Now I have a value, thankfully!!

Somebody was looking at the cost, its so amazing to see that people can add a value to anything and everything

My blog is worth $1,129.08.
How much is your blog worth?

I Welcome

Devoid of all the metaphors,
nothing left to compare,
reclaiming all that I died for,
today, i welcome the morning after.

I earned my daily bread,
dipped in depression and failure,
until I opened my eyes to myself,
and today, i welcome my chanting horizons.

rhythm of emotions, and glitches of magnetism,
held by sweetness and moon light,
i succumbed under the unseen surfaces,
now, I welcome the vibes from my mind.

faces, long and far, and denial of cosmos,
clocks, old and sluggish, printing history everyday,
disorganized breaths and expensive demise,
and at the end of it, arms open wide,
life comes to me and for once and ever,
I welcome.

Existential Confusion

‘Existential confusion’, this bomb struck me for the first time from an Amartya Sen’s book (ah, sounds so good to quote such names, although you know absolutely nothing about that book or that person and you just managed to complete it). He was explaining it in a very different sense, discussing about identity and violence and misunderstanding and the illusion of destiny (that was the title). The motive was to analyse how the world narrows its thinking while talking identities. You say the word farmer, and clap; you have that image in your head. You just tell someone about your profession or your geographical roots and in a couple of minutes a whole set up preconceived notions will be drawn around you ( arguably, which are correct seven on ten).

 

I’ve seen this term with a different understanding, perhaps as something which relates more to what I feel and what I see. We all live with this eternal dilemma that what is it that we are here for? This may sound futile and desolate to talk about the questions (time and time again) of the lazy, the questions of denial and disapproval, the whys and not the hows, and the sole how in the list would be ‘how does it matter at all?’. I have had the conflict within at times which entices me to disbelieve all that’s being said and all that’s being performed. If everyone is so unaware of the ultimate consequence, what is it that drives us towards everything that’s being done. The brain is a perpetual master, controlling the existence, making it all happen in such a subtle manner that all these bloody complexities dipped in the whys look so obvious and ordinary to us. Only if one can tame it, the questions would all be answered, i have a lot of self belief, and I truly know that I can’t tame it.

These days I’ve been bold, so I would pen another manuscript, ahh, it was 1200 A.D or something, don’t actually remember, but certainly nothing new or fresh, nothing as new as, ummm, what, don’t know!!!

In this world where objects move at the speed of sound,
Its surprising to see the entities swapping roles,
the human life ticks and the clock yawns,
I get confused just to verify my brain’s functioning,
and its ironical that it never disappoints me, I think,
may be I am confused, but I am not sure,
confused about myself,
my presence and my requirement,
5 cups of coffee, semi pressed formals with non-matching socks
and a pushover life,
did you ever come across such an existential confusion?
Did you?

Exhibit the vessels

I was going through some of the stuff I wrote more than an year ago and while I am still wandering the reasons for this penning I believe I can put it here. In these times when obscenity is a USP, I shouldn’t be ashamed of posting all I want.

 

Monday, January 29, 2007

Exhibit the vessels

 

And my imagination,

breathes heavily in nitrogen,

locked up lungs,

in roses and tamarind paste,

that image fiddles with my sleepy nerves,

I let it wander in my head,

the exhibition is on,

the fun of bizarre dreams,

it takes some time,

does some maths on the vacuum up there,

the formulas of philosophy,

of tender medications and

caresses the ambiance with nuts and bolts,

the image looks at the watch and the calendar,

twice, yet again, many times in a smaller time,

the study is done,

time for the exhibition to shutter down for the day,

the exit door calls,

and the image moves out,

respectfully stuffed with nostalgia,

and the nerves clean the vacuum all evening.