There is a shiver all around
Whiskers tonight twine no sound
Her wrath she calmly caresses
Until her heart it pleases.
O’ Hera with your nine lives
Give me one without question
I seek but the music of your tongue
And the wisdom of its knives.
The eggs turned into fingers
Thoughts turned to hyena
Songs turned women
And men made beds.
The End.
She smiled from across the street. Her smile the morning call of birds in a deep and elderly forest: candles in a morning. Smile that makes smile in bad times. Accident of the gods; in their rash evil creations, there they created unnoticed beauty. Sublime and gentle: happiness. And then cursed man for it: their mistake.
- Candles flickered in the morning light
Oblivious that they were ignored
The change in temperament they understood not
For at night they shall much be adored.
Her purpose was quite simple. Her heart was full. In her love for coffee, she strode towards it. Modern capitalist achievements, bars serving coffee.
The building was new, it was glazing through and through. The ground floor was called Sista-The Coffee Bar. Her destination. Coffee gave her a sense of belonging, it gave her freedom in those minute moments of sipping. Everywhere she went people stared at her, at her smile. But this was the only time when she was oblivious to the piousness of those eyes. The want of them; the jealousy.
She entered the immaculately clean glass door and softly spotted a seat for herself in the far left corner of the room. Her coffee immediately arrived.
- Cat’s kiss to the brown coffee
Her smile for a pending life given
Thus she kissed the brown china cup
And nothing was ever in my heart the same.
There was a lonely young boy
Who wished upon a tree,
His wish not for a toy
His wish not to be free
He wished all his loneliness fall
Come true just one dream
When the boy became a young man
He went back to the tree
Took a little of the lying sand
And recalled his vivid dream
His wish not fulfilled
Unsatisfied, he went to the stream
There stood he by the stream
He wished upon its placid roar
He wished again his vivid dream
His dream swam to the river floor
Though alive in nature so it seemed
Disheartened he closed his hearts door
There was once that young man
And he seemed to have gotten on
His dream forgotten as best as can
His hopes seemed to have left and gone
He thought he tried
He thought he moved on
But this young man knew not nature
Knew not surprises sweet of its bosom
Just one morning his wish ruptured
And his dream drew forth a kingdom
There came forth a princess
Smiled and she kissed him on his lips.
Today I saw it in their faces
Their smiles hiding their death
How fearful they all are
How uncertain in their steps
There were plenty
Crowding here and there
Blankly staring at whatever
Didn’t know where was where
Today I saw all of their empty faces
I saw all of their deadly smiles
The truth that had escaped me for so long
Today I saw it in their eyes
All the death inevitable
All the truth that we are blind to
Everything came flashing to me
Today I saw a million miles
Today I saw death smiling
And now I must prepare
For in their ignorance they do not know
But I am afraid.
Today I looked up at the empty skies
And I was; am afraid.
There were drops on chests and breasts
That fell from blood swollen eyes
They fell for they were burning the dead
Under cloudy stormy skies
Some were promises, some were friends
Some brothers and some wives
They were all charred the same way
Either bombed or butchered by knives
And those tears made further promises
Never would we forget their love
Thus they brought back the burning dead
Resurrecting black charred doves
Those bodies they sat up on their pyre
Weeping and requesting with dead smiles
"Why make ghost of us until eternity
Please forget us for a while."
But no word, no sound, no prayer was heard
None by the black weeping clan
None of them would stop to mourn
Such was their illogical plan
Though they would plainly carry on
And reminiscing as of some broken jewelry
The wretched ghosts would be called
For this is the art of human memory
No peace to the dead, no peace in life
No one understands why a ghost never smiles
Forget the legends the great the dead
For memory wretchedly is more servile
Weep and request with dead smiles
"Why make ghost of us until eternity
Please, o’ please forget us for a while."
It was late last night was a Sunday
We planned our course through talk
Our friends, and friends and friends of theirs
Moaned how life was not a walk.
My friend
The queen of melody
Swaying
Aye’ how you go
Through tunnels
Of twisted memories
Singing them old
Sung oads.
Then John walked in to the room
And Peter smiled like a shark
They made themselves a wonder-drink
Then slowly got shoved in a park.
Singin’ your songs
Queen of melody
Swaying
O’ how you go
Through tunnels
Of twisted memories
Singing them old
Sung oads.
While Lilly casually touched the laptop
Over her shoulder stood Bob
Stroking her back with his finger
Searching her beating hearts throb.
They wanted a quite place to love
They called themselves the crowd
Then couldn’t find a place in privacy
Hid their lust in smiles and shrouds.
Sing me your songs
Queen of melody
Swaying
O’ how you go
Through tunnels
Of twisted memories
Singing them old
Sung oads.
I got myself a whiskey for free
And sat in the middle of the room
Curses swam in drunken lisps
All around sat drunken buffoons
They said the world had rotten out
They discussed the politics of it all
Eyeing the narrow eyes meanwhile
Hoping on his words they would fall
Sing me your songs
Queen of melody
Swaying
O’ how you go
Through tunnels
Of twisted memories
Singing them old
Sung oads.
And we closed the night hand in hand
We swam to the hour of the morn
Drifting in fits of anger and rage
Thought we escaped times old call
Parting with sharing their numbers
Promises to party again
Some whiskey and tonic and words fake
Shall fall from their mouths wide strain.
Sing me a song
Queen of melody
One that
Soothes me tonight
Aye, how desolate
In this world I feel
Sing me
And comfort my eyes.
Sing me your songs
Queen of melody
Swaying
O’ how you go
Through tunnels
Of twisted memories
Singing them old
Sung oads.
- Hold up! I’m the one who needs to talk. And I might as well get done with it before I start drinking.
- What?
-What, ho?
- Look all these conversations of money and all that, they don’t lead to nowhere
- Right!
- What, ho?
- I mean, money Is easy. It was difficult when there were barons and all that, but today, its all about the way you talk.
- And its coz you can talk
- What, Ho?
- No you dumb bastards, you still haven’t figured who you are, have you?
- What do you mean?
- He He He
- Right for one person; he has understood! But why not you?
You see you haven’t understood who you are. And there lies the fault. When I was there with you, I used to think I had lack of exposure. No NO No. it wasn’t that, it was lack of space. You see. We had all the exposure. But we all had it, so we had lack of space. We didn’t have a big enough environment to fit us in. but once you get out of it. There is no exposure. There is no environment. Money is easy. It is there, and it isn’t, because it doesn’t matter. What matters is there is no competition. Coz that environment is missing. It’s a full circle. And a small one at that. And its tough to understand. But….what ho! You haven’t figured out, have you? Money doesn’t run us anymore. We have escaped. We are larger. Sorry as it might be. What Ho?
Her habits…
How it happens…
Two drops of whiskey
One touch of wine.”
loss the final conclusion.
Super hero or no superhero!
She rolled up her sleeve.
- Why is it that you think there is no god? , She had rolled up her sleeve. Eight pegs. Thats too damn rolling hard.
- Because he cannot save me from this argument right now!
Them, they think in their misled, misguide, yet satisfied emotions and intellect that you and I are crazy. That you are trying to beguile and manipulate them in their innocence. Thus their hatred and misjudgment toward you is justified in the larger balance of this chaos. They, the mob, believe in nothing so passionately as you and me. Nothing! Not even survival. For them even that is a mere cruel consequence of the life that was a sordid gift to them by some unimaginably decadent force. Hence you and I become unimaginable and difficultly crazy.
Me, I belong to the class that is you but for one that has travelled too far. Places not safe: And what doesn’t kill you makes you a whole lot stranger. Hence I put on the veil of proclamation of the term crazy. Now, for both of us this assumption is false, that we are not intellectually capable of concocting things that the mob can. No! It is a simple fact that we think beyond them that makes us lose that balance with the abominable normality of the mob. They cannot understand me because I don’t make any attempts to let them. They forsake me because of their fear for the unknown, the unpredictable. What they fail to understand is that I am more predictable then their rotting schemes. That there in me lies the true identity of chaos: Uncontrolled and unparalleled. And that there is more order in this chaos then there is in their little schemes. For it has a common affection with the larger, infinite chaos of this universe. I leave them to themselves; the idea that is followed by everything that is not human in the universe. That purpose is a word derived out of human meanings, for the human intellect. But even you, who are so similar to me, cannot see that, you cannot let it be, you want even me besides our various similarities to be your mirror image. And that is the failure of your passion.
And here again our ways coincide: it is because I don’t care and am passionate, and you care too much and are passionate that we are alike. It is here that an unstoppable force (you) meets an immovable force (me) and thus creates insurmountable power in our collision. It is this power that the mob worships, you corrupt and I don’t care about. And it is here that the actual order of things are put into place. We complete each other. I will not let you corrupt me with your small changes, you will not let me or them be, and they will never understand this in their mediocrity.
The problem here, though, is not mediocrity, it can’t be a problem. The problem is an unstable passion for stability and order. And it is a problem because that in the infinite measure of things is a falsification of the reality we live in. The problem is Your passion: in your passion you tend to disrupt the actual order of the chaos, and in my lack of attention to it I do it justice. Chaos cannot be controlled, it cannot be harmonized. It can only be enjoyed in my wakefulness, and yours, but not theirs, because they do not understand it. Even that, they will worship and put away in stones. They will make it an idea that is superior to them, instead of accepting it. They will distance it. For them death becomes an inevitable fear. For you and me it is a pleasure cruise to immortality.
