Morning. Weird bad dreams about losing Mishmi and finding myself in a totally new way but not like I want to. Woke up with the 'Tuesday blues'. I actually thought its Wednesday today. I thought again for a moment that I'm turning into my father so i should listen to my mother more often but i don't really want to because i don't sometimes like what she says or thinks but anyway, thats everyday so lets just forget about it. I thought I suck at guitar and should learn to play like Omar but I somehow just can't bring myself to do that...really wish I could write a song that I would be able to sing when I am alone with myself...really wish I'd friends who I could make up an entire band with but fuck it. Euphoria. Hell. Hell. Hell. I am bored. want something new to do. Anything. Actually, something else. Change of pace. Different plans. New plans. No 'plans'.
The only thing that's making me go on for this week is the thought of where I'll be next week at the same time. The only thing I am totally sure about right now is where I want to be. I don't think I've longed for Monday so much before.
Tuesday 27 May 2008
untitled
Look outside to the streets to see the seasons change
Beneath your window, the things that wait
The road disappears, singing, and you
Hum and mutter the songs you wrote.
That same hurt, unknown, alone, unnamed
Behind the word, hiding
Raids your mind like wounds you hide.
Forces a tear, makes you smile.
And until it wears you out, like
The moment you turn and forget about the time
You danced and were beautiful when you said
The world moved with you
Well, you are and it still does.
Tuesday 13 May 2008
Unsolicited
Sometimes within,
The answers kill, like
A cold day in Delhi.
Like the summer heat when we
Search for solutions
Or wish for it to rain.
When nothing turns out the way it
Seems or sounds or rhymes in your head.
Nothing happens the same way twice.
When you’re broke and loose and can’t
Pick and choose between what
You want and what you need.
Between sweet sin and terrible greed.
When outside, every other voice has got
Something for you to prove.
When everyday is not the same
But you find the songs you remember and love have
Gotten old.
When discretion has been practised enough
But it leads nowhere.
Just like sympathy, which you get when you lose it.
And when you think you
Have no stories to tell but you’re happy with
The one you’re in. Oh well,
Lets take water over wine.
The answers kill, like
A cold day in Delhi.
Like the summer heat when we
Search for solutions
Or wish for it to rain.
When nothing turns out the way it
Seems or sounds or rhymes in your head.
Nothing happens the same way twice.
When you’re broke and loose and can’t
Pick and choose between what
You want and what you need.
Between sweet sin and terrible greed.
When outside, every other voice has got
Something for you to prove.
When everyday is not the same
But you find the songs you remember and love have
Gotten old.
When discretion has been practised enough
But it leads nowhere.
Just like sympathy, which you get when you lose it.
And when you think you
Have no stories to tell but you’re happy with
The one you’re in. Oh well,
Lets take water over wine.
Thursday 8 May 2008
Rambling Without A Cause
Read the news…let it fill me. I need happiness. No a warm gun. I am not feeling like this is the end. But I feel rather like this is the beginning of a nasty chapter.
Season’s changing…heavy breeze…some icebergs melt-a band sings about it in a concert, a few hundred tigers and elephants are poached, some protesters are killed in Lhasa for crossing the line, politicians snore as the bill is passed in the parliament, some cry and shout and try to disrupt the proceedings but some just keep on sleeping , America invades and bombs another village whose name it can’t pronounce, more Qassams rain down on Israel, more Palestinians are killed…no one will ever know.
The fat man lights a cigar, price for oil is set, the deal is signed, camera bulbs flash, the ‘clink’ of wine glasses are heard, the nib of the pen breaks, the ink spills over and fills the page, blots it, they shake hands, calls are made that we need another war; he nods as a sign of approval.
The world is not a happy place…my face doesn’t don a smile now as I’m getting to know things that gathered dust before my very eyes…things I had ignored and hadn’t pondered about. Little angry, little irritated, anxious about this and everything. Scared that this won’t turn out the way I want it to. Like all those times you feel really happy…on top of the world with your little accomplishments when you’re kid…’oh, I climbed the tree today’…’I scored high marks in the maths test’….’today I won the race’…’merit card’….’box of candy’….it sure feels like a million bucks then. Times like these, no matter how young you are, you always imagine yourself as something else, someone else, bigger, better…something you WANT to be. Now when I look back on those times and think to myself what I wanted to be then…I realise I am none of those things.
Is David Bowie right? Have we only got five years to live? To save this earth…? Please don’t let this be true. There are so many other things which should be.
If happiness was a paper, I would roll it into a ball and keep it in a box…keep it safe from fire and others things that may destroy it….leaving behind only ashes.
Sorry.
This sounds very pseudo…unreal…untrue. Maybe I was just kidding myself when I told myself sometime back that this will work…this will help…I should have told you that I am sick of being wrong but I love it when you make me right and show me what is missing…I’ve realized that that is something which is absolutely necessary…in one way or the other…sometimes I want to cry when I am just with myself…your simplicity is untouchable…I feel too complex to be with anyone…maybe I am not but I feel like I will never understand me even though I’ve usually seen that I am like a bad sweater….just pull a string and I’ll come undone. You’re more than anything anyone could ask for…you’re real…something I can touch and feel and hold…you have the answers…I feel stupid that the scar I made on my left arm doesn’t go away but maybe there is a reason for it.
There are so many things I must do and be. I feel scared that I will fail. I am not natural at anything. Music doesn’t move my feet. My hands don’t glide with a brush. They don’t slide on a guitar. I’ve been telling myself and forcing myself to write poetry since class 8 and maybe that’s why I’ve gone far with it. But just like everything else, there are many things I must explore and make something my own…many doors remain unopened still.
And you told me to laugh…well, now I am laughing…but there’s no one around to hear it…I am not angry I just feel alone…do you hear it…can you hear it…?
Season’s changing…heavy breeze…some icebergs melt-a band sings about it in a concert, a few hundred tigers and elephants are poached, some protesters are killed in Lhasa for crossing the line, politicians snore as the bill is passed in the parliament, some cry and shout and try to disrupt the proceedings but some just keep on sleeping , America invades and bombs another village whose name it can’t pronounce, more Qassams rain down on Israel, more Palestinians are killed…no one will ever know.
The fat man lights a cigar, price for oil is set, the deal is signed, camera bulbs flash, the ‘clink’ of wine glasses are heard, the nib of the pen breaks, the ink spills over and fills the page, blots it, they shake hands, calls are made that we need another war; he nods as a sign of approval.
The world is not a happy place…my face doesn’t don a smile now as I’m getting to know things that gathered dust before my very eyes…things I had ignored and hadn’t pondered about. Little angry, little irritated, anxious about this and everything. Scared that this won’t turn out the way I want it to. Like all those times you feel really happy…on top of the world with your little accomplishments when you’re kid…’oh, I climbed the tree today’…’I scored high marks in the maths test’….’today I won the race’…’merit card’….’box of candy’….it sure feels like a million bucks then. Times like these, no matter how young you are, you always imagine yourself as something else, someone else, bigger, better…something you WANT to be. Now when I look back on those times and think to myself what I wanted to be then…I realise I am none of those things.
Is David Bowie right? Have we only got five years to live? To save this earth…? Please don’t let this be true. There are so many other things which should be.
If happiness was a paper, I would roll it into a ball and keep it in a box…keep it safe from fire and others things that may destroy it….leaving behind only ashes.
Sorry.
This sounds very pseudo…unreal…untrue. Maybe I was just kidding myself when I told myself sometime back that this will work…this will help…I should have told you that I am sick of being wrong but I love it when you make me right and show me what is missing…I’ve realized that that is something which is absolutely necessary…in one way or the other…sometimes I want to cry when I am just with myself…your simplicity is untouchable…I feel too complex to be with anyone…maybe I am not but I feel like I will never understand me even though I’ve usually seen that I am like a bad sweater….just pull a string and I’ll come undone. You’re more than anything anyone could ask for…you’re real…something I can touch and feel and hold…you have the answers…I feel stupid that the scar I made on my left arm doesn’t go away but maybe there is a reason for it.
There are so many things I must do and be. I feel scared that I will fail. I am not natural at anything. Music doesn’t move my feet. My hands don’t glide with a brush. They don’t slide on a guitar. I’ve been telling myself and forcing myself to write poetry since class 8 and maybe that’s why I’ve gone far with it. But just like everything else, there are many things I must explore and make something my own…many doors remain unopened still.
And you told me to laugh…well, now I am laughing…but there’s no one around to hear it…I am not angry I just feel alone…do you hear it…can you hear it…?
Stitch
Wish I could sew,
Stories together
The distance
Fill it like valleys where
Rivers run.
All our days,
The things we know.
The places we’ve been to
Time itself.
The same way
You sow
Pieces of clothes
Without poetry
And call it work
Then, prick your finger,
And smile.
Stories together
The distance
Fill it like valleys where
Rivers run.
All our days,
The things we know.
The places we’ve been to
Time itself.
The same way
You sow
Pieces of clothes
Without poetry
And call it work
Then, prick your finger,
And smile.
Friday 2 May 2008
Circles
Call the sun vacant,
Long for the starry skies.
When the mind is made of happy numbers
Like riddles lost in your eyes.
Dancer, you move like I can’t sing,
But these songs in my head…
Whisper your laughter slow, run
Go outside and breathe the air.
Fancy, this house of cards
Till nether winds pull it apart.
Who knows?
But until that day…
I’ll draw circles and be where you are.
Long for the starry skies.
When the mind is made of happy numbers
Like riddles lost in your eyes.
Dancer, you move like I can’t sing,
But these songs in my head…
Whisper your laughter slow, run
Go outside and breathe the air.
Fancy, this house of cards
Till nether winds pull it apart.
Who knows?
But until that day…
I’ll draw circles and be where you are.
Lost Again
I’ve made friends with
Places that I can’t touch,
And faces that ask too much,
I’ve made it all my home.
Names that I forget
Smiles that I regret
I’ve sung this all alone.
And sometimes I don’t know what to do.
To walk down this line
To tame what is mine
Only to be with you.
Places that I can’t touch,
And faces that ask too much,
I’ve made it all my home.
Names that I forget
Smiles that I regret
I’ve sung this all alone.
And sometimes I don’t know what to do.
To walk down this line
To tame what is mine
Only to be with you.
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