Change & It's Repercussions

A demon redeems an unseen dream

under the nose of prying falcons.

Grave sorrow swept on famished land

as his request, The Old Pharaoh grants.

Grey watchdogs resent the unconventional step Old Pharaoh took.

So did ants; a million clones; self-proclaimed messiahs;

Blind Shepherds, who have taken upon themselves to steer 'the lost fireflies' through the night;

slaves of materialism, who balance truth on their own pedestal;

puppeteer & puppets private limited; prejudiced pawns & pansy prawns;

and unshorn brethren with binary vision,want & outlook.

They all cried foul when the demon redeemed the unseen dream.

Remembrance

You.
Where did you go?

I was telling you something.

Something about the color of sunshine.

It used to be brighter when you were around.
Somehow, it doesn't seem to look the same anymore.

Himalayan Love & Chaos

Trek to Chandratal Lake, June 22,2012

Grey Cloud, Blue Raindrop

When raindrop leaves the cloud,
She consoles him tenderly,

"The will of life is such
That we've to live without each other for a while.
But that doesn't mean I’ll be far from you.
Yearn deeply from your heart
And I’ll be running back to you.

There is no power mighty enough
To keep two lovers apart.

I might be frozen in lakes
Near the glaciers of Himalayan north
For two winters to come.

Or I might be dancing through the night
Along with Beas, Teesta or Chandra
By the corner of a sleepy hamlet

Or I might be engrossed in a world
Completely different than ours.

But all the while
I’ll be biding my time,
To come back to you.

For it is you who complete me
As shadow completes light.

Yes, today we are breathing different air
And keeping different faces
But the only light that shines through me
Illumines from your heart.

It is in your love
That I've found immortality
Of thousands lives

It is in your love
I've witnessed the essence
In the shadows of time.

I'm sure you must wonder
As you wait for my return,
That why would Then I,
Be anywhere else?
But be here
With you bare?

Why would then I,
Stroll the land of hills?
And sing my heart
When you are afar?

I accept the irony of life
But understand me too, love
This is the path we've to walk.

Like a butterfly’s metamorphosis
Our love will bear wings.
Away from one another,
our world will grow
Within you, within me.

Nurture it,
Keep it alive,
In your heart
In your dreams
In your life
As I keep it in mine.

Wish too hard
And I’ll be back
Sooner than later.
In your arms
Through eternity to keep.

For I'm yours-
body, heart & soul.
For this lifetime
And ten thousand more."

So Long, Love

Remember me,
how we used to be.
Because it's almost dawn
and soon I'll be gone.

And when you'll wake up
from this dream
there won't be me
but a faint memory
of how we used to be.

Bloom Within

The walls are grey and growing.
Truth hides behind the veil during sacred rituals.
Bad omen contaminates vision.

The walls are grey and growing
but i've a bucket full of colors.

For the naive mind has set forth 

towards lucidness umpteen.
Beyond the veiled truth
Within the self.


Twisted faces, Fixating addictive habits,
and Delirium grows around i.
While an Old madman resonates rapidly
around the passageways in mind.

But the naive moves on.
Towards omniscience.
where faces speak what they must
and life is devoid of untold hurt

Because there won't be many there.
It's a private conclave
between The Host and The Pilgrim-
I and i.

The journey is difficult
towards this ideal land confined in imagination.
But i've the sun, moon, five senses (which function properly), experiences, hope, will, courage, an extravagant mind

and a naive heart ready to take the plunge
into the great wide yonder.

Within the veil,
where truth is.
Beyond the self,
in the cloisters of I.


Addendum: i and I are personified characters. i is a mortal being, whereas I is the omnipresent energy seen only by an enlightened mind. 

Song of Hope

There won't be visions

Mind is a big blank white screen.

The only thing you know doesn't exist. 

The only thing you see is unreal. 

Except for one. 

World shredded to pieces. 

Broken green glasses of wine scattered on the floor,
The world was green before.
And all the noises were music composed in A Minor.
That's all there was to see.
That's all there was to hear.

Except for one. 

 

Voices submerge into a dying black sun
Burning eyes fall from molten skies.  

Words crumble,worlds jumble.
False promises lay naked in vain
and lies drool over uncovered truth.

Disturbed evolution. Disturbed sanity.

Except for one.  

Except for this one:
Amidst the chaos of the world grotesque. 

Right in the middle.
Underneath gloom,boom & doom.

Across the corridor from ancient faceless figurines: 

There.
There lies a puddle of black plague .

And, 

And a little red rose floats on it. 

Frenzy

Masks unfold.
Uncontrolled actions.
Devour yourself,
In lost faith.

Unburden those chains

Hanging from throat
Growing unconscious conscience
Growls creeping closer

Heretic mind
Wander lust
Unholy host
Dummy peers

All bind within yourself.

Morbid.
Life.
Deceived.
Deceased.

On Madness

A man lived in a house of stones by the dried banks of an ancient river. He lived in that house, with ants who were judgmental. They kept prejudice and warned the man, of his plans. They were pragmatic, so they said. They spoke to him of truth regardless of how discouraging it would be. And the man would often have very little for his defense. For he was waiting for the river to come. "Everything would be better when the river shall come down this valley", he would propose. "I'm here,as much as you are. Biding my time. With only hope in mind. And a lonesome heart. For what else is my redemption? I wait obediently for something that might never come. Unlike my nature,I've been here".

He had built this house on his own. Each layer of stone, he had cemented by pain and all the wrong that he had done in his past. He was not a bricklayer before, mind you. His expertise lied in something rather strange. He was a weaver of sorts. Of an unpleasant kind. For he wove lies. With his tongue and his eyes. And oh the shrewd kings of august world swear by his methods! Every fabric he designed with intimate detail and each one a masterpiece of its kind. Each one, très magnifique, than the predecessor. 

But his charm was bound to wear off. And one twitch of an eye at the wrong place at the wrong time brought the impending downfall of the poor man. But he couldn't stop. He didn't know how to. The lies had become him and he was more of the lies than himself. It was sometime then, amidst an uproar of disagreement in the social stands, that he was banished from the land of men.

However there were few who didn't find his presence, a threat to their lives. 'He was living his act, that fine man', told someone who knew him too close to this narrator. 'He didn't built the act himself. But, it was his to live. The man bore a stigma so let him be.' But the support for such liberal thoughts, as always are few.

However, I would like to take this opportunity to raise a question to my venerated audience. It pertains to a similar thought: 

God, time and probably a trickery in gene sequencing shape us in a certain way. In The Book of Man, if some defaults are condemned as heresy, then shall we play the role of messiah and purge such 'heretics' from this agony? Is it even agony at the first place? Or is it just for the sake of our own convenience, that we have made ourselves believe that everything about madness is abnormally sad?

On Materialism

Following are the excerpts from The Book of Verity acquired by your narrator:

A red brick road finds a hurdle in the bend of a corner. The Talking Monkeys condemned the brick road to pass. The road said, "I connect you with the mighty brain of Materialism. I'm the link to your convenience. Onto me great wisdom will ride to your shores and teach you the art to make silver spoons and shrewd masks among other essential tricks and trades. You shall also be besotted by a compelling urge to kill your integrity and put forth deviousness of highest order invoked by the horns that ancient self-centered man blows from his unconscious mind. On top of that, it shall also bring prosperity too! I've been personally promised by Materialism itself. Convenience! Yes convenience and gleams of materialism will blind you, me and everyone else who will be under my master's tutelage beyond comprehension and doubt. Hence, I humbly extend this invitation to drown with us, in the unimaginable pit of glitterati and false confetti of bodily desires. For who doesn't crave convenience?"

"The path ye build is a miserable collusion of all the wretched, polluted, vulgar, inebriated, hollow, degenerated, infected, desolated, profaned and decayed methods to lead an everyday spirited life! Yet I offer my personal skills and knowledge of the area and various other tangible services to you, for it is the ease of life that shines my dull eyes. Let the benign hero pass, my brethren! For thence our life shall move like knife over butter." pleaded The Wise One, the leader of the pack of Talking Monkeys as he fiddled with the tonnage offered to them by the agent of Materialism. It included items that were never seen before by The Talking Monkeys- 

There were spices, firestarters, faces, power, electricity, automatic-guns, motor, butter & buns, medicines, king sized bed, cotton and thread, knives, bricks, cheap thrills, television, sins, long elastics and Neo-Mother Plastic.

"All this is yours! It's the compensation for exploiting your portion of our Old Mother", red brick road murmured under his breath.
But no one paid attention to that sort of blasphemy. Why would they?

"Pass, our hero, in the name of convenience! " chanted The Talking Monkeys in unison and let the brick road be. And the rest, as they say, is history, written in golden leaves.

http://hanane.me/blog/?p=660

The Last Wish

Triund, 26th June2011

When I die

Throw my ashes
Over the flowing wind
From a great Himalayan hill

and I shall easily find 
my way to heaven.

Holy Conclave

Dayara Bughyal, 7 April 2012 

I went near the end, 

a place afar.

boundaries were laid here long ago.

by stones and man both.

The keepers of ancient league who guard the pious passages

and overlook the procreation of life from up above-

keepers, who are larger than time;

keepers, who are stronger than will and hope.

I saw them humble giants, through my eyes.

and I tread upon a primeval course.

However all that I did, It had been done once before

maybe more than a million times more

But it all seemed a little too strange to believe, 

for it appeared to be none but I, who had designed it all

probably not tonight, 

but once, 

Once, on an enlightened night.

Theremin

Science was speaking through music.

It was the sound of empty space around us that Science presented in the form of an instrument,

Theremin.

And the sound of particles colliding from within with within
lit the notes in silence. 

And kindled a thought not imagined before 
through sound fostered by altering the imaginary magnetic fluxes.
It was music they called.
It was Science they created.

I Politick

There were lights and sounds and unknown mysteries.
Faces were replaceable
And they were replaced often.
Voices were condensed
Muffled to maintain the calm

There was a rugged jar
Which kept all the faces of the world.
And there were oceans around the universe
Which submerged every noise

For these were the penchants of our Master:

A 1000 Concealing Faces

Silence

Brown Eyes

Thoughts churned in his mind.
He was looking patiently
In her eyes,
When her lips gently ushered
The words of an Ancient Poet.

"How were the odds",
He wondered.
As the wind brushed through her auburn hair,
"To stand here,
by a shimmering yellow light.
Falling from a sky so nigh
In a dark alley,
With her. And her eyes."