Skip to main content


Showing posts from 2014

An Anecdote of the Guilty

It sneaked inside, and held my frontal cortex. It said O' dear here I am for your well being. I said Ok, get in. It slowly started eating my soul, and then lo! it became my soul. Trapped in it, I couldn't get out. I shook my head, I went away, still it remained there, like a parasite. It ate every bit of my soul, until I puked the intoxicant away. I was in the middle of nowhere, the parasite was gone, my soul wasn't back, a moment of helplessness, a moment of bewilderment. Then  the merciful soul came back and I received it in shame and guilt.
I was wondering how I could get out of the trap. I wanted to make sure that it doesn't deceive me next time. So, the quest began and lo! I found a man. A man who opened my inner eye, and here is how it happened. The sympathy inside me for other beings of my own species got ignited. Thousands of beings of my own species were suffering and dying as they tried to manufacture the intoxicants. I started crying as I learnt that I am a c…

What's your Idol?

It was a long long journey. Multitudes of people climbing up a hill to get a glimpse of their beloved idol. It was a steep hill, with curves and climbs, that reached to a sacred place for many idol worshipers. Me and my dad, scanned the hill from distance and wondered how long it will take to climb the hill. I saw a shortcut from distance, the way was empty, none of the worshipers went through that way. The shortcut climbed the hill all the way to about a quarter (from bottom) of the main route, from where it joined the main route. The shortcut was empty, and thus we chose the shortcut.
So, we went ahead, and Lo! we ended up in a castle. I do not know how we ended up in the castle, but yes it was a castle full of mystery. A castle with many paths, and we both were completely baffled with fear and loneliness, frantically searching the route to the sacred place of idol worshipers. The castle had mazes all around, up and down, right and left. A yellow castle, neither was it painted, nor w…

Love Your Soul

The supreme court deep inside says "you have sinned!". Anything can be erased from memory, but how can I erase my own consciousness? The moment I erase my own consciousness, I am not me, I am unconscious, I am devoid of soul.
The larger your soul is, the better it is for you. Then you find intoxicants, that can rip of your soul from your body. The intoxicants can be anything, lust, thirst, pleasure or pain. As you drink a drop of lust, your soul starts departing, your consciousness shrinks, and your mind is incapable to think beyond the control of the lust.
Why soul is important? Why should we cherish it? It may be possible to become a great thinker by being a drunkard. It may be possible to become a magnificent king by having hundreds of concubines. It may be possible to become a filthy rich man by having an unwarranted love for luxury. It may be possible to be a shrewd criminal by having a sadistic mindset. None of the intoxicants - lust, thirst, pleasure or pain, prohibits …

Changing Life, Changing Time

I was a person like no other person, for how on earth two things can be equal? I was a person not like I am now, for each second passes by I am not the older me. I will not be the same me tomorrow, so what is the point in planning for the future? Imagine, if I plan my whole life for a happy death, and at the time of death I am a different person wanting different things, giving different things, thinking different ideas, imagining different thoughts, loving different wishes, then for what good my plan will serve? It may be that during the time of death I feel afraid to live, I feel uncomfortable with the comforts of this life, I feel heat as cold or cold as heat, who knows!

Look at 'em

Look at 'em, lot of them there. Now its all blurred, they were so many that my tears wanted to shade my eyes from getting filled by them. O' ye beautiful night, as I look into thee, how good you look! How little I feel within myself, and where my worries are gone? O' ye stars, how many lives thou sustain over there. Me with this tiny brain, thinks about thee like a lamb wondering about a mite in the grass. O' me, why can you think more than what you need to live? This world, looks like a shadow of my thoughts, and the shadow of millions of thoughts. You are a thought in there, with hands, legs and eyes to see. O' you man don't cry, for the tears can not hide you from truth. Take me there, to a place where I see no other world, and I will live for myself like a bird in the sky. Someday it rains, someday it is hot, and does the bird think why it rains, or why it is hot? Why me, who always thinks, why do we live?

B R E A K It

Rays of light, strings of music, let it come inside, as it is coming now. The brightness and the shadow, the hope and fear, the wonder of knowledge, as I see them, as I hear them. B R E A K it all and see the truth inside. Darkness inside, thoughts of darkness where I can hide the truth. Seeking light shadows the thought. B R E A K it. B R E A K what? B R E A K the darkness away and let the light not hide inside darkness. Don't search for love, light, they are right inside. Just take of the veil of darkness that hides them.
Memories, those memories which kills a man from death. It is there, right before you, right in there. Take it off and walk naked for the cause of finding it.

The Canvas of Love

Let me draw on this canvass of plain nothingness. I see pixels here and there. It pops up, gets blurred and new ones come. This canvas remains, even when the pixels vanish. That is the story of love, for love does not vanish even if lovers hate, even if lovers die. Pixels die someday, lovers die someday. Love remains, and the canvas remains.
Rain, let it rain from the blue sky. Let it sing the praises of shadow, as it drops to the shadow of cloud. Let me cry a bit and say, the rain doesn't know that by the time it reaches ground there will be no cloud, there will be no shadow left. For all the love you have, O' raindrops, each second of your longing for the shadow tears the cloud apart. With great pain, thunderclaps and lightening, the cloud cries - get out of here O' you rain, you don't want me, you want my shadow instead. 
LOVE is not a great place to start your love. O' man, love is not what you create, it is you who are created. The plain white canvas remains, as…

The Beauty of Sadness

I love this life as much as I love my death.
Why hate sadness, repel it?
The illusion of sadness, how vague it is.

Sadness is love, sadness is beauty.
Love it, accept it.
You, me, this world,
What will survive at the end?

Bound to perish, we love life,
So much, that we hate death.
Death, as we were before,
In the thread of time before our birth.

She says, she is not afraid,
And I said, I am not afraid.
O' there goes the life of trance.
These are not the words of a sufi,
These are words of a layman.
Like everyman he dies one day.

And will be born again!

Man vs Woman - Who is more Dependent on the Other?

How a man is different from a woman, or how a woman is different from a man? How dependent are they between each other? Who is more depended on the other?
Let us compare - this is not for the lighthearted. The below scenario is under the assumption of a controlled environment where only an adult man and an adult woman are alive in an island. In the below cases, it is assumed that sex will lead to pregnancy.
If a man wants to live independent of a woman, he can live. If a woman wants to live independent of a man, she can live. But, if a man wants a progeny, then he should have sex with a woman, look after her during pregnancy and during the initial stage after childbirth, so that the progeny will survive. Thus, in this case a man is dependent on a woman. Similarly,  if a woman wants a progeny, then she should have sex with a man, and be dependent on him for the sake of her child and her own care during pregnancy. Thus, in this case a woman is dependent on a man.
If the man wants a progeny…

Who are Thou to tell me how a Poem Should be?

Closed my eyes,
that unknown source of peace!

And now opened my eyes to see my hands moving
to what it possess
to what it requires
on my keyboard
in search of life
in search of misery.

Who are thou?
to tell me how a poem should be?
or how a poem should not be?
Yelled, and said: this is my hand
these are my fingers.

Well, whose fingers?
Who am I?
The same old question.

Who are thou?
to tell me how a poem should be?
or how a poem should not be?
Yelled, and said: I have my own grammar
these are my thoughts.

Well, whose thoughts?
Who am I?
The same old question.

It was a shock.
And do you know what a shock is?
it is cultural shock.
It was a shock for those who are wired in a single way
No parallel connection, no serial connection.

Who are thou?
to tell me how a poem should be?
or how a poem should not be?

Who are thou?
to tell me how a poem should be?
or how a poem should not be?
I will ct, pastepaste, dele, rewrite
I will. put. a. fu.ll stop wherever I wish.

This is my blog
bound to perish
like me, yo…

Maybe I am Wrong

May be I am wrong,

For I can see only what my eyes can see,

For I can hear only what my ears can hear,

For I can think only what my brain can think.

May be I am wrong,

For I know only what I know from others,

For the good I believe is by the good I know,

For the right I do is by the good I believe.

May be I am wrong,

For I kill a life some days,

For I eat some plants some days,

For I chew some molecules everyday.

May be I am wrong,

For I say what I should not say,

For I act what I should not do,

For I think what I should not think.

May be I am wrong,

For I think I am good,

For I think I am pure,

For I think I am bad.

May be I am wrong,

May be I am wrong!

O' God! Only one who I know is Right,

Make me not wrong. O' God!

24 days of Suspense!

"Eyes blurred, I looked above. It was a morning like any other morning, but a morning not like any other morning. Sun was right there where it was expected to be a million years ago, while my eyelids close to the horizon where it shouldn't have been, or maybe where it should have been. I can't see what the out come is, while I can see what I am doing right now. As I watched the outcome, my eyes were filed with tears, the same old question 'who  am I?' Don't you think I am not a fan this world - yes I am. I am because I run away from death like a galloping horse in the racetrack of life. I have no idea about when I will die. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, may be years later. I do not know. But still we live like we will live for ever. Driven by this craze called life, we live. Why? Why? I do not think the question is about why, the question is about...why not.
If I die early, the one who reads this post will say it is coincidental, or I was informed about death. I…

Beliefs and their Influence on Our Emotions

Sasami believed that eating pork is sinful (-). She ate pork (-) today, and she felt guilty, unhappy.
Bhonna believed that eating pork is good for health (+). She ate pork today (+), and she felt satisfied, happy (+).
The core element here is belief. 

Belief makes who you are. I sometimes feel that our mind is a set of belief itself. Tell about anything in this world, and I think I can correlate some underlying belief based on it. For instance, say 1+1=2. Some would argue that such a mathematical truth is not a belief. Well, for 1+1=2 to be a mathematical truth, you must believe that 1 is a unit which is equal to nothing other than 1 itself, and 2 is a unit which is nothing other than 'two' 1s where 'two' is 1+1, where + is nothing other than taking two separate things and combining them together. Such a simple equation involves a number of beliefs hidden within it. Again, what does combining mean? and so on.
Beliefs could be altered through changing the underlying beliefs…

A Slight Turn

In a series of next posts, I will be discussing about various psycho-philosophical hypothesis, which will be a bit different from the previous posts. I will still continue writing on the usual insane/trance thoughts those randomly come to my mind irrespective of the elegance in them.

A short History of 26 Billion Kms

Today I turned 28. Strictly speaking I took 28 rounds around the Sun (I don't see any better standard). If I were to account for lunar years, there seems no astronomical significance for 12 lunar months - 12 lunar months seems to be an arbitrarily chosen value which is close enough to estimate the  cycle of solar influenced seasons. But, I am too small to underestimate the relevance of lunar months, there is a tremendous influence of lunar gravity in a localized environment.

How many more revolutions I wish to take? It is not always the same. There were instances in my life when I felt that I am not moving at all, and when I wished that I could stop moving any further. Even though, while I am in dead still, I am moving at a speed of 107,300 km/h. That is as much as moving around the equator of earth around 2.5 times in an hour. There were instances in my life when I felt that I want to live for ever. But, the truth is sooner or later in astronomical time, the sun, the earth will be…


A deep breath, at what cost? Of everything you have, is it that only air is free? We Muslims, Jews, Americans, Africans, Whites, Greys, Retards, Dwarfs - all have one cult in common. We are in the cult of free air breathers. Say, loud, let everyone hear that we are in the cult of free air breathers...!!!! Breath , O' man , O' woman, breath as much as you can. Shallow breath, deep breath, conscious breath, unconscious breath, yoga breath, evangelistic breath, stressful breath, happy breath, subtle breath, loud breath, sexual breath, sad breath, first breath, last breath... All breath, all kinds of breath.

Sign Here

Four Minutes of my Life

Please hurt me, I miss getting hurt. The loophole of this psychedelic hurt, I used to lick with the tears of my fate. Now, where hast thou gone, O' hurt?

It is such a fun to see the hurt with the eyes of a spectator, spectator of my own fallacy. Just four more minutes to go, before which I have to end this post. I will be no more doped by the end of this crazy four minutes. Astronomy domine will be no more, Floyd will be back to his business. Hurt, my damn fallacy. Hurt, it was all I desired for my own pleasure. Hurt, I love you. O' hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt (yelling literally). Hurt, I just want you to be back. Back to my conscious, do not care me , do not love me, ah.. please love this soul yearning for you, O' heart. End!

The Emotional Marketplace

I was looking at her so closely, I felt that she didn't care for me anymore. There goes the problem, I was like having the worst time in my life. Not getting enough love, enough attention as much as I supposed to have got. And who decides how much attention should I get? Me, who else! And there goes all the menace - I try to bring her attention back, I try to play all the drama, I even try to hurt myself and then threaten her with my own self torture. All goes in vain, and I wonder why.
I looked through her eyes, and I found that she was desperate for a solution. She normally knows what the solution is - a few kind words with a little of attention. But, she is not ready after all. She too is as sick as I am. She can not take it any more. I saw it in her eyes. Thus goes the spiral of emotional bargaining. I hurt myself, she restrains herself. A marketplace where the spiral of bargaining goes on and on. There is no deal at all. Demand is so high, while supply is almost nil. Highly in…

A Believer's Paradigm

Who is he who is not he? I think it is not him because he is not him. Perhaps he is a mirage, but in that case he is not real. If he is not real, then why do we think that he is real? So, either our thinking is a mirage or he is real. Our thinking may be a mirage of fear, hope, sorrow, frustration and what not! But if he is real, then what is the reason of the very process of our thinking? Are we real afterall! 

Who are we who are not we? I think it is not us because we are not us.  Perhaps we are a mirage, but in that case we are not real. If we are not real, then why do we think that we are real? So, either our thinking is a mirage or we are real. Our thinking may be a mirage of love, desire, pain, anxiety and what not! But if we are real, then what is the reason of the very process of our thinking? Is he real afterall!

Rhythm of Sin

I, the little thoughts in me. I , those DNAs playing around each cell. I, they call me a man. I, they used to call me a boy, a kid, a baby, a hope, nothing. I was eaten by my father a long back. Who knows from where the first compound of carbon in me had come. Perhaps, from a lettuce, or a mammal that my father ate. Or perhaps from the air he breathed from some remote Indian village, accidentally squeezed through his esophagus instead of bronchus. I am air, I am water, I am carbons. Now, they call me a man, a sinful man.
By will and hope, I squeezed through the egg of my mother, escaping the heat of lust. I , thought it was an escape, but O' nature, am I me? I am me now, a man, and food for the weeds and worms, soon.
Tears have no meanings, it is the sorrow in my tears that has meanings. It is the curiosity of hope, that shines out of each drop of tear. A hope to find myself, they call me a man. Oh, my feeble fingers, how slimy you are. Would break apart with a single blow, yet you …