I mocked your dreams....

And then by some unsaid words - you said it all...
the love, the lust and the song
It rained and pulled down all the heavenly glory -
At the dead of the night, put them at your feet.
I raided your dreams, i saw you cry
your pains were dreadful but so was mine...
I laughed at them and mocked your sin
I raised my glass and the blood I sipped in...

You were foolish and so was I,
You needed death and I need to die...
Together we killed the beauty and the beast...
Standing tall - it rained again
It rained again, and it all fell to your feet

“Auguries of Innocence” by William Blake

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell through all its regions.
A dog starved at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipped and armed for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer wandering here and there
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misused breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be beloved by men.
He who the ox to wrath has moved
Shall never be by woman loved.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of Envy's foot.
The poison of the honey-bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so:
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands,
Throughout all these human lands;
Tools were made and born were hands,
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright
And returned to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes Revenge! in realms of death.
The beggar's rags fluttering in air
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier armed with sword and gun
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the labourer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands,
Or if protected from on high
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mocked in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner who sits so sly
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plough
To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.
A riddle or the cricket's cry
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not through the eye
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light
To those poor souls who dwell in night,
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.

when the "yet" and the "still" means the same thing....

... and she looked – piercing through the hundred of unknown faces, everybody staring at one single direction – the direction of the sun.

                It wasn’t very long back that the mother happily died after seeing the two beautiful eyes of the baby she just gave birth to - happy and content that the baby would grow up well. Strangely enough it was the time of war..... still the beauty in the eyes never faded – the sun came up every morning and mother died a “happy death”.

                Today standing with a crowd of refugee the baby saw the same beauty – “beauty of the rising sun and beauty of sleeping on a rug and seeing a dream of a loaf of bread.”

                Seeing purity to the core has always been the most difficult – the facade, the grandeur easily comes handy and most likely it stays. Probably it will be right to remember that the futility of war is best known by the ones claiming the winning robe and experience disturbed nights.

                The refugee camps were the best place to be – at least the girls thought so. She got her food (hardly) , but her blanket .. the salty (yet), the drinking water and most of all the feeling of belonging – belonging to a crowd – a group of like(minded or not) people. Strange, but it wasn’t so much different from the lands of the (so-named) “powerful country lands” – babies here cried with as much sweetness (more hunger maybe) and played the same football (or soccer) and fought over the same foul play.

                Still something was strange – a phone kept ringing all the time ..... even in the darkest of the nights or the busiest afternoon – nobody picked up the call....

                “... and (still) she looked – piercing through the hundred of unknown faces, everybody staring at one single direction – the direction of the sun.” ....and (still) she looked - ...

A Death that smells good....

Smelling your love - Throughout the waves of time...
Reciting a lyre - Towards the end of rhyme...
Searching a face - Within the heart of the dead...
Walking through a lane and not seeing the end...
Bleeding down the dreamy eyes - Pinned to where it dies

To the void I see -
I see a baby cry
I win the world and skip the air...
I tame the light and miss the fire
A slice of dream - a place to kill
The warmth of my home is what I need to feel...

A death without a name and without a smell. Some people ask you not to stand by the corpse; but you
still do - you cannot risk to miss the beauty of the "forever-sleep". Some insane people think you are oh-so
-morbid, you smile at them and ask - "Arn't you jealous?"
You know you survived the epidemic of happiness, survived the everyday smiles and the boring planned success (so to call it) ... - you survived the happy time when expressions smalled down to just smiles, the roars of laughter did not touch you and you survived the needless giigles. You saved your soul, you saved your sorrow and in a tiny part of it - you saved the sin. You killed the child born way ahead of its time - you stood up and you stabbed it..bathed in the blood you cried out the futility of "Red" .....
Today You stand victorious - you stand on the table and stare at the body on your feet. You are Brutus and you are so proud of it.....
The sun would rise whatever happens..but you stand and you wait for the night to come n show you the
path of Sin. you know one day you will give birth to the baby - the Adam and Eve will blink to the
right fruit this time - no tree will ever be forbidden anymore....

“The Magic Carpet and the Passport - Not Knowing...”

The corner of my roof top was an ideal place for all the dreams..the open sky-the surrounding tall trees-the distant flying kites-the turmeric tainted wet sarees hung in the brand new plastic ropes-the garbage grazing cows beneath and the mosquitoes – the place had it all...

Summers were fun actually..a strange affinity towards the sweat and the heat added extra colours to the dreams..which were strange though – starting from the ambition of becoming a fast bowler for the Indian cricket team to an Army doctor who would have to paraglide the Himalayan Mountains  [and so should start practicing immediately] or the happiness in imagining that the cute looking senior might be right now standing under the same sky and looking at the same cloud ... I gladly let the dreams voyage everywhere.

The burning of the eyes were nice too..you close them and you get to see so many colourful circles..strange shades of pink blue and green. 

Best part – no one else invaded my “Dream-Spot” during the summers..so it was my personal  and it was “mine personal” – difference being very subtle but very huge.

Dreams are a very secured place to be. Not very long ago a line in a movie caught my thoughts – “you do not remember the beginning of your dreams” ...well this is true actually.. I mean when we find ourselves in d top of a sunset-lit sand dune, do we really remember how we reached there..? or the bigger question – do we want to know how we reached there ?

But why is it so.? To think of it..do we remember the beginning of anything atall..? can we pin down the very moment of the first spang of love..? or the first sense of relief after witnessing a successful childbirth..??

To not know something has its own charm though..it actually is that state of enigma where no one can prove you wrong..or it is the morning where the dreams never get shattered...well when i don’t really know the first moment of love then how can I ever go to the moment before it...??

The little child not knowing the tingling fear will never actually stop herself from gazing at the guns in the middle of a sick Afghanistan war...not knowing love rather can actually save you a heart break.

Then maybe a very smart looking “love guru” would tell you that if you have not tried love then your life might have no meaning at all because your heart has missed out such an important feeling – which might be true. But when you again retaliate – if you do not know what love is – then does a love guru or the dialogues matter at all..??

End of the day we are all satisfied and the last glass of water before going to bed always tastes the sweetest – so if we are so satisfied and happy then why do we need to hide in our dreams [or in that way – in someone else’s dreams]..??

It is all the same – all the quest of the magic apple..the quest for the Sorcerer Stone..or the urge to become a Monk with a Ferrari .... and most of all the ultimate desire of reaching the state where you do not know anything and you are just standing on the sand dune and looking towards the blue-maroon-orange sun-set.....

I hate to break this but – when you read this do also remember the magic carpet or if you wish to go further – remember the passport and the visa and the immigration office and all the news flash on Middle East ...... [long live.... everything]

“The paradise still alive….”

Being what you never want to be is a fun in itself… we all want to see a stranger... we want to see someone who does not know his destination.. It gives us a false sense of security... we feel victorious…. but mostly it makes us feel company.. We feel that we are not alone lost in the island of life... we feel we have people whom we can copy if we want... But the fun is...we never accept this...we never accept this to ourselves…or rather…we don’t want to show that we r accepting it….

We love to say that we don’t believe in God... but in moments of solitude..we close our eyes to see d divine n supreme power to whom we can complaint of the innumerable spirits around us…we r like an infant…and ask for a wish…we all want to see our own Peter Pan…but the problem is…..we fail to see the beauty of darkness and we switch on the light…and then we again become the non-religious stud. .and we succeed to take another step backward…..

What we want is seldom what we love…but what we love…we are always afraid to want it…coz we all r afraid of losing it… the strongest one amongst us is the soul who can look at the eyes of his reflection in the mirror….not like most of us who tame our will power not to pierce through the pair of windows in the mirror… who are we hiding from..??? are we hiding from the dictator or we r hiding from the self-dictatorship… a true human is the one who succeeds in dictating himself and still avoids a suicide…. A sight so vast that you can see the end, and still can stop yourself from touching it… A paradise of human curse is what you call your home… You stand truly victorious when you raise your voice to call it your “own”…

We don’t fail when cannot do something…. We fail when we do something and then cannot see the beauty in it…. The past is a sore we all want to scratch, but how often do we feel that the past could be a strong tool for introspection..??? Being inside a womb is the greatest pleasure, but why do we forget it can at times, suffocate us to death… If courage is what we want, but then, why do we love seeing night mares..???

The fact is... we all know death is inevitable, but we love to be afraid of it… We know we will have to die, but we love the hide n seek we play with death…. The more we live; we feel that with every passing day we defeat death yet another time…. We prove a soothsayer wrong every day…. And the morning fear of the ‘ides of March is defeated every night…. And a new Julius Ceaser is born with every rising Sun…