Month: September 2008

My Goodbye, My Hi

Today onwards, I am the material guy. Philosophy is not a safe ground for me. I have an unstable concoction in my skull and I was trying to play with it. Too bad. But I survived.

Why philosophy allured me in the first place was because I wasn’t proving my worth to myself; y’see, mediocrity is not my style. My achievements suddenly dried up, my life was goalless in college, but my mind never gave up. It wanted to prove to itself perhaps that it can be useful, too good, and wanted to show that it was superior. Of course it is.

Due to the aimlessness of my life, it wanted to prove that life was just not enough. It started to question life, not realising that it was the one who was being tested there. It was just about to fail when the other half of my brain, the material part, came in and helped it survive. But it was superior and that’s how it realised that it was wrong. It had read somewhere that poets are divine fools. Like hell they are not. They’re just morons whom its difficult to convince that they’re wrong.

Surely, the road of excess led to the palace of wisdom. And in the palace it’s written. All the wisdom was there, all the time before us. It could well have just accepted it, and you do, but it didn’t, and now it knows.

Life tests you. You don’t question her.

I may not reach Nirvana, but I will not go insane either.

What’s true is true. What’s real is real. Who are you fooling?

Insanity, and the art of being untitled

“Once I had a little game
I liked to crawl back into my brain
I think you know the game I mean
I mean the game called GO INSANE”
– James D. Morrison

The freaks are really normal if you’re living with them. Then, they show you suddenly why they are freaks. Like the drawing of a catapult, they’ll shoot, and you’ll watch, helpless, while they fly and hit you in the eye, right where it hurts most.

True, I cannot know you.

You are the devil, and you’re a seeker’s treasure. Can I call two mysteries of equal magnitude and complexity by the same name?

No. Of course not.

One is life, the other is death. Each one is incomplete without the other.

You complete me. Please “run with me” and we’ll reach where we want to go.


Is it amazing that we look into the past, into the thing called experience, to correct ourselves without realising that the mistake lies there. We’re always wrong.
To correct ourselves we need to die.

I am the material guy, and I cry, for injustice.

“The time you ran was too insane.”

These are his lines, the meaning is mine. If they are wrong, I am wrong, not he.

‘No rules’ is a rule. How can it survive?
“You won’t know a thing till you get inside.”

I am fed up by the potholes in society. The non-idealities. A material guy once said that he had not point in living. And it was true.


Love what he loves, to survive

Nothing but the truth

Its not a song, ’twas ne’er a poem
its just a beat, its just the house
I don’t need a friend, enough of botherings
I said it was right, and still its a crime
its my universe, but the lies are not mine
I know some love, I need some shine
I need some poems to pass my time

I need my friend, the only friend
the happy days that just won’t end
I feel the wind, I feel the dawn
I need something new to get high on
they’re my eyes, but the view is not mine
I know some love, I need some shine
I need some poems to pass my time

And why really don’t I smell
a total bias or the holy truth
a poem dies but not the rhyme
and are you really afraid of the time
words are all lies, but the music is mine
I know some love, I need some shine
I need some poems to pass my time

Why I dies, why I slipped
a moth, the wings didn’t flip
can you see what they mean
can you just lose control, just trip
just lose the rhyme, but not the poem
the same place, the same time
a different day, a different line
no chorus that’s so divine
the dissolution, the resurrection time
views, lies, and the why of I dies.

Your father dies, your mother lies
the torture ends, some surprise
the curtain’s heavy, its dusty
is it the bias, or the biggest lie
of how I wrote of what was right
of how I lost my only delight
of how I lost my view, my sight
I raise a cry, but I won’t fight
And what do you think is the biggest lie?

This is a poem, ’twas ne’er a song
of how I lost the chorus in time
and was left alone to commit the crime.

Waaw, a creation

Heather Rose

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Once a boy a Rosebud spied,

Heathrose fair and tender,

All array’d in youthful pride,–

Quickly to the spot he hied,

Ravished by her splendour.

Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,

Heathrose fair and tender!

Said the boy, “I’ll now pick thee,

Heathrose fair and tender!”

Said the rosebud, “I’ll prick thee,

So that thou’lt remember me,

Ne’er will I surrender!”

Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,

Heathrose fair and tender!

Now the cruel boy must pick

Heathrose fair and tender;

Rosebud did her best to prick,–

Vain ’twas ‘gainst her fate to kick–

She must needs surrender.

Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,

Heathrose fair and tender!

1779, translation by Edgar A. Bowring, 1853