DECLARATION : im losing my sanity

PROMISE has its existence only in the form of an un-used toothpaste brand ,gathering dust for years in a holy corner of a grocery store with a religious name in a shabby neighborhood,coz it is too cheap to be good n probably it also sends out the wrong message to our most important society.

LOVE has been confined to heart shaped balloons tht will float no higher than the nearest telephone cable and wud resist exactly 5 mins of the ghastly wind.

TRUST is what insurance policy sellers [ the likes of my maternal unmarried aunt ] use as a emotional tissue paper to wipe off the last remaining shadow of doubt.

RESPECT is what coke sniffing,dope smoking,booty shaking and bling making afro-american rappers feel for their homies just b4 they pull out a semi-automatic n pump in an impressive number of bullets into their not-so-impressive carcass.


LIFE ....

well LIFE is a heady mixture of all of the above.
so figure.

MY BUTTERFLY

Fly,fly my butterfly
fly with all your might
with all your breathe
with all your strength
Fly,fly away
with all your fears
those priceless,ageless tears
With all the colours
With all the pain
of those overwhelming years

Fly,fly my butterfly
fly till you tire your wings
or are they called dreams?
Where bloody faces
beseech you to stay back and lament
You have to fly ,my butterfly
Dont let the colours fade
Dont burn your wings
Dont slash them with that rusty blade
This morbid easel desires
every drop of your colour
SO fly,fly my butterfly
Fly away from those sleepless nights
Away from the mirror
behind which the demon hides
Away from the blood ,the gore
This breathless chrysalis
this sickening lore
Please,i beg you
wait no more
Fly,fly till you reach the shore

i dont promise a brighter day
or a greener land
i dont promise merry faces,
no mountains,no sand
i dont promise
decorated dreams for you to see
All i promise are fleeting moments
that look like me
SO fly,fly my butterfly
fly till the flutter
of your delicate wings
nurture typhoons of innocent desires
Fly till those faces vanish
behind the shadows of maligned years


Why dont you fly ,my butterfly?
Dont let the fear alarm you
Dont be scared that you would fall
Cause on one fine dawn
you would learn how to crawl
i will be there holding your hand
i will be there when you stand tall.



SO fly,fly my butterfly
You cant stop now
You cant sigh
You cant rest
You cant lie
Cause you have to fly,my butterfly
fly,very high...



Every poem,infact every minute incident happens because of a greater reason.
its been said tht there is nothn ,absolutely nothn called COINCIDENCE.
this poem wasnt supposed to be here in this blog coz it is very close to my heart for reasons tht
some might kno and most others dont need to.
this piece is dedicated 2 d butterfly who flew very high indeed,higher than the reach of
selfish ,ignorant n arrogant mortals like myself.
THANK YOU.

half A.N.G.E.L.S.

and full D.E.M.O.N.S.




inspired by the works of PAUL BOOTH.

THE LAST TIDE

So this is my last tide
Of feelings that were
Numbed by a shallow, hollow pride
While you struggled to breathe
By my frozen side
I sought answers to
the questions that never died

So this is my last tide
With closed eyes
And a heart opened wide
I tried to be someone
Someone else whose eyes never dried
While you looked away and cried
You failed to gaze inside
I swear I tried
While you looked away and cried
I swear I tried
So this is my last tide
Yes, this is my last tide.

THE MAD MAN’S MANUAL

I wish to play
Like a mad man
A mad man in a
Tie-tied world of
sleek, designer illusions

I wish to write
Like a mad man
Immune to the
Plague of tiresome consciousness

I wish to fight
Like a mad man
For every inch
That was and is mine
A fight against time
And a fight against mime

I wish to fly
Like a mad man
With ink marks
Bearing names and dates
Of places and states
With moments etched
In every stone
Of every immortal ruin

I would love to
Love like a mad man
A fierce, feral
Fountain of untamed emotions
That rebels against
The whip of the social manual
And flows like
Only LOVE can

Oh! How I wish
To be a mad man
To be cured of
this chronic disease
of following dictated doctrines
replacing ideas for aeons
Doctrines vying for symmetry
Symmetry that can only compose
But not create
Create the dream called LIFE.

ELAAN workshop

role play

firstly thanx 2 all the members n organizers of the workshop.
and a special thanx 2 BIMBO for trying extremely hard 2 put up with my apparent impassivity.

THE JOURNEY.....
SO FAR...