Shooting Blanks

Picasso had a revolver

To shoot blanks at whoever 

Asked the meaning of

His paintings.

Out of frustration he

Loaded it for real once,

To shoot whoever asks

For a meaning.

But no one asked 

Any questions that day.

Just smiled at his art

And moved on.

He felt so violated that

He held the gun to his 

Temple for quite a while 

That night.

At the final moment,

It occurred to him to 

Paint something for 

One last time.

"A revolver that shot

Flowers when fired".

The abstract was so good 

He decided not to die.

Then it was sold for a 

Record price.

And when someone 

Asked what's the meaning.

He again shot blanks to

Convey how each painting 

Saved his life.

Your own Magic

After a while, you get
Handy with seamless
Operation of gears and
Clutch.

It occurs to you, how a
Better braking system is
Not merely for stopping but
Upping the speed.

After a while, you realize
How you spend your days
Is how you spend your Years,
Decades and Lifetime.

And how sometimes
Consequences don't matter.
Putting yourself in a cocoon,
Having yourself an image.
Doesn't matter.

Age can be counted on
Number of places you've
Visited and number of times
You've aimlessly danced.

You realize if you could
Have stretched your hands
A bit more, you could have
Grown a pair of wings.

How if you could have
Eased yourself with life,
Things could have fallen
In a better place.

After a while, when you
Find yourself utterly alone.
You realize, how no Priest
Or God can help you.
Nor a president or PM.

You realize how you
Need to work on yourself
Till the feather of
Luck comes to rest on your
Shoulder like it's a
Whisper of Buddhist bird.

You realise how
Wonderful it is to be
Your own wizard and
Magic.

The Hunter

There's a mountain on
Your body and upon it
The weight of a sky.

Then the hungry stomach
And unwavering stability
In the eyes despite all.

It takes patience,
Not the fangs or heavy
Duty arms.

It's the pacing heart's
Focus anchored Against
Titanium locks.

It's clarity in the right
Time. Right pressure
At right points.

A blink of a mistake can
Hail heavy on the stomach,
Even cost your life.

Hunting is not an easy job.
Ready to be steady even
Against impossible odds..

Hunting is a state of mind.
Why do you think a hunt is
Always glorified?

The Hunter doesn't think
About grass despite being
Starved.

Ruined Thing

A bird that didn't fly,

Man who didn't try.

Stuck in ifs and why,

Train left the station 

And you stood watching 

Instead of hopping on.

The song was ready,

Guitar was tuned.

The song didn't materialize 

As you chose not to sing.

A perfectly ruined thing

Is the one didn't get

Any taint or bruise.

So afraid of the wound,

Stood infront of the mirror 

All life, glorifying one's 

Flawless skin.

But the mirror only 

Amplifies what you hide.

How do you escape 

Your reflection that lies?

Otherwise

Woke up, and went on a walk.

Made myself a cup of coffee

And had a good frothy bath..

It could have been otherwise.

Watched a movie later on,

Wrote something for myself.

A good lunch. A deep nap

After a long time..

It could have been otherwise.

Plugged in the earphones,

Hopped on an old playlist and 

Remembered an old friend while 

I sulked alone in the evening.

Called him this time.

It could have been otherwise.

He joined me later on.

A bike ride to the distant bar.

A beer, kababs and biryani.

Talked for long.

It could have been otherwise,

But I called him, and we had a beer.

Can live in relief for another 

Month at least and maybe 

Many more.

Simmer

Who's gonna stop this story?

Who's gonna stop the flood

Of these emotions that are

No more weary?

The legs have mustered

Courage and eyes are ready 

For unshamed stares.

The lungs swoon with pride-

Blood flows thick, 

Head held high. Hands sway

Seamlessly and we're ready

For a riot of dance.

Who needs your approval?

Validation doesn't matter.

The songs that bombard 

In the belly are strong enough 

To make it out of our throats.

Wings are as fierce-

The cages stand molten, 

We're ready to fly away now.

We're Dust

We're dust that never settles.
The winter wind carries and
That of summer keeps it afloat.

Stays in the sky no matter what.

Bouncing off the fluttering
Wings of birds and frequencies
Of the dragon files.

Reflecting the sunbeams and
Keeping the earth cool,
The patterns of Tyndall...

Painting the sky red and in
Other shades. We're sunrise,
And the sunset. A blip of

Aesthetics in the mundane.
We seem to be harmless and
Not a matter of concern..

Till we get into your eye or
Maybe even the nose,
To assert our presence.

That's how Dinosaurs vanished
Right? Dust occupied the
Sky and there was a long winter.

Feather

Undress yourself, stand stout 

Like there's no burden on 

Your shoulders.

Peel yourself wound by wound 

In front of the mirrors.

Conquer what's left of you.

Layer by layer grow thin..

Light as a feather and

Fly to the cues wind.

Stop when it doesn't blow.

Rise when it does and 

Sour when it tries to rush 

Itself to new highs.

Wind is life. Don't expect

Too much as there isn't.

Laugh when it makes you 

And weep when it 

Wants you to be sad.

Stay quiet and accept the

Things as they are.

But don't take your leg off

The accelerator, as 

Shortly there's gonna be

An opportunity to fly.

A period of calm might 

As well be a pullback to 

Set you in an vigourous path.

Necrosis

Yes, we lack purpose, hate loving.
Despise living and love the dark,
Against all social norms.
But don't call us dead yet.

The heart might not be beating in
Lieu with your scales.
Breath might not be in and out
In accordance with your cues,
As we're not slaves.

The wings flutter erratically
The thoughts derange and paths
Often change. But we're trying..

Lips are a few inches wider,
If that's what you call a smiling.
There's a small bulb light always
These days as you're afraid of me
In the dark.

I'm trying to die a little less these days.
The mutilated nose is growing back,
And the twisted feet are turning around.
Necrosis is failing and my friends in
Hell smell the stink of betrayal.

Goodbye Chester, Goodbye Willis,

Goodbye you son of a gun, Hemingway.

 
The golden drop of life still seems
To be waiting for me she says.
So I refuse to die this evening per se.

Self-

The self wanders, takes a walk,
Goes on hikes and on rainy days
Hops on untrodden paths to
Get lost for good.

Gets twisted, and stabbed in all gore.
Obliterated to dust and ash.
And each night after work,
You gotta pray, conjure and
Force it down in the confines of
Yourself to love, hate and abuse
It to keep it around.

It needs coaxing, cajoling and
Appeasing and lots of pampering.
Self is a cougar who thinks she's
In a teenage body. A gigolo who
Assumes he's a warrior's daddy.

It fleets without fidelity and
Decays fast to the cues of inevitability.
The self can become a drunken sailor
Who gambles his fate for a
Cheap bottle of rum to sink the ship
Where there's no water..

So you need to be at the helm

As a captain always, like Jack Sparrow.

Though drunk and losing control but

Playfully enough to keep the heart intact 

Even when you're lost.

Meanwhile

Meanwhile, the wind blows,
Leaves fall, Dogs bark and
Their voice is dissolved to 

Nullity in a while, but 

Someone, somewhere will 

Listen to their silence.

It rains elsewhere, a baby
Cries after birth, eggs hatch
And the flowers bloom.
Even in war people prepare
Lunch and hum.
Life goes on.

Someone falls in love,
Someone else falls out.
A stone that moved from here
Creates a hole.
But eventually, it'll be filled
By water, dust, or trash,
Or by a combination of all.
Somehow people make peace
And find their place.

Things take time while they
Wait for stuff to happen to them.
The boredom of beauty,
The rush of chaos or any other
Way, if it could be put in.
Life happens like a Lazy Giant
Taking eons to open his eyes.

In the far reached of the sea,
The spring will hoist its Sail,
To reach that one last leaf
On the withered tree and
The next day you'll be surprised
To see yourself infected
With a fresh bloom before
It's too late.

Zone

When you listen to a good song

And it rings in your head and
The world for the next
Twenty-four-hours rhymes.

The leaves fall in melodies and
Noses on the faces dance rhythmically.

The same goes for a good movie.
It's like walking with a Polaroid
Next day- just the shade and color
And elegance coming your way-

To stay for some time.
You forget for a while of all misery
Of the world and your own
Disposition - blue and pale.

There have been World wars in
The past and there are ongoing
One or two.
But people have still managed-

To cook food and have lunch.
Flowers still bloom and
The butterflies learn to fly
Daily, a couple of times.

Owning a Consequence

I keep tossing a rupee coin
Repeatedly to see if
I could change the odds

Heads, tales, heads, heads,
tales, heads, heads, tales
Tales, tales, tales.

This one time it balanced
Itself vertically without giving
Any results and I thought
It was beautiful.

I thought it beat the odds.
Maybe it is one way of
Taking a pause to ponder
Over the overwhelming stuff-

One's going through.

Yes, the end is inevitable.
It's this or that- in the end
Of this journey, there's a
Car crash.

But prior to that, the decision
To stop and weigh a choice
And own a consequence,
That matters.

Your wish to become
Something- head or tail-
It matters. Even if the inevitable
Fate is exactly the opposite.

Act of Randomness

Sometimes you fly so high,
That, it makes sense if you
Fall a little.

Sometimes you live so much
That, it seems normal
Even if you die a little.

And you've been sad,
And miserable all along.
If someone gives you-

An orange that's already
Been peeled. Take a slice
And enjoy a little.

You deserve it.
Even though it doesn't
Look so. You do.

Take it without any judgment
Or hesitation. Without any
Need for self-pity.

It's an act of randomness.
A favor of probability of
Large numbers.

Only so much sadness
Could have been thrown
At you that, eventually-

A little happiness was
Destined to reach you.

Defeating the Dark

I close doors and windows
Pull down all the curtains
And make it all dark in my room
In the broad daylight.

Then from around the window
I let sunlight pass through
A small hole and I sit on
The floor to just stare at
The incoming ray of light.

That's one way to reassure
Myself about how sometimes
The faintest of light can defeat
The darkness.

Then in the process,
I understand, how there is
No darkness at all.

The supposed darkness,
Is just the absence of light-
Confines of walls, curtains,
Closed windows and doors.

Do you understand me??
Do you understand what
I'm getting at?
Sometimes, all you've to do-
Not even do.

Just remind yourself to open
That door, the window.
Just remind yourself to
Light a candle or lamp
Or the fluorescent light.

Or maybe you can
Just smile and that's how
You can defeat the dark.

Makeover

Throw away your phone,
Go into hiding. Lose all the people
And break all the bridges.
Don't buy anything new to see
If you can live without vanities.

Go on without eating for a day.
Try holding your breath for a minute
And still better, try not to speak
To anyone for a couple of weeks.

Pack your bags, buy a ticket to
The general railway coach or
Better travel ticketless.

Climb a small mountain alone.
Talk to strangers, make friends
Drink, party and leave without
Exchanging any modes of contact.

And remember her too, then let her go.
Torch all those memories.
Rub the leftover ash on your body.
Dig a six feet ditch and bury

Yourself till you don't make yourself
Anew next morning.

Staying Alive

To love life when you don't have

Stomach for it. Everything you 

Build, when it crumbles

Like a sand castle against

The feeble breeze you loved.

And your gut aches, your heart 

Fails and the air that wants to 

Get inside feels so thick in your

Throat that you just want to

Vent it out, than inhale.

And the things you want to do,

All your goals and aspirations,

They lose all the meat there was

To sulk in a corner celebrating

The glitter of accumulating dust.

Even then you gotta rise up 

To the occasion to hold tight

Your old buddy-- This Life.

To calm him down with a peg of

Some old-fashioned whiskey.

Feed him half-fried omlettes,

Boiled peanuts and chicken lollipop 

To say cheers all at once to 

Jolt him back to this tragedy 

Called life.

Exhilaration

A spark from within 

Grows shoulders and 

Hands. And out in all 

Excitement, it leaps to

Grab it all.

Stretching itself, as it

Extends to the sky.

What it could have is

Only a drop.

Without slightest of

Disappointment.

It says- all right! 

Probably, next time.

And the meaning of 

Exhilaration, I suppose

Is that's all- giving it

Heck of a try and still-

Keep the inherent 

Fire intact.

Surviving

I tumbled in the

Sea of sadness.

I had to build

My boat again

To stop myself from

Drowning. 

But isn't it 

The task? 

Picking up

Ourselves again

And again till we 

Make it to the 

Shore..

I borrowed

Handful of water

To make myself

Some tea.

When the sun

Came up from over 

The salt-scented

Horizon,

I tasted a sip

And captured with

My polaroid,

The scene. 

Surviving pretty

Much is a 

Salt and sweet 

Deal. 

Flowers

Flowers are a 

Vague strand 

Of hope, 

When everything

Around has 

Surrendered to

The onslaught

Of dark.

The pale yellow

Of marigold might 

Not shine enough,

To break the

Tethers of night.

The bright red

Of roses might

Sulk in a corner

After failing to

Summon ample

Amount of fire.

As, sometimes

Surviving the

Storm is important,

Than making a 

Point.

The lilies and

The daisies, 

As they wait,

Not yielding to

The subjugation

Of demons..

They become 

Windows to the

Derailed rays of

Light.

The flowers 

In the night are

The first songs

Of an arriving

Dawn.