On Family.

October 29, 2012 § 14 Comments

The family is a subversive organization. In fact, it is the ultimate and only consistently subversive organization. Only the family has continued throughout history, and still continues, to undermine the State. The family is the enduring permanent enemy of all hierarchies, churches and ideologies. Not only dictators, bishops and commissars but also humble parish priests and cafe intellectuals find themselves repeatedly coming up against the stony hostility of the family and its determination to resist interference to the last.

Couples in non-arranged marriages join together for deeply private reasons, and because those couples create such secret lives for themselves within their union, they are innately threatening to anybody who wants to rule the world. The first goal of any given authoritarian body is to inflict control on any given population, through coercion, indoctrination, intimidation, or propaganda. But authority figures, much to their frustration, have never been able to entirely control, or even monitor, the most secret intimacies that pass between two people who sleep together on a regular basis.

For this reason, powerful entities across the ages have always tried to undercut natural human bonds in order to increase their own power.
Whenever a new revolutionary movement or cult or religion comes to town, the game always begins the same way: with an effort to separate you- the individual- from your preexisting loyalties.

The Subversive Family by Ferdinand Mount.

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Secret Garden.

September 11, 2012 § 44 Comments

My secret garden has
rare vegetables with peculiar
names and strange shapes.
Herbs that are twisted, that
will cure you and yet let you die.
Ah! All the fruits that are an
acquired taste.
Plants that talk to me, and
make me lose myself. And
flowers that make me dance
to the unheard rhythm.
All colours. Beautiful, they are.
And i love them all.

But when this visitor drops in,
he doesn’t see a garden. He only
sees crazy cycles, spiky things
that might hurt him, muted dreams,
dizzying shapes.
Thats okay i guess. He does
not necessarily have to understand.
That is why it is a ‘secret’ garden.

And when i crawl into his
secret garden at night, i see
it’s so alike!
It’s not this well manoeuvred row
of bushes. It has
thorns and open edges
and dangerous tools.

And i realise he and i,
are the same. So are our
secret gardens.

 

 

 

Unspeakable.

September 4, 2012 § 53 Comments

With what’s left of my face after
you are finished with it,
your sun has melted it,
your shocks have scoured it,
your breath has scarred it,
your challenges have chiselled it,
you have ravaged it with your unspeakable ways.

With whatever skin i have
whatever still works in my eyes
whatever screams i have left
whatever thoughts i can retain
i will finally speak your name.

When you can see all of me
when you can hear all of me
when all the sad things no longer divide me from you
i will finally, at last, in ecstasy
speak your name
your unspeakable name.

 

 

 

Mist.

August 26, 2012 § 44 Comments

I’ve felt the mist
after the shower’s lifted.
I’ve seen the world
from a foggy perception.
But i just want to see you
for who you are.
Not for who you want
me to see you as.
Irrespective of the time
it takes to clear the glass.

Depth-II.

August 20, 2012 § 35 Comments

Standing on the line that
divides my heart and my head
Numbed by doubt and anxiety
after nights of mind-fucking
Relieved to not feel the pain,
the cold
Longing to be released from
this utter sadness
Caught in a storm of thoughts
that lead me nowhere
Drowning in self-doubt
and confusion every night
And yet not drowning, so there
is scope to be inflicted again
The dreams become awful,
the shadows haunt me
I only feel myself sinking in
depths as i write this.

 

 

 

Hidden.

August 11, 2012 § 22 Comments

I sit unlit in a corridor
crammed with nothing-ness,
in a building’s belly, in the
womb of darkness.
I lie down on the floor,
in a corner. I let the
air wrap me, diffuse my pores,
hide me.

Hiding me from the day’s dull
debris, the tax man, the facts man.
The chaos of heading nowhere.
The mundane monotony.

I am hid. They are in their
respective places and they don’t
know the light within the
dark.They are blind.

At last i am lost.

 

 

 

Am I not?

August 7, 2012 § 33 Comments

 

Photo Credit: http://www.facebook.com/pensive.polaroid

In stark black lines over black
The cane toy-raven
With lumps and warts drawn as rounds
Inked black eyes
With wings ready to take me away
Ah! and that blackness
A beak that lets me suck my own joy
And my hoarse cry that startles me at times.
Am i not, too,
made for someplace?

Where Am I?

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