Beam in a socket

Tornado of Boiling waves
Whirling within the bolted cranium
Hunting wolves
Hungry and chained
Hunted roòm
Hurling sunshine
The hit
The push
Falling Marks on skin..
red and blue and noir sun..shine
Sinking dribbles on skin..
Pale and brackish. the anaemic  sun..shine
Buds on broken branch
Thirsty and dolorous..
but the sun shines gloomy
the sun shines crestfallen !!




As the warm stratus ..
surrenders itself to the peeking rays
and there you find yourself..
above them all..
surrounded by greens..
parallel to the floating cotton balls.
then you look down towards the concrete jungle’st like placing coloured cubicles
is not it?
i wonder what the smell of wormwood and pine tress does to you..
O’ hast it always driven me the pavements to deja vu
you know, like
the musty.. barky smell..
the beaten paths..
all so wonted.
when you witness those Bonelli’s Eagles soaring..
soaring and gliding in circles and round
and higher… a n d higher
don’t you ever have this urge?
you know, like
with every effort of teasing your lungs grey
you inhale this strong urge..
to strip down the gist of your existence..
not those typical chronic anxious thoughts
but stilll..inert and serene ponders..
As the smoulder merges into the breathing breeze
it drifts you to a mental empire:
where the itch finds you itself.
among those blooming wildflowers
in the rhythms of cricket chorus
the choir of Passerine..
the thunders without rain..
within the cracks of landslip
i have found it audibly
on the birthing rainbows
dwindling post-haste..
right before your eyes.
perhaps like the time ..
pretty much like us.


Po-sse-ssing these few
On my fin-gers and My Toes
— not much but e-nough

Sun-ken lo-yal-ty
surged in-to the a-byss of
syn-the-tic shrug off .

Suck-ing in-to voids
An e-ni-g-ma ma-chine
–The Con-fu-sion cirque.

en-mi-ty vents
pro-pa-ga-ting sooth-sa-yer—
Such A par-a-no-id

frail-ty to in-dulge
E-ven with the count-a-ble –
Please no more stran-gers .

For throng fur-ni-shes
Noth-ing but suf-fo-ca-tion_
vague sanc-tu-a-ry

So ra-ther eye lurk
With-in the truest fond-ness : My :
_______ im- ag – i- na – tion !

Blooming season is here.

Fireball peels off it’s hard edges..
Peels off em’ blues all open..
Engulfing pulps all pale
Walloping timbres on windowpane-
Colors have now begin to burgeon here
As naked trees start weaving
thier shawls around branches
Tucking its bust with foliate
The red And white erotic sap
Seduces all Apiformes
And cocoons all they crack
As roses erects on dry terra firmas.

Even the Sun has bloomed here
On streets and corners
With Trees and Sickles and Cows
New promises and neverending vows
Such festive atmosphere here
The populace in alliance
With Optimism and consonance
blooming on thoroughfare-
yodelling and feasting
Uplifting and yomping
For their faith in the signs
That has made them
Worthwhile of being for a time being.
Soon the new is to blossom here..
Out of their rights
Inter-group fights
Shalt there be lights
Security at nights
No dry taps
No societal gaps
Yes all these hoax plights
Have bloomed within the nation

Ergo I rather be with the walls .

Mother dear gets disquiet
as days and weeks-
i spend
stacking up the isolation.
So she takes me
to these swarm hole..
twice in a month now
to relish the social ..
Last time,
it tasted like rotten eggs
and this time
It smells already
decomposing meat.

“Join these Girls..same age as yours.” They say.

I give my best fraught grin
and abscond to the garden..
hours and hours..
spend there whispering to the blossoms
and hearing the wind breathe
and counting the bugs instead

But again what would i do together?
I hate shoppingmalls and movie theatres and fancy places..
I don’t even own a fucking tv
I am a menace to the latest trend
And they are..
to my rapacious and materialism shit.
They find my philosophical talk boring..
My music noisy.
And It is sad..
I don’t know what’s more sadder .
If it’s the 5000 painting tag
on those preety pretty faces
Or if it’s the frantic in me
When they hand over a liquid eyeliner..
I don’t even know how to apply em’ properly.

lots of things make me sad..
Like wet dogs
on the street
On rainy days
Or bunch of street kids
on Dendrites
On normal days

Like seeing that same costermonger everyday
On hot summer days..
flicking away the flies
With hope
of customers to stop by :
While a toiled mazdoor,
slipped into dirt emmerges
and devours a slice
with all his heart in lieu
with almost half of his wages
Yet the level of satisfaction i behold in those eyes –
which never did i ever discerned
among those man behind suits
On weekends
In expensive cars
Luxurious places..
Or those same people I witness
On working days
On same micro
with different number plates
all carrying bag of some sort
obese and laden
Some..with tifffin boxes
that their wife must have packed
Earning is hard
Surviving here is more..

Like seeing that same senile granny
gray-haired and crinkly
taking breather
On the outer stairs
On winter days..
soaking her last energy to the sun
Or absorbing life itself
And within those familiar eyes..
Fear seems almost grabbable..
almost like being grabbed by
them nervous breakdown on midways,
When you get engulfed by
Greyer thickness
Of existance..
Much dustier
than the unfinished road construction.
Or the recklessness on halfways
When the aroma of death
Lurks you,
Much stinker..
than the odour as you pass by those bridges.

Myan even the purple trees make me sad
It reminds me of the roads
Now i can never walk
On the fallen jacaranda
On spring days..

Someone told me ,
“you just dont have to be so unbolt
to the world thee see
all it gives you In return is pain.
Maybe. Might be
But When reading mind
And subtleness becomes
all but a curse,
one ends up being a wide book itself
splayed out..
Flipping pages
Skipping numbers
pause and back and break
useless flipping
wherever the zephyr roars.

Perhaps ,
I have become a book so ajar
scrawled all over
on desolated pages
with indiscernible words
sensible yet absurd
the unforeseeable patent
inscribing forever..
making it beyond’s one to read.

They ask me if i am Antisocial .
I wonder..

Vigorous vEEr

Stucked in between
these split spaces
oh for how anon do i own the hours?
A sequel of travail
Must croak- an obvious corollary
betwixt the unpredictable
This inevitable.. the inescapable
Oh this vicious circle –
getting impulsively
mislaying words
and thoughts
All hither . thither
As it slithers..
Back and forth
East and north
jilting me..
Sturdy. sole instant
Then rest…
With remnants of Catatonia.

Twenty 17 3 and one 4

 The Ingress

Memories seems almost blurry
of the days..
With null traces of worry.
That fragrance of freedom..
Whisking unescorted by care.
Those raiments of curiosity..
Back when life treated you so fair..
All them crucible filled with innocence,
Making sense out of every fuckin non sense.
Step onto step getting insanity unfold
Prowling within the notions untold.
| Baffled and enignatic |
Gazing the subliminal phases,
How thousands nights have turned cobalt,
And the lambents’ peeling off the ages..
Scrutinizing the time oscillation’
as it steadily acidifies into equivocation.
Now Thunderclaped to this purlieu of answerability..
The boundness .
The obligation .
The culpability.

The Engross
This stance at the helm..
Being Pundit of one’s own realm.
Devoured by Anticipations
Crammed with Total  disgruntlement.
The more you grow:
The more it becomes inapt to vent.
And there they are..
All behind the barss..
Approximating behaviour’
by the way you dress
Appraising attitude’
by that look on your face.
Myan how borndates used to be
about slicing celebration and glee.
But Year after year..
Slipping unto this asocial state-
How it has now become an ambuscade..
camouflaging beneath the reality zone’
Dragging another circle down the gravestone.
Decode !
Reload !
Wrecking away every inches of freedom
manifestation of all these random-
Responsibilities. duties .income.
Dreams and downfalls and criticism
The apathy . The enthusiasm..
Stupidity and the voices of Wisdom.

Certainly' growing up has been a cozen..but amidst these ruse '' shalt I instead grow-wings to strive for enshrouded connections and answers to all these impossibly possibles.

|Ganatantrik Chronicle|

Those nugatory pride in being unified
All it was but the act of vengeance,
The deeds of genocide..
Unwritten history got raped,
Originality reshaped,
The errection of varna
Shanghaied into the Dharma
To fill ones forehead with sacrifices
Confined only to bow down to stones
While was it the air and water and earth
The spirits that fortified our bones.
1846  – कोत पर्व
Fabric of Intrigue and
the rise of autocracy
Isolationism . Debauchery .
Trading off the sentient asset..
To gollop from their asses
in exchange for filthy lucre..
and Choke on it,
Corruption squelS from every street.
104 Years of  gluttony,
Supression and agony
सती प्रथा.. दाश प्रथा..
सात सालको क्रान्ति
र त्यस पछिकाे अर्काे कथा
Civil liberties curtailed ..
Press freedom restrained..
Untill the 90 when
‘ together ‘ The multiparties inflated..
‘ together ‘ Panchayat  they castrated.

The serrated tune hits my memory fresh
That grisly night of bloodshed
Those hundred mornings of Mourning heads.
Whole nation soaked in gore..
5761 days-
Yet everything unsettled concealed at its core..
The Narayanhiti mystery
Lost within the fabricated history.
Guerilla war :
Reek of lachrymator
Fills cranium with terror
Those nights of curfews
Endless days of horror
Masses resonance down the streets
gunning and bombing and charging sticks..
dialectical  confrontation between  brothers,
People of victimized class and the leftist druthers.
Devouring the revolutionary Curse..
Coffins overstated with remorse..
All. for .zilch.
Glitch scar the only attain.
And even after the monarchy has been eradicated
Still lingers this remnants of feudal mindset
kaput 601 flunked effectuating thier fucked up pledge
Capitalism here.. teetering permanently forever on the edge.

Where did we go wrong ?

Oh where did we ?

Unfeasible slumber

This maze.
This cage.
A new day..
A new phase..
Another story.
Same random sways.
Rant. and . rage.
purple haze
muddled ways
ahh Nevermind .
the tick tock ticks tap 4 o clock’..
but here I am Still Wide awake as fuck.
Sni..ffin’ caffeine.
And cRYaving the gr..een.
Flipping arbitrary pages..
All diluted gazes..
Le strenuous juncture.
These somnolent nights.
As the impetuous befalls,
the amnesia betides.
And the activation
Of Pshycomotor agitation
Iritation and hesitation
now all Crushing the crust
of craggy clefty confound cranium .

Fucking Insomniac. OH ! mad mad terrible.

Patriotic sentiment

Shielded with Alps..
indeed the highest.
Bestowed upon us
all these Adam’s ale
and holts
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..
of course, 
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 ?
Alas !
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 .
hypnotized. idealized..
to believe whatever has 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 motherland"