juttu Jan 20
Some days
Looking at urban wild
I have strange recollections
Of being a tall goat
Of finding the tender sweetness of a fresh leaf
And then finding the leftovers in the garbage pile
I feel alive
And ancient
juttu Dec 2017
A lot has been written about monotony
Here I’m only trying it from my vision
It won’t differ much from yours
But even monotony comes in different flavors
Mine is bland. Unimaginably bland.
So much, that I fear the day I spit it out,
it will leave me bitter
I make feeble attempts to break it
A lot like a fifty year old couple argue & fight
They are not trying to spice things up
Just sorting the disagreements and inconveniences that crop up, further strengthening their bond
Each one is a proven pain in the other's ass
But it is familiar, comforting pain
Losing track of the days that I lost
The days they come and go so fast
I’m preparing myself better for the days to come
‘Every new day is an opportunity lost. So you’ve got to seize every opportunity.' I was advised..
It was 00 hours when I woke up
from my untimely slumber to start
this new day on this new note
Although I’m skeptical of the meaning of new day
I don't think they meant it in the technical sense
The day they were referring to probably begins
when the sun shines so bright that it is hard
to keep your eyes closed and pretend to be asleep
In a semi awakened state,
you clasp your genitals,
then scratch them,
stroke your stiffness,
wipe the drooling mouth
or partake in other preferred activities
in any order you deem fit
and thereby amass the requisite energy
to seize the day by the balls
Me,? I’m not really a morning person
It takes a couple of hours for nausea to subdue
After I spat all the toothpaste residue
So I take this to be the start of yet another day which has begun,
and will roll,
with reasonable certainty,
just the same way as did yesterday
Or the day before
Or a day the week before
But I wasn’t here since the beginning of time
I grew from a microbe to a maniac
So I know this is just a phase that will pass
But I can’t seem to place
the beginning or end of it
Shedding hairs, bloating with worries and fat
I came to the sudden realization
that this will soon end
Whether I like it or not
Whether I force it or not
It will come to an end
Like every other thing that started
Here I am, waiting for it to unfold
Like the spectator I’ve always been,
passive with fear and with justifiable cowardice
When the days become too repetitive, you can't tell reality from a recurring dream..
juttu Dec 2017
She was eight days old when I first blinked
She had seen the sun
The nurses that bathe
The milking breast
The beautiful tired mother
The man with a deep throat

I didn’t know her then
She didn’t know me then
But when I came to being
She had already been there

She took the lead
And stretched it further
The eight day advantage had compounded
when we met for the first time
Almost 15 years after I was born
And I’ve been in awe ever since
I’ve always been
a hopeless puppy around her

Today I called her with a broken heart
And she showed me hers
Hers was broken too
She told me not to worry
I told her not to worry

She has chopped her hair now
And bruised her ego
But she’s still here
And I’m still here
We’re still breathing
And nothing else matters
We watch as the big yellow moon rises
Fills the hearts with love
With memories, with nostalgia

I hope when I finally go
She gets eight more glorious sunrises
juttu Dec 2017
It's a pity!
Those big beautiful eyes
stare at the impassive lens
that blink at the perfect moment

I wish they stared at me instead
I'd never blink
I'd never turn away
from captivating eyes that promise mystical worlds
I'd fight tears
for tears blur the sight

However, I am grateful
the digital eye blinked
The moment they shut
is the moment that was captured
And the one that mine can see
now even when they're shut.
juttu Dec 2017
आज खुद को किया खुदा से आज़ाद
ना माँगेंगे भीक ना करेंगे फ़रियाद
आज़ादी के जश्‍न में भी दिल में ये दुविधा
खुदा ने बनाया इंसान या इंसान ने खुदा?
  Dec 2017 juttu
Charles Bukowski
there is always that space there
just before they get to us
that space
that fine relaxer
the breather
while say
flopping on a bed
thinking of nothing
or say
pouring a glass of water from the
while entranced by

gentle pure

it's worth

centuries of


just to scratch your neck
while looking out the window at
a bare branch

that space
before they get to us
when they do
they won't
get it all

  Dec 2017 juttu
Charles Bukowski
death wants more death, and its webs are full:
I remember my father's garage, how child-like
I would brush the corpses of flies
from the windows they thought were escape-
their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies
shouting like dumb crazy dogs against the glass
only to spin and flit
in that second larger than hell or heaven
onto the edge of the ledge,
and then the spider from his dank hole
nervous and exposed
the puff of body swelling
hanging there
not really quite knowing,
and then knowing-
something sending it down its string,
the wet web,
toward the weak shield of buzzing,
the pulsing;
a last desperate moving hair-leg
there against the glass
there alive in the sun,
spun in white;
and almost like love:
the closing over,
the first hushed spider-sucking:
filling its sack
upon this thing that lived;
crouching there upon its back
drawing its certain blood
as the world goes by outside
and my temples scream
and I hurl the broom against them:
the spider dull with spider-anger
still thinking of its prey
and waving an amazed broken leg;
the fly very still,
a dirty speck stranded to straw;
I shake the killer loose
and he walks lame and peeved
towards some dark corner
but I intercept his dawdling
his crawling like some broken hero,
and the straws smash his legs
now waving
above his head
and looking
looking for the enemy
and somewhat valiant,
dying without apparent pain
simply crawling backward
piece by piece
leaving nothing there
until at last the red gut sack
its secrets,
and I run child-like
with God's anger a step behind,
back to simple sunlight,
as the world goes by
with curled smile
if anyone else
saw or sensed my crime
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