Castway Love

I float and I float not alone
Over a lifeless raft and a snoring sea
On a starry night, salty air
I float and I see you

As I float away from reality
Into the dreams with no shame
Over an ocean that edge on consciousness
I float and I see you

As the tie loosens and planks crank
Silent splashes pour salt over unhealed wounds
Splashes can't drown the fire inside
I float and I feel you

Cast away into eternity
Sleeping for a thousand years
Until the sun gets old and sea turns white
I float and I feel you

Dreams unbound and magical
Nature surrenders and renders to our dance
Angels whistle and whisper stories unheard
We float and float into a dream

The Bundle of Joy

It has been almost a year since my last scribble.....
Thanks to the Bundle of Joy!

On one of those usual monthly checkups, where we secretly wished to know the unspeakable, just to trim down the list of names of course. Doctor says "fluid levels are a bit low, we need to induce delivery". And we ask calmly "So shall we come back next week to induce?". Doc replies calmly "No, induce now, nurse will take you to delivery ward now". And thus, I joined TCS a week late. Thanks to, bundle of joy!

Inducing delivery is not that easy; after 2 and a half days of splendid time at Aster Medicity's lake-view room, our bundle of joy finally decided to come out of his comfort zone, with the help of a bit of vacuum technology. Having a smoke might have given faster results than medicine inducing; pokuchu purathu chadikyal ayurvedathil parajitundo avo. For those who have had the luck of seeing a human birth, I bet your expression will not be a smile if someone clicks at that moment. I was in a bundle of questions first, then in a bundle of relief and back to questions; But I could see the bundle of joy at the end of the tunnel! ;)

Then came the Simba moment! And as the initial excitements toned down a little, I could hear praises for me for withstanding the 2 and half days of inducing... And that was not good, from the non-glances of mama bear. But thankfully, Bundle of joy had covered it for me. Then, I realized the chap is not just a Bundle of joy, he is a Bundle of Magic!!! ;)

The next many days were about bundles of everything! Bundle of bill payment to start with. Bundle of extreme caution, bundle of curious cases of poop color, bundle of breastfeeding troubles but then... Bundle of joy raises his tiny little arm and moves his little fingers and magic works!

I had not figured why babies were called bundles of joy for a long time but I do now. It is love, magic! And I wish it was as easy as a recognition is to baby, to bring that smile, does not fade away when we grow up.

I hope we see each other, recognize, smile and recognize more deeply. Recognize the life within us, the essence within us. A world without strangers and stranger thoughts, will keep us smiling forever.

Thanks to the Bundle of joy... Keep smiling! :)

The Faceless Man

As thousands stroll through the streets
A Glance of knowing is far too rare.
Is it too much to ask who you are?
My faceless men, with a thousand face

I look deeply into every eye past,
Silently speaking of my hunger through my glance.
Although inside me, the cry is blinding,
For clothes, for food, for a kind word.

As I search for those familiar features, that once held me warm in arms,
A fraction of the pain pounding my heart, trickles down as tears.
For my world has crumbled, and I am lost
I lost my face,
Now I am as faceless as them.

Like fingers passing through a candle's flame, unflinching,
I am not able to touch, the countless you,
Does it hurt not to be seen?
When God gave us all, the gift to see.

The Box

Liberation is a myth with a thousand feathers
Bright and colorful, spread towards the sky
Seducing men like sirens at the sea

Progress was a promise never to be unbroken
A path cut by time and not human

Love is butter that melts,
In the very warmth it was made

Culture is societies pride and dagger
That nourishes and bleeds it the same

Science was never to be told
But discovered for mans endless end

For years human have found boxes
And boxes we stay inside
From ancient to medieval, medieval to modern,
All at the same now

Death was the only way out
Yet we seem to fight against it.

The Wise Page

Living for an eternity
Hidden among my siblings
I long for a touch, a look,
My few minutes of fresh air

My cheer is long lost
For many of my brothers have withered away
Frightened the wisdom tattooed on me
Is waiting to fade away in time

Nostalgic am I sometimes
On the day I was born in the press
We clapped aloud .. As stories were born
A dark pride filled my heart
For we are not for illiterates

Fools we were when destiny whispered before our creation
That showcases are our coffin
Now sitting on a vanity bookshelf, Stacked body over body
Unbearable is the smell of rotten death

I wait to see my love, curious eyes, 
Flip me over once more, kind fingers,
And I shall rest in peace
Never to complain again.

Vande Mataram - 2015

Watching TV on Independence day, listening to Vande Mataram. Its that time of year again.

That time of year when we become patriot, For reasons less known.

Unlike my blog on Vande Mataram in 2010, I think my patriotism has been on a decline. Middle age has caught up even before my age got there. In pursuit of money, success, stability and safety. I have forgotten my country.

I forgot how I used to see her,
How I used to love seeing her unclad,

To see her carry on with fresh wounds, the pain of reality,
To see her celebrate success, child of hard-work.

To see her in the million gods,
Praying to all and her in one,
Creator, Sustain-er, Destroyer and Consumer,
For I was born, brought up on her lap, and going back to her. 

To see her life in each and every unknown faces passing by...

But now I travel in AC car with windows rolled up and music played loud,
Ego outgrowing compassion,
Jealousy overtaking kindness,
Adultery consuming innocence,
I have lost my sight and hearing.
Become a cripple in my personal space.

To Liberation, Independence, Freedom,
Vande Mataram!

An ISIS recruit's guide to God - Alternate route 1

Join ISIS! Rape a few hapless, behead any whom fingers point, drink some blood and if you don't like it add some sweet oil to it and try again. Wait impatiently for the next catch. Do this over and over until you think the girls don't cry like the way they used to, murder doesn't excite anymore, blood tastes like water! It's time to move on..

Take a mercenary jeep through the arid route to Pakistan. Join a militant organization, not because of the yearn to kill again, but for the thrill of infiltrating to India in the coldest of winters, neck deep in snow through the abominable exquisite Himalayas. An adrenaline rush no snake venom can give, dangerous and thrilling, yet without the slightest desire of being hailed by human race. The only award is self satisfaction. The first probable step to a long spiritual journey, being satisfied by own nature.

Treasure this whilst losing a few fingers in pursuit. It's time to move on again. Into the valley of Buddha in Leh.

Spend a few years in a Buddhist monarchy, without a calendar. Turn the prayer wheel everytime you utter 'Om Mani Padme Hum', till you forget your past and future. Till you forget time and age. Till you forget desire and decisions. Till you forget you. And then you finally meet you. Still. A piece of earth.