The Reckoning - Part I

...everything is silent around me.the voices in my head are numb, dull., and wavering...my thoughts are going quieter by the second and it becomes harder to listen to them. Indistinct and distant, they seem to betray me at the moment. Am I going Sane?? I hope not. I love my insanity, every quiet, disturbing moment of it. Wait... I think I see something in the void... A man... drunk in a sober melancholy...why is he sad? My curiosity awakens...words present themselves to me one by one...some faithful...some...not so much...I cancel them with irritation...my diary becomes a mess... four lines...that was all...four lines...

Silence was never more a stranger,
Than a loud conjunctive of his being,
and the incidents that became a play,
a fallacy of his morbid routine.

Does it make sense?I don't know about you but it does to me... but it raises a doubt in my head...
the man seems somehow known to me... I feel close to him like a kin or a son...but still, the picture is unclear...the man is still masked by the aura of ambiguity...I wait...for the clouds to clear...

Alone

Alone

Why do you sit there in the dark?

Let me come hold you near my heart,

If you could let me be and stay,

I’d make your sorrows disappear.

Now, come, just look me in the eye,

I won’t be strong until you try,

And I will open my arms wide,

For when in tears, you need to hide.

Hey there you, can you hear me now?

Is it me or is my voice fading out?

I scream and scream for you to hear,

But you fail to notice my tears.

You ask of me to leave you be,

Bind me in fear to set me free,

Bind me in chains to give me hope

Drug me with lust, blood and dope.

I’m the cancer that you keep,

Lick me with those sweet fingertips,

Damn me within you out of spite,

I will breathe in you like a parasite!

Rape me and spit me out in hell,

But don’t forget to cast your spell,

Fill my veins with dirty mud,

Of a thousand wars, and clotted blood.

Salvation is a noisome lie,

No light, no fire when you die,

So keep me close until we die

I’d keep your darkness safe with mine.

Reminisces of a Drunkard

We all did then drink

Since the morning

We all hence did stink

By that evening!

One was a wee bit scared

And was near defeat

The other one, he dared

And he did, excrete!

Two were a lil' quiet

And they did try to handle

The one who had spilled his diet

And slept amidst the scandal!

But one brave scallywag

Dared most among the band

His sweet mother did he brag

'Til december keep his stand!

A sweet lass sat near all

Named the next to the best

She'd listen to big and pretty small

And help to remember the rest!

Umm...

Umm…

Come little ones, I beseech you,

Fiddle with my brain,

Harness it and comprehend

Fickle ways to entertain.

Little ones, you play hard to get,

I sit alone in this crowd,

Procrastination abates my libido,

And only you ornate it’s shroud.

Little ones, I yawn and crawl,

And the world does seem all dead!

I give way to my stony eyelids,

To slip into my lofty escapade.

Little ones, you’re here I see,

I’ve found you few at last!

You hide in my sad darkness,

And put weird voices in the vast!

Please little ones, do hold on,

I’d shape you steady and slow.

I find myself and a pen, again,

You hide, hey, where’d you go?

Creativity with a bunch of Firearms

Creativity with a bunch of Firearms

Wait and watch, you miserable thing,

Your world goes down, you’d dare to blink?

Scared and crying, you pray to him,

He won’t listen, he’s dead within,

To whom do you turn, in this hornet’s nest?

A voice in your head, “ Just stab your chest”.

Light your torches, burn your house

Shoot your mother, kill your spouse

Abandon hope, show some violence

Throw a molotov, and bring some silence

Undo all, you’ve done your best

Then slit your throat, and take some rest.

You’re of no use, on this Earth

Ran in circles, a meaningless birth

Meaningless verse, obvious rhymes

Die in your filth, and live in your crimes

A bullet to Adam and Eve, you mind?

I’m just Satan, no axe to grind.

An Innocent Murder

I open my sleepy eyes

Into the hollow dark emptiness

Of these four walls ,

Which cocoon me,

Hold me captive,

As a helpless and morbid form

Too weak to see the light.

I get up drenched

From my sad and noisy bed,

Which fails to hide

My nightmares and my phobias

That push me to the corner,

With my legs folded on my chest

As a shield to protect.

I take a look around:

I’m alone as always;

But its better this way:

At least my paranoia

Of oblivion and betrayal

Cannot stab me in the back tonight.

I sigh out of relief:

Another night I’ve managed

To hide and stay alive,

If this is what it’s called.

I curve my weak lips to smile

At my sorry self,

And at my specious victory.

But then the door creaks open,

Faint moonlight fails to reach me,

But lights up her body as she enters

The room which fills with her aura

That somehow fails to glow on me.

I remain hidden in the darkness

As she glows in her own strong aura.

I lift my face to look

At her beautiful kind face,

Her many-a-times healed form

Which told stories of the battles

Of her mean and unforgiving past.

Her aura exudes her strength

And her power to forgive.

She stands in the centre of the room

With her eyes closed as if in a trance:

A silent strife against the darkness

Which with each passing moment, leaves me.

I clutch on to the last morsels

Of the darkness of which I’ve become

A thankful parasite.

Moments pass by and my curiosity

Starts to get the better of me,

When she finally opens her eyes,

Which settles on the inhabitant of the room.

She takes a moment before she calls me

To herself in her arms, to protect me,

To promise eternal light and happiness.

Her words soothe my soul,

And I try to reach out to her,

To let her help me, caress me.

She hands me a chisel and beckons me

To bring down these walls that weaken

My mettle, and strengthens the shadows

That guard my captivity.

The cold chisel hammers into the wall,

And frees the bricks that have been

Effective in enslaving me as its prisoner.

But as the bricks fall by one,

My paranoia grows stronger,

And I begin to feel vulnerable and naked,

As I had always feared to be.

My fears now take control of me,

I realize that I belong to what I’m ridding,

Destined to be damned in the dark corner

Everlong in this never ending life.

I stab her between her chest,

She falls to the floor which fills with her blood

I reach down to collect her bones to rebuild my walls.

Epilogue:

I search for your sense of introspection,

I long for that gift of gratitude.

All you need is an intervention,

All I want is some solitude.

my first poem...

I'm so happy now...i just discovered my first written poem...It's called "ami ekjon bangali bhai"

...a speciously dark poem... ;)

I’m posting this childish poem I wrote I don’t know when but I was pretty young looking at the handwriting in the old diary and the use of the words…the poem doesn’t make sense in the first glance but I, as jobless as I am, read it around 5 times and a weird meaning came out to me. Or am I imagining it?? Well here it is for you to decide…

The big brown cat,

Sitting on the mat,

Is waiting for a rat.

While, the rat,

Sitting in the hole

Chats with a mole.

The mole says,

”Beware of the brown cat!

Who is sitting on the mat,

And waiting for a rat!”

Says the confident rat,

“I’ll take care of the cat

And call the bulldog

Who now sits with the hedgehog.”

Suddenly comes the cat,

The catch the helpless rat.

Out runs the mole,

With the news,

From the hole.

The rat deserves the right

For its life to fight

With the big brown cat.

After half an hour,

The time was pretty sour,

Comes in the dog,

With the hedgehog

And chases the big cat.

The big brown cat,

Scared it ran to the mat,

Far from the rat,

A happy day for the rat.

...a discovery...

I’m a guy who doesn’t like surprises. Rather I don’t like the idea of something not in my control. You might call this my vulnerability but I don’t fight it. But some surprise packages are meant to make you nostalgic. Surprises I discovered that I actually like. My diary, which I had lost for more than 10 years was discovered by my mom. It was hiding from me all these years locked away in a trunk in the cupboard built over the bathroom door- a poor example of architecture, I daresay. I opened the dusty diary to find my childhood self. My innocent but disturbed self 12 years ago. I scribbled whatever came to my mind that time and most of it didn’t make sense but some of it does, in a weird way. I don’t know how close I was to my dark self those days but the words seem to imply something than what is written. An unspoken plea to be heard, or perhaps to be noticed at all. Henceforth, I’ll post some of the scribbles in the diary which can be extracted from the half eaten remains...

Broken Promises...

Darkness reigns as the moon feigns,

It’s glory dominated by my friend,

A company in this quiet night,

A company in its own trend.

Melancholy plays with my memories,

A ruthless game of hide and seek,

I lose myself in my aching head,

Sleepless from a droplet's creek.

Not a new visitor where I sit:

Been here in the times of gloom,

It’s where I hide my paradise,

It’s where I face my doom.

Had been welcomed at your doors

With a dear friend's exclamation

Of roars and claps of happiness:

My usher to sweet intoxication.

You took me in kicking and screaming,

An unconsoled new born bleeding,

You promised you'd stop this beating,

You promised you'd stop me breathing!

Since then I kept returning,

An addict to my drugs I became,

A man dependant on his mistress

For bed related chores of shame.

Hence I come back to you today

With high hopes of the unfulfilled

My head and heart strewn with memories

Today I forgo my cared shield!

But alas! Where are you now?

I look at you but none looks back!

You don’t welcome me now?

I miss the breeze, your usual knack.

I never fathomed your soothing jargon,

Just presumed that you call,

Me into your bottomless self,

But you leave me at my fall!

I sit here where I had before,

And wait for you to show,

The smallest sign of recognition,

The smallest sign that you know!

But not a ripple across your face,

No soothing breeze from your side,

Is this your way of sympathy?

Or have you finally died?

Moments pass with minutes and hours,

You do not come back to me,

I finally lose hope and turn,

You did not answer my plea!

But as I was about to leave

A gentle breeze sings in my ear!

The phantom leaves me to comprehend,

The reason of your behavior.

You need me as I need you,

Though your promise was a feign

I’ll come back always as I do

I’ll come back, my friend!

Do svidaniya...

Tonight as I was sleeping, I saw a weird dream...that I'm leaving home...leaving everything behind...and when I had left...I saw my mom was crying a lot...dunno whether it was this dream or was it the chennai heat...my sleep broke...tried to sleep but couldn't...so I took out my notebook and wrote this...dedicated to the dream....

Do svidaniya

I did not want to let you down,
Always been me who turned the smile around,
I’m never coming back to this town,
I’m going far away...

Feel sorry for never being sorry,
I’ll be fine mom, please don’t worry,
Will sit and write a day, I wont parry,
I’m going just a little bit far away...

I’m my mother’s only son,
Not so perfect but her only one,
Hold your tears mom, I’m not done,
I’ve got a bottleful to give away...

I was seldom ever truthful to you,
Never loved the sweet morning dew,
Friends I had were forever few,
None will miss me when I’m away...

I had loved that girl since my senior years,
A part of me died, when I saw her tears,
For her, I forsook my weaknesses and my fears,
All that changed when she went away...

Sometimes I had hoped for her to miss
The times, the moments of sweet bliss,
A private stolen sweet salty kiss,
But she had gone too far away...

I had locked up some terrible dreams
Of intimidating thunders and cacophonous screams,
Of blood flowing in rivers and in streams,
Those dreams have yet not gone away...

There was none with whom I shared,
My fears, my smiles, as no one cared,
Neither did I, when I myself erred,
I’ll start over when I’m away...

It’s pitch dark in the night outside,
The waves battle the shingle in high tide,
I bid my time to walk out the door’s wide,
It’s almost time for me to go away...

Right outside the door I see sunrise,
Eventually it’s time for the goodbyes,
I’ll miss my home and you likewise,
Now that you’ve read the letter, I’m already long gone.

About Me...

About Me

“I’m asleep

I’m dreaming

Caged in slumber

I’m screaming.

I’m a poet:

I hallucinate

Ignorant of words

I’m illiterate.”

I’ve lost to reason;

Yet I rave through my pen

Of damsels and blades

And of suicidal men.

A mask anonymous I don

Acknowledgement a distant blur-

Still awaits recognition

An un-proclaimed whited sepulchre.

Idol of trust and obligation:

Psychoanalyst of the deranged

Curbing the underlying dementia

Specious character from me estranged.

Words and verse: my inefficient virtue

I exude descriptive expression,

Ineffective against my nosferatu:

His offer of complete oblivion.

I arrest myself in my fantasy:

An armour to battle my terror,

Ally sides with sweet betrayal,

A sardonic tale of human error.

Lost is the sense of independence,

Trapped with my passion and wrath:

Sanity gives way to irrationality

A deep hidden undiagnosed sociopath!

Entombed in everlasting slumber,

A wry lament of my stolen identity,

I am the reluctant protagonist

Of my own psychedelic insanity!

I wait...

I wait while I stare

Into the mirror, the disrepair;

The morbid self, the sad image:

My life’s last pathetic page.

I wait while I reminisce

My past, the pain and amiss,

The people, the slur:

Split into my own saboteur.

I wait while I fall,

The inevitable, strong and tall,

Conquers what I feel,

Hacks a sword of steel.

I wait while I release

My life into the peace,

Bittersweet oozes out

Sad wrists, pale with drought.

I wait while I loose

My words, while I cruise

Dark tunnel with distant light;

The antonym of glory fight.

I wait while I peel

Off my soul as I feel

Numb pain summons my hearse,

While I write this proletariat verse.

I wait while I face

Slow death with elder’s pace;

Volumes remain unspoken

To the few perchance heart-broken.

I wait while I cry:

Still too young and new to die,

Yet my last words I indite:

A satire of my enemy’s might.

I wait while I near

The far light, oh so dear!

Blinding white, the final breath

The wait’s not over in my death…

...a birthday note...

...I suck at giving gifts…unlike my roommate who can give one hell of a birthday surprise. Well, it was the occasion of his birthday and I had to do something…so as stupid as it might be I bought him an electric razor and wrote him a poem in like 10 minutes because it was like around 11 50 when I got back home from the gift shop…

Eventually all these years
Filled with laughter and some tears
All the fun
Those things done
Has made you old
But not cold
Scantily spread
Hair on head
Stuck with glue?
You’re twenty two
So here you are
You’re up to par
Don’t ever change
However strange
Life may seem
It’s just a dream
Now open your eyes
You want French fries?
Dude lets party
Don’t be a smarty
Party hard
Like a retard
Wait there’s a thing
In my mind did spring
I forgot to say
Happy Birthday!!

My Angel with Broken Wings...

Woman’s warm silent womb

Holds sweet child as muscle and bone;

A soldier, at peace in a tomb,

But wars unfought, epitaph unknown.

The inconsiderate world cares least

Of the name and one’s fame

Fragile and young, can’t counter the beast:

The innocent soul is stabbed by shame.

Forsaken by her dearest love

Her hands shed tears of red

Sharp blades lacked mercy on my dove,

Her mind scarred deep, as she bled.

She sat by the breathing window

In her sad unsympathized tear,

The gloomy moon cast a whispered glow

A call of hope from a stranger near!

Time and age might help to cure

The radiance worth of queens and kings

Battered and bruised, she’ll fight for sure

My angel with broken wings!

...a ray of hope...

inspiration....I wish it were available in packages...ready to be bought for a reasonable amount...life would be a lot simpler...but hell, when was it anyway? so I thought and thought... and came up with a solution...I cant wait to be inspired...it won't knock on my door...need to open my mind...go out of my room maybe...or just wait for a phone call???

...gap...

…I stopped writing…for a long time. No idea why… maybe I lacked inspiration, or maybe I stopped imagining. No I stopped living in my own world, I succumbed to the pressure of the daily routine that was my mundane joke of a life…I needed to stop. I needed to start all over again. Else I would forsake myself into oblivion and become someone who has nothing to offer to anyone. But I have so much to offer…I have so much to say…I might not be a good speaker but still I want to speak… ‘Open your mouth damn it! Speak up!’…

I Love You...

This is another poem which I wrote in the time when I 'Unforgiven' but its a bit in a lighter mood...

I love you

Why does my heart beat faster?

When I see you?

As though it’s my master

But a servant to you

Why do I stop speaking?

When I hear you?

It’s the sweetest thing

I ever knew

Why do my eyes stop moving?

When they see you?

I’ve never ever seen

Better colour or hue

Is it love or attraction?

Can’t make up my mind

My heart is beyond satisfaction

I feel a deep bind

My heart refuses to beat without you

Can’t convey the thoughts I bear

A habit of my eyes to shed a tear

Without you my days are few

The nights I dream about you

The reason I never knew

Maybe I just wanted to say that

I love you…

Unforgiven...

This poem i wrote when I was in class 7. I had been noticing this girl for some years then (name you ask? what's in it anyway?) and I was undecided what to do...so one day I came back home from school and wrote this...

Unforgiven

Loved you for years

Every moment of it yours

I'll die for you, Ill live in you

Can’t see you shed tears.

Friends say I changed,

I’m not the one they knew,

If they ask me why I’ll think

But my heart says “for you”.

Will you ever be mine I ask

But who will answer?

No one knows what’s inside me

I hide my passions by mask.

I think I’ll say I love you

For years and years to come,

I’ll die for you; I’ll live with you,

Love me for years or few…

My thoughts distract me

“What will her reactions be?

Will she ever love you?

Nay, what will you do?”

May be she loves another, not me

Maybe I’ll hurt her, push her away

A friendship well thriven

Turns into distance

Makes me unforgiven..

Hi...

...I've never written a blog in my entire life ("Blogs? I don't have so much time out of lazying around doing nothing!!"). I fashion myself as a simple guy who hates complexities. And blogs to me were complex. “Complex?!?” you ask? Yeah, they’re complex. It’s hard for someone like me to pen their feelings down into words. I find it hard to share my integral thoughts and I bottle them up and shove them in a neat stack somewhere deep in my mind, never to be heard from again. But I’m wrong. They come back to me. They haunt me when I’m alone. They call me to themselves, into that insanity which is another part of me. My worse half, you could say. So in my struggle to free my sane self, I write. I write stuff which is not necessarily my feelings. I like to experiment.

I started writing when I was small; around the age of 8 or 9 maybe, I don’t remember. My first poem was in bengali titled “Aami Akjon Bangali Bhai” which I lost somewhere and I’ve been looking for it for more than 10 years, and I’m still optimistic. I wrote some more poems around that age, about a girl liked, penning my feelings into a childish array of words. I’ll post those poems too, but please don’t laugh at me because of them: at that point of time rhyming was more important than making sense…

Oh! I completely drifted off my main point: the reason for this blog. Well, simply put, a friend suggested it. I had stopped writing for a long time (reason unknown) but lately I started writing again (maybe I reached the capacity of that bottle I was talking about) and I wrote a few poems which I showed to my friends and they liked it. So I decided to keep on writing, I love the masochist feeling when I’m alone and I hurt myself in my imagination just to imagine what it would feel like. I long for that impatient feeling when I’m racking my brain for words which might express a fraction of my feelings (Do I sound like an addict here?). My blog is a stochastic list of inane verses (the inane feel sometimes succeeds to mask the deeper meaning) which might be cognition to understanding my thoughts. Well, I’ve said a lot. No idea how much sense I made as I’m still half asleep…