Ruins

As I watch
The sun set
To mark,
The end
Of the day,
On my knees,
I bend;
Silently, I pray
For the neurons
To die and my
Memory, to decay....
But my prayer,
Instead
Lays bare,
The fragments of
What once
Was here...
Obsolete perhaps,
Redundant maybe,
Blinded still,
I stare,
At these ruins,
In the hope of
Finding my
Eloisa, Lenore, 
Fenchurch or Clementine...
I break apart and,
Wish for nothing, but
The gods to be
Kind,
And grant me my,
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind...

Reflection-101

My attempts at perfection are my biggest imperfections.
And this is the most perfect realization I've had till date. Period.

Yaad

चिड़ियों की चेहचाहट से,

कुच्छ गुमनाम क़दमों की आहट से,

सूरज की उस पहली किरण से,

जब मेरी अचेतना की सुबह टकराती है,

तब 'याद' का क्या है!

बस यूं ही चली आती है....

उठता हूँ ये सोच कर,

कैसे कटेगी आज दोपहर,

दर्पण में मेरे प्रतिबिम्ब की छ्त्पताहट,

मुझे घबरा सा जाती है,

तब 'याद' का क्या है!

बस यूं ही चली आती है....

दफ़्तर में जब होता हूँ खाली,

फुर्सत के वही दो पल, और हाथ में चाय की प्याली,

देखता हूँ  जब खिड़की से बाहर, बादलों की दौड़ को,

अधरों पर मेरी, एक मायूस मुस्कराहट सी छा जाती है,

तब 'याद' का क्या है!

बस यूं ही चली आती है....

सांझ की अरुणिमा में,
जब बढ़ जाता है गाड़ियों का शोर,
बोझिल कदम मेरे, बढ़ते हैं घर की ओर,
इस भीड़ के सन्नाटे से, कुच्छ कोफ़्त सी हो जाती है,
तब 'याद' का क्या है!

बस यूं ही चली आती है....

निशा की कालिमा को, और चाँद के एकाकीपन को,

जब तारों की फ़ौज सजाती है,

तस्वीरों पर ज़मी धूल और आँखों की नमी, 

मुझे फ़िर यही समझाती हैं,

इन 'यादों' का क्या है!

ये तो यूं ही चली जाती हैं....

Falling Upon Deaf Ears

The sound of silent voices surveying my thoughts
Regularity defining perfection
Neither sorrow nor contentment
Whispering emptiness, whispering emptiness, frail words collapse
My weight only stirs the ground
How long can I hold your hand as you walk over graves
You search for tears of compassion
Yet find the comfort of winter
Reassurance dead like the falling leaves
Losing hope in your unchanging ways
All of my strength cannot save you
If you are unwilling to help yourself ......
- Falling Upon Deaf Ears, As I Lay Dying

Apogee:- Journal Entry of the Wolverine

It's that night again... the night of the full moon. Bright. Large. Beautiful. Inviting... And deceptively wretched... In all its grandeur and outlandish magnificence, there is this treacherous, rabid, dark side to it, which multiplies itself on such nights, and invokes the feral, uncouth, untamed, hidden facet of mine which I dare not disclose to those around me. This moon, this shining orb, that supposedly soothes others with its gentle and calm light, torments me with its wickedness... it makes me dwell in my sub-conscious and pick out strands of living memory that I had so carefully buried in a chest, and disposed of  in the dark recesses of my brain... it subdues me with its magnetic power of allure and weakens my resolve to remain stoic... it makes me feel; and in the process reveals the humane side of me. That heavy mask of nonchalance will be put down and my primordial self will arise, once again. Tonight....I become myself again..
The wind has been quiet for sometime. Not a leaf moves, as it surreptitiously slithers through the mesh of hollow branches of the trees... the network of their wooden limbs reminding me of the skeletons in my closet. All of them silent witnesses of events; tragedies, disappointments that my longevity has made me suffer.As I meander in my reverie, the wind picks up, breaking the silence that hung between my present and my past. It howls as if possessed by the souls of those who had come and gone.... my countenance is now lined with furrows as I can feel my composure breaking... the mask will come down now...
The Wolverine has awaken... 

My serene, composed self, now thrown out of control; makes me draw out my claws- sharp, saber-like, ruthless and unbreakable- they shine sanguinely in the twisted moonlight, that slits through the curtains across the window in my room. 'Solid Admantium', I remark, as I am thrown back, pensively, in an era gone by, where my innocence was shattered into multiple fragments and the mutant in me, descended. I slit one of the veins in my forearms; drops of blood trickle down in a very slow, suspended animation... I don't feel anything... I watch with a deriding smile on my face, as the scar heals automatically, leaving no trace of any damage. Immortality... something to die for, is it? I think of what pain used to feel like; when  wound marks, lining my memory used to make me realize of my own mortality... All of it is gone; all of it; so fuzzy and blurry; and what is left is a ravaging mutant; a monster; destined to wander with a cursed existence.

Dawn is about to break, my sojourn about to end. I retract my claws gaining some control of my muscle memory. A vulpine shriek escapes my lips.... the moon had been particularly cruel tonight.. it made me pine for something that can not be...At least for now..............

Time to put back my phlegmatic mask again. It's an ordinary day now, in an ordinary world, again..

Ergodic

Agent Smith: Why, Mr. Anderson? Why do you do it? Why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you're fighting for something? For more than your survival? Can you tell me what it is? Do you even know? Is it freedom? Or truth? Perhaps peace? Yes? No? Could it be for love? Illusions, Mr. Anderson. Vagaries of perception. The temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose. And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself, although only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. You must be able to see it, Mr. Anderson. You must know it by now. You can't win. It's pointless to keep fighting. Why, Mr. Anderson? Why? Why do you persist?
Neo: Because I choose to.... 
- Dialogue  between Neo and Agent Smith in the final fight sequence, The MATRIX Revolutions


At most levels, an apathetic, logical and rational mind would agree with all that Smith has to say. But the sentient, empathizing human in all of us, sides with Neo...And perhaps it is this reflection, in the ability to make a choice that defines the difference between man and machine; that unlike machines, our choices are not coded or guided by a string of 0's and 1's; that our lives and purposes are not governed by binary logic. Unlike a machine, let's say a simple Toaster, which when malfunctions just leaves an oddly toasted slice of bread, for it might have chosen to do so; the fallout of human choices encapsulates consequences that are at times unforeseen, unprecedented and even unimaginable. The plausible reason for this behavioral divergence and the accompanying variance in the results is because humans feel. Not just that; they are also designed to believe in what they feel; all those ideas that Smith speaks of- freedom, love, peace. Perhaps in the grander scheme of things and rules that govern the mechanics of the Universe, they sure are vagaries of perception; amusements created to indulge the weak, easily dis-tractable minds of us humans; all done so that our choices produce random outcomes that indulge the Universe by increasing its entropy.
Just like the choices that you made/are making/will make based on your feelings and which have served/ are serving/will serve the purpose of increasing the randomness, that is multiplying at an exponential rate, so will this vignette; for it was written as a consequence borne out of a choice thoroughly based on what has been felt by the writer....

P.S.- I loved THE MATRIX, though was disappointed by the sequels as they were good only in parts. The above mentioned conversation is one of those good parts.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3YC7TMi0l68
P.P.S.- I have a toaster that works perfectly fine, thank god for that!

Indifference

The screen flickers with images that move incoherently; random words are being transmitted through that piece of electronic wizardry. You pay attention to it; trying to distract yourself from the voices rattling inside your brain. Forced distraction is an art and you realize you have a long way to go before you master it. That sardonic smile on your face makes you understand that your efforts so far have been in vain... yet you persist with the exercise. That ephemeral, fleeting sense of victory that you feel for the moments you can control the aimless ramblings of your mind; it is ephemeral; orgasmic... you hope for this eluding comfort and battle on against the odds stacked by your very own mind. An impossibility achieved, relished, and thrown away in the very next few seconds that pass you by..
The phone rings to break the uncomfortable silence.. silence you feel, for your senses have already been dulled by the conflict between the phantoms inside your head and those booming for redemption from the hollow box made of tubes and diodes. You answer the call, mumble a few choppy, disconnected words to relieve yourself of the quotidian routine as soon as you can; trying your best not to give away any signs of the futile emotions that have clouded your thought process for quite some time. A part of you dies everyday as you put yourself through this vapid degeneration. You feel like spitting out all the by-products-non-degradable; toxic even-of this systematic, ritualistic decay... you give up and try to ignore the scar tissues that are entrenched deep within this putrefying existence.
You look up at the screen.That manic, diabolical face with the most twisted smile you'd ever lay your eyes upon, just spoke your mind.
The Joker was right... Whatever doesn't kill you, simply makes you STRANGER...

Ashes in the Wake of a Dream

'Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick...'

It had been a long day. He could have sworn that he had felt every second tick by. The heaviness of each moment was etched in his head; like screeching tyre marks made by a skidding car on a slippery, lonely highway.  As he walked up to his apartment, with nothing but the jangle of the bunch of keys in his pocket to break the silence, the skies opened up. He looked skywards; fat, lead-like droplets of water rushed to meet his furrow lined face. He didn't flinch... he let those fallen-from-grace molecules meet their predictable fate, and enjoy their dignified last rite.

Carefully, he turned the keys to open the doors to his apartment. Darkness swiftly moved in from every corner of the house to embrace him... hardly the kind of reception a tired body and a drained out mind wishes for. His lips curled in a condescending smile...he was used to this ritual of rancid, decaying welcome that he was meted out for quite sometime. The novelty of it all, had long been lost. He prepared himself for what lay ahead. His nocturnal date with his mistress. Slowly, he pushed open the doors to his room... there she lay in her majestic, carnal grandeur on his bed; her hair waving in their opulence; enticing him with the shadows that moved on the walls in demonic fashion as lightening bolt after lightening, broke the silence between them. He switched on the lights.. "Not in the mood, right now, darling", said he as Senorita EMPTINESS left his presence and shrunk away in a corner.. He knew she would be back; it was sometime before he went to sleep. He had a sinking feeling in his heart which told him that she will get what she wanted from him. La Belle Dame Sans Merci... she was beautifully cruel; in her own morbid ways. He acknowledged that as he lit a cigarette and let the puffs of smoke perform their 'dance macabre' before fading out of existence...

He turned on the television. "Television is a great invention; it provides useful and sometimes necessary distraction from the web of life.." he admired the idiot box for its ubiquitous utility. He stared at the screen without paying too much attention; the action playing out on it was more like a background noise for the agitation inside his cranium. And with every puff he inhaled, it became all the more distant and incoherent.  Outside, the rain had stopped. A cool breeze was blowing across his room and he let it caress his nape. He lowered the 'stick of death' kissing his lips to drop off the ashes. The wind swept it across in a flouncing, Brownian motion. He extinguished the cigarette and switched off the television; all in one nonchalant movement of his torso. It was time to mate the black widow he had left unsatisfied in his bedroom. He switched off the light and let her swoop over his existence to consummate their alliance in an all consuming, unforgiving sadistic love.

The ash from the cigarette was scattered all over the room....

Separation-III: Snow

It was just one of those regular January Delhi winter nights, you know;  with all the usual elements that have given it its unique scent -phlegmatic fog that makes the fluorescence of the street lamps even more desultory, cacophonic silence that penetrates not only the mind, but also pierces the heart, lonesome, desolate streets with their concrete skeletons that become more unforgiving as the chill of the darkness finds a malleable ally in them . Looking outside the balcony, with a mug of coffee in his hand, he absorbed the sights and sounds in all their sanguine, macabre magnificence. The mug was special; it had the bearings of not just the wear and tear of the past two and a half years, but also engraved in the cylindrical, monolithic porcelain were stories no one would know of; except him. Funny things mugs are; you think they are just a piece of stone with a mural painted to charm the simpleton mind; and here he was holding it close to his chest, guarding it more carefully than Golum had guarded "The Ring". "My Precious", thought he; he took a sip and stretched the extremities of his lips to their limits as the hot liquid marked its progress down his throat and into his bloodstream to give him that familiar rush of untamed energy he was so accustomed to having.

He thought of the day that had gone by; career reviews, appraisals, unrealistic deadlines, routine parades to the cafeteria, the same old trivial squabbles with colleagues; nothing special; just the same cycle of periodic redundance; all totemic symbols of the unimaginative, ordinary world that he had submitted himself to. Perhaps the monochromatic consistency of the season had rubbed off on his life as well. He thought of April that will soon bring spring and perhaps more colors than he could see right now; when perhaps the obfuscation that Winter had created would give way to the more serene, heliocentric moonlight. But there was still some time before that. And as he mused about the wanton behavior that Nature is wont to display, somewhere far away from the coziness of his balcony, beyond the Atlantic, it was snowing...

The coffee felt lukewarm; he smiled as he took another sip; and acknowledged the cold sweat that trickled down his spine...

Oh wicked sun,
Oh wicked sun,
See,
What we've, 
Become...

Separation-II: MUSE

Of the passion that we shared

When we

Last kissed;

Of the times you silently cried

And these moments,

I missed…

I live in the longing,

And regret;

Lest I forget

How it all felt…

And still,

Make acquaintance

With this

Gargantuan distance..

Yet, somehow

Console my heart,

Which plays

Its part,

In this systematic abuse,

I call LIFE

To which I put myself through;

Everyday…

And you ask me;

“Is our love so painful?"

"Is it so abstruse?”

To which I smile;

And give you

The eternal excuse,

“Love, you aren’t just my love;

You are my MUSE”.