NEMESIS

Invention of Dancing

2014-02-03T18:06:00.000+05:30

The thing about dancing, is that it surely was invented post the mighty invention of music. The might of music was such, that some wiseass back in the day thought he could probably get away with 'being cheesy' without getting hit by a rock, if he put his words down in a tune. Whilst he was going at it, trying to compose a 'song' on a cheese license, this another bloke from down the road over heard it. The music got to him, it had to, for he was the first to hear it apart from it's maker.

And so he thought his colon would erupt if he didn’t fill his urge to tap his feet to it (music), completely unaware of the fact that shaking his head would be soon to follow and so to speak, rest of his body. And thus he made some completely ‘alien’, gravity defying moves one after the other, much like a continuum, much like it was heartfelt. Although, he was completely unaware that it would go on to be know as ‘dancing’.

What made him do it? Probably the music, probably he got laid twice the previous night or his ex got divorced. Whatever was the reason, the consequences of it gave dancing to mankind and henceforth was branded as a gesture to celebrate.

So let’s.

Guitaring and shit. bleh

2013-07-31T10:40:00.001+05:30

Yeah, this is some serious dose of blatantly cheap self promotion. Although, I am far away from claiming to be a guitarist or a singer for that matter. Lets just say, making the most of available resources bounded within me.

Peace, better like it or there shall be no peace.

Defying monstrosity

2012-09-22T22:32:00.000+05:30

Harbour yourself in the muddy waters that are well polluted by my rants and rationalisations for a while, I don’t promise you a life changing orgasm out of these words, nor do I have any intentions to entertain you! Although what I do offer you is a mould that you might want to hold on to. If I am successful in that, you will know exactly what I mean and realise how awesome it is to be in my head. Word!

“If I don’t make it to the end, I will make sure every muscle and every breath of mine will cherish the dream.” – My pretentious and wannabe wise-ass self, 2012

When you sit on a bench drenched in the subtle rains of smiles around the world with the water drops falling off its metal carvings and look at a scenery defined by pretty rivers and mountains all dressed up for the occasion of providing you just with pure and simple joy of life, you realise we aren’t fretting over complications of the highest magnitudes between us and the people defining our lives just for nothing. I may paint things deemed unreasonable on the canvas while people are opting for much lively colours, but to those to whom your drawings makes sense are the people who you are meant to meet and have in your lives forever, either physically or locked in memories. Truth is, these people although may sound your friends, could well be your foes who are the friends in disguise only because they are the much needed friction. We are tuned to love or be afraid of meeting these people; we are bound to collide to them. But am not going to indulge in the awful debate of destiny just cause me are made to believe it’s worth a debate. If we start out crawling on the very ground we end up being fast and mean only to find happiness, then all the walls around us must only be decorated in colours that we keep collecting or are looking to.

We are an ingenious breed. We are trying to understand our existence since we exist and to do so, have put our faiths in religion and have given a god status to the people who started them. But if only there were a human being we knew about who thought of or rather, realised our need to have faith in someone superior to us, will I truly respect as a man superior to me. I mean you can’t ignore the fact that meeting him would be atleast worth a little something.

Each day we live by, we engrave within ourselves a new stroke submerging in our shadows from yesterday. It always scares a sane mind that you might lose yourself tomorrow as we are made to believe we mustn’t. That’s probably the biggest fraud our forefather’s forefathers, conned us into. And then I wonder about the talk that stars must involve in, it must leave a dust of agendas that we as humans are suppose to read, but we feel the need to see them as problems. Everyone is immersed in this stardust, dancing on the ringtones and hiding from the wind. I believe am either a hustler or the world beyond any apparent mass is just a joke. We fail to understand how unfortunate it is that we feel a need to escape into the mirage that we have mistaken for a merrier patch.

What a lame excuse for philosophy all this, you are wondering I know. I do wonder the same as I write here sitting next to my blown up backyard, it sure was green yesterday. These tangential, blown out of proportion rants are either a seasonal excuse to every hopeless chapter of your life, or it is the next best thing to MJ. If I were you, I would go with the latter!

Anti dreary smiles,

Irshad.

Sedating earth.

2012-03-19T11:09:00.001+05:30

Breath in. breath out. 

Yell a bit, on sorrow, on deceit, on rape, on every rule, on measures of right and wrong or success or failure, on suppression, on reasonability, on conditionality, on physical forms and the lack of human tendency to look beyond it, on difficulty to talk and on how easy it actually is.

We are a many, almost 7 billion. 

We grow, accumulate knowledge, meet each other, pass on that knowledge, fall in love, get cheated or cheat, make friends, betray or get betrayed, ride motorbikes, get into accidents and sometimes get killed, we do what we want, we do want we are told to, we are fragile, we bleed, we feel fain, we kill each other, we excrete, we eat, we follow, we lead, we help each other out, we know greed!

We are simple, we are complex.

We bunch, are a bunch of contradictions. We are a wide array of colours, sticking to this round mass with plenty of heat inside it and above it. Where does that leave me? Am a point billionth percentage of all of this, maybe that’s why so insignificant to you, probably to me too. But you know what, so are you! And also each and every one of you! 

Intervention Star

2012-03-17T11:09:00.001+05:30

I was in the open

Vulnerable, without any clue

I was pretending

Seeming bright. Seeming light.

Hoax it was all, all of it

I recall now

I comprehend now

My own reflection of yesterday

For I never reached

The touchstone that I posses today.

Your hair, your shoulders

And that acute glitch

In your wide smile

Above and beneath

My banked self to you

Like the skylight

And it’s contours by the clouds

Holding together the life and bliss

Of the world and its colours

Of my thoughts

Underneath.

Let’s play, let’s laugh

And pretend it meant nothing

The nothing that they never felt

The nothing you feel like

Numbers in the clock

Where they go for a toss

Where the magnet never repulse

Where the gravity lets you float

That’s a drift

I believe you instilled

Just with one touch.

Just with one kiss.

hourglass.

2011-10-24T00:00:00.001+05:30

Am silk

I flow within and without

Your control

With each grain

The blow is growing

Outgrowing 

Your will 

To command 

The fourth dimension of space

To fight your sorrows 

To bring peace 

To the pulses in your heart and head

Am growing away from

Your grasp

On the moist mist and matter

Fragile 

You are, am not

Yet you believe otherwise

Every second another inch

Tick followed tack followed tick followed tack!

Am venting 

Am all over your dreams

Your breath! your pulses!

My prowess battle

Your gains! Your losses! 

Here’s to your myths

Here’s to your wait 

For the ‘perfect’ ode

submerge

2011-10-19T22:29:00.000+05:30

Am tramping

Whistling

Not sounds of sorrow

Not tunes of despair!

Am putting in the whole essence within the bounds of my skin, giving my everything, trying to elevate. Deviate. From the subtleties of humanely traditions and rituals of allying with expressions of good or bad, relative to time and sand, relative to breaths and brains. Cold. Very cold. The polarity of hearts goes above and beyond anything and everything that is parallel to a human jet in this region. I should have migrated here a long time ago, may be even before the concept of time was shaping into existence for us. This is not moksha, not to be fooled my friend, for that is yet another mundane epilogue to some wise-crack’s hypothetically generated ‘true’ story. Why live by gold, when you can grow cold? Be impervious to the concepts of dark and light, of grey and black, of being able to fall trapped in the massive numbers and equations of calculations our forefathers devised for us. Their agendas were of different substance, for mud meant not mud but platter of life. 

Am on a searching spree. I will trade, raid, outrage! To look for a new race. I am hardly bothered about the shapes and skin but the source of energy. For I have had enough of the sun, enough from this distance. Colder, definitely colder! That’s where am headed.

wrong blend.

2011-10-02T16:40:00.001+05:30

My humble apologies

For I didn’t serve my purpose well

For maybe I sinned

Or maybe did not stand

On a stack of toys

Labelled ‘good enough’

I tried playing by your rules

Trying to get noticed

And be as docile as you probably wished for

Clueless, with a demoralizing drop

Called ‘hope’ falling from my forehead

Why is it that you seem different?

 Every time we breathe the same air 

For I thought I knew you well

And then I heard the water droplets in the air

Shout out aloud ‘not really’

This is not remotely what I wished for

For now I know 

Things are to run on their pre-laid track

My being, a small part in it

You know about, but not remotely care

This is how the tunes play around here

This is how they sound

For we are a wrong blend perhaps

Of over-riding fortunes

May be for good, for my quest

To the land of land of cold.

____________________________________________

2011-09-28T23:45:00.001+05:30

hark.
we are a blend of over-riding fortunes.

There is acid…and then there is the rest!

2011-09-25T07:46:00.002+05:30

You know you are on it, you know you can feel its rush by the back of your ears while you are standing up against the massive rush of wind against your face. The smell of a highway is not the one a lone man easily forgets, it’s like a home to his heart.  You are on it and the road as well. No fabrications around, the only blur you are to witness is the blur around you. The faster you are, the easier the things get! The nicotine smell in your fingers is not a bother anymore. 

You think you have done enough before setting off for the road. But it’s never enough, that’s the tricky part about breathing the same airs as the road, sharing the same time with it. As much as you love moving forward, irrespective of your direction, the thought of ‘she’ in the back of your head grows on you, you know it’s happening slowly and gradually yet, you have no option but to succumb to this numb aura of self-criticizing sickness! They leave, they always do! You cannot count the number of times you have had to go through this, yet the ‘hope’ fucks you up. And it fucks you up bad. 

Funny thing about highway, you feel when in rush that you are venting you anger killing the gazillion flies coming at you, chasing the ‘bright’ in your headlights. But little that people know is that they are creating small vents to your being. Small vents, like a leach sucking blood out of your marrow trying to break down your hindsight, slowly but effectively. And you fail to understand, an endeavour well put by a million small living souls cannot go wrong, cannot be in vain. May be for our own good, but who is to know when your good takes over your zest to grab a stone and hit your fate trying to grab another chance at that ‘someone’. Didn’t I mention before, hope fucks you up bad? And then you are seeking shelter for your sick self, so when you are desperately seeking to grow in that direction, you realise elevating yourself to a higher plain could almost fetch you the same shell. The fun part kick starts and you start looking for that one number in your phonebook which is never really saved as a ‘name’ name, I mean if you thought you coded it well, you must know that it’s probably the easiest clue to pick. 

There is acid…and then there is the rest! Rest is good; rest is what every northerner looking to head west is after and is on, but not many are in the ‘league’. This league does not restrict to demography, cause there are never any boundaries when you enter the world of spiritual happiness and people who are far below looking at you, are busy laughing at you and shouting aloud things about your mother. Well but when you are in the A-game, you are a philanthropist and are beyond the reach of such verbal and visual irregularities which normally hits you in your head and heart. But leagues are for those who consider a just a day-- inconsistent, a bad day in layman’s terms. Am not that, a bad day subscribes ‘fuck me’ magazine for a mere 24 hours, a mere rotation around the sun, but when one’s 23 revolutions around the sun seem meaningless, where does a man go? Am probably a bit high to write such non-sense, but a basic human tendency is to have faith. Faith in the world around you, faith in yourself and more importantly as they as say, faith in a superior power but where does one go if all these rituals seem bleak to someone! For they have had enough already, they have seen much of the world and have come to a conclusion that everything around is hostile. Am not proud, but am well in that set of living souls! 

Timeless! you and I?

2011-08-14T09:46:00.000+05:30

Candleless

I walk through the empty

Nest of doom

It’s a fault

The concept of time

Yet, I fight it, loath it.

The comfort in your smell, your smile

Is a miss-judged

Deed.

Plead.

I do, all the while

For what? You are scared to know!

Sit down, share a breath

Cause the seconds in your watch aren’t enough

For I have been

Just a part of my being

A ridiculous truth or a failed attempt

There is no

Second chance, no encore

I breathe

The same energy density as you

Not for a greater good

But for you to see intangible sorrow

Valid Ambiguity

2011-05-07T18:55:00.000+05:30

“I grow

Through the troubles you caused

You slay

When I had you in the dreams I bought”

The road is never an easy one when one chases. You probably are the velocity gradient that I couldn’t understand. You seem better from far and turn toxic while making me vie for you; and yet, I wonder how glory tastes. The picture of you around the puddle of thoughts seems surreal but then I am dipping my phosphorous coated fingers in it. You think you are leading, but then I never was competing with you rather for you.

“The fragility of a crystal is not a weakness but fineness”- Jon Krakauer

“Denser are the clouds

On the stream up high apart

I long for you embracing me

I beg to differ, I won’t part”

And then you hail your storms thinking you own the world of touchstones, but your ignorance is as fatal as journey through a peddled bridge. You are unaware, but I never confute to play the little blacks and reds in the cards you thought you were playing well. The paradigms that you are living by are nothing but impediments in disguise and I smile at your failure to understand. While the world impends with smiles with in the failing idiocrasies, we are here in this rather amusing plain of life trying to nurture agonies. I am only being as human as I can be, yet you find it absurd when I try to pluck your petals. It is exhausting nudging your vibrations, imploring on each breath of yours to confront mine. The displacement of my arteries is a daunting truth and a prelude to the cons you are pulling off. I am not henchman playing with sickles and stones, carving out the truce between the different time zones, but your act of not acknowledging my subtle endeavours is making me one. Where am I going post apocalypse? Well you know the answer. It’s only the gist of my being and your being a part of it. Let’s not indulge in rolling the dice deciding out fates. We have grown over that, after all this has always been a part of the big the ‘plan’.

she.

2011-04-15T01:02:00.002+05:30

alter ego revisited.

2011-04-13T10:24:00.000+05:30

Clone.

2011-04-05T08:26:00.002+05:30

The trickery of the sun
Between my eyes
I rustle, hustle and bustle
With them people

There is a tent being pitched, with water underneath it. While you wondered how it floated, I was busy alienating along the crests and troughs of waves. But this isn’t the first time, neither this, nor you ignoring it. I play with colours that are winding up their half-lives. Chrome them well if you may, cause them mountains don’t sway. Why this now? you ask, with that piteous affectionate husk in your voice.

But there ain no answer, there was never one.

A chest of conical shapes of gold
Isn’t enough, the reds grow old.
For I mattered, maybe I did, maybe not
Closing eyes while revolving around the sun. I trot.

Fragments and fragrances

2011-02-14T08:08:00.001+05:30

The tyrannies of them dickmouthful analogical creatures are yet to be understood. The breaths of scavenging dark mole carrying rats are heard and are heard good. Beneath this genetically planted ideological platter of life, the chunks of secret recipes that are to deal with the most inorganic fluctuations one could banter about are graved well.

They say life is freaking unfair. The ‘un-fair’ is never a fun fair, it’s neither the one that comes annually or monthly nor fucking once every now and then cause it impends with the functionality of those blinking red eye lobes. Yeah! The freaking retina loathes the mere sign of flashlights and the neon glow the sky stares at you with, that is supposed to be blue.

Get your cards right already, the little red and blacks in them are all you have. You like the digits of ruthless fate that happily waits on the other side of the ‘call’? The call that you intend to make. Is it freaking worth it? She ain’t no astronaut’s wife.

It’s all nothing but, a booty chatter. How do you like them apples???

LIVE.JIVE.SYMPHONY

2010-12-22T00:45:00.000+05:30

when sky greets.

2010-07-04T13:06:00.000+05:30

____________________

2010-06-29T14:03:00.003+05:30

Hark! the jargon them world been singin’.

They are right there, with their smelly purple haze hair and their rabbit blood coloured socks picked up from the clearance sales like without even considering its offset, indulging in the buoyancy of the creation of a self moat. A little cleavage here, a little there.

Bustle. Commotion. The world has set ablaze from the tons of phosphorous concentrated fingers dipping into the mayhem waters.

Replete. Self-conscious. Utterly predominant with the pigments of thy rye in their blood.

Watch me when am plucking your petals, bathing you in the bitterly sweet fragrance of its aftermath. We weren’t really living in the utopia, but we thought we did? Or rather the hormones in our maggot brains breeding their larvae were against the fact that the little red in our lower eye lobes having been dying, have been fading. And we wondered why the sound of few heads acting as a clog wasn’t ever decipherable? Or did we?

Now you know why.

Now we exactly know why.

yet again "for the love of bullets"

2010-05-24T18:52:00.000+05:30

technicoloured abrasives.

2010-05-16T13:21:00.000+05:30

the return of "HubblyBubbly".

2010-04-15T14:45:00.003+05:30

The heat can’t be ignored, neither can be the fact that I was out of water. There is no point trying to quench the thirst with boiling beer that I was left with. I was triggering ahead, but there is a fancy deal about being present exactly in the middle of nowhere. I was there and as usual, I was three sheets to the wind and with me, there was a herd of colourful unicorns.

I had been driving for the whole day; I had been sipping in the sun for as long as I could remember. There was breeze, yes. But it carried all fatal ironic essence to it and more than any apparent one, it was its warmness. My 1960s truck had been as tired as I was, probably a bit more. But in this fateful ambit of acrimony and hopelessness, I saw those ribbons wave as my truck moved. They had a little red, a little green and blue in them. Flying against the motion of my truck, they made sense probably more than my very own existence.

Spending the whole day in this desert, could suck the life out of you. But I was here to breach into the solicits that the mundane ghosts offer back there, where the dwellings bell. I wasn’t able to figure out the route, it was only obvious. But this, and the heat were non that bothered me anymore. I was moving in circles and was breeding into fathoming the vastness of my congeniality with omnipotence. Far away from the last dwelling was I, with a gazillion hectare of leveled terrain beneath me; untamed, un-withered & un-quelled. I was feeling the Columbus in me and the bliss in being at helm of my archduchy.

“I could feel the concordant world around
For I was the hero to break this ground
Like a starling presence to them mud and fodder
My loud shouts and orders, were for thy to hound”

There are different magnitudes to the story one writes in his life. Either we feel we are human, or the more wise ones realize we were. The love we chase after and the green pastels and plastics have become analogous. For once if we could fender our lives with a little more of “life” in it, for once if we could pull the strings of music to sound unreasonable, for once if we could plead that girl into our lives and if for once all this could barge out of the dreams and heavens while we sleep, there would be to less scope for any parody to be made on our primitive states; the parody that we have made on ourselves, the parody that we have been living for as long as our “modern history” dwells into the past for. Every single penny spent, is yet another lie pushed into the world. But there has to be a regression, for the law of nature impends with it.

Anya.

2010-03-22T00:16:00.000+05:30

Railing through the gun parade
sniffing in the hay
mercy, heaven, love and blood
preying with sway

oh, colours I bought
fickling your thoughts
I mazed within her eyes
like crystal in little greens

Anya, a dream
farther than the streams
loosing for bliss, vying for a kiss
and i held on to the thought

am lost, am lost
to the treachery of time, left tossed
Anya, colours i haven't seen
Anya, in this world of green.

I lay beside you,
through hour of red, in the grass
like time freeze like heaven,
Anya, smile for me like levin.

continuum.

2010-02-15T22:57:00.001+05:30

incubation

2010-02-14T13:31:00.002+05:30