drizzle

can i breathe?

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Thu, 13 Sep 2012 14:44:00 +0000

from the wind that has dissolved your presence. can i wake up? from the dream in which you no longer talk to me and slip in to the one from which i wake in your lap. can i touch? your hands that keep slipping away in silken daze in the mornings. can i look? at your face that keeps turning away one corner ahead towards the window. can i float? as your face blurs and floods a million reflections across the sky. can i listen? to the wails that tell stories that you are waiting. can i let? your love, that without you clings to my heart with it talons ripping it open. can i weep? for the tears to fill and bring you up the well into which you've fallen.

clouds are spaceships

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 14:25:00 +0000

I'm tired of generalizing and unbelieving, of the fact that everyday has just become an attempt at finding something to be enthusiastic about, and still some can decorate it with infinite beliefs and hopes. It is quite difficult to be logical and observe a community drenched in beliefs and how a singular happening, immaterial of its value or severity, is interpreted in their own million comfortable ways, through their filters of beliefs. At the end of the day, it makes sense too, because they believe it happened so and for such and that's all that matters for a person and his existence. Often it feels as if the soul is a blind network of arms reaching in every dimension to hold on to something, to give itself a reference in astral void.

When I become neutral to beliefs, and have absolute disregard for every generalization, I do not understand what else everyday is about. As a being, We've evolved into nothing but animals looking for enthusiasm, to look forward to do something. Yet if I have beliefs, I can look at the same thing as the only reason for my existence. If humans are evolving intellectually, then why in the most demanding situations does man become an animal and resorts to violence or submission? Why can't a game of chess solve issues between two countries? We've moved too far into the complexity of our race. It has turned into a disgusting system of belief-run profits and that kicks you back in a cycle.

When I think about the extents of belief, there are doubts. Is the moon artificial? I just believe it is not and it is making my life a whole lot easier. Looking for extra-terrestrials when I myself am projecting the whole universe in the back of my head is like playing hide and seek with my shadow. Yet, if it interests me and I am enthusiastic about it, my life's purpose is met.

How much outside this system of beliefs can I get? I want to exit the system and look at it from a lighthouse. A sinister projection of colours from a fourth dimension constantly distracts us from the hopeless entanglement we are in. At most, I can imagine that my existence is unreal and my consciousness is nothing but memory, and that I'm an undefined portion of a blind network constantly being fed with information and as I process it and perceive it and project it outside myself and build my own frame of reference and believe that I exist in it, something is watching me.

103 degree celsius

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 18:40:00 +0000

forest

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 16:56:00 +0000

there is an animal, wounded
it has fears, a leash around the neck
the forest is on fire,
courage burns like the leaves
in ravenous orange glow

the clouds feign strangeness
whispers of distant rains
the leash has an other end
it cannot drown, cannot burn
it smells of wet earth

pain is a leaf in the maelstrom
storms die after the kill
leaves tell you the story
leaves guide the turbulence
like smoke in a light beam

the leash dissolves in memory
the leash is an animal
changing in form and time
it is the memory of an animal
a wounded animal

vapour shell

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 09:59:00 +0000

I've always clung to mildness, felt safe and comfortable, but what significance does it hold if it lacks definition? Where do I stand if where I fall is unknown? Where are the extremes?

All phases I've been through have been unworthy of the extreme. Then she called. I fell down, I defined my extremes in desperation. I've let my instincts take over, I'm engulfed in the smoke of change. Hope has transformed to faith and belief. What is truer than what I believe?

Mildness dissolves into nothingness, leaving me exposed, vulnerable. It is impossible to be unreactive while being instinctive, further unrevealing. And in the end, it is not even about myself.

time machine

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 09:53:00 +0000

strange how the balcony calls me to the city, gives me a desire,
to jump into the vortex of routine that I once detested.

strange how I cannot conclude that the weather is brilliant,
strange how it would have been better if it had rained,
stranger how it would have affected.

strange how my hope has not deterred,
stranger how there could have been no need for it.

strange how I crave for a time machine,
stranger how I wouldn't want to travel.

cliff

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Thu, 03 Mar 2011 17:40:00 +0000

soul fastened to a dying animal...

singularity, a point of override. a point when artificial intelligence surpasses human intelligence. what is conquered? or what is lost?

...because his body, which you can always conquer, gives so little purchase upon his soul.

what do you fear? or what do you fear admitting? it prevents you from thinking. it stops you from exploring and finding courage. you need courage to act, action kills fear, are you afraid of conquest? you cannot stop the advancement, you cannot kill the scientists to stop progress. progress is darwinian, it will find its own means to exist. think of what you can conquer. does it disturb you to think that you can conquer death? will it question everything? the one conquest which will defeat you, the victory in which you will lose.

pole

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 22:42:00 +0000

A form divides you and me, sets us apart, on the two ends of the universe. I swim across and reach you, only to find that the universe moves along with you and me. Nevertheless, you have left behind your radiance, your presence, maya, it cannot be moved, or removed , even by the heavens. I sink into your presence. I can see you across at the other end. I am no longer myself. I can see you see me from the other end, but you see yourself across the universe. I have lost my identity in your splendour. I can only experience, I cannot express, the sinking feeling when your outer form dissolves and I am blinded by your brilliance, shattering the darkness. How foolish of me to quantify! A brief moment of oneness, I am taken over by you, a moment further can crush me to dust, but it is no longer than eternity.

a secret

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Sat, 12 Feb 2011 14:46:00 +0000

there are words
unspoken in years
tears frozen
like fallen leaves
which carpet
and hide your path
where do they go?
they touch the shore
they touch your feet
and tell you a story
they crawl
on the slippery sand
crave for an embrace
why do you think
the sea is salty?

evening

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Mon, 07 Feb 2011 22:45:00 +0000

In the evening of an unloved life,
I can write to non-existent people
I can love and secretly love the same person
I can remember the names of my enemies
I can sleep through the winter
I can read poems and not feel guilty
I can walk on fallen leaves and hope

12 questions

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Wed, 26 Jan 2011 08:16:00 +0000

_{1. Where will you take me?}

_{2. What if I die before the transaction?}

_{3. How much do I cost?}

_{4. What if no one wants to pay for my release?}

_{5. Is there a ransom at all?}

_{6. Will you cover my eyes and take me in a fast car?}

_{7. What is your intent?}

_{8. Why do you answer my questions?}

_{9. Are you in love?}

_{10. Will you kill me after the money?}

_{11. Can we be friends after the money?}

_{12. Where is my cousin?}

_{2. What if I die before the transaction?}

_{It doesn’t matter, because no one’s going to know. The transaction will happen in the belief that you are alive. In fact, I’ll make sure that you are dead before I get the money, so that I can ask for more without feeling guilty.}

answer

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Wed, 26 Jan 2011 08:14:00 +0000

1. Is love a matter of choice?

If you are too lucky, yes.

If you are too busy, yes.

If you are too scared, yes.

If you are too much in love, yes.

If you talk binary, yes.

white cow

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 17:37:00 +0000

the white cow has criminal history
flashlights wake up silence
you look for the old man in the corners
but you find only silence everywhere
silence stares at you like a stranger

the wind carries an unmistakable stench
the walls freeze to your fingers
you wait for your senses to betray you
silence echoes in your head
the corners taste like a white cow

you talk to the people in binary
they dread the white cow
but they never talk about the old man
they never talk about silence
they do not carry flashlights

the tomb intimidates you
as silence stares at you from the top
it stares as you talk binary to people
it stares as you look for the old man
you do not want to look back

the tessellations bear no evidence
you do not check for repetitions
the carvings on the stone wall scream
skill never betrayed the old man
he was known for his work

you remember the night he left
the people no longer cared for him
silence was his only companion
but silence never spoke and he was deaf
silence will not tell you where he is

the white cow appears in front of you
your scream shatters silence
you realize that the old man is no more
you knew this day would come
your knew your existence would be at stake

your life is about to be taken
there are no tombs where you can lay
there are no carvings that bear your name
there would be no memories of you
not even silence

you lay dead on the walls and corners
your body consumes light like vacuum
the stench fills the air and coldness on walls
the old man was invisible and dead
he was the king, the carver and history

world

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 16:41:00 +0000

idling engine
burnt fragrance
broken sandglass
dead sniper
outdated supercomputer
bottled genius
programmed intellect
white piano
some people ready to work
unused memory
canned carbon-fibre
invisible flat sole
underground penthouse
liquid tracing paper
electrocuted skeleton
guarded blackhole
unguarded railway line
wet tyre
second hand ufo
greased throttle
neon-lit sub-woofer
contaminated elixir
guided ballistics
pump action shotgun

toe

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 18:16:00 +0000

What do you know about fear?
I do not know about fear, it is always behind me.

What do you know about love?
I do not know about love, it is always ahead of me.

What do you know about hatred?
I know about hatred, hatred is addictive.

What does that mean?
Love is ahead calling; fear is behind pulling me back. But whenever I stop,
hatred comes along. Hatred is enchanting, charming and disarming.
Hatred makes me stay back for a long time.

Do you feel lonely?
How does that matter?

yellow butterfly

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 18:14:00 +0000

Things I remember,
If I know what that means
are regrets.
Not just them
But all I remember,
remember
that I’m not wrong
and that it died on my shoulders

post card

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 18:12:00 +0000

I’ve always wanted to talk to you. I’ve seen you waiting at the gates of houses, faceless like a memory. I think you are a very good person. Though, I was confused by your strange behaviours sometimes, especially when you took my friend away so suddenly, when he was just about to get ready for the world. Where did you take him? I don’t think he was unsuitable for the world, or maybe you just took him to a better place. Of late, you’ve been visiting my family often. Don’t get offended, but I’m just curious. As long as you take them to a better place, it is fine. But it hurts me to watch all the people, whom you leave behind, crying like children left behind by their mothers.

One last thing, I have a request. When you come to take me, burnt or buried, please don’t take me to a better place, or worse, a worse place. Instead, accidentally lose me in you chambers of infinite vacuum.

To
Death,
Deep Inside Me.

stranger

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 18:08:00 +0000

sacrifice the significance of respect
escape possibilities to no avail
what can I say? but understand that I go numb
at your beauty; realize that I wish to know
what I am doing; hope grinds strangeness
I do not mean to be sad, I do not mean
to dance in the dark; but I do
prepare for the storm, battle cry and show down
it's alright, no one's asleep; say it again
that there's more; the great dipper is a dream
of multiple consequence and lies,
it lies there like the wind, you die,
I'm right behind you to give you back.
in the end all that matters are memories
depth shows truth, the steps to the past
but do you care how it turns out or where I live?
behind the fence and beyond, there is nothing
there is music, there is the sea
the graphic overflow and the routine
incessant heartache doesn't drown you
it doesn't change you; why do you live?
chance will imprison shadows
the open road is haunted by music
delayed contraption won't give you babies
but the lunar murder gave him away
in staccato, regret and swing
the other galaxy made no sense
and swept, but lived.

pictures that kiss the wall

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 18:05:00 +0000

Someone Knock

That’s everything I need, I’m ready. No, I’m not going out. I haven’t come from anywhere, not in the last two days. I thought I was going out. I like the walls and the fancy pictures put on them. Do I like the chairs and the tables? Let me sit down, why am I not going? I should go. People are waiting. But I don’t want to get up. I want to look to my right through the window, one last time before I pass out. If I do, will it make sense? Or if I pass out, will it make sense? All the wood that is lying dead around me has been here all along may be to make sense just for this one moment. And the detail on the ceiling at which I’ve been staring for so long, has it made me think about all of these? Has it been there just for this one moment to tell me that time is fleeting?

Marqstx

She lives in the apartment facing the fountain. She steals eggs and sells them. She betrayed her boyfriend. Now she is committed to her umbrella. She does know about facebook. She has paper fans under her cot and also a trunk full of old hats and eye liner. She freaks out if you pull your chair along the floor. When no one’s watching, she juggles owls. The fragrance of wet earth is what she has in her spray can. She eats ball bearings for breakfast.

we die and become architecture

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 18:01:00 +0000

But Love, we were just dancing
Escaping through the bars
She was coming from darkness
And going to shadows
And let dark light show you the way
Face it
By the chains bearing you down
It’s abrupt
I will not let you go
The short time madness
I’ll just be the watcher
Why did I look away?
Has it been there just for this one moment,
To tell me that time is fleeting?

- collective evolution

dagger

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Wed, 15 Dec 2010 20:17:00 +0000

being blissful without reasons
does not suffice
we look for what we don't have
losing our happiness

things

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Sat, 11 Dec 2010 19:14:00 +0000

They change such that when we look back at days gone by, we remember many happy moments darkening our present. By tomorrow, we would've been happier today. Ironical paradox.

But these days, we have as intense sad moments that we remember them for a lifetime.

maya

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Sun, 07 Nov 2010 17:00:00 +0000

That I should make much of myself and turn it on all sides,
thus casting colored shadows on thy radiance
---such is thy Maya.
Thou settest a barrier in thine own being
and then callest thy severed self in myriad notes.
This thy self-separation has taken body in me.
The poignant song is echoed through all the sky in many-coloured tears
and smiles, alarms and hopes; waves rise up and sink again,
dreams break and form.
In me is thy own defeat of self.
This screen that thou hast raised is painted with innumerable figures
with the brush of the night and the day.
Behind it thy seat is woven in wondrous mysteries of curves,
casting away all barren lines of straightness.
The great pageant of thee and me has overspread the sky.
With the tune of thee and me all the air is vibrant,
and all ages pass with the hiding and seeking of thee and me.

Rabindranath Tagore

the gardener

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Sun, 07 Nov 2010 16:48:00 +0000

I long to speak the deepest words I have to say to you; but I
dare not, for fear you should laugh.
That is why I laugh at myself and shatter my secret in jest.
I make light of my pain, afraid you should do so.

I long to tell you the truest words I have to say to you; but I
dare not, being afraid that you would not believe them.
That is why I disguise them in untruth, saying the contrary of
what I mean.
I make my pain appear absurd, afraid that you should do so.

I long to use the most precious words I have for you; but I dare
not, fearing I should not be paid with like value.
That is why I gave you hard names and boast of my callous
strength.
I hurt you, for fear you should never know any pain.

I long to sit silent by you; but I dare not lest my heart come
out at my lips.
That is why I prattle and chatter lightly and hide my heart
behind words.
I rudely handle my pain, for fear you should do so.

I long to go away from your side; but I dare not, for fear my
cowardice should become known to you.
That is why I hold my head high and carelessly come into your
presence.
Constant thrusts from your eyes keep my pain fresh for ever.

Rabindranath Tagore

radical abstraction

noreply@blogger.com (mirage) — Thu, 22 Apr 2010 05:55:00 +0000

She said inspiration is,

recognising the elements in the fourth dimension, in blood, bone, eyes and the soul...

It is hard to be inspired when we see what we like to see, hear what we like to hear and believe in what we would like to believe, it is like wondering what a mirror would look like when there is nothing to reflect.

Manifestations of expressions from within are either inspired by one other thing or purely the expression of the soul itself. The latter, now being infested by the sub-conscious influence of things lost in time but not from memory, is what moulds the clay today. It thrusts upon others, its expressions, driven by its own desires.

the mirage : So, what is the true colour of a mirror?
(the mind)

mild One : We wouldn't know. We have moved backwards.
(the spirit)

the mirage : Walls have been broken. Thoughts flow out and let wind from other places carry opinions inside. It is hard to ignore speculation, to be ignorant to offense, to be unemotional and unrevealing. We are everything a mirror isn't.

mild One : We don't care, do we? We have agreed that people wouldn't mind if we join, but wouldn't care if we don't, there's no point in anything at all.

the mirage : What drives us then, every time after this lull?

mild One : Time.