Summer’s End

quiet orange glow belies turbid hopes
of summers last till half past noon
fading most days
it never ends, ruins blue dreams
of sphinxes drugged entwined in daze,
your swirling face
comes up to me, your arms stretched thin
before i reach you turn to leave
meet me halfway
all roads are closed forgo your home
of summers past where lovers meet
leave me alone

Cicada Sound

Written after experiencing a weekend of intense Western Ghats rain in Agani, near Sakleshpur.

The thundering monsoon falls up against
pattering roof, steel grey exploding sound,
and I lie on the floor,
my heart pounding with release come so sweet

Rain cools the earth, the sound brings down the sky,
furious like cicada cries transcends,
and I walk through the glade,
my heart entranced with perfect divine sound

Evening Smoke

Wardrobes open deep doors
into shapes unfold, slick black
sleeves around thin wrists
rolled back tired, show my tricks,
my pockets full of clean death
and flint rankle up the steps,
the sun setting east, and below
grey and green, I lie in dream

El Dorado

I guess this one was more of a writing exercise to get some more experience with meter. I tried to write this in Iambic pentameter, the effect is strong in the first two lines but I deviated later, still sticking to 10 syllables per line.

Despite accounts of mist and haze, detours
were made to turn inland towards the cove,
the instruments read true, with heading east
they cruised till they spotted the yellow coast
And here the maps promised the cove with still
under sand buried deep untouched till date
was the great harbour of El Dorado
Rumoured hidden within inside was gold,
enough for all with will and grit to stand
Poseidon’s wrath, and so these men followed
their maps to now arrive at their final mark
Their sensors indicate the spot to strike
with spades, and now being so close, they dig
quick and they find, to their tired heart’s joy,
their beliefs come true, their long awaited
treasure precious at last within their grasp!
They grab their prize and look towards their boats,
and see raised above the water jagged
rocks, hidden till now from view by high tide
A gust of wind blows hard starboard, a slip
of rope leaves the anchor knot clean undone,
the ship sent hurtling quick into the crags
The rocks sculpted sharp by the water’s flow
break through the hull with ease, a thunder crash
brings the sailors to their knees, in prayer
to their Lord, having not yet realised that
so far from home, in distant parts still damned,
in foreign lands they’re ruled by foreign Gods

The Mandalas in the Cat’s Blue Eyes

Lyrics for a simple little song I wrote.

Verse:
DbM7 Bb7 Ebm7 E7 Eb7 D7 Db7 DbM7

Prechorus:
DbM7 Bb7 Ebm7 E7 Eb7 Ebm7 Dm7 Ebm7

Chorus:
Db Bbm Gb Ab7

Lying on the grass I can feel the sky breathe
The trees shimmer with a million shades of green
The road snakes away out to valleys unseen
Cthulhu in the clouds calls out to me

And all I can do is sit here mesmerized
As the Mandalas shine in the cat’s blue eyes

Ohhh oh oh it’s me and the Llama in Kodaikanal

Playing with the cat as eons while away
Something stirs the air and it starts to rain
Wrapped in the fog we aim to reach beyond the stars
Limitless is the world if you don’t get lost

And all I can do is try and find my way
In the Mandalas that shine in the cat’s blue eyes

Ohhh oh oh it’s me and the Llama in Kodaikanal

Waking up dazed in an old reality
I know that it’ll soon snap back to me
The glow fades away into the world of dreams
But I’d like to glimpse again into that infinity

And on my way out I find to my surprise
The Mandalas still shined in the cat’s blue eyes

Ohhh oh oh it’s me and the Llama in Kodaikanal

Symbols

I was reading Paradise Lost and thinking a lot about Carl Jung and Chesterton’s fence.

The promises of snakes lead men astray
breaking old fences they shouldn’t have dared
To look beyond whence these old symbols came
by ancients yore might be disbarred profane
To question is man’s right but to know might not,
signs meaningless accumulate power
over scales of time comprehension beyond
To what you arrive once you deconstruct
depths unknown to man’s folly distill down
Man’s curiosity, his greatest gift,
must be tempered with a sense of the sublime
imagination that mankind’s dreamt up

Wasteland

Wrote this during those 2 weeks when Mad Max was all I could think about. It’s such a well crafted universe, it’s cartoonish enough to be extremely entertaining, but also it doesn’t seem implausible at all that the world would end up that way. People are going to keep worshipping things they don’t understand, but the underlying equations of human life are never going to change.

The world ends ruled by rough hard men riding
on motorcycles across deserts with
irradiated light bouncing off of chrome,
waging war to each other with chains and
diesel, the women bound by hand and fist
to do the bidding of their leather clad
masters, and men muscular at their call
to hurt or kill for them in brutal ways,
every clan vies to outdo each other
in cruelty, this is the order that man
arrived at once the bomb was dropped and life
made scarce, the world now dealt with sex and oil,
with trading of women’s bodies made flesh
for vile men to abuse, all power rests in
the loins of a few rough hard men, in the
deserts, in a fight over what little
water remains, this is how the world ends

To Someone, Hopefully

There always seems to be distance between
my self inside and what I show to all,
past so hard I’ve tried to shorten the line,
seldom ends well and a death by thousand
cuts awaits, so I stand alone waiting,
for you who can stride past the line despite
the rules, going your way till hell or worse,
see past my self, recognise I’m human,
without a calculus accept me whole.
To you i profess heart’s undying love,
my love that within these words lies yet still

Misc

hunger flies farther, downward into mists
swirling, furious waves fall thundering
up my throat, and with fists i speak
sweet nothings to walls unadorned
by light, and they echo back in return
the death throes of my dying houseplant

…

profane plastics exit, as hexes
fall between concrete towers,
comets hurl whistling heaven’s
final chord before furious resolve

bringing an end to whispers
to staccato rain against windowpanes,
to fugues played in old churches,
the crashing of cymbals, all reclaimed

during rapture sound returns to God’s domain,
the din of the waves holds glorious requiem as ruins fade

…

nothing left for those that seek purest death,
command belief, in fire destroy your self,
why run when you can soar sky high inside,
where cruel God’s majesty supreme denied,
perfection awaits, surrender the real,
invent your own infinities, transform!

…

roads till roads curve away barrage of light blinds eyes comes into focus black and white blurs into tempos autos and worse, speeding away to stop at smoke shops where young men come to get fresh air away from their desk jobs, and the old come to feel young again

…

disturbed dread deep within by your social choices
i can’t trust your words when all your friends seem unlike
you do the song and dance but do your actions ring true
i cannot say for sure, at least you have the will
the courage to pursue what most others cannot
you can sense what’s true so why don’t you live your way
why do you seem bound by convention so common
in your ideas, seem so stuck in the current
free yourself, let go your guilt, let go of the rest
what’s within you is the richest world I have seen
your heart is true, your fire burns bright, i yearn for you

…

At long day’s end I sit tired trying
to wring something into being with my
words, and I struggle to find to think of
anything that might be worthy of you
I could always write about you, so easy
since already you live inside my head
and when I let my self speak true, without
a doubt a part of that is surely you
The way you spoke putting words to song so
easily, your laughter light on my ears,
echoing soft till it spills out through my mouth into my hands, and finally to
words, which you might read but not recognise
as but a twisted offspring of your own,
lacking the light that earned you love from them

…

This is not how bodies work, he said, putting his phone down. He was getting impatient at work. Stopping and fiddling with the things on his desk, or worse, going online in search of the zeitgeist. There are few more hopeless pursuits than this, but still he tries, like so many others, having not yet realised that the ghost has moved on from our world leaving only a faint stain, a stain we must revere and revive until the end of time. A new order will arise but not for those like him stuck in chasms between ages of markedly different paradigms. For them, the only refuge remains online, in ever shrinking spaces, the communities they’d come to expect now lay dying amidst the wrecks of media relevant thus far. The internet is poisoned now. Forms of interaction change rapidly as a newer cohort of maximally online users emerge from the quarantine. Does it matter to him? He’s never understood online communities. There isn’t the same connection as there is in real life. It’s been a while since real and digital intertwined, leaving nothing left for those that seek the purest way to die. Untainted and free of the values of the present, they seek to find a way to see and live that works for them. Yet to find a way through is hazardous and the only true way is to have fun with it and ignore the zeitgeist, a lonely journey indeed. If you look you might find those who do think like you, in any case you might want to prepare for solitude. This is an age where people are invisible to each other. A longing for something real is ultimately fatal, for the urge to connect and bond almost bests the deep hidden drive of the mind to melt back down into that ooze of unfiltered sensuous perception and raw red instinct. Return back to animal or face the head winds of consciousness. You must start from the center.