Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Lunar Autopsy

Under a pagan moon
The scalpel's cold incision
Into my rotting wounds.

Symphony of cursed souls
Slice the womb of night
And, the bronze God sits,
Cold and alone.

Lizard on the cross,
Christ on the wall.
In the ashes
Lepper messiahs crawl.

Obey the curse,
Burn the cross.

Our Celluloid Dreams

The music of the spheres, deceptive,
Like all these hollow years
But only because its halloweth timbre
Is too subtle for our ears.

Even the ethreal glow of the moon
Cannot sanctify our rooms,
Because we are too busy
Indulging in wanton misery.

The cancer spreads its wings
Into our celluloid dreams,
And all we do is give plastic smiles
To while away our time.

The Thin Red Line

Bounded by the thin red line
Shadows weep and steal my mind,
A million eyes pour into my soul
Fragmented, I try to grasp the whole
Obscure days and the nights swallow me.

The Ordeal Of Albert Camus

I repudiate the claim
Of what I am supposed to be.
I negate all the reasons
That you can throw at me.

I try to seek who I am;
But all the hows and whys
Remain elusive,
Cannot define my form.

On existentialism and nihilism
While the drunken masses feed,
There's no respite from my grief.
But in the end it's only nothingness
That gives me relief.

So nights I prowl the empty streets,
Trudge sidewalks paved with blood.
Empty thoughts, empty deeds,
Too many shadows on the wall...
Too many empty promises to keep.

The pen it loathes my obscure verse,
Meaningless scratches on scrolls.
Seasons change,
Pages turn,
And it all boils down to nothing at all.


In the eerie silence of the night
The poem commits suicide.
Only fatal thoughts remain
And dreams, soaking in the rain...
Darkness blinding your eye.


Lurking along the night's periphery
I came across unwanted truths.
Under the doleful sky weeping
The narcissist moon smirking
Dreams burning
The earth's machinery turning
Empty streets reek of decomposed solitude.


Under the cotton clouds
Amidst the paper flowers that bloom,
You and I,
We steal the night.
You and I,
We eat the sky
And spit out the silver moon.

Flying In A Blue Dream (with regards to Satch)

Flying In A Blue Dream
(with due regards to Joe Satriani)

Between the earth and the stars
Hallucinates the sky,
As lover's gaze
Turns every stranger's eyes.
And vanishes silently
The mind's I.

Between the moon and its reflection
Creeps in the night
As the languid water
Unfurls its echoes.

Between the object and the gaze
Wallows the lazy hours,
As clay hands try
To pick a grain of sand.

Between the cloak and the dagger
The killer's frozen arms do not move;
Now it matters little
What he is supposed to do.

Between the hammer and the anvil
The metal turns cold,
Only the skull cracks
After the blow.

Blue pills,
Smoke rings,
cheap thrills,
Still not getting the glimpse.

Consequential Overdrive

Pocketful of universes
For us to create and destroy,
Dust turns to ashes
Before we utter a cry.

No place to hide, from the consequential overdrive.

Lost highways of dawn overgrown with sullen abandon.
A bitter harvest, a sweet death, a bitter illusion.

Death, sadness,
Tragedy, madness,
The stars, our tears,
Love, fears.

We're sad again
My sweet mary jane.

I suffer
Therefore I am.


So many times, drifting in and out of loneliness
I have woken up in your dreams.
I have stared at the walls so long
That they have collapsed on my thoughts.
And trying to salvage them
From underneath the debris,
I have stumbled upon
Remnants of your discarded whispers
And collected them,
To adorn the passages of my mind.

I have consumed black.
Injected it, inhaled it, exalted it.
With the shadows i have embraced it.
The rain trickled with the sadness
Of your parting smile,
And the dampness wet my dreams.
In that infantile hour, time revealed its agony
Healing every sorrow, its own wounds wide open.