what i wrote on my 10th spring...

the first day of spring,
we call it ugadi,
a day, the cuckoos,
begin to sing,
new leaves sprout,
mangoes' flowers,
falls in snoopy's tin,
and big ants bite him,
and he gets acetylene,
he comes to me,scratching him.

the first day of spring,
it's like your baisakhi...
and we call it ugadi,
on this new day,
we eat neem and jaggery,
and pray to the almighty,
we ask him to give,
sadness and happiness,equally.
because,
it's a day the year begins with,
with a month called 'chythra'
yeah my parents wished,to give,
the same name to me...
many girls in my school,
also have this only.
but still i am very happy :)
because when we eat,
neem and jaggery,
we ask for sadness and happiness,
equally..

sneeze

.
these days schizo is a compliment,
everyone wants to be it,
if they can contemplate...
so don't worry,buck up,continue to write...
'cos if a schizo's world can complement,
the actual sane world,then schizo's contribute,
an then the difference at the each of the ends,
will create a flow of current,
the snow will catch fire, and fire will catch cold,
the whole world shall be same and alike...
sane or insane.

whitehigh(i hope this a better,palpable rendition)

it's a feeling which screams,
waking up from a bad dream,
screaming,making me want to relive,
feeling is screaming,to feel relieved...
it rings a thousnad bells in the mind,
and there's a burst of white light,
putting all my words in a nutshell,
it's easy to smile now and then,
'cos the fear that is born,
just did not let me,write...

i would write,simply write,
to surrender to my indolence,
again and again ,
but this time there is a guilt,
i am glad there is,
'cos i want to lift my butts,
of the chair,
and live my life,
which has been waiting for a long time...


i am glad i said it all in just 20 lines,
'cos there are only a 1000 bells,
ringing in my mind,
and the burst of white light,
is so bright i may close my eyes,again,
forever again...
and the guilt can be so thin and fragile,
it may surrender easily to my indolence,
i hope, it's not louder than 1000 bells,
not brighter than the white light.


Now this i all giving me a white high,
a white high... it's sweet,
very sweet i want to suffer this tonight,
and be satisfied, live my new life...
it's been waiting from a long time...
i will embrace it with a sorry,
at the first sight...
white light,white light,
please take me higher,
higher and higher to my new life...

i ask this only sometimes....

what do i need to live?
food ,water,air, thats it!

i need food, water, air,that's it!
that's why i doubt, whether i really live?

no, i am not a saint...
why will i claim that i am it?

yes, may be i am insane...
how does it matter if you think i am it....


i dwell on food ,water, air,shelter....
now is that even a living?

if you take 'em away from me,
i'll seize to live, then will i live to be not seized...?


what is this...
what is this...
what is this...

give my mind something,
give something worth it...

where is it...
where is it...
where is it...

i need something worth my mind,
where can i find it...

what is it...
what is it...
what is it...

fingertips

...
fingertips,
your fingertips...

they have silk skin,
and magical elixir,
trying,
to burst from within...

fingertips,
your fingertips...

get them close to me,
move them slowly,
through the,
furrows on my mind,
caused by infinite tears,
which trickled in,meandered,
and have disappeared,
since the past week...


fingertips,
your fingertips...
move them slowly,
the furrows are not very dry,
sink them in,sink the fingertips!
touch my heart,it's broken,
with glass pieces,many!
mend it now,with no cracks,
that bleed...


fingertips,
your fingertips...
move them slowly,
towards the thorny,
porcupine tree,growing in me...
touch me...as soon as this winter begins,
blossom me now,to a aura sweet,
like the warm, pleasant spring,
that's what i am supposed to be...


fingertips,
your fingertips...
move them slowly,
let a miracle begin...
fingertips,
your fingertips...
darling, move them slowly,
please start with my lips...

happy immortality...

the story in my heart,
it's so heavy...
very heavy...
it's mercury...


the voids in my mind,
stay empty...
very empty...
it's vaccuum,
sucking in everything...


my instincts,
very brainy,
simply bury,
all the voids,
underneath,
more mind layerings...


sometimes,
when i smell a baby,
passing by me,
the breeze,
turns prickly,
with million strawberries....
the ripples,waves,are soft, curly...


the waves get high,
they get ready to die,
reach the pinnacle point,
fall down on my mind...
infinite layers collapse...
words get slurry,
eyes get blurry,
tears burn as they cry,
and mercury is flowing,
in every vein and artery...


this story,
is etched on to every cell,bloody,
and all my babies,
will share this stormy story...
with my instincts- brainy,
they will learn a way,to keep.
to keep it in their minds,
'cos the hearts get steely,
it's an alchemist...non-rusty,very tidy...
and the story will stay their happily...
happy immortality...



i want it,
that,
which will make me,
die for it...

how intense.

how intense are those pains,
how intense are those blows,
which makes people never let go...
their ears go deaf, to their own shouts,
only a grief stricken silence screams to haunt...
how intense it must be, how intense...
when they can't see themselves,in the mirrors,
though they are absolutely transparent,
under their naked skin, and their bones...
how inense are those pains,
how intense are those blows,
which makes them bleed seas of tears,
when they wash their wounds,
and it all looks like dirty linen,
to everyone around...
how intense are those pains,
how intense they must be,
they let nothing heal them...
there must be many songs,stories,
they never listen to...
how intense are those pains,
how intense are those blows,
everytime they swallow,
i see a burning charcoal in their throats,
everytime they spit,
i see fire sparkles trying to burn,
everything,including their tongues...
how intense the pain must be,
how intense the blows must be,
the empty caves carved out by,
the acid tears streaming down their eyes,
seeping into their memories,and emotions,
make prickling mites and tites, stalaclites,
like life is made of limestone...
how intense the pain must be,
how intense the blows are,
that life collapses with the mind,
an empty cave with prickles and pain,
like it's made of limestone.