The drift...

For all the hermits in the world,
Do you whirl in peace or penury ?
While I seek to know if you exist,
Of each strand of your hair that unites to create your soulful existence,
Of your illicit pain...
You're all a part of my ilk when we're on the same path,
When your heart is idle in the monastery of your mind,
In an idyll painting,
For you can't be too obdurate while avoiding the drift...

Swim Fish...

It was a dull and lazy day, a quaint summer holiday. The summer holidays of the past two years were quite different but this one was very quaint like the old times but yet so different from the other ones. I always knew that I was going to go back to the same school, with my new books but this year is so unpredictable. I just hope I can just leave the old baggage behind and brace myself to handle the new baggage because the truth is there will be baggage, always and whatever your position of power will be but do you choose to keep the baggage?I choose to leave the baggage behind. My tenth results comes out soon and it is really stressing me out.

I feel flabby, my body craves for a swim. I like how it feels to burn those extra calories or at least be under the deception that I have burnt those extra calories. I feels great to penetrate those soft layers of water, be embraced by that womb of water, get acquainted with the temperature of the water because the temperature , swim a few laps and breathe. I'm a quintessential Piscean who loves the water. Water is such a marvel of hydrogen bonding, oh the holy hydrogen bonding. Water is why we mortals are here. I have a very good swimming pool two minutes away from my house, Tilak Tank it's called. It's started by Lokmanya Tilak, a great man. I have been swimming since the age of four and when I was a child the water was green, with tadpole, guppies and moss. Today of coarse it is much more sophisticated with one Olympic size pool, two blue pools and one green pool. Being a Tilak Tank loyalist I would say it's the best pool in the world but then there would be a lot of people who would disagree and as the Who song goes " the world begins behind your neighbours wall." The world is really much bigger than you and your neighbourhood.

Coming back to today. Today was a dull and lazy day. I spent most of the day reading and doing some maths. I was a hot and humid day too. The heat was irritating me and I needed exercise so I decided to go for a swim. Dusk had emerged from the skies and touch the land with twilight, paradise had decided to shown itself in the form of the multicoloured sky and raindrops were waiting to leave those full feather like clouds and the water of the pool was a mirror for paradise, the thunder was so aroused that it was moaning loudly and thunder is an indication of lightning because thunder is the sound of expansion of air for lightning. As I swam the drops decided to leave their mother, the clouds and begin their journey on land and they did. The convex shaped drops left their mother and came from the skies like arrows from the bows of passion, those arrows penetrated the soft layers of the water, the area was embraced with dusk and slowly the dusk was parting ways with this holy land until tomorrow if the world continues to be the ways it considering so much talk of apocalypse, the drops had incorporated itself with the water, one on one, the same kind of matter blending with its species, two atoms of hydrogen and one atom of oxygen creates water. Swimming in the rain is pure unadulterated bliss I got out fast because I'm a little scared about going behind the curtain and we all know water is a good conductor of electricity and one bolt that hits the water can kill us all! Haah, I'm a quintessential piscean.

A little life...

A chill went down her spine, she clenched her jaw muscles so tight, it was an involuntary action to soothe the pain in her wrist, her left wrist. That was the very wrist she slit about ten seconds ago. Her eyes could not move their gaze from that deep red blood spurting out. She was waiting to part ways with a mediocre life and meet a very interesting and peaceful afterlife. Blood, that's the very substance that keeps a mortal alive and that's what she was losing. Slowly the pain began to subdue and she found herself getting into a reverie. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and she looked up and saw a figure, the little that she could see through her hazy eyes and that figure carried her away to a land of strange phenomenon's...

Twist, twirl and whirl and you're hazed! How does it does it feel? Well, the world is a tornado, chaos is a storm and karma well, that's a hurricane. So there she was, a little life that she felt in her body, her head felt like it would explode. She managed to open an eye, oh those beams of light were painful to those dazed eyes. After some time she managed to get up, her legs felt like they had borne a weight of about one hundred tonnes. She was in a meadow, dusk had already bathed the meadow in blissful beauty. The warm and moist soil was suckling on her bare feet, the soft grass of the meadow seemed to caress her limbs and before she knew it the sword of darkness slew the dusk, this sword was taken out of a rather eerie sheath.

One hour, no scent of civilisation, two hours, no sign, we're all so nonchalant about insignificant five minutes, 300 seconds. Two hours and five minutes, she saw some illuminations, finally she saw some illumination, oh holy light. She rushed towards the light and she seemed to enter a hamlet, Swingfling was its name.

Swingfling, as she read on the wooden board beside the lamp post. "This name dwells in eccentricity.", she thought to herself. Her feet had just started getting used to the transit from the moist soil to the brink laden path of the narrow streets of Swingfling. The trees were decorated with fairy lights, the weather was pleasant, it was snowing but the snow was actually sugar, so soft it felt when hit came in contact with her shoulder. Swingfling looked like it was in a permanent state of celebration.

" Hey fine lass with a fine ass," she looked behind and there was a beefy and a short man staring at her quite approvingly. " Who are you?" she asked him. " Well I'll leave the formal introduction for later because right now it seems as if your petite feet need some shoes and as of now I feel it is my duty as a rather chivalrous man to give them to you." To this she didn't know what to say. Suddenly he held his throat as if he was trying to strangle himself and after a few minutes a pair of fine heels popped out of his mouth, they were spool heels which were black in colour and they were so fine that they could give any whimsical Gucci or Chanel a run for their money but the idea of wearing a fine pair of heels which came from his inside was very nausea inducing. " Did you just puke out this fine pair of heels," she asked him with a very baffled expression. " I am Mr Fancy Shoes, many a fancy pair I have puked." " Impulses of pioneering designs of shoes arise through my mind within split seconds," " If they satisfy my mind then they emerge from my insides but if not then my mind gives the idea a miss and the impulse goes straight down the drain with a piss." " I think I create the best shoes on the discovered and inhabited part of the universe," he gloated with his broad shoulders enjoying the sugar snow. " That's so abnormal," she said. " Lovely lass with a fine ass, the word normal is a highly controversial and prohibited in the hamlet of Swingfling in fact Mr Lawrence, the dictionary man, the finest lexicographer known was sued for adding the word ' normal' in his updated dictionary. What do you, young lass define 'normal' as? A diverge from the path of monotony, what you see everyday, in the mundane world you live in and chose to escape for stepping away from this monotony and sheer uselessness you were feeling in that 'normal' world. The truth is that normal is not the case anywhere, in any world, any life, any town, any village, any hamlet or any cell and therefore we, the people of Swingfling choose to use the word exceptional." " That's true, but why am I here," she said. " I am truly perplexed, lost and tired, it feels like I'm lost in a reverie." "Where exactly am I and why am I here," she as Mr Fancy Shoes. " Ask me not young lass with a fine ass because time will tell, I will not talk when I'm under the duress of your anticipation and now I suggest you walk ahead," he said with a rather annoying grin and he then disappeared. Fuck now I'm all alone and left in this cryptic and hostile reverie of mine and I don't even know if I'm a dead bird, dying or alive.

She walked the eccentric streets of Swingfling and then saw rather handsome guy within a little distance. What a hunk she thought to herself and he indeed was a hot hunk. He had chiseled features, the nicest eyes ever, he was about six feet tall, broad shoulders, strong arms, blonde hair and to summarise it, a huge treat to a straight females eyes or for that matter anyone who bears preference for good looking people. He seemed to be cooking broth. I hope the broth is as fine as him she thought to herself. "Hello," she said, she said , she was a bit nervous and the broth was giving her intense olfactory pleasure and then she realised she was very hungry. " Hi, pretty woman, it has been quite sometime since I've seen someone as pretty as you." Well thank you," she said, she was flattered and she felt her cheeks become warm and she hoped she wasn't blushing. " "You look hungry, would you like some broth?" " I would love that very much," she said, right now something or eat was what see needed. He poured out a generous amount of broth and handed it to her. Her mouth was watering, the surging lust for food was getting into her, she expected a lot from the broth, the wait for the journey of the spoon from the broth to her mouth was intense and finally it was in. The flavours began to unravel themselves in her mouth, it was bloody delicious, she like the moment she was in because she was eating a gastronomical delight and had a visual delight in front of her, what a good looking lad he was. "This is just bloody delicious," she said. " Thank you very much appreciate the appreciation. I am Curtis Unknown, the master of the master chefs and even come home. I am told I cook the best broth and I'm also told I'm quite hot,"he said. She was a bit surprised at his narcissism but then she thought it was justified because he was hot and cooked the best broth, at least the best she had eaten. "I need some answers," she said to him. " Why am I here?" she asked. " I know not these answer," he said and now for the first time his honey-like tenor had roused despair. " But I know where you can find the answers, Mr Hades is his name and he will tell you the answers. All you will have to do is walk a few miles and then you'll find his huge mason. But till then farewell and good luck pretty lady," he said and she now felt the shadow of hope lingering near her. She bid Mr Curtis Unknown, the master of the master-chefs goodbye.

She walked, she walked, she thought, she thought and now came under the conclusion that she wanted to live and be happy. She inhaled the air of Swingfling and slowly the air started to be a sweet and yet a rather arousing scent, it was a truly another olfactory treat and then she saw a man. " Hello," she said, now even the word hello began to bear a mysterious monotony. "Hello, I'm Jean-Baptiste Grenouille Pseudo, I'm one of the best perfumers and also have one of the best olfactory receptors ever and now I've even learnt the art of preserving scent," he said. "Okay, I need to find Mr Hades," she said. " You smell good and rather interesting as a matter of fact I'm quite turned on, I want this scent of yours to be preserved," he said. " What?" she said, this had to be the weirdest things she's ever heard. " Oh you heard me," he said and then started strangling her. She was running out of breath when suddenly she caught a grip on a slender perfume bottle and she sprayed it in his eyes. It was as if a voluntary action turned into an involuntary one. His grip loosened, his hand moved straight to soothe his eyes and he screamed in pain. " Ouch, you bitch, you bitch, you bitch," he said. "Now preserve scent when the pain subdues till then, adios looser," she said and ran, she ran fast.

She was still running until she banged into a rather funny looking man, well species. He hand a clock for a head and a transparent body. " You look very scared young lady," he said. She was panting so hard that it took her sometime to gather the energy to speak. " Actually, I am, someone tried to strangle me and said he wanted to preserve my scent," she said. " Let me guess, Jean-Baptiste Grenouille Pseudo?" he said." Yes," she said. " He is one the biggest douche bags on this universe, he kills woman and preserves their scent and prides himself on his sense of smell," he said. " He was creepy," she said. "Walk with me, these streets aren't every safe," he said. So they walked and after sometime she asked him who he was. " I am Mr Waqt, the keeper of time. You see time is rather notorious thing. When it slips it is like accumulated fat on nice hips only that it can send the universe crashing into the sea," he said. " I need to know where Mr Hades is," she said. "I'll help you go there," he said. They walked a few miles until they met Henry.

Henry, was a three headed horse who was said to have great strength and he was swift on foot and he was also good at waltz the only problem was that what so one saw once he saw thrice. " Hello, Mr Waqt, how do you do today and who is this pretty bird you have along with you ?" Henry asked. "Hello Henry, I'm fine, I want you to help this young girl to Mr Hades's house. "Okay, I shall be delighted to," Henry said. A talking horse delighted her to no end. "I must take your leave now, young lady, be careful," Mr Waqt said. Soon she mounted Henry and the swift footed horse galloped across the night.

The galloping of Henry was almost rhythmic. He told her quite a few things about himself about how he wanted to become a beautician, how he turned from gay to straight, how he was a master of putting lipstick and how he loved the waltz. Time passed fast with swift Henry and soon Henry had to go too and then she had to walk alone but not until long.

She saw a man in the mist who was smoking a cigar. " Hello, I'm looking for Mr Hades," she said. "His house is not too far from here, I'll take you there," he said. "Thank you, that is very kind of you," she said. " You're welcome and by the way I am Mr Kind, the kindest of them all," he said. Not much words were spoken and the distance was very short so naturally time passed quickly and before she knew it she was outside the gates of the mansion of Mr Hades and it was rather eerie. She thanked Mr Kind and bid him farewell and now she was all alone and she had entered the mansion of Mr Hades.

Wild, badly maintained was the mansion of Mr Hades, it was like a quintessential haunted house. She ranged the bell, no answer, twice ,thrice, no answer, but the fifth time the door opened. She was expecting some creepy butler who would open the door but it was quite different. The guy who opened the door looked like a middle aged Clint Eastwood which was very comforting to her eyes. " Hello, I'm looking for Mr Hades," she said. " I am he," he said. "Okay, why am I here am what is happening?" she asked. He started laughing, laughing in a loud and disoriented kind of way. She was perplexed and didn't know what was happening and then he took out a dagger from his pocket and stabbed her. She felt the pain of a million needles penetrating her.

Twist, twirl and whirl, you're hazed! She opened her eyes to a familiar gaze of her house and she saw Mr Hades in front of her. It was strange but the cut on her wrist seemed to have healed. " What have you done," she asked. "I've struck you with life, I figure you'll be a pain in the neck in the house of Hades," he said. "Well, I feel like I want to live," she said " and you will because now the doors of my house shall only open for you when I think they should, it's my will now,"he said. " Well, that's not fair, it's always my choice," she said. "Well now it's not," he said. " That's not fair !" she said. "Yes, it's not,it's not, " he said and disappeared...

The end...

How I look under my clothes is a mystery to you,
Grey shards of me have been left behind,
I have been zonked and soon shall fade into the blues,
I can't be penetrated by your eyes....

How I look under my skin is a mystery to me,
Mortality has incorporated fear into every cell,
To walk back to the relinquished dreams,
To morose epitaph on the grave stone of my regrets...

Cryptic shadows are leading me to unseen roads,
I have been seduced,
I see that the rhythm has gleefully usurped my soul,
While I ecstatically fade into the blues...

Death had opened its doors,
A comrade I couldn't escape,
That casket had my soul,
I had lost hidden faith...

I have gone behind the curtain,
My soul will be sacrificed at the alter,
This is the lament for the relentless end has its sins,
But the end just made me has made me escape my diminished thoughts and made the world look so much better...

Picture from the net- ( polyvore.com)

Ovulation, evolution...

The chisel had struck time,
In the rhythm of its rules,
Divinity dwells for one day the result is combustion,
Their seeds sown on the moon...

The strength of the moon,
Lucidity of the sand,
So if we're made by magic,
How much lucidity can we withstand?

After we've marched into dawn,
For today after years,
To fathom and mystify,
Why does this divinity seem to appear?

This very grin,
Has sleepwalked into an exposed illusion,
These very cells,
Have tried to create a revolution...

Amid the flames,
Civilization sculpted into brutality,
When we seek to find the road to elevation,
In the realm of luxury...

My salutation to the landsmen,
They've been driven insane,
Unlike the sailors by the dazed sea,
But then again there's the cyclone of vain...

Picture from the net- ( rogie7.affordableinternethostingforyou.com )

Whore called fate...

This lonely bastard,
Waiting for the fade of the thorns,
Born out of wedlock,
He looks at the pain he has borne...

A wait for the morrow,
Eager to follow the shadows of luck,
Swims in the depth of sorrow,
Numb against the dearth of love...

For we're all born mammon of wine,
For a sweet sonnet,
A scent so fine,
For the jingle in our pockets...

Yet there are some,
Borne by chronic pain,
They're closer that relentless glum,
Even drives endurance insane...

Sugar baby love...

He was bleeding rage,
Crying isolation across the lake,
Such a good looking guy,
Never thought about until he saw seduction rise,
For even the weaker have gone ahead...

Who would have thought about his protuberant vain?
Today he's alone facing the wrath of the rain,
His laughter leads him to sly love,
His baritone voice voice leads them damsels to alive and kicking lust,
Now he dwells in a distorted city,
He masked this royal parade...

He wants water,
Maybe a little slaughter,
He wants to seize time,
This ignominious sadist wants a sonnet that rhymes,
He wants some elevation,
But did he know he grew fond of monotony?

Picture from the net- ( flickr.com)

Glasnost...

A stroboscopic shadow of fear,
In the cistern of the battle,
Popped the cherry of this lonely heart,
In a nonchalant slumber...

In the rain of fury,
On the chair of passion,
In the armour of repentance,
The motility of religion...

A Casanova when basked with smiles,
In this secret crusade called love,
Oh obtrusive Padawan,
Don't fade when exposed to the rain...

To recognize the elevated mystery,
In this array to find passion,
When one day you shall see,
So many strings trying to get a hold to bliss...

So when the martyrs put up a fight,
So astringent with glee,
There's a certain steed that leads us to the stubborn fire and then cries,
You shall not be soothed with the steam of sycophancy.

Love bound in this wed of dreams,
Cheers to this dazed breed!
That black bolt that struck us at an accelerated pace,
So today, should I say peace or hallelujah?

Oh lord I see to know this creed,
Draped in the translucent colours of the mask,
They have the gleam of the sun,
Yet they're so lost in sinister lust...

The shell...

The skies looked down,
For the glee had started,
For now and forever,
The skies look down at the shell of pleasure...

Within the weed of music,
Embraced by the atmosphere of fertility,
Of the hollow for the beams of light,
Of the sturdy walls of seduction...

Welcome to the home of pleasure,
Only step in if you're obliged to enter,
But then again that depends on the emotive night,
Can you send the chills down my spine?

Pleasure set out like a pathway,
Aroused by the beams of an illusion,
Waiting for the rain of unison,
The lubrication for population...

Step out if you're not there,
Or else you shall be greeted by dry ice,
Frozen by cold eyes,
Can't be thawed by the ransom for love...

So the doors shall open,
For the sprinkle of love,
In contempt of infatuation,
In the mystery of hate...

Pearl in oyster,
Beam of glee,
Humidity flares within the crescendo,
Only if you're obliged to join the obbligato...