Monday, October 31, 2005


For pain I would pay
Let the illusions play
They teach its bad
Feeling pain or be sad
Its blasphemy I knew
As I thought and I grew

In the cave of my truth
Soul – unholy and uncouth
Lost in mayhem and insanity
I am searching for sanctity
Where thought is a jungle
Truth and deceit entangle

The mind is so morose
Feel the tentacle close
Conflicts of thought
Venom with it bought
As pain covers the body
Soul erupts in rhapsody

Friday, October 28, 2005

Crayons of earth

Crayons of earth
Draw the pictures
Every penny worth
No frames or fixtures

Shades of grey
Or of shadow play
Waiting for prey
Out in earthen clay

Pictures are hazy
Intoxication mild
Mind goes crazy
Imagination wild

Endless stream
And the blinding fog
Piercing scream
The juvenile rogue

Night is too cold
The burning hearth
Flames Dance bold
And the crayons of earth

Monday, October 24, 2005


I failed to realize where I was. All I could feel was pain all over my body. There was so much weight over me. I couldn’t open my eyes.

I was doing some experiments in my underground lab. Something with the explosives. Something went wrong. BOOM. I felt a force throwing me off my feet. Now wake up

I still don’t know where I am

Sunday, October 23, 2005


When days turn boring and existence turns to frustration it finally time to realize that you are living. Even I don’t fully understand that statement I just made. But I guess it really seems interesting because I am feeling a lot frustrated the last few days. It seems as if life has come to a lull when nothing much is happening on any front.
What do I do to wake up so that I have something moving? I am naturally lazy means the inertia is rather high. I have been seriously thinking about trekking. But is it worth it to risk my life in naxal infested hills and forests. I have long been fascinated by naxalism, but what difference does that make. For them I would be one of that class that has to be annihilated.
Roses on My Table
There are four roses on my table vase
Not real ones
Two are red one is rose
And one a color I don’t know
Maybe its orange
They are lifeless
But even real roses are lifeless
If thy are cut of from the plant
It doesn’t look good
But its still there on my table
I payed for it
Why do I have it here
I don’t know
But it is still here

Friday, October 21, 2005


I was perturbed when my friend send this to me with a title "Frustration of Teachers". Maybe it reminded me of my own school days when i was told to fall in line when ever i dared to be different in my literary endevours.

I believe this kid deserves applause for the way he has written. Forget the grammar forget the construction. Just look at the raw creativity and orginality. The topic is simple there is the common approach of writing something quite ordinary about flowers, rainbows, nature, vehicles, people and what not. But that would be description.

The incoherence between the pargraphs that this kid has written is what makes it interesting for me. You may agree or disagree but i would argue that this kid got a raw deal.

One of my friends tell me this mail maybe a hoax. Maybe. But it gave me a chance to speak about something I wanted to tell for a long time

It has been my experience that teachers in the Indian educational system has an uncanny ability to snuff out creativity. In our quest to be conformist and be right all the time we are losing the essence of diversity