Rain?
No rain.
Quite a pain.
Clouds refrain.
To drain.
We strain.
Bodies slain.
On dry plain.
None sane.
Life mundane.
Wait in vain.
Sheer disdain.
Damn rain.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Holier than thou
Yes I'm angry.
And why shouldn't I be?
I'm a normal person, with myriad shortcomings and defects. I don't pretend to be perfect.
But, did you know it's a crime? To be normal? In the books of the morally superior?
Stuck under the holy microscope, every slip of conduct is apparent and magnified; there is no escape. Or forgiveness.
And then they go on and stick needles into your flesh to make you realise and repent. Their purpose of life is to keep others from leaving the path of goodness and godliness. God himself has appointed these shepherds, presenting them special traits like paranoia, obsessiveness and a rule book for a mind.
Woe be to him who crosses their path, for he shall be shot down by the arrow of virtue.
These 'shepherds' should establish churches of their own to satisfy their love for the pulpit and goody talk. May they rise to heaven and get the better berths than the common people.
I don't need your cold breath stinking down my neck everytime I open my mouth or raise my fingers in action.
Stay far from my lane or I'll hold up a mirror to you.
And why shouldn't I be?
I'm a normal person, with myriad shortcomings and defects. I don't pretend to be perfect.
But, did you know it's a crime? To be normal? In the books of the morally superior?
Stuck under the holy microscope, every slip of conduct is apparent and magnified; there is no escape. Or forgiveness.
And then they go on and stick needles into your flesh to make you realise and repent. Their purpose of life is to keep others from leaving the path of goodness and godliness. God himself has appointed these shepherds, presenting them special traits like paranoia, obsessiveness and a rule book for a mind.
Woe be to him who crosses their path, for he shall be shot down by the arrow of virtue.
These 'shepherds' should establish churches of their own to satisfy their love for the pulpit and goody talk. May they rise to heaven and get the better berths than the common people.
I don't need your cold breath stinking down my neck everytime I open my mouth or raise my fingers in action.
Stay far from my lane or I'll hold up a mirror to you.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Nothing
There's a breeze today.
The sun sleeps behind a cloud.
People love it. So do the pigeons and squirrels nibbling outside my window at the grains I scattered for their breakfast.
I'm alone in the big room. No one's here yet. Soon it'll be bustling. Phone calls, phone ring, meetings, discussions, informal chatter, the smell of tea and sandwiches.
I'm distracted by the squirrel who eats the most. It can gobble at an incredible rate for more than thirty minutes. I'm sure there's nothing called 'indigestion' in its world.
Papaya and cherries. I'll eat them when I feel like.
Right now, I'm too full of nothing.
It's flowing out of my ears and glistening in my eyes.
The forced upward curve of my lips gives it away.
Nothing occupies my mind and accompanies me everywhere.
I feel it growing inside.
Ah! Two Red-vented Bulbuls and nothing dissipated for a second. Just a second.
Nothing sticks to my skin and the insides of my head.
But wait. Nothing seems familiar. I know nothing. I'm sure we've met before.
But of course! We've met twice. The first time, in October 2005. An unplanned meeting. You sat around for quite a long time, refusing to leave. I'd to finally shrug you off and escape.
The second in March 2007. You made me sick. Sticking close to me till I had to run into the crowd to lose you. And lose me.
Now here we meet again. What do I do this time? We just met, you're not going to let me get away this time, are you? Giggle
You've studied me to learn my weaknesses, to find crevices where you could sneak in. And you're in. And multiplying. And laughing at your success.
I sit very still.
Nothing moves me.
The sun sleeps behind a cloud.
People love it. So do the pigeons and squirrels nibbling outside my window at the grains I scattered for their breakfast.
I'm alone in the big room. No one's here yet. Soon it'll be bustling. Phone calls, phone ring, meetings, discussions, informal chatter, the smell of tea and sandwiches.
I'm distracted by the squirrel who eats the most. It can gobble at an incredible rate for more than thirty minutes. I'm sure there's nothing called 'indigestion' in its world.
Papaya and cherries. I'll eat them when I feel like.
Right now, I'm too full of nothing.
It's flowing out of my ears and glistening in my eyes.
The forced upward curve of my lips gives it away.
Nothing occupies my mind and accompanies me everywhere.
I feel it growing inside.
Ah! Two Red-vented Bulbuls and nothing dissipated for a second. Just a second.
Nothing sticks to my skin and the insides of my head.
But wait. Nothing seems familiar. I know nothing. I'm sure we've met before.
But of course! We've met twice. The first time, in October 2005. An unplanned meeting. You sat around for quite a long time, refusing to leave. I'd to finally shrug you off and escape.
The second in March 2007. You made me sick. Sticking close to me till I had to run into the crowd to lose you. And lose me.
Now here we meet again. What do I do this time? We just met, you're not going to let me get away this time, are you? Giggle
You've studied me to learn my weaknesses, to find crevices where you could sneak in. And you're in. And multiplying. And laughing at your success.
I sit very still.
Nothing moves me.
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