Noisy classroom

History stinks under its bridges
There are flushed lives all along
with blood floating on water
in a grotesque design of plankton.
There is a squabble between
highs and lows that define us
about what to remember and
what not to, of our lilliputan efforts
on a drifting cosmic body in slumber.
We are home
We are alone
Whispering to each other
the answers to our existence
While there are more questions
shot back with fists
in this noisy classroom.

Backstage

The back of the stage
is filled with discarded lines
and out of context extras
There are expectant smiles from the similies
Not too evident, not too unnoticeable
Not too desperate but not without intent.
I traverse this forest of nymphs
and from among the broken
Greek harps and Roman arches
Indus scripts and Nefertiti backdrops
I choose angelic cliches
with detachable wings.

On the last bus to infinity

I draw my story with a kiddish crayon
on the walls of night
and narrate it to the shadows as I journey
on the last bus to infinity.
I look up to the horizon
at the lights that sparkle
like stars of the milky band
and wonder if there is a world
away from mine, the one
where all the fables are true
and whom darkness is now kissing good bye.
I am heading forlornly, at a higher speed
as if the engines of time recognized
the emergency of my thoughts
circumventing all the hurdles.

Tabula rasa

I am reading something strange today
I am reading from my memories
There is an obvious writing on the wall
to which I am oblivious to
as I drift with these winds of time.
A table with four friends
comes to my mind.
The chairs around, are thrown haphazard
from meetings gone awry
and on that table, we are talking
about a world that was going to crack up
and how, we should do the right thing.
We are plotting our greasy strategies
for successes in life,
while biting into a sandwich from both ends
and with sauce dripping like blood.
All the while
there is an eerie watch from an owl
perched on the next table
that lost its youth to these moments.
We defy his night vigil
and continue to gobble up the circumstance
with a squeaky laughter
as dark shadows dance on our faces
and an unsure fate tries to choose.

The Chase

Often seen complaining about the creator
I am anxious, if there is a single being
with four or five hands and ten heads
like the meanings and interpretations
from which all this originates.
A very old question, often put forth to an elder
with digested teeth and who has epiphanies
looking into the fire.
I can imagine him conjuring up tales
of battles between good and evil
and putting the tribe to sleep that night.
Like the dark forces in those old tales
the question of existence, time and again,
raises its unrelenting hood.
Since then, Gods have queued up to find answers.
Beliefs make them, to be easily broken in times of need
and we give epic twists to these little violations.
Mere bathroom breaks in a game of continuous chase.

On Time

Past, the eerie cave I wriggled out of, shows up
in my distancing rant over the coffee table;
A stage I take by storm and act drunk.
My colleagues are equally prepared.
Always at an arm's length
they lend me an impaired ear.
In the opaque darkness of the world
these frivolous gestures form
the walls that I grope for.
Like in kindergarten, there is
a celebration of life in this babble.
A luckiness that's felt
on board the ship of Columbus.
An untold promise of a new world.
Such a crew and a pleasant sea;
there is least care, if everything I say
is baseless, like what I say about everything.
And as if to mark us by numbers and
the strength of our arguments
there are stains all over the table.
Brown crescents that keep time.

To the Seekers

Once upon a time
Wise men walked from place to place
lighting lamps in the darkest of temples

Parents, our story tellers
pass on their stories
transforming the living room
into a pre-historic cave

One story was of a local buddha
who spelt aphorisms in simple rhymes.
The sayings were beyond us
but as children
we were more interested in his miracles

He had strange powers
Levitating, predicting the future
and summoning gods in their sculpted form
were the most important ones in the abridged version.

The story ended with he going underground
in search of more knowledge and the chamber
capped with a thick concrete slab.

His birthdays are special now
as he comes alive to pronounce future
And the faithful, press their ears down
under the spell of a war-time siren.

(With inputs for editing from Cinecynic )