SMS : Save My Soul!

holidays. every mother's gone his or her way back. those who remain are lost in their own world... no need to message me, and no need to message them.
message alert. heart races. is this the message...the one message that iv always awaited- the life changer, the end of the long black and white rainbow, the sunshine, the ambition; absolute and intense contentment?
its a number with which a puja at the madurai meenakshi temple can be done and the remains of the divine -the prasadam- sent to your house, all for fifty bucks.
siiggghhhh.......
somebody needs me...

stagnation

was it all just for the learning then? is that all thats happening- new experiences to learn from? isnt it the experience itself that matters? what matter? "whatsssss there"?
it doesnt have to be one thing, its everything and its nothing.
an exception to everything....an exception to exceptions even.
its so perfect.... its a perfect imperfection.... its perfect in its imperfection.
the scope of "perfect".
its everything and its nothing. all at once.
"it" doesnt need to be explained. just go on ahead................ stop thinking motherfucker!
i dunno what to say man.

fighting idleness and mendicity thats prevails the b-rain wet streets of my mind

here's a verse (if it so wills) for the sake of a verse.
it isn't a movement nor a plan nor an explosion,
not a comet in dazzle nor dream nor curse.
it is a peaceful nuclear explosion at the worst-
seeking answers clogged in the tangled sewers of here, where i am.

relative peace is the carrot tied to the end of a stick
that these lines chase to catch-
they flows in patterns that attempt to immitate;
me and you.

thoughts dont fail me, words do.

muscle flexing
&
house warming-
the name of the exercise.

we're living for a possibility?
i try not to agree with anything cos there's always a chance i'l be corrected yet again, but with the little amount of thought that i can put in right now: yes, i think that there is a possibility, that thats what we live for.
but if you decide to halt on you tracks and just remain -just be- then there's no more carrot, and thus no possibility-conflict anymore. the saint in tapas. but why would you.... 'just be'?

The east-coast breeze,
Bends the branches of pine and coconut trees inward, like astral implosions;
Lifts the bamboo blinds off the window frames;
Finds my face on a warm sunday afternoon and reminds me that life is still in movement.

the mind soon hooks on to thoughts of 'her'.
survival instinct?
luf?

uncertainty.
probably read her wrong all along.
but she doesn't figure in my life for she never has entered, nor seems will enter it; but will linger in my thoughts, as a ghost of all possibilities that died before.

i live and sleep with the ghost of all possibilities that died in the past, reborn to the call of the moment.
some vague light dawns, only to sink again.
repetitions in disguise, or variety framed by lies?

2nd Sept, 2005

im in search for an identity
we're searching for an identity
we're dying to be part of something
to be identidied
to be defined

overflowing glasses of whiskey in a flight through space

needs must sense
needs must hence
(on the move)

opened my eyes to an inspired world.

three men symbolizing nothing at all started to run through the crowd. the crowd reacted to them like they were wild fire. the crowd began to churn, and overturn. if there was no point to these words, how is it that they were written, with force felt?
intense, forceful meaninglessness.

blaaaaahrrrr!!! 

Devil-God Eyes

I once saw into her eyes.
And at that instant, a crucial
part of me slipped away from me
into her eyes;
Her eyes, which are like a devil
and god alike.
I wish to drown in those eyes
and retrieve the thing that i lost;
For rootless and incomplete is life
and I must go there at all cost-
But it is some worse-than-death charge
that makes me wait
and hesitate.

Sometimes her eyes float by-
I could stand and sink for all age
into the dark mysteries, that if unleashed
from confinement, would swallow
the sun and the moon, and consume
the stars.

A moment and a glimpse that eats into a thousand hours-
eats me from the core of my being
like an ephemeral effervescence that melts all
and soon shall have me hollowed
like a tree; I shall than fix myself
and shelter birds
who fly so free
but never know.

And everytime i reached
for those eyes,
I was pulled back a-ground like
the moths and the flies.
I am demented likea circus-lion
in a circus-tent.
I await a moment heaven-sent,
when god-mother hands will have these
cage bars bent,
and lead me to a quiet calmness
where oceanic eyes
will brew no storm;
A moment that i fear is caught
and an unreachable bottom
of the post that the post man will never
touch- touch now, nor tomorrow.

And tomorrow when i see her eyes
and sigh a sky-inhaling sigh,
I shall let a little more
of my spirit go.

And in time i shall be extinguished,and the fiery bubbling.

on Her

Her hair falls like heavy smoke-
But when the wind blows through her, it flies
mysteriously, like a stream that passes through the
forest night.

Her eyes are dark and endless wells,
Filled to the brim with a cool, fearful, and awakening
water, reared by the pristine hills of the
Himalayas.

Her hands unfold her untold tales;
Like a mist-enfolded dancer, they are invisible,
yet let their deep vibrations
be felt.

Her skin emits a restless tone
That numbs, and erodes my mind so completely,
as though from a deep and
divine flute.

And now, though i do not see her, feel her, hear her-
She still runs madly through treesin my dream.

spaceless love

hereyesareheaven;
sheherselfagoddess.
iwishweweregodsofthesamereligion.

Of Her Eyes

(I) Turned to stone
(and was) Hurled away into
Her bedless eyes.

g-rated blues

today, i met with the chance of having to go to my driver's house. it was a dilapidated thatched single-roomed hut and it made me very nervous to go near it. i could say the driver was quite nervous to have me there too. as i was walking to and from the house, i felt the burden of a kubillion hard and cold eyes on me. there was noone to look at me, however. i realise that the world is what you make of it. its hard to tell what makes you, because
you're too much in the middle of being you.
howlin wolves sing deep blue songs to put the moon into a mellow sleep.  
she walks on duty; she walks in plight.
the guitarists rocking the cradled-up night.
pretty-pepper. sweet and poor. potted plants and leaf-edges wasted and burning.
too self-obsessed as a child. mild always, except on the flower bed where the killers are wild, and so are i, and i's eyes, which are glued to her walky talks. fire drill's the cure, babe.