My friend
I shall narrate
In words with out meanings
Fairy tales and nightmares
Along with the silence between heartbeats
And the long silence after the heart stops.
Never mind the way I say
For understanding is a matter of choice
And the choice is yours.

In the foreboding night
Over the borders of insanity
Nostalgic bloodhounds
Hunt memories nailed to the cross of time.
Trapped time encapsulated in icebergs
Await summer currents
To explode in magical swaying pendulums.

My desires,
I shall bury under the rainbow trees,
To blossom in the electric spring
In multicoloured splendours
Swaying with the grace of a first kiss
The creamy mist of an aftertaste
Lingering long, melting paler lips.

Over the satin smooth surfaces,
Longing fingers trace
Contours of a fading dream
Clinging at the extremities of hope
To have a look before it vanishes
To feel before it disappears.

As Eden garden scenes re-enacted
Adolescent autoerotic fantasies
Revolve around regions
Above and below the mid-riff
Release a primordial libido
For the propagation of the species
Burning holes in trouser tops.

Between conception and contraception
Stands the Creator
Between the tree and the seed
Stands the sower
The land just stares skyward
Wondering who is omnipotent.

Once I ploughed through
Receding waters of the ocean
Chasing giant turtles holding up worlds aloft
To reach the very foundations
Of our existence.
Even if you dare not join,
I shall proceed alone,
For, I came here lone
And shall leave so.

My burdens, I bequeath
To those who come after.
When festivals are over
Only garbage remain.
When wars are over
Only ashes remain.

I am the garbage
I am the ashes
I shall inherit the dirt of the world.
Out of dirt, shall grow
Grains, the poor shall relish
Fodder, for the beasts of burden.

Everyday, I invent reasons
For not committing suicide.
Everyday, I issue statements
Why I shouldn’t be hanged.
Everyday, I produce evidence
That I am still alive.
Everyday I battle death
Though the end is well known.

From that moment
My diary will remain blank.
Those unwritten pages
Shall stand in testimony
For the futility of life,
Of wasted years, of lost hopes,
A vain game played in time and space,
How in the crippling hold of senility
Lost youth decayed, like rotting fish
Until sealed in a coffin.

What for you were born
What for you lived
What for you died
What for, what for?

Those are unanswered questions
And shall remain so, for long
But nothing stays on forever
Even pyramids crumble to powder
And permanence is no proof of greatness.
What if, you were still remembered
After a million years –
Another million years
And no trace of a memory even.

What you think you have done
Has no value.
Whatever you do
Has no meaning.
What you hope to do
Has no purpose.
Then why do it?
Why all this toil, you galley slave?
Why pace the floors of this prison?
Blast the doors and get out fast.

Find yourselves a Master
If you have none
Realize you are one.
Where are your slaves
They shall labour for you
They shall tend the gardens
And bring the fruits to you
They shall care for the worlds
Created by you
They shall build temples
In honour of you.

What if, one day
All of a sudden you discover your Master
You know not his nature
Every   one wishes for good Masters,
Sing praises, offer gifts
Humble themselves before
Images of what they think he looks like –
What if, he is nothing like
Anybody’s wildest imaginations –

Terrific, That’s terrific……

Is every slave born
To search for his Master?
If all slaves go on searching
Who will do the labour?
Surely Masters won’t like it.

But what if, all Masters
Think themselves as slaves
And wander in search of Masters?
Then they must be mad, and mad Masters are more dangerous.

Either way it is foolish.
I go my own way
I think I am the Master
If you think you are also a Master
Join me, recruiting slaves.
In case you think yourself a slave
Then,  serve Me.


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