Shell Shocked

Sunday, December 13, 2009
The wind had a biting chill.
I looked up at the sky, and saw the inky black velvet shroud.
Stars were studded. Bright stars.
Brighter than they were back home.
Poisoned skies would reach these places last.

I looked at the white moon. Pockmarked.
And slowly I perceieved the white smoke in front of it.
I followed the smoke to it's source. The bonfire.
It kept us travellers warm in this desert.
And then, it started.

The beating of the traditional Arab drums. The jingling of the bells. The sound of a man singing zestfully, with lust lining his voice. Strange Arab toungues, rolling out words rhythmically, to which a white body danced.
The belly was the center of the Universe that night.
And all of us, men and women, were hypnotised.

After her performance, the belly dancer came, with a black veil over her, and sat at the other end of the fire.
In the red glow, only her eyes, uncovered, were seen.
I was surprised at how I did not lust for her. Nor did I get any lascivious thoughts.
What was felt was pure appreciation. Pure love.
Her eyes set on me. I looked into them.
They were piercing.
And the flames in them were more fiery than the ones between us.
I felt despair when I looked into that Virgin land.


Another Vision


I met a soldier in Qatar.
He was an ex-army man, who liked the attention he got in the Arab world, and decided to settle in and make lots of money.

I asked him about Iraq.
He looked at me with a befuddled expression.

I asked him about I-Rack.
He told me gladly about his experience, and how many terrorists he gunned down.

I asked him why.
He said, "For America."
I said, "For Oil ! Don't the boys know that the notion of a Nation is stupid ?"
He told me to "Fuck Off" and spat on my face.


Another Vision.


I saw a school bus full.
They never went to school.
And now, they were finally riding on school buses.
But, their destination was the Petrochemical plant.
The bus was full of these Indian and Fillipino men.
All wore blue boilersuits and yellow hard hats.
The sweat glistening on their faces. These school buses had no AC's for slaves.


Another Vision.


I was sitting comfortably in a black luxury sedan.
Slowly sipping from the Lipton Ice Tea (Peach) can.
I looked out of my window.
The tinted glass could not hide the severe sight.
Vast arid land. Desert. With the shimmering heated air near the surface. Huge sand dunes.
In the distance, Oil Rigs.
And Petrochemical industries powered by brown slaves.
The red flames erupting from their effluent towers. Constantly burning.

The black sedan opens up a door, and I am thrown out. In the dry hot desert. My lips parched. My insides burn. My lungs collapse. I die in the desert.
The Lipton Ice Tea (Peach) can the only witness to my death.


Another Vision.


A white robe. The traditional Arab garb. The black band on his head.
The sheikh, with a Rolex on his wrist sits at the coffee house in the mall.
This big man, fed on halal food everyday, sits on the tiny table, covering most of it with his flab.
A pack of Marlboro Red is on the table. A cigarette is in his pudgy fingers.
His hands are covered in blood.


Truth


Royal Dutch-Shell is number one at fucking the Earth raw.


Another Vision.


Sitting in a parlour. The Hookah in front of me. Smoke is blown at my face by the gentleman sitting across. Strong Turkish tea is near my table.

I look out at the main road, and see it lined with all the powerful people.

Mc Donald's, Subway's, Carrefour's, Hardee's, Applebee's, KFC's, MNC's.


Another Vision.


I was standing with a white-skin.
He asked me my ethnicity.
I told him Indian.
He turned his nose up and sniffed with arrogance.
I told him to look down at me.
From his 6'4'' height, he looked straight at me.
"You have no soul", I said to those cold grey eyes.
Then, I told him to go fuck himself.


Another Vision.


Inside a Hummer.
Fornicating.
She accepts only credit cards.


Another Vision.


I met another man in the Hummus house. He told me he intended to storm all the Arab countries and force the Oil out of their rich filthy hands. Rape the land. Leave with all the beautiful women locked up in the rich Sheikh homes and kill every Son-of-a-bitch who came in his way.
I asked him what he does for a living.
He told me he was a Mayor.
I never met a more honest person.


The Truth


The World is catching on.
I am in the American school.
An American teacher with a heavy Southern accent is teaching people of all ethnicities.
He is dressed as a cowboy and smoking a cigarette.
Marlboro man ?
The blackboard says - "How To Screw The World Over - 101"


Another Vision.


I stood bending over a basin full of water.
I saw a murderer. A lover. A con-man. A lunatic. A rapist. A pacifist. A drunk. An optimist. A thief. A servant.

A god. A demon.

It was all there within me. All of the world.
It was just my choice and free-will to act on it or not.


Another Vision.


Jerusalem.
I was standing on top of a mountain.
And I saw it.
Waves of Christians. Waves of Muslims. Waves of Jews.
All with sticks, guns, pitchforks, fires.
Killing. Slaying. Molesting. Beating. Abusing. Murdering. Raping.

Above them stood their Gods.
Smiling.

Self-fulfilling Prophesy.
The End Hath Come.


Another Vision.


A child standing in the United Nations.
In front of delegates.
Millions of delegates.
Half his face is black, other half white.
He screams.
"Why do you hate me you sons-of-bitches ?"
"Why the fuck do you hate me ?"
"What is wrong with you bastards ?"
"Don't you want me to live ?"
"Don't you want me to be happy ?"
Nobody answers.


Last Vision.


A world up in flames.
Factories, homes, cars, churches, masjids, temples, synagogues, schools, hospitals, airports, headquaters of every authority.
Authority itself.
Everything razed to the ground.

And now, the breeze blows without obstruction.
I can feel it in my hair.

And I look around.
Everyone is smiling.
Genuine happy smiles.

For the first time in eons.

This Time, I Speak The Truth

Sunday, December 6, 2009
She tucked me to bed,
She caressed my head.
She gave me her love,
And now, she is dead.

I met her before,
I met her again.
I met her in heaven,
I left her in pain.

Smile written across,
My worried face.
Now that she's gone,
Heart does not race.

The frenzy and beat,
Love in full heat.
Smouldering eyes,
No more ! Defeat !

I long for a touch,
I long for a kiss.
I long for the gone,
Oh bring back that miss !

The problem with me,
Why nobody lasts :
Is love on my terms,
Too much to ask ?

Another is that :
I get bored too soon.
Come in the morning,
Leave before noon.

Rosy images,
Mistaken for real.
Love picturesque,
Grope for ideal.

Always on prowl,
Searching for more.
Expect too much,
No wonder I'm sore !

Lust do I,
Love I know not.
For all I have done,
Deserve to be shot.

So jump now out,
Of this turbulent tide.
Love none but self !
Take no more bride !

Happy am I now,
Living alone.
Put away the gun,
No more do I moan !

On North America

Wednesday, November 25, 2009
'Americans' Not Found.
This Item Does Not Exist.
Redirected To 'Consumer'

Over The Moon

Saturday, November 21, 2009
He started hearing voices 4 years back.

That's how they all start.

Then he started seeing Lenny.
Lenny was never a listed human.

There he is !
Sitting in the dark room, with only a candle to stare at.

Wonder what he sees in the flame ?

His face betrays no feeling.
It is fixed. Plastic.

But inside, I know, for I have been trained to know, he is bursting with activity.

The violent torrents must be rocking his boat, as he flows with turbulent tide.

His mind is now open.
It was what all his gurus wanted.
It was the ideal-perfect man.
A man without prejudices. A man who did not stereotype. A man who did not hate. A man who did not love. A man who did not sway with every fickle emotion.

A stone cold bitch of a man, who dissolved his thought in pursuit of reaching a higher plane.

They educated him that way.
To think. Sacrifice stability for an answer.

And he obeyed.

Now he bays at the moon.
He howls like a madman.

A thinking madman.

In pursuit of the truth he lost his mind.

His gurus were awfully happy to hear that.

And the candle is still burning.

I wonder when the flickers will fade away and darkness reign forever ?

He is still looking into that flame.

This man I see, I cannot help.
He conditioned himself to reach this state.

He is perennially in a state of bliss.

A constant consistent enlightening hallucination.

I cannot help this man.
I refuse to help him.
Refuse to treat him.

The world thinks he is mad, but I know, for I have been trained to know, that he is finally happy.
And I shall not take away this happiness with my practice.

Psychiatry lies forever in a field of grey.


As I started walking away from the viewing room, I could hear a few sobs permeate the glass display.







Picture Courtesy - http://www.sacredcatalog.com/iambridge/images/art/OvertheMoon-large.jpg

Yes, Can We ?

Monday, November 2, 2009
American President Barack Obama is soon to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

What for you ask ?

For blowing up the moon of course !

NASA made history as they fired a projectile at the moon.

Why would they do such a thing ?

Well, umm, something about water apparently. But I, for one, believe they got bored of bombing Afghanistan and Iraq.

Well what else did Obama win the Nobel for ?

Some promising Nuclear jazz.

It's not surprising really. Seems like the man is full of promises.
I wonder if they shall ever come true.

The world always liked dreamers.

And so Obama wins the Nobel Prize.

People work for decades in war-stricken areas; are taken political prisoners; fight relentlessly against a tyrannical system; keep hope in the most hopeless situations on Earth; and bleed their hearts out for a cause.

These people deserve the Nobel Prize.

Not a man who gets on the podium and says "Yes We Can".

And to this indecent proposal, the American President accepts the accolade saying "I do not view it as a recognition of my own accomplishments but rather an affirmation of American leadership on behalf of aspirations held by people in all nations."

What ?

Absolute bullshit, that's what.

"Affirmation of American Leadership" are the most preposterous words I have ever heard in my entire life. They surpass, in stupidity, anything that George W. Bush ever said.
We all know where their bastard leadership has got the world to.

This whole drama can be termed disappointing, to say the least.

And it gets me back to the question- "What did Obama do to deserve the Nobel ?"

Why, I know !
For being Black.
And, not to forget, being American.



Oh, and about the Moon,
Do you know why the Americans bombed it ?

To find Oil of course !






Picture Courtesy - http://www.individualsole.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/06/barack-obama-antar-dayal-poster.jpg

Stuck In The Box

Thursday, October 29, 2009
White knuckles were visible.

It was the only thing that could be discernible in the dim lighting.
The lighting meant to relax and ease the patients and their patience.

And then it came.
Like a huge wave it hit him.
The next big wave of pain.

His knuckles clenched, as he gripped on tightly to the cold steel rails on either side of his bed.
Then again, bed is too comfortable a word. "Cot" would suit just right.

The surgery wound was fresh, the painkillers useless.

The day would be beautiful.
He would sit in his red leather armchair, facing the window, and look out at the trees.
He would pensively sip Tea.
The leaves would sway, and he would be filled with inexplicable love.
It was good to be alive.

Then the sun would set. And so would his spirit.
The lights would go dim, and his knuckles would go pale.
The pain would come crashing in.
He tossed and turned in his cot, but sleep would elude him.
Dark thoughts would keep troubling him, but he could not run away.
For he was chained.

The machines would beep in the middle of the night.
Loud, irritating, high-pitch wails.
Tin sound alarms and bleeps, and fancy lights.
It signified the impending death of his ICU-mates.
The nurses and doctors would pile in, and resurrect these dying souls.
They would breathe life in these lifeless men, by sticking all sorts of tubes in all sorts of holes.
And then the beeps would stabilise, the machine sounds would turn rhythmic again.
And the men would be returned back to their vegetable state.
To eat saline and drink tablets.

And He would lie in his bed there, all night, listening, and watching from the corner of his eye, this superb live episode of Grey's Anatomy.

He would be filled with sick thoughts.
All the while the pain would thrash his body.
And he had no voice, not even a machine beep, to tell the world about it.

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Many months had passed since.
The wounds were healing, both physical and mental.
He went for another visit to another doctor.

Second opinions are always good, they say.

She sat in her A.C. office, across the desk.
She looked him squarely in the eye.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that operation. But, the fact is still the same. You didn't need it. It was totally unnecessary. That doctor did not even do the important preliminary tests. He is an ass. Does he thinks he's some God ? You should have come to me before. Anyway, no use crying over spilt milk. It can't be undone now."

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It was the most frustrating day of his life.

And he never told anyone about it.

Never told anyone about those wretched nights.

He was stuck, you see.

Stuck in this box, which the doctors made for him.

And while they fought for more patients, and for getting their adversary to look bad; he suffered silently in the box.

His Box called Ward 5/2







Photo Courtesy - http://healthypr.files.wordpress.com/2007/04/hospital-bed1.jpg

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