Mulholland Drive

You are caged within your head

Close your eyes and experience the words within you

Words that your mind does not conceive

Words that are realized by floating letters coming together in front of your eyes

Words that your eyelashes try to obviate

Words that you conceptualize from between them

Words that make up those lines when you read between those lines.

You are caged within your head, for you try to imagine.

Words are not the progeny of your imagination.

They are the only reality.

Remember this day

There is no such thing as keeping your options open. When you know what you want, there are no options. So don’t ever forget who you are, and you’ll never have to take a decision in your life.

Childhood

You know, sometimes when rummaging through old stuff, you find that little guitar or that teeny casio you used to play as a kid. You find a drawing you made with pastels that you remember loving to your heart’s core, because it was the first time you ‘drew’ reflections in the water and were satisfied with the end result. You find your old Enid Blytons and cards your friends gave you on birthdays, and you rediscover this show you used to watch that absolutely changed your perspective on life. And then you realize, you miss being that person. And the saddest part is, you don’t remember when you stopped being it. When did you stop loving every stroke you painted? When did you stop loving every note you played, every word you wrote, every equation you solved?

The answer is, never.

You had just forgotten.

Apocalypse

I want the world to end.

I want to die, but not alone.

I want no one left to feel sadness.

In a way, that is the only way happiness will persevere.

For Love

For love, I thought, will never be,

Love, for another being.

For love, I thought, was not for me

To give, I thought it mine to keep.

Love, like love for notes and words,

Love, like love for strokes and birds,

Love, like love for loneliness,

Love, like love is happiness.

Love, I thought I would not share,

For love, I thought, should not deplete.

Till I found him, who loved my loves,

As though to make my love complete.

The Hand

I walked along his hand, leaving a trail behind.

I started at his wrist, went across in a crescent.

There. I marked his life.

When I reached the edge of his palm, I decided to change direction and inscribe his head.

I’ll make him both creative and smart. Hop along.

There, I marked his mind too.

Then I treaded back to the middle, and decided to make his fate strong.

I showered him with love and luck, yes sir.

But I must carve it onto his thumbs too, just to be sure.

Go round and round and round and round to make sure he’s famous one day.

Round and round and round. I’m tired now.

So I’ll just rest on his thumb.

My eyes start to close,

But then I see myself being taken towards something shiny.

I’m on his thumb all right, but his hand is now on the ground, sir!

He killed himself, sir! He's dead!

But, but I had made his life long..

I had made his mind beautiful..

His head is his, says mine.

 I’m just the fucking hand.

My God

My temple is not thy temple.

It is not adorned by idols of stone.

The walls are not infused with thy God’s power.

It does not look beautiful, but to my mind.

My temple is not thy temple.

It does not concede to thy legacy.

The bells are not warding off evil spirits.

It does not sound beautiful, but to my mind.

My temple is not thy temple.

It does not pamper thy blind faith.

The books do not talk of men immortalized.

It does not read beautiful, but to my mind.

My temple is not thy temple,

For my God is not thy God.

My God is my Lust for Knowledge.

It is beautiful.