I cannot die with you

I’m sorry I cannot die with you

Cause I’ll be condemned

While you will be redeemed.

Why should I suffer pain alone

In that solitary furnace in morality hell

You’ll be floating in the vast sky blue

On a golden cloud with diamonds hemmed

Like once you told me dreamed.

You were the one dream I had known

That existed; till I heard the reality bell

I’m sorry I cannot go with you

Cause I don’t like to be in a crowd

And I can’t sing the praises.

I cried to all the forces that be

And didn’t know to go where

Your eyes gave me no clue

I stood at the end with my head bowed

Groping through the mind’s mazes.

I just tried to be me

And I discovered I wasn’t there

Your song could melt the rocks

Your beauty could stop the time

And I have stood in awe.

And now you are beyond the night

Where the heavenly bells chime

I really wanted to stop the clocks

To shout instead of doing the mime

But I could never escape the fatal flaw.

And that eulogy I could never write

Cause rhyming was such a waste of time

He never wanted to be immortal...

There was a girl he thought he liked. Where did she go?

He rescued them all and then went down to die. But he did not die. He was taken to another place and he lived a different life. He never remembered anything. He did not want to. Why should he?

He never wanted to be immortal. He was good in everything which is why he didn’t excel in anything. When you have tangents going in every direction, they pull you apart, you disintegrate – into nothingness. That is where it all began – in nothingness. Not something that became noting but there was never anything. Just like that someone you never knew. Remember that letter you never wrote. And the life you didn’t want. It was never there. And on and on. It never ends. It’s never over. Never comfortable alone. Never comfortable in a crowd. Because there is vacuum around, vacuum between people. And vacuum sucks!!. That was a joke. But the fact is that you are not here now. Only I’m here. You are not here reading this because this was never written. So where are you?

The Watchman

In the midst of five hundred acres of paddy there stands the dilapidated watch-house. The Old Man is sitting at the front on a stool, which has a broken leg. In the background is the new electric sub-station and farther back you can see the mountain ranges.

“Old Man, Old Man,” I call out to him, “Why are you still here? Your wife is dead. Your three sons have grown up and gone away. The landowner has bought his new Mercedes Benz and he doesn’t care whether you are alive or dead.”

Old Man looks at me with as much passion as he would look at a grain of sand.

Old Man says, “Men, younger and smarter, I have seen. Many have come and many have gone. Some have returned, some never have.”

“Don’t laugh at me son. For every man, sooner or later, becomes the watchman.”

“You watch over your wife, your children, your house, your gold, your money, your company, your reputation. The end is neither here nor there. The reward is the same. So, my son, be on your way and god be with you.”

16-07-2006

The Dream and the Song

I am waiting in a long queue looking around me into the clouds with a perplexed face. The person in front of me moves and I came face to face with St. Peter. I see his flowing beard and serene, solid face imprinted with ages of wisdom and the absolute power of God. He looks down a list and asks “Don?” I can’t even nod my head. I give out a weak “yes”, so small even I can’t hear it. St. Peter looks at me and announces in a self assured flat monotone voice “Dead”.

I look down for a second and slowly raise my head and say “No”. Everyone is stunned. St. Peter stands with his mouth open. The angels are aghast, the devils gape and look at each other. I look around. Everyone else there looks the same to me. I raise my left eyebrow a little and my lips twirl into a smile. The music starts “We will, we will rock you…” and I turn and start running. I jump joyfully onto the clouds and over the mountains. I can hear them coming after me. These fools can’t catch me. The wind, the sea and the fire follows me, after me, then with me. So come and sing along now:

We will we will rock you
We will we will rock you

Heat and Anger

“Papa”

“Yes, dear daughter?”

“Mom’s name is Anger and your name is Heat. I think when we get angry we feel hot. So these two are related. Isn’t it so Papa?”

“Yea. Indeed.”

“Then why are you two living apart?”

“Look, these things are dealt with the heart. OK? Go do your homework.”

“But Papa…”

“Now what?”

“HEART? There is an ‘E’ lying between you and mom. I mean Between ‘H’ and ‘A’. Then who is this ‘E’?

“…”

“Papa who is this…”

“You’re paying less attention to your math. You have to do subtraction, not addition. See the sign.”

“Papa, let me say, in the word HEART…”

“Oh these are only names…Heat, Anger – just like yours, Clarity. Just stop this nonsense on linguistics and go through your problems. And stay away from PROBLEMS.”

“You dads are rather like Hell
Your heads are like the school bell
Toll in the same pace
Hang on the same place
And never give a chance
To play with the fence.”

SB
23-March-2006

Death on seashore

I am on a seashore. A forest near to the sea is burning wildly. On the other side is the deep and unknown ocean. The fire is devouring everything. I see a lot of animals being killed by the fire. I want to save them and yet I cannot. They are dying before my eyes. What should I do? Should I try to put out the fire? There is lot of water near me. Should I simply jump into the water and swim away? But will I reach a shore. Or will I drown in mid-sea. If I stay won’t I be killed by the fire? But sometimes the fire may die out. I alone might survive amid all destruction. But I may perish fighting the fire. Shouldn’t I rescue the other animals, my fellow creatures or should I forget everything and swim away to a new world. Should I go and meet and fight the fire. Or can I sit down and watch the fire and the sea. How can I believe which is good.What should I do? How can I be sure I will die?

May 9, 2000

Silence

Silence is golden
Tell me
Do you fear silence?
Do you love this silence?
Does this silence show you colors
Golden? Red? Violet?
What is the color of this silence?
A silence of hope
Remaining silent
for tomorrow
A silence that repels
A silence for remembrance
A silence for the lost
A silence of fear
to go the same way again
A silence of death
A silence that is not silent
Neither won nor lost
But is eternal
A silence that is heard
A silence that brings peace
Happiness, comfort
The silence of love
Silent answers, silent prayers

May 12, 2005

Hunter/Hunted

The hunter doesn’t
Have a face
He is everyman

Brutal
Beware! His spears
May come for you

When you least
Expect it
You shall be
Pierced
Torn apart
But not killed

Pain
You shall be asked
To bear with “nobility
dignity, humility”

Tomorrow
You shall be
Asked
To take up the
Spear
‘Do the job’

Quick and clean
Not a drop of
Blood
No stains
No scars
Only a memory

Something that was
Once alive
Once inspired
Once eulogized

This is your destiny
Bear it in mind.

19/01/2005

How Close I have Come to your Love

How close I have come to your lips
How close I have come to your words
How close I have come to your dreams
How close I have come to your heart
How close I have come to your love

How I needed your love
How I shared your heartbeat
How I chased your dreams
How I listened to your words

But I never kissed your lips

Your lips, your words, your dreams, your heartbeat were all for someone else, not me.

But your love…

Maybe a little of it…somewhere deep under…under lock and key…sometimes when you were hurt… sometimes when you cried…maybe when you laughed somewhere...sometime…maybe



May 12, 2006

Divine Arrows

Divine arrows converge
To reach its aim
Arrows that were made
Before the world was formed
Arrows that were sent
Long before you were born
Arrows that shall
Come to you, touch you, pierce you

May 9, 2002

A Journey

We are traveling through the heart of India. Through it vast plains, through its mountain ranges, through its green fields and forests and ravines. Through its sand dunes and barren landscapes. Through its villages and slums, through its towns and metropolitan cities. A travel through the length and breadth of India is a travel through time, a travel into eternity. The ultimate travel (and land) of paradoxes. Indeed even as we are in the train we whiz through stations and inexplicably slow down and stop in the middle of nowhere.

There are hundreds of people in this train. All of them strangers to me as well to each other, yet now one big family. All of them maybe headed to the same place, and like myself, knowing not what awaits them there – a destiny to be fulfilled.

As we pass through farms and wastelands I noticed a recurring feature. Isolated tombs – Yes, graves – with all kinds of religious markings. Some of them close to the edges of fields, some of them lying close to the railway tracks, surrounded by wilderness. Sometimes two or three of them maybe found together, but mostly alone. They are all similar, built with bricks, plastered and painted – white, blue, green. Whose tombs are these? They have all been well built and then abandoned. Why are they here? Maybe they belonged to workers who came from far off to work here in the fields, who having given their blood and sweat, gave their lives as well to the land they tilled. Maybe a compassionate land owner gave a little bit of his land to bury them. Maybe their co-workers gave them an honorable burial.

The tombs maybe of wandering ascetics who had traveled all over India and died here. People buried them close to railway tracks so every man traveling will see them and be reminded of an inevitable journey.

Again these tombs may contain nomads, shepherds (buffalo-herds?), ostracized people and most probably people who lived and toiled all their lives but could not own six feet of land. Now the stone, the cross and the crescent are together – in their abandonment and isolation – alike in sunshine and rain, drought and flood.

When you pass this way again look out for them, for they are showing you a way. Listen to them, for they are giving you a message.

15/07/2006