Midnight Snack

When the moon hits your eye,
like a big pizza pie,
that's when my tummy starts to rumble.

There's no time to waste,
I care little for taste,
or formalities, though later I'm humbled.

Sometimes I do think,
that my stomach's in sync
with the rise and fall of the tide.

When the clock strikes twelve,
that's when I delve,
head first, and mouth open wide.

Something sweet will do,
or savoury too,
I'll eat it all up in style.

And it might seem weird,
(I've known some to have sneered)
but I do it all with a smile.

--

Disclaimer: This isn't autobiographical. I usually only crave for chocolate at midnight.

Sorrow

My love called me Saturday night. To tell me she lost her new love. She says he's gone forever; I'm not so sure. Apparently he couldn't handle the weight of her heart. I can empathise. There was a time when I couldn't either. And while I learned, eventually, that I could do anything for her, it was a little too late. She'd already found someone who would love her, and he did something similar. But not the same. His infatuation faded away. And he was left with nothing but the empty promises he made to her. So he ran away, faking an unstable mind. The fool. Maybe he'll learn, like I did. And maybe it won't be too late. If she still loves him, I hope he learns soon. I don't want her heart broken again. I don't know him. If I did, I might've spoken to him.

She told me she wasn't letting him in completely. Not just yet. I was happy when I heard that. Because I know that she needs to learn to stand on her own two feet. Not career-wise. She's more than capable of that. She's a supremely strong person. She's just never learned to be strong in her relationships. Strong enough to not be reduced to tears. But I know where they come from. They come from years of people too busy to understand what she was saying.

I hope she understands her strength. I know if she even catches a glimpse of it, she will push herself to find all of it. She's so resilient. I just wish she knew that.

But it's okay.

I'm here--with ample belief in her. Enough for the both of us.

Leave your sorrow
for tomorrow,
the day that never comes.

Old News III

Marlboro, man

Cigarette smoke,
just a joke,
when you're in the prime of life.

But when you've cancer,
in your lungs or pants, sir,
it's not so funny anymore.

Old News II

The Old Man

He made his way merrily,
while I made mine wearily.
'Cos while he was done,
I had just begun.

Logic

frequency breeds boredom
proximity breeds contempt
adversity breeds character
suffering breeds endurance
injustice breeds retaliation
tolerance breeds understanding

fertility breeds fertility

the slave breeds many slaves
free life breeds free lives

Understanding

I guess quite a few people know by now, but nobody reading this blog, I think, knows. So, just for the sake of an excuse, here's what I will do, occasionally: write. ('Haha', you say, 'you mean like on a blog, perhaps?') Well, not exactly. I mean, I open a notepad file every now and then--sometimes even an actual notebook--and I write. Something akin to poetry. I purge my mind on that blank page. And the contents surprise me, or disgust me, or make me laugh (rarely). I want a permanent log though, if just to understand my mind a few years later, when I figure I've grown up a little more, perhaps even matured some. So here's something I only just purged. It's angry and hateful, but then, so am I.

It's Not Okay
I am
like
slivers of silver oranges,
precious but only semi,
peeled and left, unnoticed.

My love
is like
an unwanted, old balloon,
lost of air, chained with cotton,
to the remnants of life's celebrations.

If I am, then you are too,
if I bleed, then so will you,
if I die, then you will wish it too.

If this is what you meant,
if this is what you wanted,
if this is how you saw it happen,
then go find someone else to fuck you,
and kiss you, while you dreamhopepray
it's okay.

Sorry...

but I need to vent.

How much stupidity can one man be capable of? I just went to her blog--which is immensely stupid in itself. I saw nothing, so I went to her new blog. And saw her love Goa again, because she didn't go there with me, because of someone else. (And I have to be honest.) It hurt. So I told her, right there and right then, and then... about five minutes later--fiveminutesspentincontemplationofmyutter stupidityandunwillingnesstolethergo--I went and deleted it. I mean fucking seriously. What the fuck? What the fuck? Will someone please beat the shit out of me? Just once, just once so that I can associate some memory of physical pain, apart from the kind I've been able to inflict on myself already, something worse. Because emotional torture, emotional scars, they fade, and there I go making the same mistake again. Going back where I'm not wanted, at least not openly. So will someone please beat the shit out of me? Please.

A thought at the cradle of a rainbow.

Sometimes, I forget where I was. Sometimes, I forget that I was even here at all.

I know why.

It's not old age, as much as my roommate would like to insist--I know I'm not old, yet. It's just life. Disturbing me, annoying me, pressuring me to 'live'. So why can't I just 'be'? Well, I guess it's partly my fault. I've conspired with life against my self. Need to keep moving, need to keep doing. So what do I want to do? I want to leave this city, this job. And that will happen, I believe, eventually.

For the moment, I want to be doing more than this...getting by. I want to have created a work of art by this time next January. A song, a story, a photograph, a painting, an ideology, a movement. Read this. Tell me what you think.

2004+4

In 2004, I turned 21. That age is a nominal sign of maturity. I didn't display it then, I surely won't be displaying it when I celebrate this year's edition of "Hey, you're approaching thirty. Are you on your way to where you want to be?". I know this because I didn't display this last night. I acted spoilt, a little bit whiny, hugely petty and absolutely childish. And it was a lot of fun.