks my way,
With a shy sideways glance.
And I look away,
How bright, the twinkle in her eyes.

Wish I had the strength!

To hold her glance,
If even for a second.
Freeze a pretty shadow,
In my deep dark pearls.

Her honey glazed skin,
Oh! so close and naked,
Wrap me up, won’t you
Drive out this cold.

Wish I had the strength!

Smell of her skin
Ah! so divine, a whiff
And I submit myself,
No will, no refrain.

A dramatic turn of head,
She touches my arm,
Amidst her delivery,
Of an event irrelevant.

Wish I had the strength!

See a part of me leave,
Follow her digits,
No more on my skin,
Makes me dizzy & so light.

Touch of her fingers
Has plowed thru my heart;
A gush of my blood
Paints sky of the night.

Wish I had the strength!

She rises to leave,
I fake an unhappy smile,
Restraining my arms from
Holding her back.

I feel my heart sink
Down in shame, well,
Shame on my will
So feeble and frail.

Wish I had the strength!

Why can’t I yell,
And surface my pain?
Why can’t I reach out,
For what should be mine?

Why can’t I show her
The wreck She has caused?,
Those dug up tracks
She has left in my heart?

Wish I had the strength!

The reek and the stench
From blood all around,
Fill up the air,
Like in a battleground.

I feel my lung shrink
Like balloon out of air
I feel my lungs empty
As she pulls away (on a bus) far.

Wish I had the strength!

Drained, all out of breath
I fall to the ground
Only this thought
Runs in my head:
“I simply had to talk to her.”

Too little too late, too late.

Social Bug

Shed tears on a bed of keys,
    Bleed red on a little screen,
Choke reality through tiny ports,
    Re-stage world over with a flicker.

Thumbs, they twitch and they pulse,
      During day, and even at night,
Like a junkie craving a high,
      Craving some of the Society high (coke).

See her wink at me,
      With that tiny green eye.
Feel her shiver in my pants,
       With a familiar sigh.
Like a show girl,
      From behind the screen,
Lure me in for a peek,
      At some lurid scene.

Thoughts so inane and so vain,
      Best to have let them down a drain,
Fleeting at best in a "friend"'s brain,
      With a million Likes, flood my screen.