Facades

Of what strings are facades made,

Woven true of feelings within,

Driven deep of words not said,

In strength are such facades made.

Of what drives is a man made,

In denial lies the beneath,

In my facade does it lie,

Fears and feelings I sheath.

Of what strength lay in her,

When were such words framed,

For why were trees made to shade,

Of her were facades made!

Of what makes the lies hide,

What truth lay in the shade,

Some things were never meant,

Some things to lose in the facade.

Some say , of evil is it wrought,

For deceit comes the facade,

Within graves do secrets lie,

Of love are such wreaths made.

I chose what I am to be.

This post is in continuation to Sunset at rum point
Change is strange phenomenon.The more you resist it,the harder it is to contain.

Today I am with the sands again,alone.I sit alone with the sun going down, wondering what the next day will bring. No I am not thinking of the sunsets.With the sunsets I sit alone.The fear of a thing lasts till chance brings it to your door. Today I am afraid of the sunrise. Another new day, another sunrise for a day I can forget.Another day that has no meaning, no colors , no fragrance , no beauty. Today I sit alone with the sunset. The winds bring me the familiar musty touch. But no hair blows unto my face.

I hold unto the sands , afraid to let go of each grain. Each grain that has the indelible touch. I miss the shallow impression on the sands where she stood. I miss looking at the sun, unafraid.

I look back and I laugh, a hollow mirthless one. I laugh at the sun. I laugh at my fears.What am I afraid of?Tomorrow will be another day to live .A day I may forget coming here .A day when I may not want to spend the rest of my sunsets with anyone. But something says the lesser I come here, the harder will the scents get. Harder it will be to defy the sun. The day I stop will be the day I stop to live. I will be among those that jog across the face of the ocean and stop not to challenge the setting sun.

But I am afraid. Afraid of facing the sun alone. I am afraid of the concept of the next day. This turn I am alone. And then I realize, I have no fear of losing it tomorrow.Yes, I will come. I will miss the smell of her around me. I will miss the way the winds scattered her sandy hair all over my face. I will miss the way the sun hid behind her beautiful face. But the sun will go down and will rise tomorrow. I will live. I will face the sun and though I stand alone I will.I will not be afraid.

This day is another day. Tomorrow will end some day. No, I live not to be with her. But every evening, when I come back, I will close my eyes. And I will laugh at the setting sun. Does it have a choice? It does not! But I have. I love her. She whose scent hangs thin. But I will close my eyes and mourn her.The morning may come after the night. But the moment I close my eyes I realize I still breathe. I still love. I still live.

I am what I am, because today; I chose what I am to be.

In my mind I live

There we are.Enough is enough.To put on the colours of mourning is easy.To reach out from hell is easy enough.Some people call it strength.I call it weakness.Weakness to survive.Weakness to live.Weakness to feel pain.Some people say I do not feel it.But I enjoy it; for the memories that are with it are too valuable or let us say inseparable to erase.

In my mind I live,
In places where none belong,
Sunsets , where I live alone,
In the winds , I feel,
A touch , a smile and her.
A sunset yet to live,
The winds still musty from her,
The memories that still call,
To the winds that never die.
My bottle calls, deep I drink,
But my bottles aside,
And still I drink for her.
I dream and will i wake,
Do i want , do i dare,
Still I slumber ...half dead ...part awake.

Western urinal and Indian Weddings

The concept of a western urinal is good. Provided you don't happen to be anywhere near to a Indian wedding and morbidity has taken toll of you to such an extent that you have decided to wear something resembling a Indian Kurta. For such matters western urinals and Indian weddings are a disaster in the offing.

Imagine you are the urinal trying to do what the gods have ordained for you at this importune moment.The bladders are loaded to the point of detonation with a very short fuse.The concept of automatic discharge with your pants on has been obliterated the day you passed the potty sessions back in infancy. Decency says you have to do it the naked primal way with due adjustments to your hang. And you hit the first roadblock.

Ground check to see whether the person beside is more interested in his life or is looking around.Then you proceed to pick the kurta to an extent where anndiems cannot discharge a heady and smelly patch on it, all the time looking funny like a kangaroo with an up turned pouch.

The next logical steps would be to untie the umbilical cords of your pajama. For some hellish reason, you wish you are a sailor adept at knots. Also you wish you hadn't tied that knot looking at that gorgeous picture of whoever adorns the dark walls of your sanctum .In the mean while you are enlightened on the joys of life , about karma and crap IE basically how it feels to be happy.

With the success of all your endeavors you loosen the knot. Now with a careful estimation lower you pajama so as to avoid butt exposure to the nosy bastard who came behind you at this very moment. The levels of estimation is the one thing one feels that beats the heady astrophysics. And then the karma, the absolute nirvana , the action that liberates the chained and maimed soul from the manifestation of Lucifer himself.

That done and thank heavens for that the same reverse engineering works wonders.Think of the lass of your sanctum, mess up with the knot and close the exposed parts of the bodice. Run out of the purgatory and sincerely hope you never wear an Indian Formal to Indian Wedding with an western urinal.

Sunset at rum point

You are sitting on the beach with that sun setting. You remember all the good songs being written about sunsets. Then you look at your side and there she is. Your heart skips a beat. And you realise this is where u want to be the rest of your life. In those wee hours, just before the sun tilts over, you imagine this is it. 

” This is the life I like and the girl I love. Why should I be somewhere else doing something else, dragging my life along doing something that I hate?"

What is so special about the sunset? Is it something to do with the person sitting with you? The silence seems so soothing. For once you want to sit and feel the sound of waves, hitting the sandy floor at your wet feet. The salty breeze that blows her hair, on to your face. The sand that has inexplicably clung to the most impossible parts of you. Her perfume that smells so close.  And the sun shines unto your eyes, for that last time. For once, you don’t mind looking at the sun. It is as an open challenge. 

“For once, I can challenge anyone to lessen that thump in my heart."

You love the company, the sun , the fragrance and the way waves crash in rhythm, with your heart. In silence lies such power. The exchange between silent hearts, which no sentient being hears. You wonder why you weren't there the last evening. You wonder why all the evenings. You wonder about the next evening. Instead of getting lost in the moment, you think about moments that you can’t be with her. 

The joy lessens and a mild throbbing pain sets in. In place of a thumping heart there grows a nagging fear of sitting apart. “Can’t we be together forever?” But you stay silent. You are afraid of asking, of tempting fate, of jinxing the setting sun. Afraid not of an impending doom or the apprehension of the wrong foot, but of something else. Something more subtle. Instead of being afraid of the mundane things, you are afraid of what comes next. 

Will the next sunset be as sylvan? Will the salty breeze still blow her hair unto your face? Would the twilight remain or will you, by the force of nature, be sitting alone on the beach. Brooding upon a sun that has already set on the western horizon (Which by the way you haven’t noticed right then.)?

And i still cannot say....For you will not answer. But should I ask...I do not know!

A peg and tell me more

A peg and tell me more,
Of strife, life and lore,
Of the smoke rings and fire,
Fear not me,
For I have the devil on hire.

A peg and tell me more,
Of eyes,sighs and sore.
Your burdens I share,
Fear not me,
For all the devil may care.

Fear not the night,
Cause the devil's a whore.
Fear not me,
A peg and tell me more.

To live

A feeling i hear, softly whispered
With words none respond.
As the air grows cold, people walk,
On lanes and run!
The sweet smell still lingers,
In memories,  i will someday forget.
And darkness still stays in
The hand that reaches out.
Afraid i look back,
Among days to search for somethings.
Then again i say,
I wish i knew.
Confused i go on,
Where the waves drown the heart,
And i am back again,
To suffer and live.