“I have only one thing to do and that’s
To be the wave that I am and then
Sink back into the ocean…”
Stealing lyrics I cannot write,
Lyrics that wrote my soul,
Writing words that have no value,
Except filling that Postmodern hole.
Wishing that I had that voice,
which like the waves on rock,
crash and haunt the body
with goosebumps of shock.
(a poem incomplete, inspired by the title song of The Affair, performed by Fiona Apple)
I am an island,
A lost planet,
Floating in the sea
of forgotten outer space.
A constellation surrounds me,
Brighter and more beautiful
Than I could ever hope to be.
But those bigger, brighter, beautiful stars are so far, far away.
And I am so completely lost,
Tossed, submerged, drowned,
In the murky waters
of the Milky Way.
Between two good songs
When the black sheep of the playlist
Starts bleating its ugly sound,
One begins to feel
All the tiny creases
And uneven bumps
In the bedsheet
And mattress underneath.
The nightly pain and sorrows
Turn to bruises and burns.
Sandwiched by a lowly
Earthy bodily ache
And a higher
Soulful mental debate,
The princess still feels the pinch
of the pea particularly.
Released from the doubt
That plagued me forever,
I think I have the answer
To the question
I did not ask ever.
A question I needed to ask
But knew not how to frame.
Because the answer I received
Puts my mental question
The bubble has burst.
are always the worst.
The worms come out at night,
Seeking release from the dark wombs of the earth.
Desire brings them out,
Desire, they themselves are.
The comfort of the dark starry sky
echoes the hugging comfort of the soil
Both places are untamed expanses
Where Desire roams free embedded.
As Desire turns to lust,
the worms begin to rust,
before they reach their graves,
in the light of dawn’s haze.
Desire dies tonight.
Again as it has always been.
Pent up or released,
Desire turned to dust.
My apologies to chance for calling it necessity.
My apologies to necessity if I’m mistaken, after all.
Please, don’t be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due.
May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade.
My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second.
My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first.
Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home.
Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.
I apologize for my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths.
I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at five a.m.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time.
Pardon me, deserts, that I don’t rush to you bearing a spoonful of water.
And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in the same cage,
your gaze always fixed on the same point in space,
forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed.
My apologies to the felled tree for the table’s four legs.
My apologies to great questions for small answers.
Truth, please don’t pay me much attention.
Dignity, please be magnanimous.
Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train.
Soul, don’t take offense that I’ve only got you now and then.
My apologies to everything that I can’t be everywhere at once.
My apologies to everyone that I can’t be each woman and each man.
I know I won’t be justified as long as I live,
since I myself stand in my own way.
Don’t bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words,
then labor heavily so that they may seem light.
In Japan, if you are walking down the street, chances are you will be randomly presented with things. These things – more likely to be tissues – would have an advertisement in them promoting something or the other -a new restaurant or an offer for discounted contact lenses. If you are lucky, you might even be handed samples of things, my sister once got lipstick samples! In the summer, you are more likely to be handed these type of plastic fans to cool off the terrible heat! You can fan yourself exclaiming, “atsui desu ne!!” despite the tackiness of the free ad plastic fan!
We have tons of these lying around because this is one free thing that is actually awesome for Indians where constant power cuts in the afternoons of peak of summer are as common as the pestilential bugs that infest this Turd-World Country.
So I went ahead and refurbished one side of this fan in what is fast becoming my obsession – galaxy themed acrylic painting. Also I was channeling my anger at a someone to a more creative use.