Trigger.

April 5, 2012 § Leave a comment

When all methods have been tried
All places travelled
All people loved
All e mails sent;
send me a handgun.
That’d be my method of choice.

Practise on a target first
So i get a feel of it.
Let me put on that black coat
And that little red dress.
Let me smear kohl on my eyes one last time.
Have one last drink
Write one last poem.

Then just load it
And shut my mouth.
Shut my mouth around the barrel.
Quieten these thoughts that consume me
And these emotions that overwhelm.

Think one last time.
Of that thing i cant seem to explain
Of that thing you cant seem to understand
Of the ever growing distance neither of us is attempting to cover.

And just pull the trigger.

Conversations with myself-II.

November 24, 2011 § 2 Comments

Nov 15, 6:18 pm.
Sitting at this Monastery, lost.

The observer: Hello AK! What does freedom taste like?
The observed: Huh! I’m physically, mentally, emotionally incapacitated to feel, or perhaps taste it.
The Buddhist: What makes you think i was bound by anything, ever?

The observer: So what happens now?
The observed: I don’t know, the usual perhaps. Going out with friends, chilling, shopping, reading the stock i bought lately.
The Buddhist: Transformation is the word. If the Self does not transform even after looking at real faces, what’s the whole point of living?

The observer: So this phase made you learn a lot it seems wrt people, life and the masks that everyone wears.
The observed: Including the ones that i use as a shield, so i don’t get hurt. Everything makes sense now.
The Buddhist: Some of ’em wear a different one for each person they meet. And by the end of it, they forget who they were altogether. Masked, they avoid their own Selves.

The observer: Uh! Heavy stuff!! Have you been drinking acid lately?
The observed: It’s just another layer. Which gets deeper each time sorrow comes knocking.
The Buddhist: There is always more to a person, than what meets the eye. Either you go on living your shallow life, ignoring it. Or you observe, and pick up from the smallest and the most insignificant things.

The observer: Hmph! What keeps it alive? This side of you, i mean.
The observed: People. Who else?
The Buddhist: I’d be more specific here. It’s only someone close, who can bring out the worst in  you, hurting you beyond your own resistance levels. The best, anyone can.

The observer: You’re soo dead!
The observed: Tell me about it. Couldn’t you ‘observe’ it coming, love?
The Buddhist: And i’ve never felt so alive. It’s all transparent and infinite now. Like blue.
P.S. Strangely, ‘the doer’ vanished sometime in this last one month.
More of that, in another post sometime!

Melancholy.

September 28, 2011 § 3 Comments

Clear blue skies
and sunny days have
no meaning. When desire
and shadows of ‘success’
billow and writhe you
like serpents around
your neck.

Surely some tenderness
waits in the fingers that
touch mine, assuring that
things happen for ‘good’.
Hollow assurances that
but, give a false sense
of security.

Churned mind, nuzzling
whatever appears to be comforting.
Even if temporarily. Loss
of dimension and sanity,
bruised ego, and a broken
heart.
I have done little but
bleed since the wound
of this place opened up.

Whose hand casts the
spell that diminishes pain?

Where Am I?

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