Slips and schemes...

Those slips and schemes they get,
those schemes for myself,
schemes,
the ones that make you reach the epitome of paradise,
the place where you'll meet the gods themselves.

The gods will give smile,
the gods will give you a wink,
the gods are more beautiful than you'll ever think.

The shower of gold and silver,
drops of diamonds,
white paradise,
the perfect life was always what you endeavored,
now you finally got it in your fabulous afterlife,
your fabulous afterlife in white paradise.

Those slips,
on which you wrote your life,
did you ever think you'll reach divine paradise?

Those slips,
accumulated,
accumulated in the wardrobes of your mind,
your slips of wishes,
your wish came true in white paradise.

That epitome of glory you reached,
never ending glory,
of white paradise,
that epitome of glory you reached,
you sent your slips,
the gods sent you their schemes,
slips of wishes,
schemes of final glory,
schemes of paradise,
slips of life,
the schemes you'll forever rejoice.

Picture from the net - (are-you-going.com/Page-2.html)

No way back...

At the age of sixteen,
she know this world is mean,
she's been left bare in this mean mean world,
she's just a sixteen year old girl,
for her there's now way back,
she chose her track.

So young,
what has she done?
What could she have done?
Alone and abandoned,
could this really be undone?


A filthy street walker, that's what people say,
what do they know, she's such a grace,
she made one mistake,
she got into this maze,
she'll have to fight to escape.

This maze, never ending,
is there a way back?
Is there a way home,
she wants to know,
will she ever go back home?


Picture from the net - ( freeleaf.wordpress.com/.../prostitute-hunting/ )

Fathom...

A secret locked in a box for a trillion years,
that secret will release suppressed tears,
those are our greatest fears.

I had to dig deep,
that was too painful for someone to keep,
they hadn't slept for years,
they had to sleep.

How long could he keep mum,
he head become so numb,
today, at the very end of his life, he told me.
he told me something I was trying to fathom,
mysterious for these years,
they were our greatest fears.

His words, they came pouring down,
I couldn't stand steady anymore,
I was unsteady on my own feet,
he put a great deal of load of his back,
he felt free,
now the load was on me.

Sometimes mystic is better mystic,
sometimes it's better in the box,
better under the carpet,
it is better locked.

That secret,
that unholy secret,
I was trying to fathom,
the secret that made me unsteady on my own feet.

Picture from the net - ( thegrapecrusader.wordpress.com/.../ )

Mother natures song

Half awake,
the aftermath of a storm,
this cold morning,
her ecstatic song.

Wet is the bark of a tree,
its leaves stare at me,
this morning's insane,
an insane morning on a day mundane.

The silent morning sang to me,
mother natures song,
in perfect rhythm,
how can she be so strong?
After all we've done,
she still sings this song,
a song so new,
on the leaves are soft drops of dew.

Mother natures song,
soft, soulful and rhythmic,
that profoundly amazing song,
mother natures song.

Picture from the net - ( www.flickr.com/.../discuss/72157615028213064/ )

The painter...

On that canvas she paints,
paintings of a thousand souls,
one canvas,
the painting gets even more mesmerising with each stroke.

Paints, blended colours,
she and her canvas,
they're lovers.

She paints in the sunshine and rain,
she paints remorse,
vain, glee and shame,
her paintings can't be limited,
nor can her soul.

Paint all day long,
your painting's your song.

Picture from the net - ( : www.oilpaintingshop.com/leighton/ )

Little steps...

I've finally reached the staircase or at least I hope I have. It is overwhelming but it's a nice phase. I've never worked this hard before. I've reached Standard 10th and this is weird, overwhelming and nice too and far from what I had anticipated it to be when I was a little girl.
The thing about me is I never look back, yes there are phases of nostalgia but that's transient. I like looking ahead-
Yesterday is a cancelled cheque, tomorrow is a promissory note, today is the only cash you have, so spend it wisely.

Although I do anticipate the future but I'm sure that's going to be a lot different from what I had imagined it to be. As little children we had very few concerns ( most of us), I loved that time, I had a fabulous childhood but yet I don't want to back. Tomorrow is the first day of school for me and as usual I'm getting the blues but it's a lot less then it used to be.
This is my last year in school and I do look forward to going ahead but I'm sure I'll miss it. I still remember my first day in school, in an extremely fragmented way but I remember entering a strange place, strange adults and strange children, getting a cream biscuit, I think it was those milk flavoured ones while the smiley face ( a very evil smile) , weird for a 4 year old girl, I was just in Junior Kindergarten. I left this school in the 7th and joined my current school in the 8th, I remember that day, entering a strange place, in the middle of the hills, the song 'Brain Storm' by the Artic Monkeys in my head, I'm feeling a little nostalgic and queasy, actually I feel like sobbing but I have to suppress my tears, strange people ( I still think they're all weird ) , the smell of new bags ( that smell makes me more nervous) and so many other things.

Well, I'll leave all that behind now, tomorrow, a few hours away, I step into the gates of standard 10th, one step ahead, a little step ahead,
These little steps, a little step into life...

Picture from the net - ( fineartamerica.com/featured/mount-washington )

Vapour of wisdom...

What happens to someone after they die? A more logical answer, if they're buried they decompose, if they're burnt they become another element, and so on. After that we're left with the memory of that particular person. An illogical answer, they become the vapour of wisdom. They die, their personalities are put in a liquid state and then heated and then become vapour, their wisdom becomes vapour, this contributes to the wisdom of the world. This vapour, the divine vapour, the vapour of wisdom...

Go to the far corners of the world,
linger around the universe,
pristine vapour,
wise vapour,
in a divine afterlife,
free to move,
free to dance,
a sense of freedom no one gets as solid, no one gets as liquid, only can get this if vapour,
go to the far corners of the world,
make the world wiser,
cannot be seen by mortal eyes,
this vapour of wisdom.

Picture from the net.

Swell...

My heart swells,
how long will it remain in my chest?
My eyes swell,
when will I finally rest?
My legs swell,
they have to run fast,
to lands far away,
they have to do their best,
my arms swell,
for the work they'll have to do,
I have to start running,
with thoughts my brain swells,
run through the grass,
run through thorns,
run through oceans,
in awhile we're all gone,
for one should see life,
they should move move away from where they dwell,
they should swell.

Picture from the net - ( http://www.shareyourride.net/images/Its_Never_Too_Late_To_Become_A_Surfer_Dude/really_big_wave.jpg )

Wild berrries...

Lying in the mud,
an unknown colour,
an unknown flavour,
they were never discovered,
a few did try,
it was a lethal experience.

Never felt the love,
never tamed,
never named.

In the most remote corner,
in the most remote of places,
are extraordinary,
probably have ordinary faces.

The fruit,
the essence,
no one tried to extract,
it was just made for this track.

The living souls,
the un-living beings,
these types are wild,
these types are lethal,
they are the wild berries.

Picture from the net - ( http://www.writingupastorm.com/.a/6a01156fd16a08970c0120a5d5a139970b-800wi )

Drops of my soul...

In a bottle,
locked forever,
a part of it's immortal.

Hush,
the nude woman said,
in front of the painter,
immortalising her,
that painting's there forever,
in awhile she'll be dead.

The carved sculpture,
the sculpture of my mind,
it showed things I never knew,
it was me redefined.

Aroma's from different lands he mixed,
different flowers the lady picked.

In that goblet lies the wine,
it gets better with age,
deep maroon with rage.

That energy,
it never dies,
just gets converted to something else,
it's immortality to its best.

Crossed the oceans of the world,
collected its water,
the waters of the world,
collected the oysters,
have its pearls,
those ornaments,
polished surfaces, smooth,
their garments.

As red ad wine,
varied like those flowers,
an ever remaining savour,
an immortalised painting,
an immortalised sculpture,
as black as coal,
these are the drops of my soul.

Picture from the net - ( april4christ.blogspot.com/)

Curves of life...

The curves of your face,
an irregular surface,
the lobes of your ears,
the salinity of your tears,
the slant of your eyes,
the storms of your mind.

The thoughts and dreams unfurled,
your mind's another world,
round and round your thoughts swirl.

You smile,
the world's a better place,
the world's an enigma,
hours at it you gaze,
the hidden pain,
it if was expressed,
you'd cry as much as heavy rain.

How does it feel look at the world from top?
How much is a lot?
When does it stop?
Over how many hurdles do we hop?

You rubbed your petite hand,
a little warmth you get in this dead and cold land,
your strong legs,
how long will you stand?
Stand alone,
with no support,
how much can you withstand?

These few beams of light,
only a few can converge at your retina,
how much can you sight?
Your skin's to pale,
it's almost white.

Your body,
your shield,
your armour,
how long can you kneel?

You walk this maze,
a maze called life,
you play this game,
this game called life,
you look at the maze with your slanted eyes,
this maze is like the curves of your face,
these are the curves of life.


Picture from the net - ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://www.dallasartsrevue.com/resources/unsol/Van-Renselar-Dream.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.dallasartsrevue.com/resources/unsol/index.shtml&usg=__gw4L4xEBzOuAZsrlQGjnvudHjbY=&h=800&w=800&sz=489&hl=en&start=2&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=rvf4EMgHxr1ZXM:&tbnh=143&tbnw=143&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dvan%2Brenselar%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1 )

Alien...

Enter a place,
a place where they don't belong,
a place not rightfully theirs.

They looked different,
the difference in perspective,
they had come from years away,
years from where they lived.

This isolated place,
where was it?
The sight was hazy,
their thoughts were nebulous.

Their vision was blurred,
not a clue they had about the place they entered,
this was the world,
this is the world,
a vision, a sight, a smell, a taste blurred,
it has to be discovered,
if not discovered it always remains an image blurred,
a place unknown,
the nebulous vast world.

Picture from the net - ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://www.psychologytoday.com/files/u45/sad_man.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/dont-delay/200804/giving-in-feel-good-why-self-regulation-fails&usg=__zWcaC3NKKsi6e5chLiCLKWtbx3g=&h=348&w=350&sz=22&hl=en&start=1&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=pzy7gbqvzfRq5M:&tbnh=119&tbnw=120&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dfeel%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1 )

Velvet...

Like the touch of a mother,
soft as a feather,
the love of a passionate lover,
the fabrics held together,
ochre,
the eccentric colour,
the smell of fine leather,
the lustre,
never will it die,
gentle,
like an unborn child,
in the womb of its mother,
looking up at the sky,
it'll be in the position of rest forever,
it's preserved like the moment of a baby's first cry.

Lost grace...

He walked around,
this place was deserted,
this was a ghost town.

He walked in the mist,
the mist seemed to be the only thing alive,
the civilisation was missed.

The abandoned houses,
they stared at the mist with no one behind.

He came in touch with his past,
so far away from his present life,
that town didn't last.

The mist,
the cold,
the whole thing was eerie,
the town was watched by the moon,
the black road,
the road to no where,
the silent ghosts.

The wild scary trees,
the place,
the mist,
it's all lost grace.

Picture from the net - ( http://images.google.com/hosted/life/l?imgurl=784fe7
482306e37e&q=man%20walking%20in%20the%20fog&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dman
%2Bwalking%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bfog%26um%3D1%26hl%3De
n%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1 )

Andromeda

Your so far away,
all by yourself,
in a vacuumed vast universe,
clustered clouds of dust.

Two million light years away,
what happened two million years back,
I see today.

Do you still exist?
Among luminous and non luminous,
mass giants of just gases.

In a vacuumed universe,
in a lonesome universe,
among your nebula.

Oh Andromeda,
are you still there?
There among the vast universe?
Far, far away,
you rest in peace till this day.

The know it all's.

They shined,
their black shoes,
they were polished till they shined,
those dull black shoes.

They entered the multimillion dollar company,
their hair combed neatly behind,
their shoes shined,
they sharped themselves to this point.

They had the knowledge,
to others they wouldn't impart,
knowledge for the sake of sweet money,
where were their souls?
Where are their hearts?

Could distinguish one from another,
they were the same,
the same people for a different mother.

Perfected to a point,
too perfect,
they can't return,
they're gone,
they are the egoistic know it all's.

Picture from the net - ( http://www.dba-oracle.com/images/dress_good.jpg )

Interlocked...

Long,
it glinted in the light.

She ran,
it followed her,
she jumped,
it jumped with her,
she moved,
it moved with her,
it did everything a split second later.

Her thick mane,
tied in a braid,
it had varied colours,
it changed with the weather.

One braid,
firmly interlocked,
interlocked are millions of strands of hair,
like the world,
one braid,
one mane,
millions of strands of hair,
many people and cultures,
one world,
that one mane.

Picture from the net - ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://www.cookiemag.com/images/style/2006/09/stsl01_longhair.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.cookiemag.com/style/momstyle/features/2006/09/momhair&usg=__UCBHzvltCjstY_qCwoluNNhpsmI=&h=468&w=347&sz=26&hl=en&start=4&sig2=3-jKWqvXNgDT52py_nboww&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=x9JWKhRjp6QjPM:&tbnh=128&tbnw=95&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dlong%2Bplait%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1&ei=IzQSTMOXAc6DcKqu-NQH)

Ode to the first rain...

Noon, very hot and humid.
Dampness to no extent,
the weather's getting annoying, they're getting frustrated.
One's an ordinary girl living in this weird land called Pune or Poona as she prefers to call it, she's old school,
one's an exotic Zulu princess in the exotic land of KwaZulu-Natal.
The Zulu princess is sitting on a rock staring at the light gray clouds which is actually the same color as the rock she's sitting on,
The girl is learning of the three monsters of electricity- Current leakage, overloading and short circuiting.
Then the clouds got too full and then drop by drop they emptied.
Those convex shaped rain drops, then thunder, the lightning.
This is the season they liked.
The pretty little Zulu princess ran, she was swift footed.
The girl ran out too, she was wearing a faded blue T-shirt and yellow pants which resemble the pants that a clown wears.
They ran, run across the wet mud, under the ecstatic trees and then in the zealous rain.
The rain, falling on their face, the width of of their smile, exactly the same, their shared one common passion ,their love for the first rain.
This reminded the girl of a few years back, when she was on the roof, laying on a mattress someone had put , in order to sun dry ( which it didn't ) that was one of the best moments of her life.
The smell of mud, the roaring thunder and the lightning which was there a moment ago, the speed of light at it's best.
The first rain, the rainy mood, just something about it, what they like about it, they can't say,
Some how they connected, from miles away,
they shared one common passion, the first rain.
For boundries, religion, ethnic groups don't seperate people and they can't. We are one, one world, quite a disunited world, but one world, passions are the common bond. We are one.

Picture from the net - ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://theautumngreen.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/raindrops1.jpg&imgrefurl=http://theautumngreen.wordpress.com/2009/06/28/first-rain-of-departure/&usg=__DdtbE4Y4rWp9Lfu-xxzDU0lLQAM=&h=1050&w=1680&sz=280&hl=en&start=17&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=ql63vh7kl6OVpM:&tbnh=94&tbnw=150&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dfirst%2Brain%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26sa%3DN%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26ndsp%3D20%26tbs%3Disch:1 )

Crumbs.

The dinner party's over,
the guests are all gone,
that little boys eyes looks at them,
the crumbs,
it still has has the savour,
that aroma,
his eyes just keep looking at them,
the crumbs.

He didn't get the share,
the share of such a large meal,
that wasn't fair,
he would have eaten that meal with a lot of zeal.

Those crumbs,
laying in a corner,
each one has that savour.

His eyes coveting something,
now they only see what's left behind,
that savour lingers within him,
it lingers in his mind,
no one saw those eyes,
the eyes of lust,
my dear, crumbs just aren't enough,
then he asked himself whether he was a crumb,
over the years he had become so numb,
numb because of the poverty,
but then his mind wandered to those crumbs,
those crumbs that caused so much of lust.
Are we really born equal?

Mystic land...

The coconut groves,
the little abandoned hut,
we drove miles,
those miles for hope,
we landed somewhere ,
a place with not much civilisation,
those miles we drove.

That silent beach,
that mystic land,
where did we reach?
where do I stand?


I stand,
my feet getting burnt by the hot golden brown sand.

This place is far far away,
a place away not infested by the rats,
the rats of civilisation.

Entering that beach is a little stream,
a small stream from some river,
the whole thing,
the beach, the little stream, the sand, the coconut grove,
it's all so mesmerising,
the sea's the vivid shade of green.

This is like a painting,
a painting where I lay,
I'm far from that place today,
I shall return one day.

All my life I've been waiting for a place like this,
I found it,
in a place unexpected,
it makes me nostalgic,
that pure happiness.

No white trash,
no one trying to sell packets of hash,
no one cares,
this place is pure,
I'm standing on virgin land,
I'm breathing virgin air.

Some memories don't get erased,
right now I'm in a different place,
we drove miles,
we got lost,
that was not where we were supposed to be,
it reminds me a lot of destiny.
- Inspired by a true story.

Picture from the net - ( http://fineartamerica.com/images-medium/abstract-beach-painting-derek-mccrea.jpg )

Strange...

These strange places,
where have they gone?
These strange faces,
I was fast asleep at dawn,
I was in a queer dream,
I woke and tried to remember,
those thoughts had dispersed,
they were gone/

These strange days,
those strange people,
I always thought about the future,
today I think about the past,
today I have the strangest thoughts.

Those people I met long before,
where did they go?

Sitting under that large tree,
it's velvety leaves,
feeling it's rough bark,
my mortal skin touching to be immortal wood,
today, where has that tree gone?

Those strange images,
those strange figures that appear in front of my eyes,
those strange dreams that appear one day,
they're strange somewhere within my mind.

Those strange people,
those strange places,
empty houses,
empty spaces,
a part of strange seems to have gone,
but a large part of strange is yet to come,
each day's strange,
in it's own way,
those days become weeks, years and then a lifetime,
we will be living this strange game called life, my friend.

Alzheimer's.

"Who am I?", one day she asked,
she was sitting in the balcony on her wooden chair,
"I forgot my name", she said,
she was combing her graying hair,
"Who am I?", again she asked,
she was sitting on her her wooden chair with her hands clasped,
this question was like an arrow,
an arrow sharp and narrow,
her daughter stared at her in fear as she sat on the bed,
this arrow struck her straight in the heart.

As for her daughter she knew there was something wrong,
from here on everyone had to be strong.

"Who are you?", she asked,
her daughter had no answer,
" Who are you?", she asked again,
not only had she been struck by an arrow to the heart,
she had to live through the pain.

The same mother who had her in her own womb for nine months,
that time they were one,
the same mother who had taught her how to be a graceful woman,
the same mother who taught her how to dance,
dance to the tune of independence,
this is the same mother how now questions her daughters and her own identity,
this is when she felt her greatest loss.

Words were being erased,
those known faces to whom she gave an unknown gaze,
places were being erased,
she for herself had already been erased.

Today she stands,
against the window,
the window's her only sunshine in this unknown barren land.

Something hit her,
she didn't know what,
her life felt bland,
a soulless drama,
she had been hit by this monster ,
the Monster that attacks with no warning,
deep, deep, deep,
far, far,far,
she's free falling,
truly weightless,
with with no skies above and no solid land to stand on,
where is she?
Who is she?
She's left no trace,
with no fault of hers,
she was a former grace,
she was just pushed,
by an unknown face,
after that it was all gone,
with no skies above and no place to stand on,
she got hit by the monster of Alzheimer's,
she knows this monster now.