http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?blogId=121 In Conversation with My Self. strange how games were played numb as i looked on at my trust splayed open at your feet coloured blood-rust strange how screens came up wide when i tried to see through your lidded eyes at your soul peek-a-boo strange how talks lost meaning bland even as i spoke my voice echoing hollowly around your head walled out strange how lies were told fluid but stuck in my throat on the way down to my heart splintered dreams strange how fingers probed flesh feeling for the fresh scabs talons out on smooth skin rip, tear, gash strange how arms shrunk back detached as i crumpled face-down slipping unfeeling   to the ground powdered ash http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=1836&blogId=121 Sat, 28 May 2005 00:11:08 +0000 Skirting around the spaces between Smoothly surround the void unseen Eggshells they are emotions displayed Pale yellow scar where dues were paid Evil intent exactly we hit Laying torment making the split Foes are we now rivals tonite Bitter words plough garbed polite What was it then what is it here What is it when we polish the spear Thirsting for gore and wanting distress We aim, we score gleeful finesse Skirting around the spaces between Burial mound a macabre scene http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=1745&blogId=121 Fri, 15 Apr 2005 21:54:54 +0000 sure i'd live your dream try hard to make it seem like its what i want to do but its kind of hard to fake isn't it give and take that's what they say is true i want so hard to be to make myself agree to walk the path you chose sometimes i wish i could kill my thoughts for good but then my pace, it slows a tiny voice betrays you live your life, it says how many will you please? they want a lot from you they'll make you do it too and bring you to your knees sometimes it's hard to live for others, hard to give your all, and they want more wonder if its right give up without a fight how much can one endure? i want to be alone with a heart made of stone and if i listened to my head then i'd do it all from behind the mortar wall around the heart that's dead http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=1570&blogId=121 Tue, 01 Mar 2005 02:24:20 +0000 It feels strange to talk to a half. When you've seen two people together for about six years, you get used to it. And then when I ask him how she is now, he says "We are no longer together." For six years I saw them, parts of them, all of them, promises, waits, fights, making up, sighs, smiles, tears - all that a relationship is. And now he says they are not together. I probe gently, not sure whether it will be welcome. It's been a while since I've talked to him. But the flat statement does not seem like it's over. It cannot be. The end of the love I was witness to cannot be so clinical - summed up in five words. It's strange to talk to him. "It's only memories now," he says. And, "I'll be a guest in her wedding. I'm scared." Yes, scared is right. I am too, for him. I wonder what it is for. Is pride more important than happiness? He says it isn't, but then it is 'the right thing to do' - leaving her. Is it? Ten years, washed away. Gone. But a lingering scent remains. Like old clothes taken out from an old trunk... some presence, an indication that something was here, where there's just this black nothingness now. It's apparent in his words when I talk to him. Our conversation is full of trite phrases: 'It will be ok with time', 'Yes, it get's better after a while', 'If you're unhappy, maybe you should rethink', 'No, why stir it up. It's not going to happen...' It's sad that something so full of life and real should be reduced to this. 7 nov 04. 15:30 -for rv Times change and so do we From lovers to friends to awkward strangers ...now but i worry... what will become of you? if not i then someone who earns twice as much looks better a different caste or your father likes him maybe... but someone who loves as i did makes you laugh looks into your eyes and sees your dreams hopes, nightmares holds you close wipes your tears lends you hope for days when no one seems to be yours listens, comforts wraps around you a soft eiderdown blanket of love watches you soar achieve the heights you're destined to, and smiles seeing your success as his own understands, at times you have to be alone knows that you need love affirmations and random hugs feels your smile against his neck your warm breath when you whisper I love you... ...maybe not. 14 feb 05. http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=1493&blogId=121 Mon, 14 Feb 2005 20:42:43 +0000 how much do you know? a layer or two a half-baked assumption without any clue my image in your mind spurious, untrue why do you talk? with words you don't mean a lifelong pretense from behind a screen faceless masquerade robotic machine what do you care? for the hurt you inflict deep, hurtful words the choicest, hand-picked lay open the wounds so carefully licked when would you stop? this amusing game end the deceit the shifting of blame let me mourn fully the girl i became http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=1284&blogId=121 Fri, 24 Dec 2004 10:09:59 +0000 A handful of stars tied with a rainbow Dropped into my lap one day I forgot the scars my world aglow With a piece of a sun's ray. -22.08.04. Felt like cheering myself up a little. http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=1223&blogId=121 Sat, 11 Dec 2004 00:44:20 +0000 the off-white blankness beckons again inviting the smoothened flow of pen neat, lined, single-ruled sheets waiting to absorb vacuous troubled state frantic words, poured out, trip over themselves scratch against the paper in their haste to escape from suffocating, constricting mind-brain but it's been done too many times i guess i am immune to the cure the unburdening on paper fails to soothe the serenity i crave remains imprisoned somewhere behind the rib-cage screaming fultilely, echoing the darkness. -- written just now. While I was writing this, I had the image of my mind being a closed place with pitch-black darkness, and my thoughts shimmering like ghosts in there... surrounding me, mocking me. -- I read it over objectively and realised how totally depressing it is. But I cannot stop the craziness. It's like the fascinating absorption I had for staring at Veerappan's morbid bullet-hole-in-the-head photo on the front pages. Sometimes the mind is a sick place. http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=1093&blogId=121 Tue, 02 Nov 2004 06:35:16 +0000 As I stood before the gates of heaven, I forgot all my doubts, all my misgivings. I shut off all those voices telling me I wasn't the chosen one. Looking upon those golden gates, the wonderful heaven within, I just couldn't wait to get in and sample my own private paradise. Once those gates were laid open, I wandered in, struck by the enchanting beauty, the unsurpassed exquisiteness of all that was offered. Time ceased to exist; my mind could hardly deal with the wondrous feelings flooding me. Nothing, I thought, could describe the sheer happiness that flooded me for those minutes, days, weeks? More than  the surroundings, the peace which filled every core of my being - the elevating feeling of tranquillity, satisfaction and completeness - that was overwhelming. I was so engrossed by the lovely serenity that I failed to notice the subtle changes. The cold winds of change that blew in from nowhere. A sharp chill suddenly invaded my paradise. I explained it away, like a few moments passing by. Little did I know that the coldness had come to stay, to mar my happiness and steal my comfort. The change was gradual but increasing each day. The lush trees were stripped off their covers; the blooms wrinkled and fell to the ground. The birds stopped singing and the little animals disappeared. My friends, my mates in heaven abandoned me one by one --- and still I thought that it would pass. I lived in this naive dream for a while before I came to a small bud. It strengthened my hope, supported my dream. I started at it, the light yellow base blending into pure white at the top. The lonely bud, struggling against a dying heaven. I stuck to it. I knew that until this bud survived, there was still hope. I shielded it from the harsh winds, nurtured it with the warmth of my body and the love from my heart... for an eternity. But the end, when it came, was unexpected. Focussed solely on shielding the tiny symbol of hope I'd found, I had neglected the life-giver... the small sapling on which the bud was. One day, it withered and dried, signifying a sure death of my small, beautiful bud. Seeing the imminent destruction, yet unable to accept it; I sat with my hands cupped around the soft, fragile thing. For long hours, hope stagnant... and then when I finally opened my closed hands, I saw the death. The end of everything, the final blow to my flimsy hope. My dreams shattered before my eyes and I could have wept. How I wish I could have wept... http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=950&blogId=121 Thu, 23 Sep 2004 22:26:33 +0000 To live just once Inside my head Where darkness implodes on itself... Where I look closely at myself Hating the total worthlessness To see just once Through your eyes Where beauty reigns absolute... Where I fall in love once again With all that is purely me. Different points of view. Each person comes into a relationship with his own baggage, his own beliefs, values, confused thoughts and a unique combination of circumstances which make him what he is at any given point of time. To see another's point of view exactly as he sees it himself... is that truly possible? Sometimes it just is... and then you have to decide whether you like the view. Thinking... maybe you really are wrong and he is right. The maybes are tough. The thinking is draining. What happened last night? Half-baked thoughts, these. http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=783&blogId=121 Tue, 17 Aug 2004 09:55:27 +0000 Sifting through what I have of you Precious little, I realise Two brittle roses Red long dead Pressed into forgotten books. My name in blue On snowy white inside a star Surrounded by you. A yellow scrap of soothing feelings naughty thoughts and yearning wants. And lastly -- Those memories Pasted painstaking in the scrapbook in a part of my mind Constant. Comforting. Hurting. Our memories. Sometimes what we have of someone is so little, compared to what that person was, has been, will always be in our lives. I guess material things do not matter. This was meant as a dedication when I thought our relationship had come to an end. Now I wonder if it will ever end. Never seeing each other again, no contact... is that an end? http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=723&blogId=121 Sat, 07 Aug 2004 14:02:05 +0000