USEFUL UNSOLICITED ADVICE 101

- Language is one of the most potent tools that the human race has. Use it judicially. Sometimes in dissidence, we tend to use the same language that the oppression has, for instance, sexist language in feminist protests or casteist/communal language in social protests.

- Practice as you preach. Those of us who have had the privilege of education and awareness must use our misery/discrimination if any to raise awareness. If you hide it under the garb of "happy pictures" you are feeding the monster called patriarchy.

-Stop fake news and information.Before you press that forward/share button introspect, ALWAYS INDICATE SOURCE.

-Understand terminology. Mental health terms must not be used to describe criminal behavior. Poverty or discrimination must not be glorified in even art or poetry.

-Write/speak against the grain responsibly. Argue responsibly. Having ideological differences is alright, using those to demean the other personally never is remember that.

-Do not perpetuate myths/cliches that are discriminatory- look at this misery(Pain pornography), Disability is bravery(Inspiration porn), hashtags like #couplegoals #momisgreat and #happilyeverafter that perpetuate gender stereotypes.

-Respect CONSENT both online and offline. Do not pester people to add you or interact with you. As much as it is your right to approach them once it is their right to say NO or not react at all.

-Don't follow herds, if in a large group be a well-informed crowd.

OUTSIDE MY WINDOW #WordsMatter

Spring has ended

this one

never returns

Autumn was painful

so much letting go

leaf by leaf

love shed

leaving me barren

Now an endless winter

a snowscaped

colorless misery

outside my window

- the last Juliet!

I received this tag from Shilpa Gupte at Fictionista It’s my pleasure to pass on this tag to Tulika at Obsessivemom There are 47 of us on this Blog Hop and it will be spread over 3 days – 2, 3, 4 August. Do follow the #WordsMatter Blog Hop and prepare to be surprised! 

Snippets

Pauses

brief, extended

they are answers.

************************

Silence

heavy like lead settles

sinks the heart.

************************

Words

change meanings

like snakes shed skins.

**************************

Monologues

echo in the soul

To be or not to be.

**************************

Dialogues

essence lost

in between the lines.

***************************

Texts

Two blue ticks

and the anxious wait.

****************************

Facts

the solace about life is

it isn't endless

like time

the grace about love is

it dies without a trace

like a dream

the irony about pain is

it traps you in a circle

but has no shape

the dichotomy about words is

their meanings are fluid

like existence

Scatter

Disperse neuron by neuron

back into the cosmos

let them be obsessed

with their self-created I's

pore by pore dilute yourself

be soluble in your lover

Scatter like stardust in a galaxy

not like shards of a broken mirror

have the courage to be vulnerable

break like a wave at the shore

in his skin, his eyes and his soul

like dew dissipates on petals

Burial

“In the dark times 

Will there also be singing? 

Yes, there will also be singing.

About the dark times.” 

― Bertolt Brecht 

My body touches

smiles, loves, hates

feels 
while the soul
drowns in
a deafening silence

no bubbles reach
the surface
no ripples

the still waters
of life
choke my lungs
no songs now
no more words

I am buried
where you can't
light candles !

Consolation Prize

You can't have a forever
so take a brief "Now"

The dream is impossible
so take a fantasy for a vow

instead of wings to fly
you take a small window
to look at a 
piece of sky

your story is not real
so here take these crumbs
called words
and call it all surreal

you have beautiful eyes
and you are so wise
I can't love you always
So be my consolation prize !

Soul Winter

Pic courtesy: Google images

its a thought smog
a haze
through which
life looks like a
faded silhouette

No gadgets or doctors
can determine
this blockage
of words

it could kill
a writer you know

the way
the simmering core
of a dormant volcano
eats its insides
till its all ashes

in a soul winter
the heart is a barren patch of pain
and spring is far behind.

Rigor Mortis Love

Some days it’s a chipped nail

or a forgotten scar

the memory of a child I never had

the peculiar lump in the throat

that thickens with the smog

My writing is a variable matter

Semi-liquid-solid

Translucent-fragile

Its roots lie

somewhere deep inside

maybe under my lungs

from where I breathe

or in this life clock in my chest

Tic-toc, tic-toc,tic….

My heart is a kaleidoscope

It makes images

out of broken colorful memories

and then it’s a killer

Its weapon- again memories

Am I losing it?

What if I never had it?

that valued thing

called S-A-N-I-T-Y

Rigor mortis love

looking for its mortuary

Buddha and peacock feathers

and a cup of limp tea

Another day in what you call life

and I call unfinished memory.

ICE CUBE

My currency is words
language is
my elixir and my poison.
I drink voices and words
the music of vowels
and consonants
the symphonies of silence.

Black marks
on a white page
loaded with meaning, that is it.

UNSAID
is also a word said
red between the lines
hear the pauses
be damned
to suffer
alone in silence
no one else
understands this language

are words language
if nothing is conveyed
meaning is an ice cube
it melts and changes
it all forever.
 

To Ghalib

drowning
a lifetime into
this city's sunsets
and decades
of despair
to be a legend
I breathe
your angst

dead souls
masquerading
with fake smiles
lust wearing
love's cloak

words die
a silent death.

referendums
and regrets
life is worst
when it is
a pending decision.




 

26.08.2014

words, faces
things to do
undo
unlearn

plea to
come back
go away
stay
obliterate

knowing
unknowing
who am I?
Am I?
Is any one
the I?

reflection
real fiction
money, love
breathing
living

blur, blur, blur
 

6 August

the dead are statistics
there is no count of
the walking dead

without a warning
life leaps out
- connection interrupted

and that
lizard like memory
with glass eyes
Goosebumps

no calendars, no hours
no appointments
no deadlines
just a vast cavity of
being
to fill

the clumsiness
of words
the inadequacy
of translations

many decades ago
today
the worst bombs
had dropped

you will never know
when I died
I will never know
if you really cared.
 

random outbursts

Some of us have only words- pain, happiness, success, anguish, all eventually gets moulded into our words.But words are not just sounds with meanings in a language or mere marks on a blank page ,these are tricky monsters, they have the power to hypnotise the reader and dilute the writer.

Some of us can weave such a rich tapestry of words, that it is beyond any classification. The prose reads like poetry, the images are from this world but as if created afresh. They connect the blanks in everybody's story with their words.

The rest of us just write, mundane words about our mundane lives. Images that are stale, expressions over used. But we write too, as if creating a negligible background score for their blockbuster main pieces.

And then there are those who write only for themselves , no chronicle value ,no ambition, like a stray leave on a road on a particularly windy day.

Writing is a lonely art. Word by word the imagination and the heart have to be ripped apart to lay bare a picture for the reader to make sense of.

Is rain meaningless?
Why is meaning important?

Would a collection of words, without any meaning would still be writing?

Is slanting rain more meaningless than the straight conventional one?

what do places and people mean in a plot?

Is there a main plot and all of us trying to write sub-plots that match?

noise,noise,noise
reminds me of Faulkner

look at me
look at me

the crowd
and the lonely soul.

Conversation

The blank page
blankly stares back
makes a face
mocks
- "so writer
no words any more
no more wisdom
sprouting
no more flames
burning."

the cursor blinks
the fan whirrs
I smile
and murmur
"Liar ,liar
dying for the
black touch of words
on your bland soul
I shall leave you
longing tonight."
 

The writer's block

Life's question hour
goes on
a writer's block is
no valid excuse

the vast desert inside
cactus horizons
meaningless dust storms
of thoughts
no respite

the rituals of living
and the long commas
where did life learn
its punctuation?

love, anger, joy
all dust
dark circles of
long sleepless nights

and the oasis
of a memory
shimmers
in the pupil of the eye.

Language

As the hot steam scalded the skin
on the thumb and the forefinger
I asked time- what do you use to
erase fingerprints,
footprints?

the written word is perpetual
or is it
backspace a few years
and try deleting a regret

the ointment is always cold
and slippery
like memory
we only retain the healing
conveniently forgetting
the nasty colour

lists and preferences
If life was just a network
it would be easy to sort
people into neat groups
notifications and specifications
no ramifications

choices are actually
the inevitability of options
its always either/or
this/that
something/nothing
hold on/let go

the NOs are as important
as the AYEs
defining
what was more imperative
in that one moment
and in the next moment
life takes over again

Truth and lies
interchange costumes
the most used word of all
is also a four-lettered word
endearment and abuse
-LOVE

crony capitalists
all of us hide behind
a socialist mask
while constantly labelling
the others
fat dark crude simple
men women
gay single married
bastard bitch

adjectives
nouns verbs
language the biggest
weapon
to create, to destroy !

THE FOOL

I am the fool
for I will not
give up the
clawing
to find new words
and newer meanings
for old ones

this is my
malady and the remedy
I am the fool
to speak my mind
and not mince my words

I am the fool
I have no masks
the same foolish face
for all seasons

I am the fool
for I fool the world !


 

This isn't a post - 6, meaningless banter..

23 March Bhagat Singh
Paash, the revolutionary Punjabi poet died on the same date, coincidence?

What is freedom? why is it so precious? Is it valued?

why are words valued? why is voice important?

Is FEMINISM a dirty words? Is it just a badge or an abuse?

The songs I listen to, the films I watch , the people I meet, their residue remains. Some of that smoothens my edges, some of that makes me lose the balance.

does my residue in them does the same to them to?

I am a spec in the cosmos but yet I am important because only this spec can fill this void, only this.

what are my questions? what are my answers?

This isn't a poem

Labels everywhere
on minds, souls and thoughts
and there is Eliot
on the shelf

today I can take
walk with him
on the streets of London
or anywhere

no longer afraid
of the asylum
that's where
the questioning ones end

the rest just comply
or shut down

the million-handed
octopi of thoughts
snatch words
from each other

and then
when the noise
reaches an unbearable crescendo

the words run helter-skelter
to meditate

you cringe or smile
there is no evidence
of any feeling ever

I look up
to find a face
to put up
for the other faces
I have to meet today.