Subject To Change

“Everything changes, nothing remains without change.” Buddha

.Nobody’s Fault But My Own

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Nobody’s Fault But My Own by Beck (lyrics)

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April 26, 2009 at 2:22 am

.What Do I Need?

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Who do I get it from?

Which question do I answer first
Does it even matter?

I seem confused, is what I’ve been told.
              Enjoy your life, you’re just a kid.
You need to talk to someone.
    Have you thought about counselling?
There’s nothing wrong with you.
    You don’t have to change.
Freak. Psycho.
                   You’re just different, that’s all.
         They don’t see you like I do.
Unique. Special. Gifted.
You’re just a kid, what’s bothering you?
                                                      Just a kid…
He is very talented
but needs to be constantly checked
to ensure he does not go astray.

Where am I heading?
Where will this take me?
Will you be there
Waiting to save me
Or will I never know
Who it is I need
Will time only show
What I need from you.

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April 26, 2009 at 12:13 am

.Plain Tea

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Woken up at noon today, by my brother saying we were to have lunch at a relatives place. Got up and got ready. Got there, nothing to do, no one to speak to. Ate lunch, wondered who the hell the little kids were. An uncle shows off his dual-SIM Chinese phone, goes on to talk about Tamil gangsters in the UK, and how Tamils are great at creating their own businesses. Familiar faces entered, finally someone to talk to. Everyone’s finished eating, the kids are playing out in front, I see Dad’s phone on the table. Snatch it, get onto Twitter, scroll through the updates, don’t feel like saying much. End up on camera, take a look around. Fuzzy, try changing settings. Sepia tone looks best, click. Turn off flash, click. Mess around with exposure, click. Contrast, click. Suddenly feel energetic, zooming in and out. Move about clicking at random, the display becomes my eyes, my sight, my vision. Capturing still-frames hoping to hold on to a thought, or steal one right out of another, and freeze it in one place, to look at again. Don’t understand grown-ups being camera shy. Asked no one to pose or smile, ‘cheese’ didn’t slip off any tongue. I felt alive, in such a strange way, just looking at the moments I’d caught, like bugs in a jar, birds in a cage. Tea was served, “plain tea or milk tea”, plain, please. Relatives do not understand the concept of “plain”, ginger does not go into plain tea. Not enough sugar, I take 3 teaspoons. Never mind, I’ve got pictures to take, moments to steal. Grandma is sitting outside, drinking her milk tea. Pouring it onto a saucer, this is how tea should be drunk. Carrom board comes out, game on. I choose to spectate, watching from the sidelines, in sepia tone. It’s not only the fingers that snap, even the toes curl and snap, so intense. The kids have come in, they all join in watching the game. Everyone’s together now, though I hardly know their names. I have no more pictures to take, I am fully immersed in this time and place. I felt great.

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April 20, 2009 at 8:10 am

.Fire Above, Ice Below

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The woeful silence and wind’s reflection
Of your body’s pale ode, an icy fortress of blood and ages
Sky fire above, ice below the hearth
Fall away from me to that citadel at the end of time
Where death sleeps and dreams of your buried pain
There has never been a silence like this before
There will never be an ode like this again

– Agalloch

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April 18, 2009 at 2:09 am

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.Temple

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I was asked to leave alone, I did so.

And I still am… inching forward afraid of losing track.

I can barely see you now, but I still remember.

I remember – I shouldn’t, but I do.

I will forget, though I swore I’d never.

Have you?

Does my name ever resound in the back of your mind?

My name that only you could pronounce the way I like to hear it.

If I could hear it again, those two syllabes, in your voice, from your lips, onto my ears… I would hold on to it, and play it back over and over and over again until I forget that it is only my name. I would listen to the sound like a prayer in the quiet confines of my mind, echoing onto the walls that close me in, reverberating back and forth. Resonating within, I would keep you there, if only just a part of you, one little bit, would you let me?

Or am I asking for too much?

Why is it that the single most important thing, is often what you can never have?

You have your reasons. That’s the bottom line.

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April 17, 2009 at 1:24 am

.Ropes & Ladders

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Escapism. It can take place anywhere. From the carefully thought out lines of prose breaking off into free-flowing streams of poetry. As the rhymes and cries silently mute and subside. The well digs deeper into the fertile soil. Looking for water as the subject is drowned. Forgotten once more as the cries from below. And the mind loses grip of proverbial words.

Passive, I become to even my own thoughts. Anything that is read is a subject that is taught. Is it worth keeping up the fight when the struggle is within? We say we’re fighting enemies but where do we begin? Some mean good and some mean bad. Dictionaries are tools for the literary mad. Identity is a necessity and it needs to be known. But is it ever shown?

I have flown… digressing from the drifters and slipping into the unknown.. I create my own problems then ask others for solutions. I am most guilty of emotional pollution. Something is inherently wrong with this system. But who defines wrong? And who is the victim?

Questions, questions, questions. I’m all full of questions. But even with the answers, there itself lies the question. Where does trust lie and when does faith reason? Has the day of judgement passed? For this is my confession.

No longer does this blog serve a purpose. Or at least the one it had when I created it. I wanted anonymity, yet I let myself be found. I am not getting far by neither leaps nor bounds. Though I am always running, the ground was always moving. Does it make a difference which direction I face? How much is missed simply tying a shoe-lace? Do I keep strutting forward, or do I stop and ask directions? Maybe from a tour-guide or maybe a policeman. Any one is fine all – I need is direction. Just point me somewhere – I may soon learn my lesson.

nb: read a draft of this at the last Open Mic. It’s been two months since I wrote this, about time I posted it. I don’t care which version’s better. Just needed to put something out. So there.

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April 11, 2009 at 1:40 am

.Read Me

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Cara, a regular reader of this blog,  asked me to read one of her poems.
I looked for one that was in English. Found this and decided to do it.

I asked her to read one of mine. She’s German, so you might notice some slightly awkward pronunciations, but I like it. This is her reading my poem Noise.

She posted my reading on her blog, so it’s only fair that I do the same.
Thank you for reading.

(:

nb: to those who follow on Google Reader, there’s two audioclips here you’re missing, might wanna click through (:

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April 2, 2009 at 8:57 pm