g's world

They're there, they're there...everywhere, the ring fence that shrouds me from the lare, they're dark, they're white, they fend me off anything bright they rejoice at the end of my every day when I struggle to keep my sorrows at bay What sorrows do I have, you ask? Those that trample an idle man's brain those that gnaw at my insides those that threaten to spill to wither in scarlet, to explode to fountain up, to germinate in my soul. They threaten to spread roots reach my throat and grab my neck get closer and warmer, strangle tight until all the grey clouds take shape in my head. I see shadows of my past self the one with passion, the one where I wanted to dwell, wherever I turn, they appear taunting me of my choices rubbing my face with embers of regret blooming cactii, gleaming thorn on my dwight life. they're there, they're there... everywhere they spell out like rain stain my hand like Macbeth's sin...

I'm too shallow to write a verse To wrap around the twists and turns To dwell unto my own, I do Living somebody else's life or my own? Shrouded under piles of thought, I scribble, thinking only of the applause. I'm too shallow to write a verse or two To make ends meet, I'm too cuckoo. I'm not the classic, scratching blue wooing 'em, tearing 'em apart  with every word. I'm not the one who rhymes nor the one with notes for those lyrics. I'm the one who scribbles blotching blue on all my troubles, roiling over moments back and forth, trying to string those stray words, into at least a doggerel.   See, I don't make sense.  I told you, I'm too shallow to pen that sonnet, that ballad, that haiku, that refrain, that ode. I'm forcing it out all that gibberish snowballed  unto mine, to chime and rhyme  but nevertheless I realise in time, I'm to shallow to be read over cheese and...

Image courtesy:  world wide web The stars that connect the sky,  the tides that weave the sea, the pebbles that merge the shore, the trees that mesh the forest, the branches that link the trees,  the leaves that entwine the branches, the sun that lights the horizon, the sky that paints the water, the waters that survives the fish, the fish that eats the seaweeds, the seaweeds that carpets the rocks, the rocks that protects the soil, the soil that strengthens the roots, the roots that keeps alive the trees,  the trees that mesh the forest, the forest that survives the big bears, leopards, and birds, the birds that live on the worms, the worms that protect the soil, the soil that gives birth to crops, the crops that survive the we, the we that eat everything in this big, wild world, the world in us is the world outside, the outside that reflects the inside, the inside tha...

Coat it in pink, flash a smile, crease it hard as they roll down, martyrs of pain. "Paws up, shoulders straight! Look pretty."  instructs mama.  Tummy in,  flab tucked in black. eyes apprehensive. legs curled up, I wait a moment or two.  Mind travels forth and back. "Is he looking?"  eyes flutter eyelashes bat neck turns.  He was, or may be he might have... Tummy in, turn away, flash a smile small talk, act busy. I hear his voice a little distant now, get a glimpse as I tilt eyeballs to the side.   He looks at me, she points a finger with muffled attempts  to hide laughter.  Tummy in, turn away, flash a smile small talk,  act busy. Mask it up, smooth some kohl on teary eyes. coat it in pink, crease it hard, stroke your hair with a plastic comb.  corset your curves, hold in tight. Breathe less, tummy in, fla...

You are the ray of my day The moon of my nights The bamboo of my flute The minutes of my time You are the flowers in my spring The leaves in my autumn The snow in my winter Well… Errrmmm.. You are also my sweat in the summers The ads between my shows The fog when I drive And yes! The owls when I sleep The landslide when I trek That cluster of dirt on the shores Clobber along the waves and reach my toes You are the violinist when Rome burns My speed breaker at every turn The mold in my only piece of bread What would you be thinking about me? I know you won’t care Or...you might still remember me The memories we made The struggles we wade The nights of unrest Of passion, of lust, Then of tears with regret Also in absence, of hate But haven’t we been there Or have we not? Has it faded, or Has it deluded? Have you fluttered away From the abode of my kind? Or are you trickling down Slowly melting away Like the flakes of w...

I often wonder what am I so preoccupied about that I can't pick up a pen and write.. I can't sit down and think about things. Things that mattered to me once, about thinking itself. My weird little thoughts when I was a child. I would associate people's faces with weird animals, would crease every line on their face and every reaction of their's in my mind, of what is happening inside my body at that precise moment... blood flowing into veins and out of arteries into my heart, of my flesh, bones and my skull.  Its really weird, isn't it? And then I would think of thoughts itself, how they flow in and out, how they open myriad windows in my mind, each jutting off into their own rambles simultaneously, of things which I barely notice nowadays, like the trees, the centipedes that sit clustered in hundreds on the moist cement pavement which I happen to notice as I go to class everyday, of the beautiful designs and patterns on their wriggling bodies, how the mill...

What's the use of feeling enraged? Your blood grasping hot iron fumes thrust through igniting the char it twists and turns and knots a million cinders burning its way through your heart and puckering through your brains gnawing a deep hole that lets you estranged. As you scrabble through  cursing wildly under your breath sweating your way into dark, uncharted poles Flick your eyeballs, as you cast them on to every syllable that has ever been inked, dissolved in the contagion  or even to be uttered scattered intrigue, a few coins up their sleeves, a back sword, a bludgeon, a pistol appears from the magician's hat there lay a crimsoned stiff or more,  rather many wailing upon their loss be it their petite stock of the green  or their soul bread that  wouldn't lead to another suicide, or the penny that fell off their spilling pockets. As the bulging belt spits out another button, he frolics with a glass of l...

I ricochet off in the chilly trains jutting across different places Through the days and the nights There I sit, listening to the thuds the wheels make while rolling out onto the tracks I meet people of different kinds Speaking unknown yet common tongues. Their phones ringing in different tones and their eyes sparkling as their food is served hot. I'm journeying to a destination that I am aware of yet unaware. My second home it might be, Yet holding a thousand promises and trenches in its wide spread arms, Welcoming me into its fold. I've just got a year with you, I say, everytime I think about it. Perhaps, it is 365 days that changed you into what you dreamed to become and another 365 will make you the one you have never imagined to be, it says .. :)

A blotch of blue on a patch of white I used to scribble verses, petite Not one, not two, But too many to few. They rhyme They chime They jingle They mingle with the million songs of the world They get into my ear play into my soul and kindle me to write the untold Yet I struggle with chains in shackle I lament about the other which contain to thyself I build the mountains put them up a pedestal look up and feel abysmal of my unfortune moments that keep fattening and tense As they loom up to altitude  I frown into doom, Doom that's dark and uncertain Or that which I call future. I pace around in anger of my fated future that seemingly sulks but when I sit and opine I realise, it is my mind that plays unto my joy my mind that scars my heart and adds streaks of suffering into my life. I decide not to lie, not to comply but thrive in what I contrive to let go of the mountains renou...

I'm there with you, my dear. I'll hug you whenever you cry, I'll give my best to save you from the bad guys, I'll turn my prayer beads for you every moment, I'll let everybody know what you've been through, I'll lend my warm shoulders for you to lean on, Let me carry you on my hips, I'll show you the huge glowing ball on the dark skies, it's far far away from the place we live in, I'll let you dream that far, And I'll help you live them too. I'm standing up now with shaky hands, But all I have in mind is you, That tear you shed, That baton you took, That plea you cried, That prayer you wailed, I promise to be by your side, Not leave you till you rise, I'll cover myself with your flag, I'll treat you like my child. The time shall come, When you rise up to the red, Clamp them with your thousand rays, Ride on your snow lions and take your people back home. The day shall come, my child.

Okay. Let's do this. Some facts are hard to digest but true. To all those pretty people with sour cream 'fairness' masks sploshed on their dusty  dusky faces once in every week, the fad dieting extremists whose diet routine involves surviving a whole year through the energy generated by a single pea (Are you the dragon warrior? Tai Lung is on the look out), to all those having a face lift, botox and brouhaha for looking the GLAM-WHAM aunty-next-door (scratch that!). This is a PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: Lend me your ears! For the media is ambitious yet honourable! The idealism that you believe which you have set for yourself is an outcome of the billion frames that pass by every time you click the remote to fill your mind with the colours of the junk box. (I'm speaking about the TVs that you either get as freebies for voting for bad-guy-politicians or that flat desirable LCD screen that you've bought online on the TrapFart's Big Bullion Day Offer)...

The time was lonely, while my day cast stars stars, unseen by the night. I was howling through the bamboo, rustling onto the leaves stifling from the beggar's yawn and  roaring into the tide. yet I was with none but me in wanderlust, in quest of glee. I was caressing the ripples of the lake glimmering through the creak of a door shimmering onto the mirror that held a smiling face ablaze on the heated coarse sand. yet I was with none but me in wanderlust, in quest of glee. I was meditating upon the shambles of soil casting colour onto the solemn' main  setting destinations for their wings to flap cleaving between day and night. yet I was with none but me in wanderlust, in quest of glee. I was coarse yet firm, bore their footsteps without frown held their roots to my bosom nurturing them to shoot and blossom. yet I was with none but me in wanderlust, in quest of glee. I was told, here is glee. I am here to...

This post is a part of the #ZestUpYourLife activity in association with TATA Zest and BlogAdda.com When I was asked to write about the FIVE zesty things in life, I could actually come up with a million! But here are the activities/ people/ things that flame me up into bouncing energy, get me up and about... EVERY SINGLE DAY. Whenever I feel alone, I want a shoulder to lean upon, cast my worry away and fly high, there is this unique talent I hold which I marvel and pride upon. It gets my mind up and working. Poetry is one thing which I can never exist without. For it fuels up my fire and sets ablaze my passion to render things that I consider far fetched. Well, you might see this as another post which contains the usual person that everybody feels they can't live without. Probably it is. But it is also heartfelt. She is one person who has been the driving force behind many things that I've accomplished at present and I know she's going to be pushing, goading...

It's been long... A very long time since a time with you for this had been engaged engaged in the tantrums of the myriad windows windows that make this what it is It is yet an undiscovered psyche psyche, let me not call it one One which denies the inner the inner that craves craves for fame fame for esteem esteem by relations relations from shallow ponds Ponder, it ponders it's state stating unanimously of it's grave realm realm, which it considers not to be grave. Being grave is the harmony that it chose It chose to be received rather than to retreat Retreat, oh. It wasn't an option. An option that cost it solitude Solitude, yet not unhappiness unhappiness, how could it dwell? That which dwelt is you. You are unwelcome unwelcome, it says It says, it cannot be be in harmony yet in solitude solitude, as you aren't a companion companion? It probes. It probes me, for I talk for you. Y...

You're caught in the web, The web that was entwined by the mighty divine. You're travelling air borne, As she embraces you with grace unborn. When you open your eyes to her, You'd know you're caught. You're enthralled, enslaved, entwined in her curls, That make you gasp in short of breath amongst plenty.

The pattering pearls that spatter onto the chilly top, The pervading breeze of the elevated plain, The strums of melody that pave way to my heart, The sweeping concrete in which I had dreamt to start. I start afresh, a journey in love, Feeding my passions to hone glory. The past had fallen away from it’s kin, The future sprouts into life, Of every shade it is. Scarlet it is, of burning desire, Is it pivotal, the fear of the unknown? It is the hue of the vast roof, of endless glory, Is it the innate, the shade of brimming glee? Hues akin to the diamonds on the endless horizon, Of limitless joy, to rise up my crestfallen head, Bask in pride, among the top five, For I am at SIMC, This is the place where dreams thrive. Image courtesy:  Internet

I am writing about #MyRoleModel  as a part of the activity by Gillette India in association with  BlogAdda.com . There were streaking sparks from the distant star that were scorching the narrow roads of the metropolis. I was reclined in the four-wheeled luxury skimming over a glossy magazine with skinny models teething in glamour. There was also this favourite melancholy of mine that was shrilling the juke box that I had installed into my car.  As I passed by a pawn-strewn road flooded with scorchy rays, I happened to notice a middle-aged man who was in ragged attire (a mud-stocked banniyan and a lungi tied up to his thighs) squatting on to a stone. He had his face covered with a beard unshaven for a few days and brown, unkempt mane that fell over his forehead.  Yet I noticed something that was so attractive about him. He was too concentrated onto something he was doing to even notice anything that was happening around him, the sun drinking away his b...

Cluck...Cluck...Cluck I go clucking into oblivion Not an ear to hear my desperate call from doom Cluck...Cluck...Cluck My feathers detach dropping down  from sparkling white  to tawny brown on the ground Cluck...Cluck...Cluck I am a feathery fiend for I never end my struggles to free away  from the fence Cluck...Cluck...Cluck As he cycles away  onto the muddy plain  with me lolling upside down my legs strangled into a mess on my way to mourn Cluck...Cluck...Cluck My friends and foe have no morrow for they are beside me clucking away to sorrow Cluck...Cluck...Cluck I breathe my smell nostalgia creeps in of the meadows that I dwelt in Cluck...Cluck...Cluck But all I smell now is of the steely cycle of blood and the stench of paan that the satan chews Cluck...Cluck...Cluck I am untied fall down to gravi...

The way you engulf me into you by your unforeseen arms,  arched into a narrow circle that could cushion the depths of my soul The way your fingers pine me  into tears, into love, into loss, into the now. They are huge, huge with darkness  that could splay into spring but they are, just like your foe vividly enchanting. When you divulge into me with stealth and no shame creep into my covers that shall light me to flame When you kiss me deep  with your lips as cold as ice as painful as thorns that sting into my soul until it bleeds to foul When you touch me  with your fiery fingers that burn me down to darkness rave me into madness You pull me toward 'what is' and shard my castles  into a million pieces of waste you probe me into  the depths of my soul I find you  as erotic  as enchanting as intense  and as beautiful as 'him'. You are sorr...

A thousand flashes Jubiliant on the spread Blanketing the vast void Print wonder inside They glow, bloom Flash, burst, jiggle and wave They rise and spread Instil joy for a moment And disperse into the dark Like they weren't there But a spark rises onto the spread Creates little memories But floats away with warmth As serene as the behind Meditating upon the void It drifts past the thousands That bloom into nothing Swims past all the glory Like nothing matters much In life It flies in silence as light As a kite, yet holding in The warmth, the joy and peace It moves on, lasting longer Than the flashes that make A mark to not last And fades away With serenity in its drift Creating peace in my yonder.