10 Feb 2015

The Tree

Posted by Oblivion in Poetry | 8:36pm

The Tree

bare to your bone
though you stand
the sky is the mirror
to your beauty

some playful girl
chased by her dad
will pick up your fallen leaf
and kiss it in joy

some aimless breeze
on a summer evening
will, while you are in slumber,
listen to your silent song

some solitary bird
weary in its flight
will make you its home
till the skies rain again

6 Feb 2015


Posted by Oblivion in Philosophy | 10:49am

In reality, you are pushed to live with illusion. You are never encouraged to ponder about, and understand, reality. Consequently, illusion becomes your only reality. Your education, media, and gossip are full of trite memes, sustained and strengthened by illusion. For it's only in illusion that the unreal can be sold: peace, equality, freedom and growth for all. Any by buying in, you contribute to the continuity of that illusion.

5 Feb 2015

గిట్లైతే ఎట్ల?

Posted by Oblivion in Poetry | 11:04pm

గిది తింటె విషమంటివి
గది తింటె జరమంటివి

గిది తాగితె క్యాన్సర్
గది తాగితె లివర్ ఖరాబ్

గీ పండు ముడ్తే పెస్టిసైడ్
గా ఫ్రిజ్ తాకితె కొవ్వు

జరంత గాలి పీలుస్తె కాలుశ్యం
చుక్క నీరు తాగితె ఫ్లోరైడ్

గది జబర్దస్త్ అని ఒకడు
గది మంచిది కాదని ఇంకోడు

గటు గుంజీ, గిటు గుంజీ
ఎదవను చేస్తరేంది?

తినాలంటే దడ, తాగాలంటే భయం
అరె, గిట్లైతే బతికేదెట్ల తమ్మీ?

26 Jan 2015

65, Relic Pub

Posted by Oblivion in Poetry | 11:36am

Dancing his dance
Ashamed is my child
To look at his mother’s face
that has aged with love

A million faces, I see
in the mirror
Scarred, wrinkled, gloomy
Dire, proud and fair alike

All of them, mine
And mine, all

But none is mine
And mine, none


1 Jan 2015

Another, yet!

Posted by Oblivion in Design / Typography | 10:55am


30 Dec 2014


Posted by Oblivion in Poetry & El Eye Ef Ee | 11:18am

how shall i bury you
in the graveyard of time

i fear -
when i come visiting
to soak in my fond memories
will i be able to find you here
and will you welcome me
with the same smile
of the familiar

when you, instead, visit me
will you do so
at moments unwelcome
and wring my placid hour
with haunting nightmares
that i must forget

as you leave me so
as you un-partner me
in this unfinished shower
i stand frigid, wet
dripping in shame
unclothed, unclean, uncertain

a little more shrewd
a little less wise
a lot more fucked
and a little more dead


13 Dec 2014

Forget it, Beckett!

Posted by Oblivion in Design / Typography | 12:29pm

Sketch of Beckett

10 Dec 2014

Fading lines

Posted by Oblivion in Philosophy & Fiction | 9:52am

I can't tell this day from the other; I can't tell the next week from this one, either. Months have passed in tens and I can't tell which one will remain etched into the farthest lanes of time, for each one has just been the same. I can't tell this year from the past few I had lived through. There was a time - and what a time was that! - when I could spot that one face among hundreds, even in the gloomiest of hours, and now I can't tell her face from another's. Have I lost the eye or is it the faces indeed? They sport the same deliberate smiles, that sly glint in their eyes and that haggard bearing that fain hides the beauty of ageing skin. Just as the nonchalant fingers, benumbed by habit, hold the fag but never feel its texture, I feel I have sleepwalked in time without ever confronting life. There's neither the joy of living nor the ache of dying; just a frozen indifference.

Maria found it unusual that Jacob should ponder so deeply in her company. She ran her finger through his hair. He felt Maria's slender nail slide along his neck. Then he heard her: "I sleep with three or four men every night; I can't tell one fuck from another. You either get used to it or you look beyond. When you start getting used to, you have chosen to die."

Briefly, Jacob looked at her face. "And what is it to look beyond? What is it to look beyond when this is all there is?"

"I don't know! But on some morning when you open the window and look into the distance, you will feel you can still run, that you can still abandon everything and just run. You will not mind the stakes, you will not care if you must run barefoot, you will know how much you want to run and touch those spotless skies, crash in the sand and just breathe. And maybe then, when you die, you will at least die with grace!"

26 Nov 2014


Posted by Oblivion in Poetry | 6:58pm

మిత్రమా! ఎక్కడికి పరుగు?
అందుకేనా నీ నవ్వులో
ఆ గర్వం?

ఎవడు చెప్పాడు
యుద్ధం ముగిసిన తరువాత
మిగిలేది రక్తమే
వాడిదో, వీడిదో, నీదో!

తలలు నరకడానికి
ధైర్యం ఎందుకు?
సాన పెట్టి కత్తి విసిరితే
ఎగరవా రెండైనా?

వాడు చంపుతాడో ఏమో అని
వాడు చంపకముందే
వాడ్ని చంపాలని
నీ పరుగు. అంతేగా?

అది ధైర్యమా, పిరికితనమా?
ఎవ్వడికీ సమాధానం ఇవ్వద్దు
అవసరం లేదు.
నువ్వు తెలుసుకో, చాలు!

ఆయుధం పట్టిన
ప్రతివాడు అర్జునుడు కాడు,
కర్మణ్యే వాధికారస్తే
అనగానే కృష్ణుడు కాడు!

గర్వం నీ చేతులు
రక్తం తడిసినప్పుడు కాదు,
కంటినీరు తుడిచినప్పుడు
వీరుడివని ఒప్పుకుంటా!

వందలకు వందలు
చంపడం కాదు
ఒక్కడిని బ్రతికించు

తిరుగుదారి లేని
పయనానికి పంపడం కాదు,
తిరిగిరా! అని
ఒక్కడి భుజం తట్టు

అయినా వెళ్తానంటావా?
కానీ నా పిలుపు కోసం
ఇక వేచిచూడకు

ఎందుకంటే సమరం తరువాత
మిగిలేది నిశ్శబ్దం!
ఏదీ వినపడనంత దూరం వెళ్ళినా
నిన్ను వెంటాడే నిశ్శబ్దం!

ఆ కఠోర నిశ్శబ్దంలో
వెయ్యి మార్లు నేను
నీకు వినిపించదు!



7 Nov 2014

Camus @ 101

Posted by Oblivion in General | 10:46am

Albert Camus

5 Nov 2014


Posted by Oblivion in Poetry & El Eye Ef Ee | 9:33pm

she chases you;
center of the world
you are for her
you run, you evade
she can't catch
yet loves the chase
and then, she dies

when your feet
find their ground
you do the chase
the baby runs
you can't catch
yet you won't stop
and then, you die

is this the all
of life, then
a futile run?
a vestige of death
unlived and forgotten

but then, you noticed -
did you not -
the glee in her eyes
when she, briefly,
caught you, and held
to her bosom

the same sparkle
of joy untold
you find
in the little one's
when, briefly though,
she is caught by you

how did your feet
you now wonder 
not get hurt
running in that wild

it was so,   
for your father's hands
rested firmly
below your tender feet
whose every step
was the throb
of his heart

and now your
pining heart knows
as your hands, too,
brave the rigid ground
to make for 
the steps gentle
of the little one

that unmistakable glee
in their eyes
that shower their love
on you,
those invisible hands
that protect
on every torrid tread

they extend,
they transcend,
days, years, ages
and all limits of time
and embrace you
in all your moments
even when, done in by death
you turn formless

for, the best joys
the glistening tear
the lilting song
and the love
of the loving
and for the loved
are they not formless?

3 Nov 2014

Still Maze

Posted by Oblivion in Design / Typography | 11:42am

till you
through the absurd maze
find yourself -
a stranger
you shall always be
to yourself

The Stranger

27 Oct 2014

Traceless Flight

Posted by Oblivion in Philosophy & Fiction & El Eye Ef Ee | 12:21am

You can reconcile with death, partly because it is choiceless. Just as the claws of an eagle that hold fast its prey, death holds you captive. Its clasp is firm and its strike, final. When the errand is done, it leaves behind nothing, just as the flight of the eagle does not, either. The inevitability of this fate at once justifies the seeming absurdity of life.

In contrast, dying is tougher to reconcile with. Unlike death whose move is abrupt, the abject process of dying invites you into its hold and imposes its contours on your unwilling person. Its biggest triumph is in putting you against yourself. One part clings to the hope of surviving so you can return to the familiar; the other is strangled to give in. In this very ambivalence, dying and living merge as a continuum. 

What you are familiar with, you realise, is not life but living. The only thing that needs to be understood, if you must understand life, is death.


29 Sep 2014


Posted by Oblivion in El Eye Ef Ee | 11:20pm


20 Sep 2014

Rough Sail

Posted by Oblivion in Politics | 8:54am

Moves on, Ol' horse
Two at the helm
The rider erstwhile,
Lonely sail'rr
steps down (or up?)
Tradesmen O'Clear
cry hoarse
Ill Lane, Sorry!

Will it be fracas
Sliding into doom
Or will it be a mark
Never heard of?
Hurdles aplenty
Impel its finest craft.
Time, the good Ol' time
Will tell. Till well.

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