Shielded with Alps..
indeed the highest.
Bestowed upon us
all these Adam’s ale
and what not ?
The wilderness don’t shrivel
Cultures they never slumber.
This is the domain of Dancing Demon
Realm of living Goddess,
The Genesis of Nirvana.
This is a sole terrain,
Only with the pennon ensign
Epitomizing festoon of sun
enthroned with the crescent moon
Hailing from the Himalayan hymns..
This is my motherland.
The thoughts of people here
are narrow and dense as the greenest forest.
and the political ideology:
as diverse as these inestimable cultures.
the system : same fucked up same like them upper geological framework..
i would fight and brawl for the nation
but who's gonna stand for my rights ?
here i am, still chained..confined..
within the same old traditional paradigm of he and she values.
i would die for my country too
but how come it never accords me enough opportunity to even live ?
Patriotism doesn't provide me with job
and money never did grew in flag-waving
only does it ends me..
being one among those youths:
frustrated and indignant.
full of neglected dreams and yearns and rant,
for all those years of being pressurized-
to fetch the keister
on my shoulders of monstrous sized .
believe whatever had been advertised
got institutionalized and contrived
just to despise..
the schools and powers and authority
only to realize..
the conspiracy and the irony
that reclines beneath them certificates;
which now is rusting at the core of my casket,
"Step the hell out of this fucking motherland"
अोढाई ती ग्लानिका कम्बल,
एकाएक काँँचुुली फेेरेे झैैं
सट्टापट्टा गर्नेे मेेरा मानसिक स्वभाबहरु..
प्रारम्भ गरी – ती रुपान्तरण प्रक्रिया,
जीवित कठपुतली झैं
असहाय लाचार तुलाउने मलाई –
साला ती रत्तीएका मेरा परछाईहरुलाई
याे निचचक्र युद्धभूमिमा घिसार्दै..लच्छार्दै..
क्रोधित ती प्रतिबिम्बकाे नरसंहार
निरर्थक विचारधारणकाे दाहसंस्कार गर्दै
मसानघाटका जलेका खरानीका राखहरु बाट
विजयी भई फिजिएका मेरा यी विद्रोहि प्वांखहरु ..
स्वंम्-द्वन्द्वमा अाेइरिएका ज्वालाका तापहरुमा
नवीकृत भई उम्किएका मेरा यी असपर्शित श्वासहरु..
निरन्तर सुदृढ ॥
For the ones who i still have
Despite the differences:
the stand bys
and the acceptance.
From all those I ever had..
The right ones . the true ones
The inner rusts
Vile, bogus. the lost ones
savoring not only the frolic hue
But as well the stagnation
and the devils blue .
For living is not just about
opulence. merriment and glee.
For what is Life ?
without some misery and affliction?
murk and desolation?
Yea and the depression is real
Got nothing here to conceal
The dellusions . Illusions.
Delirium and Confusions.
All … Real.
See ! i dont give a fuck about your God
or those who wants me to find one.
To search heaven inside thier television set
To follow .
blindfolded and hollow.
and feebly swallow..
Whatever they feed me.
Because i have seen enough
felt and faced enough
No mortal. No Jovian . No fuckinprescription gonna halt these whirlwind.
The escape is nowhere but within.
For this is Me
I am my own creator
My own enemy
The self victim . A disease
I am my own remedy.
If I can split –
So can I coalesce
I shall transgress
Withstand and aggress
All these sways shall I supress
will i hold the grisp of reality
Define back my own morality
To live laugh learn for humanity
For this life has no guarantee myan
And I choose to rot in between these vicissitude
ALL IN ALL
Only to rise stronger.
Snatched in betwixt’
All midst the alters..
The hasty cyclone..
The Rapid cycling..
One after other
All these emotions’
The loquacious episodes..
The floating. dripping.salty..rampage.
amid all frantic..
all the chaos..
this effete voidness..
Gleaning selves up’
unhanding ’em again
Gleaning And unhanding .
Over and over
The murder of a benign concern..
An indigent colleen,
Left away the anguish of 11 missed calls
And her bitter dubiety of
being bumped into ignorance.
Only if it was unknown.
Only if was the unknown..
then gaily would i swallow the excuse..
For strangers and delusions have always blended together.
For have i always detest these preface:
Like receiving to response my own fucking recognition?
I would rather omit it.
And few times..
assuredly I even elide the notables..
For have the “Hello” always been so so cumbrous.
Perhaps. Many time .
But yours was not hell-bent sister,
Its this aversion to transmitting voices..
the vocalization and the socialization..
often culminating my Blower..
Or else dormant
Or on flight .the most.
For oh Hast it always been the Blower..
Like The tintinnabulates striking anxiety
Or the elucidation provoking stutter.
And the taciturn muting conversations.
So..I rather eliminate it all ..thee see.
Sister ! You were not disdained deliberately ..in fact, everyone i solicitude have been shunned..Here..in this audible domain.
Never a solemn foodie
But i relish Kitchen
Of course next to the sanctuary
And the commode realm.
But Kitchen is Kitchen myan
This is where the makutu happens
An occult ceremony on flame.
Where the raws are rended
sundered and prepared..
groovin to the chiming rythm of cutter
As it drubs against the chopping slab
And the cadence of lohoro
As it goes thrashing the silauta
The whistle of cooker..
The scratching of grinder..
The bursting fenugreek..
Or the cracking of cumins..
Seeds and plants.
Then those discrete aromas of
Bay leaves and coriander and Garlic and ginger .and Timur. Cloves . Asafoetida..
Along the pungent whiff of kashmiri mirch
As it gravitates…
Right deep into the searing hot oil
And how the exhaust fan
Vaccums away all the miasma..
Welcome to the karahi’
For a vital creation
Where anaemic lumps turn vigorous
With just a pinch of yellow rhizome.
Or some chilli pepper.
Ohh! No thing appeases the eye..
then to ogle
the cheese melt..
the batter bubble..
As it twirls
round and round
Inside those translucent microwave.
This is where I galvanize all the senses.
This is where I bend the Fire and water.the earth.
This is where I ingest the colors.
This is the kitchen.
My recent den.
and the absenteeism
flits me winding up..
Counting the preumbra of pigeons
on those marmalade hue of maudlin chillness..
As it commixes up onto wafting airborne:
drifting over the scattered cumulonimbus.
Far flocking flappers .
80° collateral to peeking atomic number 10.
Oh Fucking crystalline form of pure carbon..
All mighty massif .
All parallel to 180°.
99 sometimes .
69 and 36 degree.
minus the 13, it sways…
the oscillating stripes.
And the vivid blazing heap of splitting cottonballs ..
metamorphosing into some voddoo like
Magical. magnetic. amethyst horizon
Devouring the fading dodger wide blue .
Then restoration again.
The alter coequal to dreary cawing
And these paranoiac utterance…
skidding off-track the reality.
Detaining every grasp of it.
Homo sapiens sucks
They are full of shit.
And lie. And ego
And odium. And vaunt
And a putrid motherfucking
Cunning hyena cunt
lauding. Nudging. Judging
grudging. Plotting . Sucking
All behind that
fucking Fleshy fucked up false face.
Le nouvel An !
It is but a facet
to trigger my drapetomania
at its optimum level
Which is why
have i ended up
wrecking others property..
Getting rib cage broken.
Slumbering on the streets..
This very day.
And undergo post – Myalgia
For long. After.
not it is..
the excitment for the pristine year
an ache much to live
This another day off stale earth revolution
And no fucking resolutions
myan they depress me.
Commitments sickens me.
Good were those days
When my friends were on loose.
Raw. Crude .
When we could tour the public house neighbourhoods..
sozzled and dazed
Just to bump into
And swap hugs And shakes
And bottles and buds and cigarettes.
How now the hoods have become a daylight robbery
The ingress have become more expensive than the drinks there
And the drinks..
more than my pocket money.
We ALWAYS. somehow .
get an excess to few of them places
Where there are these girls..
In thier fine dresses
With trimmed legs
And flat bellies
Killing the winter coldness with thier bodies.
Where there are these mens..
Wallowing on bar tools
With thick wallets
Tossing away the papers thier father earned..
Tyingta proove how suitably fuckable they are.
Where there are these pairs…
Embracing thier lovers
With steady hoax squads
Plunging to live only once.
There are these peoples ..
The few ones..
The Outcast . The wild and cold
With supermarket vodka bottles
under their coat
To refill The OTT rock
Desperate to get drunk.
The ones who are there..
Just To keep the legacy going
Just to behold the band play
Some of thier old songs..
Just to saunter down the golden streets..
With nothing in mind.
Passing out blank
to remember nothing.
Oh how the occasions have always been an inebriate excuse for me.
It always has.
Clueless . Heedless.
A futile attempt to opine out if it’s the quotidian shifting random mood episodes Or the placebo effect from last day’s odorless taste or is it infact but the meteorology. A total rhapsodic plight engulfs me just like these opaqued foggness. Tempting me to embrace every leakage of the chillness penetrating… flicking my hair. caressing my skin. Snogging my bones and as these vapours from in between my lip melts into the wetness of this seductive whiteness.. i clasp the curves to soak my maw.. the slurp of hot fluid bangs my gustatory buds with burst of Cardamons and The smack of blackest marich and That ginger piquancy..Sweet as fucking sin. This climax. This sudden discharge of accumulated excitement of being alive .
Despite this numb quivering manus.
This sleep deprived dilated pupils.
This bolshie dire SADness.
I succumb to this lust.
All to endure this one exquisite misty morn.