The way you make me feel, baby!

Hail the superstar that keeps me from burning
Hail the rock star who keeps the guitar strings churning
new ballads, new poems, new love songs or two,
Hail the superwoman am yet to woo.

Here's to the beauty that's shinier than gold
Here's to the saying that eyes never grow old
Here's to the tan that doesn't need no Sun
that brings beaches to shame, and that's no pun!

To the person I never met but I think
I have mated more than I have breathed this birth,
If Valentine meant the one you love..
then you're the one who scored all above!

Happy Woman's Day

However past you go to.
However recent you're in.
Whichever mythology you swear by,
This, you just cannot deny.

Being the perfect lap for you to sleep,
Being the better hand to know when to feed
Being the tight slap to know what's the line
and which way to look when crossing the road.

Being the soft one of the siblings
Being the one to share all her feelings
Littlest of things and smallest of joy
Making you fit to be a healthy-wealthy boy!

Being the ear when the world ceases to listen
Being the shoulder when tears cease to open
Being the hand to hold after the afterglow
In love and in trust she makes you a man.

So in all entirety, she makes yo live
your way, or any way you can probably jive.
Don't try to go beneath, for you cannot fathom
the timeless depth of a complete woman!

Cuttin the craa..

Maybe it's just the time
maybe it's just a phrase
Maybe it's over the top
Just another Rat-race.

Maybe the song has no tune
Maybe it's pure fortune
Maybe it's touch and feel
Back to back, real to reel.

Spring got me into it!

Believe me, it's not me.
It's the spring.

I don't know how but it always starts the night it rains. or rained.
It slowly transforms into a language. It takes a figure.
The clouds pass by and horizon is seen.
and you can start drawing with borrowed art papers.

It follows the usual route.
Smiling in the dark, smiling for no reason.
Sounding stupid, cheesy and on the borders of boringly funny.
Hiding from one and all, and holding it out in the open.
With secrets hanging bare in the open to dry.

Those who know, will know.
Unfortunately, those who knew, are no more.
But you can't speed up in this route, on whichever car you drive..
either the drive;s awesome or you're terrible at driving :P

It's all the same, similar. The hours, the minutes.. the movements!
The rationales of finding rationality, and then
negating it. Only to prove it again.
Viability study is as archaic as thinking, it seems!

You always loose to yourself when you don't want to win.
and who know, know how superstitious can winning get.
What can you change, when you see the cycle moving again
every blink fights a tear or two!

I tell you it's not me, it's the spring.
It's the time to rise in it,
Don't know why but I love doing it over and over...
Maybe the light is the brightest this time.

The Definition of Beauty!

Do you remember your dreams after you wake up?
Have you tested yourself the way you did to know exactly
when you slept off?
Do you remember the face you just saw in your dreams?

What if I told you I just dreamt awake?
What if I told you I just saw those strands of hair
covering just the exact geometric angle of pupil
that is where it does not hide the expressions?

What if you never know how much loved dark circles?
Or how much they rekindles that bent down part of yours which once wanted
to burn the midnight oil rather than minting money?
Did you ever care to listen beyond your dreams.. the calls
to old blues which sounds more powerful than these reggae's of today?

Do you remember spelling beauty for the first time? Or the first time you imagined it?
You defined it for yourself.
Your very own set of prejudices,
your conserved sense of restricted media and local outlook,
and your embodiment of perfect with no extra r's in it?

You'll never know how you will feel if you never defined it... but
you will know what exactly I mean if you could see those lips
moving on your worst times.
and you sense.. no, you know,
that things will set square once those tresses are parted again.
And, you, in all your existence, just waited for that moment to come.

To capture. To love.
Till the point it's unbearable again.

What does the mirror say?

So when it begins, as always, seems sunny and sexy.

You tend to march, even in April!
You believe in togetherness, you believe in unity.
Even more dangerous, you believe in the power of youth.
You read history books of renaissance and revolutions,
And think to throttle the incumbent one day!

Whew! Actually, phew!
Amidst the belief of cutting across races and religions,
provinces and priorities, you think signatures of youth still holds..
You know the ones like drugs, pornography and late nights!

O ignorant! O innocent!
Only if you knew letter of the law is only upheld when the spirit falls down!
The raunchy jokes and friendly pokes – those flaming shots and smoking pots,
smell good only when the coal’s red. For when it’s summer, it blooms.
And when it’s winter, it just fucking doesn’t.

For it’s real hard to break out of convention.
For you don’t even know what the umbilical cord missed to catch... Where you picked up the wrongs,
Where you mixed up rules with principles, and when you messed up human relations.

Growing up is as tough as breathing easy. Let’s not even go to breaking out.
When going gets tough, you go back to your cocoons.
And in your safe havens, you start spinning your own spider-web.

You’re the story teller. You’re king. You’re the judge.
That’s a massacre of a combination.

But dude, does it really matter?
What does the mirror say?

The color is Red

The color of verses, the color of curses
The color that's believed to bind universes
The color makes you wonder, the color makes you wander
The color on your parting sure makes you thunder.

The elliptic eyes, and the secret vice
The bonnetted stories up the hill sure sound nice
The chants go all around, the falling pieces are abound
The beauty of the nature or it's you to have me spellbound?

The right's long gone, the ritual's long past
The left has gone hard way and the highway's gone fast
The driver's changed seats, or the marks are forgotten,
I bet the color's brown still, and pink when smitten.

The store rests is pieces forever, the story's put to rest
The memories that tricked down can stay safe in the chest
For the key maybe valid still, but what use's the key?
The first took it own course, let the rest be.

Breaching Boundaries...

So what if I can't blow a whistle when I see you're drying your hair
So what if I can't sing like McCartney out of despair
So what if I can't built a Taj for a memoir
We still can hold each other from the world's be.

So what if we can't feel each other
So what if all we connect is not real
So what if real is not real anymore
Who draws the line, and who decides it there?

So what if I can't carry you in my arms
So what if we can't share sundaes in barns
So what if we can't fight with those alarms
Who rings the bell and who hears it anyway?

So what if there're still work to be done
So what if there're margins to erase
So what if the plum's never tasted..
Who told love had had to be realized?

Kids: God's unspoken verses

Synchronicity- POLICE

It's an excerpt from the album Synchronicity by the Police.. the band. Mostly the lyrics are by Sting, and some really hit me hard. Thought of storing them in the webspace.


All our greatest killers were industrious
At least the ones we all know by name
For it's murder by numbers 1 2 3
It's as easy to learn as your ABC.

If we share this nightmare
Then we can dream
Spiritus Mundi

A star fall, a phone call
It joins all, Synchronicity

If we explode the atom bomb
would they say that we were dumb?

They say the meek shall inherit the earth...

We want our tea in the Sahara with you...

About Time

When there’s little room to open your wings
No matter how strong the air pushes you up
The wings at most flutter by itself
Knowing well flipping sides won’t help.

And when there’s no room for flexing muscles,
In the closed space of suffocated breathlessness
What’s the use of all the barbells you pump
For the very fabric is unable to bear the stress?

When you feel like you’ve been trimmed off your spirit
Your effervescence, your zeal, your very soul
When you know your waves will go uncaught,
Would you honestly spare a thought?

That is when sparks do fly
Not for the concrete conglomerate, but the humble and shy
For what’s yours, what’s own, is what you conceived,
Like a baby, parenthood succeeds all and sundry.

'To My Lovely'

Don’t come so close to me
That I can smell your perfume,
So close that I can see through your anemic skin,
I smell your perfume that has mixed up with the sweat and sunburns.
The tans and the waxed legs that you were ever so proud of,
Don’t come so close so I can’t feel you anymore.

Stay afar, on the other side of the bank.
Sit idle under the grand banyan tree maybe, or by
the stairwell where the village women would come in the evening
over their watery fights. Read, keep reading the book of longing,
and long to belong in the beholder’s arms. Shed a tear for the man
you’ve never seen, but don’t come close that I can touch you.

For there has been too many bloodshed on this side of the river,
Opulence cut the throat of sovereignty long back, where freedom was once
fed, is now the battleground for hostility, and the fear of death. For you,
‘to my lovely’, should stay far, curling strands of your highlighted hair,
for the blood that was lost, and the revenge that was avenged, stand
testimony to the love repossessed.

Distant Dreams

The birds that flew across the bridge
and swans who swam across the sea
Never knew what they were doing unknown
To make the unseen harbours see.

There were trees who drank the same water
and breathed around the same moist air
and grew on the same land, same oxidants
fed same robins to sing the same prayer.

Still they never met, never they knew
How the other wipes their tears off
How the other makes faces when angry
and throws tantrums when in grief or shock.

For who lends the shoulder when one cries
and who pats the back when achieves one
and who is scared of which demons
and who soothes their sleepy morn's.

Because what matters in a shiny day
is maybe the joke that's played along
But one who gives a lift in a rainy night
is the one for whom the feeling's strong.

The harbours had the same ships running,
and the same songs of the kayak-drives
But in order to come to real terms,
they had to do more than daily rhymes.

For they both dreamt of a day ahead
when the sun will shine and children play
and swear on the tears that they might shed
that together they'll make, what they say.

Madly Bangalee

There were dreams in the world we used to live in,
there were green mangoes to steal
There were hidden books of rotten literature,
under the big fat Daniel Steel.

We heard Pink Floyd where we got high
and Scorpions when we laid low,
We heard John Denver on our way back home,
and read Shelly when we missed home.

We had Tagore's lines rote in mind
to use when a friend was cheated
We had Sukumar Ray to make people laugh
when trysts of life were met.

We knew enough chords for a rainy day
and more jazz music to dance
We knew poems of Nazrul when blood fumed
after a Rand De Basati trance.

We knew and defined the meaning of friendship
and never left the hand we held,
My Bangalee roots stemmed myself
to become this perfect blend.

Passing Phase

He was alone when she walked by
silent breeze on the passer by
Like it blows him off his feet
from where he stood on the street.

The wonderland awaits, or so he thought
For the umpteen romances he has sought
Taught him to dream and not loose hope
and reach a high can take no dope.

They held hands, they took showers
they talked about buds blooming to flowers.
They lied beneath the martian sky
where only angels are allowed to fly.

She thought the time was way too fine
The knight is here and his armour to shine
He thought if not the mermaid be
Together they can make a perfect We.

If they only knew the rules of the Saturn
Permanent at best, can only be a pattern
For change is the new law of life
It touches like a feather, but cuts like a knife.

Footsie

It was a known ground
and the rules acknowledged
It was a known battle,
the enemy only changed.

We were both trying hard
to fit the shoes we didn't try
The shoes maybe worn before
maybe strewn, sworn by.

We didn't know what to do,
but we knew what to not
We traded along on the line
of letting in and letting out.

The message was loud and clear,
The tone had to be delicate, though
For there's no fun in playing
footsie with stockings on.

Apprehensions were part-life
rest were.. hope and pray
To play the known game with new opponents
is always a grass- tad bit gray.

Snow Pastel

Chunks of snow pelting from the top
But humbly wets the roads when touching the earth
Flurries hurrying like running out on schedule
Slippery sidewalks prepare for the slush.

Thirty minutes of pure ecstasy,
White pieces of joy pasted on us
High-rises look hazy through the rain
Horizon seems to a Grey hairline.

We could smell it, it marked us with chalks
Caught us off the guard after the eighteen degree mark
Parting kisses that the winter blew us
Only the romantic will know the reason why.

No sunshine today, no windchill to hide from.
No ear-cups are around so the wind touches the skull.
I've got warmth in my pocket from last night
Will walk through the ice and alabaster light.

My sunshine.

Wrap me around like a warm towel, like kid out of bathtub.
Warm me like the hot-water pipe that runs in the chilly downtown.
Like a mother's hug, like a brother's pat,
Like a yellow spread-out cricket field in some northern county..

(When the ball came looping from high in the sky,
the fielder closed eyes because the Sun was too bright.)

Like a quilt you get in stale air conditioned hotel,
Saturate, warmify or sepia our lives.

Like a father's hug when the son scores a mark,

Shine on you crazy diamond... light up thy spark.

End of War.

You shoot me. I shoot you.
Our bullets stick to each other,
though we hardly do.

I curse you. You curse me.
Our street-fights are welcome home
though seldom are we.

You smack me. I smack you.
Our egos throttle homes rattle
though (the) battles continue.

I kill you. You kill me.
But there're no flowers or Shiva's to go
(as) the demon is set free.

We all wanted sunshine. We all needed rain.
We all were living just as Franco saved Spain.
Truth were nude but nudity was legal
Food was the cause to fight, life was frugal.

We spelt it wrong. We didn't get the takes.
Some call it an end when the brake breaks.
My bullet will end you pal, your bullet mine
If both of us press the button, ain't be any spine.

Weekend

It's a wonderful wonderful evening.
Breeze wiping the last of week's toll off my face,
Unsettling hairs that was parted to perfection for the drama
that unfolds every toiling day in varied ways.

I feel fresh, I taste the last sweat before it evaporates.
The last of the facade that was worn everyday with utmost care
is shelved back, waiting to be washed and dried.
It can rest a day or two, so can I.

The smell that runs through my nose doesn't originate here
but is somewhere in the old country, back home.
Where they still feel the fire's spark,
when the meat chops are fried and cakes baked.

The sound is abstract, largely dominated by the basketball bumps
and friendly banters. A few cars start off for their downtown destination.
Families meet over dinner, mom gets to see her daughter studying in high school
where a few oldies regurgitate their memories of a soccer game.

It's the day we waited for. It's the start of dream that we dreamt for forty hours.
The planned sleep goes for a toss and we catch up with loved ones staying afar.
Plans roll for the coming days with rejuvenated zeal.
A few beds are cleaned, others, get ready to be messed up.

There's a lovely hug I see, I see holding hands.
I sense dad's getting me the special coffee.
For today has been dreamt too many times,
for even a moment be missed.