il futuro

How will the future remember you?
By something you say, something you do,
something you build, something for the ages to behold.
Set in stone, or wrought in bronze,
sticks and twines, or paper in folds.
Maybe the future is just open meadows,
endless, undulating, and sanguine,
or maybe, the future is
only an intangible projection of your imagination,
part reality, part imagination still.
Whatever the future you imagine,
give a face to your imagination,
torso, limbs and hips,
give it a voice to speak in,
a melody to sing out,
a mind to ponder about,
philosophy for it to feed.
Give your future a heart,
to keep ticking at,
and choices for it to decide upon.
Give your future the wings to fly,
and hope to hold on to.
Give your future the space to grow into
what you had always imagined.
Whatever you do, never stop on your imagination,
never ever give up on your future,
brick by brick, each stone in place,
raise your future from the ground
lest the future never knows,
the ground it was raised on.


Salt and Pepper

This world is made complete
in its polarities
north and south
cancer and capricon
spades and hearts
fairy tales, heavy metal
desire and aversion
walls holding light
darkness falling apart
chaos seeking decorum
the disillusionment
in method
sleep burning fuel
wakefulness firing dreams
all world’s a stage
and on the table
is one such world
salt and pepper
pepper and salt
this world complete

this world is all
we’ll ever hold
this all tangible
make believe
this state of
trance stumbling
over decisions
preoccupied with subterfuge
prejudiced, perplexed
to the point of paranoia
restless reasons
running to a renegade
the point of no return
the point of
no tipping over
only the emptiness
to float into
until everything
is acceptable
its all happening
and all at once
the universe
expanding
stars getting consumed
constellations
watching over
meteorites
taking aim
mutating microbes
schools of fishes
monkeys
climbing trees
laboratory mice
and here we are
part culture
part savage
running on our scripts
aggregated on natural selection
craving, fulfilling
hypnotized
going home to
our beliefs
going to
our temples
sitting down to
our humble meals
exercising choice
yet ending up
with only as much
salt and pepper
pepper and salt

this world is all
we will never be
we seek black
and white
imagine blue
but to all appearances
all we are
is turning grey
a feeling yellow
a sisyphean
neon vision
that will
eventually be replaced
by a different
shade of
optimism
we are
the gods
in our obsession
to details
we arrive, observe
and pronounce
realization
we aim for
the absolute
our thought is
celestial
our speech is prophetic
if only our actions
could show up
to the occasion
if only there maybe
a truce between
expectation and reality
if only compromise
was a virtue
if only forever
was a destination
if only life
were shore and surf
no secrets, no serendipity
life cut out in
whole measures
predefined, prescribed
to the point
of austerity
square pegs
and square holes
modesty served
in eternity
pulverized, dissolved
salt and pepper
pepper
salt

again

to walk into the unknown
and walk out
the other side
to hold the world
with unscathed hands
and know the truth
in a google search
like an army of warrior lights
take over the city skyline
with the descent of dusk
a firmament of
information
at your fingertips
the world is
what you could
get your hands on to

cracked nutshells
that would not pry open still
scattered rhinestones
starfishes on popsicles
another mental floss
twinkling on the sand
a paper boat
with yesterday’s news
upturned paper cups
carrying unfinished chatter

what do you want?
how much of it
could you hold on to?
will you unfold the world?
and let it breathe
start afresh
and uncreased

this world
like a sheet of paper
crumpled up
folded in halves
then a second time
and then a third
and then again
till the time
you could fold no more
and the fingers hurt

will you let it go
or will you go again
and that’s all you know
could have ever known
will ever do
to overdo
past pursuit
to an unaccounted for
obsession
beyond repair
or acknowledgement
in receipt

churning replicas
reload, aim, and fire
blowing your brains off
to find salvation
in repetition
become a retrospection
of the aftermath

a million combinations
always adding up
to this bullion
of happenstances
each waiting to be replayed
to be subscribed to
promising this time no ads
only more of the same

is this for real
or this is just once again
just one
of those times
the great wheel
of continuity
pulled it through
like it was supposed to
like it will always do
with or without you

and what are you
but a lego brick
doubling up
every morning
to fall in place
to make it rise
and come sundown
to be put back into
your little baskets
not as what
you were
the day before
or a million more
before still
but that you will
not complain
to unbecome
and to be again




















Silence in Sounds

the cosmos comes
together in a sparkle
a tumultuous hurray
of sinking spirits
unfurling wings
a rising spectre
breathing flames

artillery fire
tumbling into
the primal pit
where mutiny was
first conceived and
given shelter to until
it was it’s own persona

a blinding light
disorienting senses
innocence
put to bed
and in it’s stead
the climbing flames
nourishing
the diabolic
humour, passion, misery
blowing flares

slurry speech
like molten wax
climb the walls
crawling across the ceiling
falling drops of absinthe
on seared tongues
the busy motorways of dogma

this moment
a supernova
exploding on your face
radiating eminence
the devil
has found the one
who now for him
will wield the mace

dense rising fumes
that billows and bleaches
at the innards
and has no escape
for such steam
is only for the devil to
smoke his fishes
and fumigate
his toenails perhaps

yet the man has
an urge
a necessity to
show his smoke
even though
a rather beta to the
original fumes within
however with which
he may draw rings
from the mouth
and tell the world
the stuff of his dreams
and peel powerful
images of dusting ash
off his knees
to play god

over this world
a deafening silence descends
stifling, swallowing
the days
laying them out
upon the beating
of a metronome
1-2-3-4-1-2-3-4
the cold breath of the devil
watching over
the speech
of the tongue-tied
voiceless whispers
the silence in sounds









Imagine

imagine
to be born again
cleansed of memory, instinct, bias…
to jump the gun,
like water falling out of shape
break away from the common stride
and walk the world anew
just pure thought

the sage smeared in ash
the soldier in defeat abashed
a child upon a puddle of mud
the city streets drunk on rain
a roaring engine is kicked to life
the rush of blood that throttle brings
yonder meadows growing wild
ancient rocks under the afternoon sun
the breeze is nimble to the touch
to hold the world in a grain of sand
countless worlds washed ashore
countless more on the ocean floor

a world without the love for god
a world that needs not right from wrong
a world that speeds, yet never found in haste
a world that knows its rhythm and bass
a world that sings its wishful dreams
where song and dance feeds the soul
a world where little is valued most
a world of plenty, to your taste

alas the restrain
the weight of being
an existential exile
that makes fickle pleasantries
of such visions fit for opiate trance,
starlight wrung out of the very cloth of the sky
or them elder poets who drew
verses from the stream
where society washed woes and perhaps pride

and the inner solace we seek
churned out of the wheel
a moment that impresses upon the next
into a generous resonance,
submerged in an ocean of consciousness
a body of imagination
where priceless pearls lay furlongs deep
on the surface the scum will weep



This too shall pass

what happened of enlightenment
the sage of Copenhagen laments
the last of his blunts put out with distaste
weary, delusional, his light misspent
the best minds of his age rest in pillage

his eyes reaching out
far into the distance
his face flushed, his bust hell bent
the veins on these arms
holding back the unrest

the wind on his face,
the sun on his back
mistrust on his mind
poetry in his words
bebop trap-smack

The Applause

To understand the universe in patterns on dirt
in clairvoyance to estimate the worth
of contemplation on hate, of the knowledge of love
in plain sight their faces are rubbed

with the the rhythms of their heart beat
either to sing out loud, or to accept defeat
either to embrace shame or to feed their rage
no matter still, all world’s a stage

and life is but, what once was
the promise of an undying applause
and carrying the beats, and even much late
are the beats from heart,
those of love, or that of hate

Let me love

However wiser and a year older
as austere April arrived in a smoulder
to find us sewing our lives together
with the thread of the daily humdrum
what our wishful thinking will again
have it all over undone

Before the monsoon clouds come rolling in
and cast their shadows like a zepplin
before the rain, the gentle rain
becomes the ominous downpour
the may queen, the indian summer
surged in on an encore

and the rain came tumbling down
drowning in its cold embrace
every deluded soul on the streets,
every weary brick in the town
and so it goes, as legends say
to the scorn of sky from above
In a gentle cry, the earth replies
‘Let me love’
‘Let me love’