here and there

calcutta on air on g.
a dream lived
and now delayed
for that seems
like a time to come
the time already spent

we would walk
straight from dp
to maddox square
after the rides
only to go back
for more and then
to ballygunge cultural

what is to say
all this has happened
and i havent closed my eyes
unforgettable the number
of people on the roads then
and like ice in a glass
mixed in the drink
cowboys and gypsies youd think
on streets the soul craves
in sunshine in rain


II
travelling with men of
straw, of steel
of the wild
along an open brick road
i stumble, i fall
far away in the distance
i can see
walls of an emerald sheen
and remembered what
i have set out for
only while
the sun is in the sky
and i
a cutthroat dorothy
camel in the desert

trip the ghostlight fantastic

so much i wont speak about
because i cant, a criminal past
stays hidden away inside
faint to myself but shining
a dead blurry light
deep in the fog
of an winter sea
on a skiff
a little out waiting
as it always has
i was born with memories
and in my life have relived
the cycle of darkness
followed by light
but that has all gone awry
what shall i tell
how i came to this shore
have i lost my boat
was i flushed from land
convict or master
i do not know
i shall not speak therefore
i will wait till im found


everytime, everytime i set out to put down things i remember from my earliest childhood i can never bring myself to it. i do not remember the whole of it, and here the question also arises where is the cut off point for the notional juvescence that is now left behind. that departure doesnt bear reflection, as do no other departures. for i think it is in acts of leaving, itself seen as a trope for leaving behind, that i have put on age. this argument can be developed only there would be so many details that i would never be able to present for second-party scrutiny. not that it needs examination. but a little digging never yielded anything but either treasure or trash. now if i was superman or a startrekker then kryptons, vulcans and altogether suchlike cosmic noodles would be my entanglement with my past. here my past is not fully it. im living with it. i protect it. sometimes i also feel revisionist. the now is one threshold ive always jumped off but am always never prepared for it. maybe if my present could be devoted to ordering my past, then, somewhere down the diary i would have closure. till that time peter pan remains a ghost lurking inside my head, hook, his freudian (or is it jungian) reading a phantom menace i have to live it. the only comfort in all this is that it makes sense only to me. not my past, not entirely, but that i was a child once.

so hyd/quickly and happy birthday/it all ends

and he said
do not give me
information
instead give me
anticipation
give me experience
share with me
that many times
you fall in love
and are always
heartbroken

what if your ong never barked

party and its discontents
the truth in the innards of things
needs laxative
and then a calmative
and sometimes you are
so sapped of strength
in the middle of it
when at day's end
youd promised to live it up
and it isnt over yet
you promise yourself
the strains of the guitar
enter your head
your evil grin
so truly flashed
has promised you heaven
youre honest
an honest thief


they came to speak
they came to praise me
under the village tree
it's a small world
a small circle
soon they will
know the culprit
because a thief
knows hiding
not charity


today is a tiger's birthday. jisko kahte hain roomie. abhi roomie ki socho. zindagi jungle hain to my sher is my roomie. share khan is stockbroking portal. or is it brokerage. now with a choice there is a price to pay because it's worth something. corn and cheese. no more, no more will i say

murder weapon has changed my eyes

have i shown you the fist
have you heard me screaming
songs on the street
have you thought what is this
ask me i will tell you
you can see my broken teeth