the music has stopped,
and so has the static.

the din of drums
and the tinkling soft chimes alike.

a walk across the mind

We have strolled together,
for the last few centuries,
never stopping for water, or food
conversation was the only fuel

we would construct conversations
out of the oblivion of fumes of daylight and nighttime

Today as we walk together,
we have run out of conversations,
we only look at each other occasionaly and smile
reassuring each other of our presence

Too scared to break this convenient arrangement
this habit of my two steps to match your one stride

Perhaps, this road is a circle,
with different diameters,
and the only way out
is to change the destination.

Perhaps, we still talk to each other
but only in our minds.

the human compulsiveness to meddle
and toy with,
what isn't their own
can be accounted for much of what is wrong with the world.

waiting is absolutely and completely a dismal job

how many years does it take 

to understand

that its alright to give up in certain cases?

how many years does it take after that

to restore your faith in god?

innuendo

there is a certain tenderness to friendships, 

that are formed at nighttime

a certain unpretentious truthfulness,

to honest conversations,

that spring out of the need to be no one but yourself,

while the world sleeps,

the nighttime people, dwell on propinquity

because the day light 

is too finite, and way too reticent

to nurture unending thoughts and conversations.

its such a privilege to be out in the night

alone.

i do not want, an action of compulsion,
to stain this unconditionality

i do not want falsehood,
when i can deal with actuality

for once,
i do not want a song on the lips and a skip in the step
if its borrowed on time, and decency.

urgent requirement

anyone know a good quality adhesive,

for a broken spirit?

so you want to be a writer? by Charles Bukowski

if it doesn't come bursting out of you

in spite of everything,

don't do it.

unless it comes unasked out of your

heart and your mind and your mouth

and your gut,

don't do it.

if you have to sit for hours

staring at your computer screen

or hunched over your

typewriter

searching for words,

don't do it.

if you're doing it for money or

fame,

don't do it.

if you're doing it because you want

women in your bed,

don't do it.

if you have to sit there and

rewrite it again and again,

don't do it.

if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,

don't do it.

if you're trying to write like somebody

else,

forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of

you,

then wait patiently.

if it never does roar out of you,

do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife

or your girlfriend or your boyfriend

or your parents or to anybody at all,

you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,

don't be like so many thousands of

people who call themselves writers,

don't be dull and boring and

pretentious, don't be consumed with self-

love.

the libraries of the world have

yawned themselves to

sleep

over your kind.

don't add to that.

don't do it.

unless it comes out of

your soul like a rocket,

unless being still would

drive you to madness or

suicide or murder,

don't do it.

unless the sun inside you is

burning your gut,

don't do it.

when it is truly time,

and if you have been chosen,

it will do it by

itself and it will keep on doing it

until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

 

and i have the most depressive penchant,

to pitch against the impossible,

most often.

if

If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you But make allowance for their doubting too, If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream--and not make dreams your master, If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breath a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much, If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son! --Rudyard Kipling pretty much sums up, everthing, there is to say about anything.... na?

The guilt laden caprices of the unshielded mind,

bespoke only of a weak stomach for much of what defines life,

and deceptively little wind in the lungs.

What you've done becomes the judge of what you're going to do - especially in other people's minds.  When you're traveling, you are what you are right there and then.  People don't have your past to hold against you.  No yesterdays on the road.  

~William Least Heat Moon, Blue Highways

When you have once seen the glow of happiness on the face of a beloved person, you know that a man can have no vocation but to awaken that light on the faces surrounding him; and you are torn by the thought of the unhappiness and night you cast, by the mere fact of living, in the hearts you encounter.

Albert Camus

 "You don't get anything clean without getting something else dirty."

Cecil Baxter

the weekend

some uncles in my father's office have serious boundary issues,

as they get older, they seem to get more and more fond of me,

and want to make conversation from the exact length of my nose.

Like yesterday, this chap that i have known since i could recognize that its a chap or a chip, came upto me from behind, screaming about how i have grown so big, with an expression that made me feel like i was 2 year old all over again...

what was more surprising, was that fact that i had met him just  couple of months ago, i mean, seriously dude, thats not the nicest way to tell someone they have put on weight!

On the other hand, there was this uncle im extremely fond of and met him after  pretty long time, so it was acceptable for him to say that i have grown up so beautifully ( im not going to lie to u, i have, u shudve seen me as a child, i was a nervous stick on legs) but what was bewildering is that, he seemed to want to call me up on stage for receiving a prize for   

for calcutta territory of the company, dont ask me the connection, i clearly could not hide my wtf expression, and neither could the over enthusiastic uncles over there.

Then there are another kind of people in my fathers office, the ones who have never met me, and apparently nothing better has happened to them in their entire life time that can be equated to finally meeting the 'little one' (me). 

and then there are those, that wear a permanently amused expression, because a bunch of middle aged men getting together to discuss petrol and gas sales, seems to be the most exiting thing in the whole wide world,

and every little thing that anyone says is so murderously hilarious that

their mouth is always open, either from extremely fake laughter, or delighted wonderment at 40 kl sales of petrol.

i dont know what im trying to say here,

that cannot be summed up in the fact that all the hotel rooms that these people were stationed in have all of 14 channels,

all them being news channels.

The opinionated and the bystander

Somehow, extreme expressions of dislike

hardly ever come easily to me,

and i find it hard to imagine what 

or who, will affect me so much, so easily,

that i will have nothing

but an open, uncaring expression

of disagreement

poured out from my mouth,

without a filtering from the mind.

And i can only wonder with amusement

at those who proclaim strong opinions either way.

It drizzled all night,

on tin roofs, emptiness, and pillowcases alike.

Judas

It is a software's programmed function,

to quit only when

you haven't saved the file since the longest time...