This will be the last entry this year coz I have no clue where ill be tomorrow nite.Its very late as per IST and Yours Truly felt like spending some time with his old and trusted buddies, alone yet amongst millions of them…stars I’m talking about. The moon is about 3/5 th of its full glory up in the sky much like a baby lying asleep in a cradle with countless eyes to take care of it. There’s a chill in the air, a cool soothing breeze is flowing. An instrument to facilitate easy communication amongst homo-sapiens is with me, my mobile. Sometimes I just hate it to the core but that’s another story.
Its 31st of December today. 2007 has just whizzed past leaving behind a lots to think over, a lot of opportunities…..some taken away, others presented as if trying to maintain the cosmic balance. I can hear a distant rumble of an automobile, the tick-tock of my watch, continuous flow of my thoughts. For today, id like to close them in an iron maiden and throw it down in the deepest trenches of the ocean I so fell in love with over the past week, wishing that they would never re-surface. Its 2:15 AM, maybe ill spend another hour here outside before the bliss of sleep engulfs me. Tomorrow is gonna be another day in paradise. Just wish God had a contact number or an address so I could thank him personally.
all I can say for this New Year is………………………………….
DO GOOD and GOOD HAPPENS.

Life's Like That

All of us, at one point or another in our life have felt life’s unfair. In case you belong to some other category, stop reading this further without any delay whatsoever. Others can go on.
Sometimes we feel, WHAT IS THE POINT of these 8460 seconds God lets us live everyday? We lose money, we lose opportunities, we lose chances, we lose people…some of them just walk out of our lives for reasons we understand, some for reasons we cant comprehend, some for no reason at all…all of this to start all over again!
And so we feel fucked up because we are left clueless, without anything to make amends. We feel like a farmer who just can keep gazing at his crop being pelted with hail and cannot do a single  goddamn thing about it. And then what do we do? We drown ourselves in sorrow, in gloom, in grief, in a futile attempt to live in the illusion that we are strong, when deep inside, its as if someone is hammering a nail into a concrete wall!
It is here that we need to change our point of view. We fail to realize that the hammer maybe of rubber, we fail to recognize that it all is part of a bigger picture. Lets take me for example…..im 21( 22 tomorrow unless God plans otherwise), and to see, for how long have I lived? Even if I’ll be 60 when I die( though I’d like to be 18..;)…its just 1/3 of my life that I’ve lived so far!
Another thing I’d like to add is that there is a higher power above. And not often do we realize, that we have another opportunity knocking on out door, another chance waiting to be gambled, another person, right there waiting to fill the void that’s been left empty. Just need to give them a chance. A gardner might feel that the honey bee has stolen all the nectar from the flower he so fondly cared for….but then , its he who’s gonna taste the honey!!!!!!!!
Summing it up, all i'd say is............................

A thousand golden sunsets,
                                            waiting for an eye to see,
A thousand musical notes,
                                            wishing to be a melody,
A thousand blooming flowers,
                                            dreaming a bouquet be made,
A thousand kindergarten tiny dots,
                                           with minds eager to be swayed,
A thousand picturesque paintings,
                                           wanting a wall to adorn,
A thousand interwined patterns,
                                           yearning the dress be worn,
A thousand glistening droplets,
                                          wanting to confluence with the sea,
A thousand blissful moments,
                                          to be lived by you and me!

Colour......Blind

Far across the distance,
with a baby she stood,
perplexed it was midnight,
to go home if she could.

Yellow beams on the highway,
she hid her face from the light,
stalled the car at her footsteps,
tears murked her sights.

Opened door then the stranger,
rain was pelting stones,
an offer to take her back where she belonged,
the little place she called her home.

"Dont worry you will be safe"
the stranger then uttered,
"Thank You" said the lady,
more than she spoke she stuttered.

And began the journey,
that would shatter her faith,
alter her mind a full circle,
definition of love and hate.

Stopped he at the drive-in,
and lighted a light,
brought her food so she could eat,
and feed the baby for the night.

Four crooks were watching,
gold chain that on her neck hung,
with a knife they approached her,
deep in flesh it stung.

Galloped forth the stranger,
made his way through the rain,
took the blows on his body,
not once his face showed pain.

Iron rod on the elbows,
metal wound on the thigh,
baseball bat on the head that drew,
a silent shrieky sigh.

Distant siren of police,
tires screeching through mud,
made their way to the stranger,
all soaked in crimson blood.

Trembling then the lady,
with the baby did see,
in a miniscule moment ,
the four crooks did flee.

And so thought the lady,
she was wrong all the while she thought right,
for the stranger that lay dead that night
was black the crooks were white.

Merry Christmas

Riding sleighing Santa,
over the moon he comes,
amazed at seeing stars like sky,
resting on million homes

A little girl who prayed,
for a wooden tambourine,
finds herself amidst candies and it,
a chocolate flavoured dream.

A curious cat then mews,
under the festive spell,
a brook nearby where grass grows high,
and a thousand blooms dwell.

Mysterious is God,
mystreious are his ways,
to make Scrooge a believer,
'Merry Christmas' he too says.

The Old Beggar

A beggar on the road,
tattered clothes, worn out and old,
streches open his arms wide,
shaking and shivery all in God's name,
a crumbled soul dwells inside.
Who cares?

With trembling hands he knocks at the door,
one, two, three, four,
gathers up courage but the lips are shaken,
a two and three quarters of words spurt out,
showcasing an identity mistaken.
Who cares?

In a split-second the car is spun,
across the street, fading into the sun,
all hopes of mercy, of pity are blown,
retreats the beggar to wait another turn,
he knows he gotta live coz life goes on.
Who cares?

Well, just tried my hand at writing a short story. Don’t know how it is, lets hope those who read it do like it. And those who don’t well, there are still the poems ;)

Dikrit was a 7 year old boy. He lived with his family in a small town, Kettinad. Like other kids his age, he went to school, he fought duels with his studies, he liked roaming around out in the wild chasing butterflies, climbing trees in hope of a rendezvous with the birds that dwelled there and of course, plucking the occasional Mango that the tree bore. Dikrit was the warm little centre around which the Universe crowded.
One day Dikrit’s father bought him a kite from a far town.Kites were not available in his own. Dikrit had always wanted to soar high amongst the clouds and the kite somehow gave him an avenue to realize his feelings. So for days together, he and his kite adorned the likes of Kettinad. High above the yellow sunflower fields, high above the hyacinth stricken ponds, higher still in his eyes that gleamed every time the kite would scare the birds away that had captured the freedom the skies had to offer. Life went on calmly, till one day, one fateful day, the string snapped, breaking the little boys heart as it itself shred to pieces and away went the kite, disappearing into the horizon where the sun had spilled out its 
magificance lending a orange hue to the low rise clouds.  For a week, Dikrit did not speak with anyone. Not his parents, not his friends, not even with God who he thought lived in the little brown wooden box that adorned the room of his grandmother.
His father, concerned about his son’s goodwill, brought him a tennis ball. Dikrit wasn’t excited though. To him, the kite epitomized all he ever asked from life. He decided to search for the kite he so loved lest he should find it someday. And so each day, he set off looking for it as soon as he returned from school. And each day he would take the tennis ball along with him. He searched far and wide. He searched the meadows where he had seen large four legged animals with horns and humps that looked like cows but were’nt actually cows. He turned upside down every stone, every leaf that lay hoping against hope that the kite be there. And for all this while he took the ball along with him. He learnt to catch it, throwing it high up in the sky till it looked like a dark little sun. He dribbled it, he hit the cows with it, he threw it at stones and see how it changed trajectories. He took it to the pond, he made little boats in which he sailed the ball ,amazed at how even when the boat capsized, the ball never drowned. He took it to the same sunflower fields and tried to match the balls colour with the velvety petals. It amazed him how a yellow coloured round thing could delve itself into any role he liked and yet stay with him always.
A month passed, and one fine day, as he was playing catch and throw with his friends, the gleamy eyes saw the sight they wanted to see. Lay there the kite alongside the moss stricken boulder. To Dikrit, it meant heaven. Tears rolled down his cheek, a smile erupted that revealed his two missing front teeth. He ran back home with the kite to show it to his parents, who couldn’t be happier at their son’s triumph.
Next day, after getting new strings attached, he ran for the fields. It was a beautiful day, gentle breeze that carried with it a promise to make the kite soar to heights never before imagined by him.But something was amiss. Something that made the little boy think like he had never before.
The Tennis Ball.
He looked at the cows who in turn were staring back at him wondering why a yellow coloured un-hurting stone was not being hurled at them. He looked at the boulders that looked dull and worn out, the very boulders that had amazingly, looked so full of life and vigour when ball used to be thrown at them.The ball had been his companion all along. In rainy days, when flying kites was incomprehensible, in those rooms indoor he had spent hours together catching the ball as it rebound from the algae stricken patchy walls. Dikrit did not want the kite anymore. He loved the ball more than anything else in this world,it was there with him always and he did’nt realize it.


How many of us keep looking for answers when all the time, they are right there, staring at us in our face. Answers that have been there always, answers we do not even realize exist. And because we don’t know where to look for them, because we are so entwined in the illusion of what we think we want, we fail to recognize them. We become Dikrits too late in our lives, it almost fails the point. Lets learn to let that which does not matter slide. Look around, life is beautiful!...and its never been any other way.

Sometimes i feel im eating myself up, piece by piece, chunk by chunk.  the mind just explodes and the thoughts are akin to the survivors of a blast, scattered, running amock with no clue whatsoever. I just am unable to gauge what needs to be done. its like somebody is beating drums in my head and the noise is deafening. everything seems panicky and widout purpose. this mite last just a while but til da time it does, damn, i wish nobody ever feels da same.

Insomniac

In deep caverns of solitude,
entangled is the mind in a pensive mood,
wafting along the thoughts descend,
searches the soul for point quiescent.
Ramblings of heart with heart-beats entwined,
feelings one in too many enshrined.
Caught is the brain in a murky quagmire,
pondering upon fulfilled and betrayed desires.
Contours of walls like ghosts in hiding,
down comes a picture with breeze gliding.
For aeons the bliss of sleep then waits,
the heart loves the sinner, the sin it hates.
Eyes wide shut yet the world is clear,
lay distant dreams with me, so near.
A careless whisper at once the spirit echoes,
and paints a picture of you amidst sparrows.
Enter I, fly the birds, you stay,
the heart then dictates, the pen obeys.
Time albeit spares a moment none,
tick-tock tick-tock it goes on.

Binding Chain

What is it that keeps,
the thoughts from falling apart,
that sews the broken fragments,
holds them together again.
It has a price however,
for needles pierce the
burnt flesh, a chain that
does not let you free,confining you
midway betwixt victory and loss.
Its life they say, i wonder though,
life's dimensions are too diverse
to comprehend for me and you
and all that can be done is to live it
before it lives you out.

The Battle Within

Deranged are you,
that you pain self-inflict,
piercing nails in your chest,
virus of gloom in your mind infest,
indenturing yourself to the crucifix.

Mistaken my friend,
in your argument are you,
redemption of soul what i desire,
abluting my mind in my hearts fire,
painting life in a different hue.

False victory beckons you,
mirage its been from the start,
what good is flying high outside,
you in yourself cant confide,
when inside you are falling apart.

Rainy Morning

Rainy morning, a face so sweet,
silken hair strands,
soft caring hands,
oozing freshness, a grace so sweet

Teasing glances,lovelorn stare,
worries unwind,
life redefined,
scattering happiness, lifelong fair.

Crimson lips, enchanting smile,
the upper lip mole,
rejuvenating soul,
existance made worthwhile.

Mellifluous voice, melting words,
numb heart goes,
receding woes,
myriad hues adorn minds white board.

Caressing hands, satiny touch,
finger on cheek,
playful shriek,
life from you i ask as much.

Maybe

I know i'm not supposed to,
but somehow, i love this hell,
who's to blame, i do not know,
maybe its just the way i fell!

Life SNAPS

I still tingle with an experience a friend of mine narrated to me this morning.Life is cruel, yes it is, no two ways about it. When everything seems to be on the right track, life's train is chugging along at a slow but steady pace, one feels even the Devil himself cannot cause any aberrations in the smooth plans one often has. And yet it takes only a linesman to change the track, and as that lousy station master in a certain' Jab We Met' exclaimed, ' variation in angle by a few degrees and destinations get miles apart.'

My question is what does one do when the person finds he himself is linesman. Let me tell you, its the worst feeling one can experience.

Such a linesman, my friend Mr.M turned out to be. In this day and age who does not aspire to take a peek-a-boo at his/her managerial skills. He too was no different. And Lo! after much ado about nothing, the gentleman rose and the form of a ceratin SNAP was filled,albeit online. Such technology is a wondrous prospect of human existance in todays world. Most inhospitable places are a click away, the world seems at fingertips.
And so that day, that fateful day, Mr. started filling the document in question with much vigour and enthusiasm, or so he would have us believe. The family name was scribbled, educational qualifications mentioned with precision. Age, sex, contact numbers et al made their way into the Symbi database accurately. The test centre being the City Beautiful of course, but it wasnt to be.
The scroll on the mouse is a wonderful proposition and it makes it presence felt as one admires the functionality of a modern day computer. A scroll here and a scroll there and Johnny's sugar falls in his fathers mouth. Mr.M scrolled unknowingly and never looked back at the form, he's not someone who'd ponder upon stuff bygone. Little did he know that the little scroll button had done its work, in a manner that is both titilatting and saddening at the same time.
Mr.M 's admit card mentions his test centre as Chennai, nearly 2500 kilometres adrift. I'd like to meet that station master and let him know that.

I Like

I Like,
Saying silly things because I know they make her laugh,
that endless curve on her face I see,
like a winter morning sun; so bright,
the thought of which brings about such glee.

I Like,
To be away from her for,
the joy I get when i see her again,
like the heat parched earth;dry and out,
relinquishes its thirst at seasons first rain.

I Like,
to be close to her,
she makes worst of days seem right,
it lightens my mind, it lightens my soul,
it flies like birds in circled flights.

I Like,
talking endlessly to her,
never bored of each other get we,by far,
even silence such comfort gives,
words no longer necessary are.

I Like,
to whisper 'I Love You',
when she lay on bed, feelings for her to keep,
and feel the glow it brings in her eyes,
I like to put her smiling to sleep.

Will I?

There's a feeling i've been feeling,
its scattered around and I gather it,
with me for a little while it stays,
coz as I gather, again I scatter it.

Its a game I play with myself,
where i'm the seeker and i'm the one who hides,
I take small steps towards you, or from,
one step ahead, two backward strides.

I'm an insane man in a sane world,
yet a sane man in a world insane,
point by point I plot the graph,
point by point I erase it again.

I can strew back all the broken pieces,
I may fail to win, I cant fail to try,
an attempt to resurrect whats obliterated,
the question I ask myself...Will I?