It all starts with an Idea,
an idea like a distant thunderstorm
like cold rain on your skin
and then, let it seep in
and run wild through your blood
like a venereal disease
and let it enter into your brain
and let it grow in the darkness like moss.
And there you will find a Dream,
absurd and absolute,
a dream impossible to chase,
and so keep quiet.
Let it grow inside you
like a little parasite
until it is all that there is.
And then, let go.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
Stuck
in a ***** two-room apartment
almost out of cigarettes ,
at one in the middle
of a sweaty Chennai night,
sobering up after two days,
famished
and restless
dreaming of mid-night
cigarette shops that never were,
dreaming of alcohol
(just enough to pass out),
checking and rechecking
the spent bottles
and giving up in the end
and settling to tolerate a night
with myself,
walking and babbling
and writing and thinking
and floating up on a great idea
and circling back to the floor
looking for cigarettes,
just waiting for the shutters to lift,
just waiting for this to end,
just waiting.
It was the best metaphor for life
that I've ever known.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
A bolt of lightning
in the distance
lights up the cloudy night
with the memory
of ancient fires,
and the scarlet memories
of ancient agony
dim and fade
suddenly awake.
The lightning,
a giant crack
in the floodgate
that holds back time.
And time,
like a loose gown
slips off her body
and the memories of
her savage beauty ignite
the ancient pine,
leaving behind charred wood
dark like the scars
on her wrinkled skin
and the imaginary warmth
melts into the night.
And she cries out
in craving memory
of the withered giants
who in times
long before civilization
stood amidst the molten rocks
and tamed her fire down
with their strength
and their flutes.
And her cry
shatters the lullabies
and runs through the night
like a beast in searing pain.
And the wind runs wild
through the woods
like the hands
that once stroked her hair
and a sudden serenity
wraps her aged soul.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
We will go in circles,
Die the same old way.
There is no shame in that,
We will do it better
more style, elegance,
A little more defiance each time
And we will burn out
and die quietly in the end,-
the ultimate obedience
as the audience dictates
But a little more each time.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
It all starts with an Idea,
an idea like a distant thunderstorm
like cold rain on your skin
and then, let it seep in
and run wild through your blood
like a venereal disease
and let it enter your brain
and let it grow in the darkness like moss.
And there you will find a Dream,
absurd and absolute,
a dream impossible to chase,
and so keep quiet.
Let it grow inside you
like a little parasite
until it is all there is.
And then, let go.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC