Sunday, March 28, 2010

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 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 won't knock on my door...need to open my mind...go out of my room maybe...or just wait for a phone call???

…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…

Saturday, March 27, 2010


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 one day I came back home from school and wrote this...


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..


...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…