tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-344693922024-03-05T23:04:14.411+05:30crazypoemsJust some crazy lines....Akshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-3321617999124870022010-12-03T02:24:00.001+05:302010-12-03T02:32:29.745+05:30good-ol-love-song part 1<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:splitpgbreakandparamark/> 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mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">I just giggle</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Can’t share</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Can’t talk</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Can’t do much</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Just think</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">And wonder</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Only if, something was possible</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">A new lesson learnt</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Old flames die hard</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">After an era in self imposed exile</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">That Ice age in grimy cave</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Bollywood music sounds good again</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">And I think about “Ms. Pushpa”</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Last year, last bench in college</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style=""><span style=""> </span></i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Complications don’t kill love</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Good Daughter in laws </i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Don’t read playboys</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">I wonder if this a new beginning</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Or am I just being crazy</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">“Love-Guru” sounds irritating</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Half them callers are idiots</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Fraandhips, pyaar-vyaar </i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">But the station plays good songs</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style=""><span style=""> </span>La la….oh …aha</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><b style=""><i style="">All I do is wonder… <span style=""> </span></i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">It’s like being in love again….. </i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Only with the same mortal…</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style=""> </i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">No wait</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">That’s not true…</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">I can’t be that fool again</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Remember the last time</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">I promised </i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">I will do better this time</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">I don’t write no more</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">No poems or love songs</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">Sometime, </i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">May be nursery rhymes</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">…..TO BE CONTINUED</i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>Akshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-81043085685309594332009-10-26T21:01:00.001+05:302009-10-26T21:04:00.518+05:30Frog TalesFrogs on my roof<br />Make too much noise<br />They croak constantly and are never quiet<br />Anti feminist theories down their throats<br />Makes all their songs coarse<br /><br />These frogs on my roof<br />Do not believe in monsoon<br />For them clouds never disappear<br />The world is a gigantic pot of beer<br /><br />Google tells me<br />“Centuries have passed by<br />Many a Single mothers have tried<br />They are stuck upside down<br />Legend has it, they will never drown”<br /><br />In their polished boots and red ties<br />Green goblins from sin city<br />Suave, grubby and witty<br />With endless fables to tell<br />Visit the frogs,<br />On their way to hell<br /><br />Last winter, when they stopped by<br />They gifted silly frogs<br />A laptop each<br /><br />Stuck upside down,<br />They made music<br />On their mighty machines<br />And sold them on internet<br />To insane goblin families<br /><br />Bloggers, I was as amazed as you are<br />Goblin money, greener than a dollar<br />They started paying me rent<br /> And asked me to put carpet on the roof<br /><br />Once they even wrote a Rock song<br />Titled “Mr. Internet, slow sucker…..Mother FU#$@%”<br />In loop they had it played<br />Until I ordered an upgrade<br /><br />Goblin money does good exchange<br />There is no recession in their Land<br />That red head (teller) is always eager to touch it<br />Before she puts them in her machine<br />She likes to have a quick whiff off them<br /><br />“Nice shirt” she tells me<br />While her machine counts my money<br />I thank her with a smile<br />She slides towards me seductively and whispers<br />“I hear them frogs are working on a big budget goblin movie soundtrack”<br />She winks at me<br />“Do you get passes for the premier?”<br /><br />Chicks dig Goblin Movies<br />More than they desire big men<br />Frogs are making me popular<br />But their music still drives me nuts<br /><br />I increased their rent<br />And quit my job<br />They are my tenants and I am their manager<br />I answer their fan mail and get them coffee<br />They are busier than ever<br />I hate their music<br />But I hated my job too<br /><br />Come winter<br />Goblins will visit again<br />Silly frogs want a concert in their honor<br />Cheerleaders will dance<br />Fireworks will be displayed<br />Expensive wine<br />And finest cuisines served<br />I am also getting my walls<br />Colored in green<br />Frogs have become very irrational<br />I believe it’s the work pressure<br />They tell me “for confidential reasons”<br />They want cheerleaders<br />To shave their heads<br /><br />Many crazy demands<br />And even crazier songs<br />Their movie soundtrack is an international successAkshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-22984583043410557952009-02-25T13:45:00.004+05:302009-02-27T13:25:40.256+05:30Revising: Late evenings and smudgy rooms<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://invisibleman.com/archives/drawings.html"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 308px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS_RCqgZKt1EaxBs19hHINYdCSTZ_ohPGtmLeFPPT0NJUqqV4el1p_B8NKpcUYWR5EDDui9nKeKGZOCchOVm6FojVS4RXWzWUcboR9q05jerAuQa-83c_3_DP1p2K3IjWUsY8W/s400/crop-a-polloza.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306655954987133282" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Do people know<br />They write histories<br />When they pick up their pen<br />Late evenings and smudgy rooms<br />And uncomfortable postures<br />One pain and an era to un-love<br /><br />The wait for “The End”<br />A hall full of applause<br />Fame comes handy, godfathers and<br />Their bitches are loving it<br /><br />Where do I sell<br />Myself, my story<br />My pen and buy my name<br />In the history…..<br />Late evenings and smudgy rooms<br />Seven year old paper<br />Becomes more dull<br />When I write with a stolen pen<br /><br />I wake up at the sunset<br />And sunrise takes me to bed<br />How much I sleep is not important,<br />Or let’s leave that for another poem<br /><br />Living on the other side of the world<br />Dramatic but just another impact<br />Of the chips getting smallerAkshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-79773570894707231622008-10-31T02:19:00.003+05:302008-10-31T03:04:19.737+05:30Revising: Blues<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilZWOhz8DZd_4bG2rxmVyLSnxxs4Z14Sdsan0_0CC8Isrr7a579_T_RtKCWOl4mSRe_d_GT81H6ocUgjBpLNztZIwUla6Ct5x9kwyQIZ7BnRHuHaHF-vH8j85zUcf0m6ouiKN7/s1600-h/kon+water+man.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 153px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilZWOhz8DZd_4bG2rxmVyLSnxxs4Z14Sdsan0_0CC8Isrr7a579_T_RtKCWOl4mSRe_d_GT81H6ocUgjBpLNztZIwUla6Ct5x9kwyQIZ7BnRHuHaHF-vH8j85zUcf0m6ouiKN7/s400/kon+water+man.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263063250713387442" border="0" /></a><br /><br />My tale will never end<br />I will write more<br />For you<br />Today you are gone<br />But I still walk to your house<br />And romance with your furniture<br />I try to smell you on your phone<br />And sit on your chair<div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div>It’s the nearness to your belongings<br />That is my poem for you<br />That makes me sad<br />Yet content<br />Because I can still touch you<br /><br />I wonder sometimes<br />If you can sense me?<br />When I leave<br />I wonder sometimes<br />If these small things make a difference to youAkshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-82555602130645979182008-07-24T00:36:00.003+05:302008-07-24T01:03:50.013+05:30Two poems<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://invisibleman.com/archives/drawings.html"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 274px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9BzmYVxk5hnpJ1lPWMO0LYhtEr8QwMWl8oiciUx47RAXbCvT1etZ3iyLiINNCuccIR2xcFJzewdhoAle19GmQtmM7yU_PCSMPO4tM6pF9p6Xe7a-hyDJT8yDV0Xhqku_bYGTQ/s320/nypress_subway-thumb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226294594513990882" border="0" /></a><br /> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">-Bullets in my brain-</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Bullets in my brain<br />Oscillate...<br />A dead dog<br />Colors the pale highway<br />And sings</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Choked drains<br />Desire earthquakes<br />Fireflies twinkling<br />In gloomy and profound valleys<br />Want longer nights </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">A rose wants<br />To taste blood, the other red<br />Calendars will never<br />Ever show dates again</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="MsoNormal">-The unplugged-</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The unplugged and the untouched<br />The inseminated bitch<br />And the castrated dog<br />Will party today</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A few strangers in the bucket<br />From lands unknown, some even unheard<br />Talking jargon dreams<br />Will rock today</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Akshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-74058290447378899412008-06-24T19:54:00.003+05:302008-06-24T20:04:15.007+05:30Victim of time<p class="MsoNormal">How it passes</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And what it does</p> <p class="MsoNormal">To people</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Once kids</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then boys and girls</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then men and women</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The core</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And the shell, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Question?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And silently answer, repel</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Run and cry</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Vision and then the eyes </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It is named time</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A futile power </p> <p class="MsoNormal">A living dead </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And a deceitful truth </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">They say</p> <p class="MsoNormal">No point in holding on to it</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Repeat and memorize </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Daily once, twice, thrice</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But Oh! The beauty</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That passed by</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Still blinks in my wet eyes </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">People named friends</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Those days and trends</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That garden and those benches </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Still….. still….</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A few certificates </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Remind me of my victory </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And their defeat </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Prize money is all spent</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That time is dead </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Not even a year old</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In this new world</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Everybody inquires</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Of my past life</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And secretly laugh</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I turn my eyes </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">These photographs</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Are deep </p> <p class="MsoNormal">An ocean of time</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Like two <i style="">Samosa’s </i> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dipped in coconut <span style="font-style: italic;">chutney</span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Or a bottle of soft drink</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That passed till last sip</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">See them</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A lot more </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Is beneath them</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A tranquil layer of vodka,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lime, ice and a pinch of salt,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The froth of beer,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Aroma of the coffee,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In million card houses.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sound of music, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Debates on feminism, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Chains of smoke, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Libraries and their ambiance </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hugs and kisses, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Diary entries and dope,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Rushing to the college</p> <p class="MsoNormal">To show what you wrote.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A car accident, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">When we were broke.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Losing control, after 8 P.M</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sleeping in the girls’ room.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Rain in the desert,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Full moon in the bathtub,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The <i style="">kurta</i> with the <i style="">shloks</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The teachers who became friends,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That bonfire and the holy smoke</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ashes and dew drops</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Think about them</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So….. many </p> <p class="MsoNormal">So many moments </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Make these photographs </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Always remember </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s just me </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another victim of time</p>Akshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-64432039436404545042008-06-17T19:16:00.008+05:302008-06-17T21:49:18.085+05:30Book-worm Tag<span style="font-weight: bold;">I've been tagged!!!</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBBK_-Fojji19_pu4HrJousbALutBejrhr_OAQQ8jmg8zzB7OYdPuPNrtu2SkXkC6C0gdTG5HhX5NJ_IpJ1oO8FoGaqN-9TlEUf-qGETaA6X0JBJXwswvRZYDir2OH_QapYPf/s1600-h/tageed1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBBK_-Fojji19_pu4HrJousbALutBejrhr_OAQQ8jmg8zzB7OYdPuPNrtu2SkXkC6C0gdTG5HhX5NJ_IpJ1oO8FoGaqN-9TlEUf-qGETaA6X0JBJXwswvRZYDir2OH_QapYPf/s320/tageed1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212884504397877858" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Thank you, <a href="http://fieldsofgypsies.blogspot.com/">Gypsy</a>. I'm supposed to<br /><br />Pick up the nearest book.<br />Open page 123.<br />Find the fifth sentence.<br />Post the next three sentences.<br />Tag five people, and acknowledge the person who tagged you.<br /><br /><br />Now I guess there is no way that I can stop this. This will bring out the truth about the kind of books I read. gosh...<br /><br />OK....I am already embarrassed..... I know it sucks but the nearest book is "All about Six Sigma" by Warren Brussee<br /><br />And this is what it says:<br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />For less than a given outcome</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">, like less than 3 heads out of 8 coin tosses, use the cumulative function True with the success at 1 </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">less than</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"> the given value (3-1=2):</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"><br />Success = 2</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"><br />Trials = 8</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"><br />p = 0.5</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"><br />Cumulative : true</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">The result is P = 0.1445<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">wtf....really.....Now that I have shared with you something that really doesn't mean anything....I tag:</span><br /><br /></span></span></span><a href="http://misstairebabs.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"> Tairebabs</a><br /><a href="http://emaanchopra.blogspot.com/">Emaan and/or Emaan' Mom</a><br /><a href="http://anisaround2911.blogspot.com/">Anindita </a><br /><a href="http://quarterpastseven.wordpress.com/">Quarterpast7</a><br /><a href="http://ranjana-crazythoughtsofadisturbedmind.blogspot.com/">Ranjana </a><br /><br />I am pretty sure that they will have better books.......<br />Signing out,<br />PeaceAkshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-54235213799306512202008-06-11T00:00:00.001+05:302008-06-11T00:12:16.301+05:30543 Faces<p class="MsoNormal">543 faces </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Smudged, ugly, vivacious </p> <p class="MsoNormal">A pair of fervent eyes </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sees ‘em all</p> <p class="MsoNormal">672 colors</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Light, dark, bright</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A single color</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Explains ‘em all</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This vision is your souvenir</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And so are those ugly faces</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Only if I could recall</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Those 543 faces in 672 colors each</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I wouldn’t need </p> <p class="MsoNormal">A need for you</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Surpass the disguise</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Choke the wise</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Accelerate all passion</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Run, run </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Speed up the light</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Kill the Gods </p> <p class="MsoNormal">For once let this vision </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Be your guide </p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the five page story </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Of and on life</p>Akshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-55281985708338064732008-05-08T01:24:00.001+05:302008-05-08T01:33:32.352+05:30@ office !!<p class="MsoNormal">A few translucent blocks</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The trapped bodies and their mighty souls</p> <p class="MsoNormal">People move in blocks</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And a glass separates lovers</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">That is me in that cabin</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I listen to music</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The background score of my life</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Baked clay</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Its smell and harsh texture</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Is all over my body</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Cold heat sweat</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And junctions of passion</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Divisions on morals</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And critics fucking the stories</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I sit on all these</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Or may be somewhere in between them</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And emit that thing called vigor </p>Akshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-1174500140920035032007-03-22T00:20:00.000+05:302007-03-22T00:32:20.930+05:30things to do and done....<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/1457/3799/1600/610961/singapore%20bagpackers%20039.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/1457/3799/320/382834/singapore%20bagpackers%20039.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><strong><span style="color:#ff6666;">Sitting in room<br />I wonder and still wonder<br />It gives me goose bumps<br />And I turn deaf<br />To the sounds around<br />Have I lived my life?<br />Did I dream last night?<br /><br />I am an addict<br />I am bonded<br />I am a slave<br />And I cry over my love<br /><br />Fake orgasms<br />And Victorian mannerisms<br />I sit and relax<br />Watch the head going up and down<br />Captain on the ship<br />Drives me to the lonely island<br /><br />Celluloid maddens me<br />And I sit fingers crossed<br />And eyes wide open<br />I need to kill a few animals<br />Nerves in my brain<br />And those in my legs<br />Entangled computer wires<br />All look the same</span></strong>Akshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-1169853814558934802007-01-27T04:41:00.000+05:302007-01-27T04:53:34.570+05:30colors<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/1457/3799/1600/383018/Picture%200610%20013.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/1457/3799/320/54063/Picture%200610%20013.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">If I could suck the redness<br />Of a rose<br /></span><span style="color:#3333ff;"><span style="color:#33cc00;">Or if I could have washed away<br />The colors from the feathers<br />Of a peacock</span><br /></span><br /><span style="color:#ffff33;">If I could understand<br />Why the beauty touches<br />Me so deep<br /></span><span style="color:#ff0000;">Why the blood does not smell like a rose</span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">Why peacocks beauty is flawed</span><br /><span style="color:#ffff33;">And why we desire, the forbidden<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#ffff00;">Questions to answers<br />Don’t come easy</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">For when do blood stains become a beauty?</span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">And when do you see beyond peacocks feathers?</span><br /><span style="color:#ffff33;">And when do you realize the catastrophe of love?<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#ffff33;">You are an intellectual<br />Mr. Know all<br />Play with words and metaphors<br />Hide your filth, skin deep<br />For you, such answers come cheap</span><br /><p><span style="color:#ffff33;"></span></p><p><span style="color:#ffff33;"></p></span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">Blood stains from a virgin’s fuck<br /></span><span style="color:#33ff33;">Look beyond the beauty, why does the peacock cry<br /></span><span style="color:#ffff33;">When you are in love, too late a realization<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#ffff33;">Your answers explain<br />But can they slay the pain</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">Whose pleasure becomes the beauty, or that first sting is the beauty</span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">The peacock cries, is it joy or the pain</span><br /><span style="color:#ffff33;">A realization of love, isn’t that the eternal pain</span><br /></span>Akshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-1169852548165157892007-01-27T04:19:00.000+05:302007-01-27T04:32:28.176+05:30tea in office<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/1457/3799/1600/151262/Picture%20009.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/1457/3799/320/84906/Picture%20009.jpg" border="0" /></a>Akshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-1169217638891994272007-01-19T20:02:00.000+05:302007-01-19T20:10:38.903+05:30killing myself<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/1457/3799/1600/983185/shimla%20trp%20may%2006%20076.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/1457/3799/320/150539/shimla%20trp%20may%2006%20076.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>When you tell me to kill myself<br />I listen<br />Dreams that come from undying moments<br /><br />A round trip in the train<br />Silent conversations<br />And same T Shirts<br /><br />If you say no,<br />I will have to leave<br />And go away<br /><br />Will you ever understand my poetry?<br />Or that letter I wrote in my diary<br />I want to leave you<br />With the guilt<br /><br />Of those endless nights<br />And those long lonely walks<br />I go away<br /></strong></span><br />------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;"><strong>Now<br />I kill myself everyday<br />I get immense pleasure from it<br />My love has made me insignificant<br />I am in fits of insanity<br />It’s only your rejection that I see<br />It’s only the fire I yearn for<br />This is the decision of destiny<br />The script has already been written<br /><br />The acts change, and so do the costumes<br />Let’s sell this show better<br />Serve the liquor and make this a whore house<br /><br />My gods tell me that I can be one too,<br />I just need to know the rules<br />And understand the psyche<br />Of the masses<br /><br />You rule my senses, thoughts and dreams<br />You live in my memories and words<br />You slipped away few months ago…..<br />I still look for you through these corridors</strong></span>Akshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-1164292100721804222006-11-23T19:55:00.000+05:302006-11-23T19:58:20.733+05:30blues<span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;"><strong>blues</strong></span><br /><br /><br />My tale will never end<br />I will write more<br />For you<br />Today you are gone<br />But I still walk to your house<br />And romance with your furniture<br />I try to smell you on your phone<br />And sit on your chair<br /><br />It’s the nearness to your belongings<br />That is my poem for you<br />That makes me sad<br />Yet content<br />Because I can still touch you<br /><br />I wonder sometimes<br />If you can sense me?<br />When I leave<br />I wonder sometimes<br />If these small things make a difference to youAkshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-1158655921658572532006-09-19T14:13:00.000+05:302006-09-19T14:22:01.666+05:30<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1457/3799/1600/shimla%20trp%20may%2006%20045.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1457/3799/320/shimla%20trp%20may%2006%20045.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color:#ffff33;"><strong>Writing Histories</strong></span><br /><br /><br />Do people know<br />They write the history<br />When they pick up their pen<br />Late evenings and smudgy rooms<br />And uncomfortable postures<br />One pain and an era to un-love<br /><br />The wait for “The End”<br />A hall full of applause<br />Fame comes handy, godfathers and<br />Their bitches are loving it<br /><br />Where do I sell<br />Myself, my story<br />My pen and buy my name<br />In the history…..<br />Late evenings and smudgy rooms<br />Seven year old paper<br />Becomes more dull<br />When I write with a stolen pen<br /><br />I wake up at the sunset<br />And sunrise takes me to bed<br />How much I sleep is not important,<br />Or let’s leave that for another poem<br /><br />Living on the other side of the world<br />Dramatic but just another impact<br />Of the chips getting smallerAkshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-1158336300602073302006-09-15T21:25:00.000+05:302006-09-15T21:46:42.276+05:30<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1457/3799/1600/111105%20053.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="197" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1457/3799/320/111105%20053.jpg" width="227" border="0" /></a><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#ffff00;">Lost, shit and blah blah...</span></em></strong><br /><br />How will I find my<br />Way, for lost am I<br />I have tried and tried<br />Even gone back in time…..<br />It doesn’t help<br />Vodka and lime<br /><br />I will not tell this secret<br />To anyone other than you<br />You are the only one<br />A seed of nostalgia<br />In my soul<br /><br />A knife of ice<br />And a grave full of smoke<br />The endless and sleepless<br />Nights on the other side<br />The dawn and the dusk<br />Sometimes kills the life<br /><br />Somebody sits and watches<br />Steps and chairs<br />Cubicles and stairs<br />Second by second<br />Tik tock …tik tok<br />The mighty hand on the clock<br />It will go<br />And run a new show, somewhere downtown<br />I forgot my guitar today<br />But it might snow<br />And then I will run home<br />Bare feet<br />To take out my leather shoes<br />This time the New Year will go right<br />I will set the pace<br />New glasses will be ordered<br />And the liquor will be measured<br />For every inch of body<br /><br />I have started killing the turkeys<br />For the feast….<br />There will be plenty<br />Of meat<br />Bring friends and foes<br />Because it will be a large gatheringAkshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34469392.post-1158335617473104882006-09-15T21:18:00.000+05:302006-09-15T21:48:41.686+05:30<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1457/3799/1600/moments.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1457/3799/320/moments.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><strong><em>Blank paper’s itch<br /></em></strong><br />When I try to study<br />A blank paper, on a crossroad<br />Time eats me up as quicksand<br />I am volatile without a coffin<br /><br />Fluttering eye and siesta in my veins<br />A night of pain<br />And a heart so distant<br />Too many pictures around<br />Portraits of strangers<br />And off season discounts<br />Flash through the whiteness<br />Of the blank paper<br />Stories, poems, songs, sketches<br />Memoirs and diary entries<br />Epistolary, novels and sonnets<br />So much and too many<br />All in my eyes or just the paper’s itch<br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1457/3799/1600/111105%20060.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="212" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1457/3799/320/111105%20060.jpg" width="302" border="0" /></a><br />I wait, I wait<br />To understand the mystery,<br />Of body and mind<br />Sex and love<br />Siamese twins<br /><br />Ciphers disdain these questions<br />Some ambiguities can’t be deciphered<br />By a mere itch<br />Blank paper is just as susceptible<br />As a crossroadAkshayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10388653504244994523noreply@blogger.com0