The Other Perspective

A Crown of Ash.

2012-01-24T13:48:00.000-08:00

A fragile crown is formed, at the end of the tip, flaming, consuming you in the process. The golden crown of the kinds, studded with jewels is a thing of the past. A fragile crown is formed, by the very flame you light, it kills, but what doesn't? The smoke drifting upwards, the smoke that disappears into the darkness, a part of you, your life,vanishes into the air. You leave a mark of your own, something which's undeniably yours, your breath, coloured. The immense sadness of ones own being, one's existence is something that cannot be depended upon. We all want golden crowns, pleasures of life that will take us forward, something that'll pave our way up the evolutionary ladder. It looks deep inside you, the smoke, feels your lungs, touches your heart and stirs your brain. Melanoma carcinoma, you die your own death. The feeling of you being you is complete, with the inner being touched and simulated. A fake smile, a gentle touch and a genuine sense of belongingness, be it be with a person or a thing, is something which involves compromise and break. The fragile nature, the Aztecs understood it and delivered it with precision. Everything's a poison, anything in the excess. We grow old, unable to walk, see, hear and talk. We just think of the past, the long lost future we all dreamed of, the future we'll all lose. The love, doesn't stand by, it's all till you let the flame to glow and let it consume you. You will be weak, we all are. Knowing our insides and letting our life fly by, in smoke. The desperation in people will just eat you up, just like the Walrus did in Lewis Carroll's poem. They hide under fake skins and painted glamour with one intent, to eat you up. You don't get a crown, and you don't see yourself burn. There are things simpler than that, we don't want to live till a lifetime, whatever we got is what we got, carcinoma or carcinoma, we know that the crown's waiting, waiting to be blown by the wind. It consumes you and you seek revenge too, you burn it down, till the last puff, self gratification, revenge in cold blood or sheer madness. You crush it down for the pain it caused, and you you will crush it down for the pain it will cause. But it's someone who understands you to the fullest, it burns and dies. You go up in smoke. You don't leave there, you just light another one. To see yourself killed again. Outside, you're killed everyday and you can't stomp the evil out and take another chance. You don't get the crown and you probably won't. Death is fearful, in every other way, but wasn't life the same too? You get a reason, no one lives, some day you'll get your revenge but you won't stay alive to see it. But here you do. The flaming ash crown goes into the ashtray, it's just another puff, but it's you, living your life and it's you, dying in it. And you get to take your revenge, from life, and all its sadness. And sadness is, the only way to know you. People won't remember the smile you spread, but they will for sure remember the tear you shed. It's just a way of life. Another drag and there's you. Living.

Dread Train

2011-12-11T08:42:00.001-08:00

Empty verses, empty tracks,

The trees and the bridges that flew by,

As the train cut through the civilization whistling its way by,

The flash of the streetlights and the hands that waved,

And the sudden eerie silence of the forests that stood,

A Devil waved at me, the devil stared at me,

Roaring with its deep might as it stared at me,

Eyes wide open, I shrieked and I cried,

"Is this the train I should be travelling by?"

The heavy, chilly air cut through my face,

The Devil laughed at me and ran at god's pace,

I looked to the left, I looked to the right,

My mates just vanished in the strobe lights,

Blank, featureless faces hovered around,

"Death is that you? Death is it you?"

I stood in a white cell as it zoomed into wilderness,

Voices hustled and voices sand and the space vibrated

to the tunes of the demonic hymns,

"Is that me? Is that me?"

The face in the glass just smiled at me,

The lights came back as my vision became dark,

"Am I moving, or am I just still?"

The train sped past leaving me rooted,

"Was I moving, was I moving at all?

O dear! Am I alive or am I dead once for all?"

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A poem written while staring at a speeding at a speeding train from the stationary one I was sitting in at around 8 in the evening. The train shot by and I was still not sure whether the train I was in was moving or not and then I saw a man on the platform staring and smiling at me.

Note: A good friend of mine, V, who is also a great graphic designer and content writer (apart from being a exquisite photographer) has started a new graphic designing studio called 'Color Jam' which can give cooler designs to your cool ideas. You can see snippets of the stuff they do at http://www.facebook.com/colorjam and trust me, you'd love them.

And, another friend of mine, a school buddy, Abhinav, has designed a Windows mobile app. for my site/blog. If you have a smartphone operating on Windows OS you can download it for FREE by clicking here.

The Nameless Song.

2011-11-30T04:16:00.001-08:00

Not a moment passes without me thinking of you,

For every stroke of the keyboard reminds me of you,

My phone is dull and dead for the lack of your voice,

My life is void but who can blame it on you?

The guitar strings tell me a lot about you,

Like my fingers through your strands of hair,

Like the plain metal strings bring music to the world,
You bring life to my little fingertips.

Walking behind and looking at your shadow move,

Like a muse that’d make Wordsworth realize that he has a lot to prove,

The gentle breeze that kisses you on your face,

And the little scent it steals from you to be like you.

A little songbird perched up my window sill,

Cries in envy that it can’t be like you,

The guitar strings told me the same thing too,

They said that they can’t compete to be like you.

Play on up and play on with ourselves,

For we love you and let us be your dolls,

Brush our hair and throw us everywhere,

For we shall sing, for all about that is there.

Brush our hair and throw us everywhere,

For we will love you and let you be in there.

This is a bad/sad attempt at songwriting and is dedicated to whoever who thinks this song is dedicated to them. Bah! Wish I could play the guitar. Sigh!

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Note: A good friend of mine, V, who is also a great graphic designer and content writer (apart from being a exquisite photographer) has started a new graphic designing studio called 'Color Jam' which can give cooler designs to your cool ideas. You can see snippets of the stuff they do at http://www.facebook.com/colorjam and trust me, you'd love them.

And, another friend of mine, a school buddy, Abhinav, has designed a Windows mobile app. for my site/blog. If you have a smartphone operating on Windows OS you can download it for FREE by clicking here.