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Turn It Up.

Saturday, February 27, 2016

Identity 5 : Preservation


Next time a thorn is in your side
Don't hesitate to pull it;
It'll hurt like hell, but soon you'll see
How you've dodged a bullet.
Roses come with thorns, they say,
And redden with lifeblood;
Hence the timid falter
To nip that blooming bud.

When, next time, the light beckons
But you need a place to hide,
Listen no more to trite advice --
Embrace the dark with pride.
Symbols etched in golden hue
Will put your toes to line
But it's worth a few stubbed toes
If the ground is fine.

Thursday, February 18, 2016

Of The Toxic Algorithm of Relationships

What happened to star-crossed lovers? What happened to best friends across borders, brothers and sisters across oceans, kindred souls that meet but once? Definitions are important, and so are geography and the many practicalities of life; but so are our instinctive love and compassion, our ability to care deeply for others sans validation, sans benefit, sans labels and rituals and norms. To avoid hurting and being hurt, our species has succeeded in building a web of etiquette, law and jargon behind which to hide our souls. Respectability has taken undue priority: we seek lawful approval from the abstraction that is social norm for our littlest, most innocent loves and hurts and moments and cares. Over the centuries, we have reached a place where lovers are defined by set patterns of shared commercial over-consumption and a complex tangle of descriptive to define who they are to one another; brothers and sisters are limited to deoxyribonucleic acid and/or outdated sexist ritual; and friends are measured in frivolous similarities of aesthetic taste, homework assignments and entertainment preference.
I am a big fan of self-determination, mutual respect and the politically accurate collective determination that follows. However, I still believe that we all need some people in our lives -- be they friends, family, lovers, anything -- with whom the frequency of contact does not affect care and concern, labels don't affect love, etiquette does not bar us from being as bawdy and/or silly and/or unreasonable as we like! Consequently, I believe that when we find such people in our lives, the validation machine should just let us be. If any definitions and norms we choose to place on ourselves do make it outside, we should simply be believed; and unless we explicitly seek approval, it should neither be offered nor refused!
People I find attractive are not, to me, a string of romantic and sexual encounters coupled with expensive food and dim lighting; and that should be okay. Brothers I conjure out of thin air because I genetically have none don't, to me or to them, mean people to tie ritualistic threads and dab ritualistic paste on; and that should be okay. My friends, to me, don't mean a sequence of parties and gifts and food and notes, as long as we are with each other at bad times...
...and that should be okay.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

Once again, an old scrawling rediscovered

In Our Stars

I never knew Jupiter
I never knew Mars
I only knew Orion's belt --
My old friends, three stars,
Sleeping on the deodar's boughs,
The winter windchime;
I thought I'd come away,
But changed my mind each time.

All that's holy, stark and true
Can love me by daylight
But the lies of merriment
Have me for the night.
Lies are brave martyrs --
To know that conscious thought
Can wash away the glory days
In sweet deception wrought.


This was buried somewhere deep in my Google Keep. Found, titled, punctuated, posted.

Saturday, February 6, 2016

Attributions are always fun

I always love it when other blogs share my content (given due credit, of course). Recently, a friend stumbled upon this... apparently it appears when my blog's title is googled! I thank the people on the page, though I have no idea how the original content was relevant to their topic!
Nonetheless, much love!

Friday, February 5, 2016

Identity 4 : Marks


You have seen so many lands

And trod on many stars --
Always bitten, forever shy;
The road has left its marks.

Your father's cuff-links, stained with ink;
Your mother's burning heart
Have made you, destiny's own child,
Your people's work of art.

Marbled glass in dreamlike hues
Hit the ground and squeal;
But, in the cloud of holy smoke,
The Chosen One is still.

Thursday, February 4, 2016

Wrote last semester, found it now

In that twilight zone when it is day outside but night inside, avoid the element of secrecy -- scrutiny is your friend. When even the din of labourers hammering sheet metal reminds you of drumbeats back home, fill your lungs with a full breath of your purpose, and live like the sand is yours.
When heroes fail you, look upon the ordinary and the imperfect around you. Look at them, and see how their lives are as pockmarked with vices as yours. They work in unsure bouts of guilty energy, take their ill-earned wages home, watch porn and go to sleep -- and yet, you will never find any more honourable, any more gracious, any more caring, and any more trustworthy.

The above is admittedly a flawed piece. I chanced upon it, a pencil scrawl across a part of my algebra notebook, that I had shared with just one person and then forgotten to even type up, let alone publish. The time of its original inspiration being long past, I have chosen to leave the content unedited except for punctuation.

Monday, February 1, 2016

Identity 3 : The Hidden

The Hidden

At the stroke of midnight
The weary flee the floors;
Pride holds back the dreams you had
That follow out the doors.
Games are played and names are changed,
And three old childhood friends
Give way to newer meanings that
See them to their ends.

I will find a little place,
A small world of my own --
And there I'll seek the peace that comes
To those that weep and mourn!
But far and few, the fresh and new
Will see me dancing on:
In steps and swirls and risky whirls,
Braving dusk and dawn.
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