Thursday, May 20, 2010
In my hand
The tender pigeon shudders.
And you I burnt and burnt
with intoxicating smell of caustic grapes,
I too with you burnt
our bed roared in delight,
I loved you so much
with Bach at the far end of night.
Truth sang for the whole night
with lies whimpering ,
The lonely star's rejection
made me roll inside.
Inside the dusky blue vase
molested dreams and
stay awake all night,
Monday, May 3, 2010
May be it is time i should write few words about my room. One may say , well whats so special about a room !Every body has a room!
Yes every one doesnt live in a south facing large eight by six windowed desert like room . I have all the facilities that a desert has . A vast expanse of yellow sand coloured bedsheet on a four and half by seven and a half bed which is only eighteen inches high. The Bed takes care of my paintingsby hiding them in its hollow. On that desert I sleep alone and I love to sleep alone dreaming , talking to myself , whimper etc . No , No women ever slept with me on that desert ( Interesting ?)
next to the window I have a rocking chair, I rock hard when I am happy, when I am sad ( !) when I love to sit there to show the vast southern sky that I am reading . Reading what ? Nonsense mostly like Sartre, or Kafka, Le Rezio ( my recent addition to my reading list) or Metamorphosis, Particle physics and its relationship with Buddhism , all rubbish. I came to know ( ! ) so many things without knowing ANYTHING about myself.
On one side of my room I have three book shelves packed with books , books filled with millions of words , screaming , applauding , crying , laughing , clapping dancing, singing except THERE IS NO SILENCE IN THERE !! At night I stretch myself on the desert with a noisy book and some memories . A little girl who loves to dream with me ( some hallucination) and who lives far away in an Island surrounded by Pacific ocean some times dances with me , cries with me in this room virtually. On the third corner of the room I have my music system and hundreds of audio CD s . Hundreds of hours of experience of meditation helps me with my existence and the moments of escape from hating myself.
Someone tells me ( who is genuinely concerned about my mental health and least concerned about physical virility or if I have erections at all) wishes to suggest I must consult a psychiatrist because I believe in the regressive yarning when I am in this room. Its like my mothers womb.
I hide here , I feel security here, I travel miles and miles with my memory,without moving an inch. My archetypical subconscious gives me an orgasmic satisfaction in my room specially on this yellow mass of sand which they call BEDSHEET. I have inherited this subconscious mind from hundreds and thousands of my ancient fathers who lived in this room before me.