The Grim Reaper!

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The ball of fire surrenders its arms,
To hand the white light its scepter and crown,
While the night frowns with malicious glory
And casts its shadow down-
Upon the wolfish ground…!

Darkest corner of the chamber of night,
Reeking of dread, ire and cry,
In hiding from the moonlight,
Finds the crouched, bleeding tomb and I,
Wedged on the gravel of death, as if by a pitiless gyve…!

The cold stoned distant eyes,
Hold eternal the vacant stare,
As I clutch tight against my chest,
And let the dry red on the spatula declare,
The swarm of sworn ins had not one heart to spare…!

Freedom to the prisoner of eye,
Make the hardened soil go damp,
Fifteen years of laughter, hopes and drive,
In fifty inches of dug ground, are left to cram,
With “a loving son” and a religious stamp…!

Moons after moons,
I walk the ground,
Each night accompanied by the unceasing working shovel,
As the only sound,
The heavy feet and the tired hands that the graves found…!

As I sat in my dark corner,
Still holding what I held each night,
Robed in discomfited gait,
He walked towards me with his shovel and blight,
Gripped by heavy sweat, remorse and fright…!

Slumped down next to me,
With defeated soul and weary eyes,
Looked to the fading letters on the dusty stone,
And began to cry,
I couldn’t understand why…!

Until the moon found him,
And cast its light,
Upon the man’s dying ember,
His tattered uniform and dog tags shining bright,
The mindless rebellion by which he must abide…!

The young face dawned one too many lines,
Masking the gentleness and age,
Drowned in fatigue beyond years,
As to solitude and the dark he bade,
With nothing but a hollowed soul and a spade…!

He kissed the wet soil,
And disappeared in darkness once again,
Watched him walk the green mile,
And yonder I heard the sound again,
Only this time loaded with silent screams of grief and pain…!

The ball of fire still surrenders its arms,
But the night is no more frowning,
The white light walks in with soothing warmth,
And not with a cold smirk at the downing,
Of the King…!!!

For death comes in many a form,
Some lay still but with some it walks,
Its looming shroud crowned with darkness,
It relentlessly knocks,
Until, Oh! Until the sweet door to heaven finally unlocks…!



The Illuminating Void


Pick a day in your life, one day that was just perfect, an hour, moment, a second that you would change nothing, absolutely nothing about…it was that day…the perfect day, perfect evening, the perfect moment…I don’t really know how long it lasted, I had no measure of time…could have been a second or a couple of hours…time didn’t make a difference because it didn’t exist…Everything was still…ALIVE but still…like it was suspended in time…there was no sign of humanity for miles, till my eye could see and beyond…the company of mountains and the meandering river, glimmer of the moonlight, blinking stars and the silence…the intonation of the mountains, rhythmic, like a symphony of the heavens…a symphony made not of sounds but simply by existence, of their magnanimity and design…

Everything knew its course, all was ME but still had individual existence…a personality which was defining, with sharp edges, bumps, rounds and curves and all…Everything was within AND without…”I” was all that I could be on that bridge that was two ropes tied at either ends…swaying yet supporting all that came to its sanctuary…It swayed under the full moon like a blanket used to swing a child, a warm, soothing cradle that slowly rocks you to sleep…It shone in the borrowed moonlight…it was the light of the heavens, with a warmth of a mothers’ lap in that minus-something temperature with me without my winter clothes…

Light of the heavens, the divine…it was the luminous light of ME…with no one around, the bridge would have ceased to exist if not for my presence there…the only spectator, the sole witness and the other way around…we were both sole bystanders of each-others being…Hence we needed each other and we sat comfortably in our shared silence, contemplating, introspecting, BEING…I owned it…Owned the darkness that was resting there for the night…it belonged to me…

Everything in its current state that was me and that precariously hanging bridge and our moonlight of existence…I was a tiny speck in that enormousness that was space with heaps of rock and dust towering around me in all directions…but that tiny speck was all that the universe was…nothing else mattered…no one else required…nowhere else to be and no one to belong to…I could sit under the bright moonlight braving the dark, crouched in the middle of the rocking bridge, over 50ft above the singing river for all of eternity, MY eternity…Because time had come to a screeching halt…It didn’t matter how colossal the cosmos was, the speck had an identity, an unchallenged existence demanding no proof or evidence and having nothing to prove, that stood steady in the spotlight with its shadow as a judge…

The light bright so as to see everything clearly…Bright but not blinding…Not the kind that hurts the eye, makes them shut and look inside but the kind that allows you to measure yourself in the vastness that is the universe…Silence was a comrade too and for once it wasn’t haunting, daunting or vicious…it wasn’t intimidating, quite the opposite really…it sat beside me in its own space, aware of my presence but minding its own business at first…it slowly made its way towards me…It covered me, enveloped me, it was like a joyous child on a fathers back…it rolled on me, jumped on me, covered me from all sides, it consumed me, embraced me and blanketed me…it kind of tickled…tickled my senses alive…alive enough to soak in everything that was around and shut out everything that didn’t matter…it took over each sense…slowly…one at a time…comforting, soothing…like I wasn’t alone…we were both lost together…lost and outcasted…Each with its daunting existence, we found solace in the other ones company…

Silence is pretty good-natured, whoever said it liked being alone…We had a lot in common…it was tranquil, gentle… healing in fact…like a child’s touch…the silence, it made tiny giggles, moans and sounds of joy as it rolled over me and ticked me everywhere…it looked onto me with its big eyes and put its head on my lap, purring and whimpering for attention…The stillness, it was different…it allowed me to be silent… to be numb…to forget all actuality and still be aware of it…it made time stop or maybe made everything move too quick so as to make it seem constant…I don’t know…

But that was when I decided, it was as beautiful as anything can get…!!! 🙂

Listen to the silence speak,
It lives in blessed places,
Hushed and locked up in the dungeon,
It’s only found in veiled traces…!!!

Cockled under a stampede of thoughts,
It crawls from under a million feet,
Only to be lost again in enslaved graces…!!!

Crouched on all fours,
Nails squawking dirt on the ground,
Bloodied and beat it clutches on,
Scraped knees and bruised palms,
Waiting to be found…!!!

Just as it was wheezing gone,
Aeolus flies in on his reined horses,
And rescues it in a cradled shroud…!!!

The shackles, they crumble and fall,
In the cold of the aureole,
It glides into the haven which is its home,
Its’ now an emissary to the vagabond,
The offerer of aplomb…!!!

Held gently in the hollowed palms of Gaia,
Merged with the earthen chiaroscuro,
Where it pleasingly belongs…!!!

Suspended in mid-air,
On ropes with logs precarious and bleak,
She looks to the dubiously blinking celestials,
And the pristine free-flowing river,
Feeling miniscule and meek…!!!

As she is swayed by the passionate winds,
She holds tight the reins of the mid-air bridge; whooshing past her it says,
Hush! Hush my child, you are safe with me!

It pivots and it rolls,
Swivels and rides the gales with glee,
It chuckles and sniggers,
Unbridled of reins, it sprints and laughs,
Larks through the skies at being free…!!!

She watchs it saunter; meandering, teasing the gusts,
Slowly, she lets go of the rope,
To be carried to its clique…!!!

It looks at her with twinkling eyes,
Soaring…Floating past,
Takes her hand and says,
Let go! Surrender!
Oh! Take; take to the skies with me…!!!

Hush! Hush my child! Just BE!!!
You are safe…
You are safe with me!!!


BASCULE: Creating balance or purging instability!?!

Perception makes all the difference, they say! We are metaphorical beings, we understand everything metaphorically, PERCEIVE metaphorically. All of religion is based on metaphors and symbols and so are our lives! Everything stands for something which it necessarily isn’t. And the metaphors manifest themselves, mold themselves in the curve of perception. Change is not change, change is movement or is it replacement, movement is going away from being stuck, stuck refers to being scared of transformation, transformation meaning beyond or is it re-formation, formation meaning growth from potential to actual…………………………..Cow is not a cow, it is a holy being, Shiva not Shiva but the force inside each of us instigating destruction or transformation…his third eye not an actual eye but a symbolism of seeing beyond physical, the snake not a snake but the representation of coiled dormant energy, the trident not a trident but a showcase of three aspects of life…a dove is not just a bird, its embodiment of peace……..Everything leads up to something or is something else entirely. Nothing is what it is. But everything is what it is understood to be, or made to be.

We base our decisions and judgments, create our schemas not based on what things actually are but what we make of them. Everything kept constant except what you felt while doing something can change the course of everything that follows. The emotion at a particular time has the power to alter the entire course of the future.

That was the thought behind the story that follows. It is an alternate version of the poem “BASCULE: The Balancing Act”. Everything else kept constant but the emotion “He” felt while doing the deed and how it completely changed the ending was fascinating for me to witness. It is full of metaphors and how we choose to deal with things symbolically to find a way to be at peace. Metaphors for life 🙂

Bascule: Creating balance or purging instability?

The pleasant man who lived alone in the third house from the corner of the street, his house dressed in bright and happy colors; bursts of red and green and blue and he always dressed with a warm and hearty smile. He was loved by all, even by people who had just looked at him once, his smile so contagious and enticing; it magically made you fall in love with him, his kindness so infectious, he carried around him the halo of happiness. He was the embodiment of pleasure and everything that is right about the world. Always carrying a light hearted joke up his sleeve to brighten your day, a trick for the kids to bring a smile to their droopy faces. No one knew much about him but then again, he didn’t have an air of suspicion around him. Everyone believed there was to him as much as met the eye; a lone man in his early adulthood, a creature of habit, living in his house, holding a job and basically happy with life!

His house had a backyard. Gloomy, untouched; the only sight about the house that could give away the fact that it was about a century old. At the centre of the yard was a huge object always covered under blankets. It was the only thing in that colossal backyard. No one had ever seen what was under there.

One day the man suddenly disappeared, without notice, not to be seen for days. His doors were bolted and he was gone so long that now they had started to gather dust.

He kept walking in the scorching heat, like the heat did nothing to his body; didn’t burn his skin, shrivel his insides and left his vitals parched. He walked like a camel in the desert, like he felt at home. He walked with a gait of a leader, bearing the air of purpose. But for real, he had nothing to do and nowhere to be. He walked these sands for days at length, stopping each day for an hour to sit by the little stream which added a little color to the surrounding and supported life making the greens dance around it in joy as it went past. He liked sitting there listening to the water go by him, as it joyously streamed past its course; a DEFINITE course. It was soothing. Calming to his nerves. Made him aware of the heat and he liked it even more. The little stream, perfect to break the monotony of the long drawn-out, indefinite nothingness.

Somewhere along his days there, a buzzard had started to take the same course and made a routine similar to his. It was drawn to the man. It would watch him day in and day out and timidly started to get close to him. From circling around him in the sky to getting down on the ground and sheepishly, slyly, walking towards him. So close that it would, now, come and sit next to him as he sat listening to the tales of the day as sung by the stream. The man noticed it. He made no move. Let it get close to him. He liked the buzzard, had a special connection with it. He had loved them ever since he was a kid. Day after day the two of them grew habitual to bask in each other’s silence and sat together for hours by the stream till the sun decided to call it a day. The buzzard let him pat its head and caress its neck. It made tiny moans of appreciation when the man touched him. The embodiment of strength, power, purpose, independence and the air of majesty. That was the buzzard. A meek man and a sigil of supremacy, they both fell in love with each other as the days went past.

Until one day when he sat by the stream humming the tune of piano he had heard when he was back home given to him by a friend. He sang this tune with a content, satisfied smile on his face. He looked to the long drawn surrounding as he started to work his hands, holding its neck in a tight grip. His smile, it was not sinister, not diabolic at all. It was the same warm and comforting smile he wore back at home on the streets of his town. He was always known to hold an agreeable temperance, never learnt to be any other way. He ran the gimlet over every inch of its body slowly making it do its job. The buzzard was whimpering and screaming. The man seemingly ignoring it like he could not hear it at all. And in essence, he could not. The piano playing the beguiling tune in his head; filled up his insides, everything around him tranquil, in place; perfect.

Today, he walked back to his life like he had walked out, with complete indifference like he’d never left. Everything back to normal, the happy children, the smiling neighbors.

Although there was something different. The thing in the backyard, the one under the blankets for as long as anyone could remember, it was now left open, uncovered, unveiled like it didn’t need to be hidden anymore. Like its existence didn’t stir anything up in the man anymore. Like he had made his peace with it after all these years. But nothing that the people around him would notice. He was still a happy, laughing man walking the streets with the smile as bright as daylight.

Somewhere far away, severed and mutilated the buzzard breathed his last and lay scattered on the ground. As it waited to turn to dust, the man had destroyed a wish, a wish he held to become but couldn’t, he’d killed the embodiment of the thing he hated about himself and now he felt relieved. It reminded him how much he hated himself, loathed himself for all that the buzzard was and he couldn’t be. He loved it, but he had to destroy it to be at peace with himself. Destroy something to create a balance in his head; a balance restored……or the need for balance eliminated, was it!!!?

And the rusted see-saw, exposed to the sun, with its balancing rod pushed all the way down into the ground, just lay there in a straight line, mute now as it was decades ago, a mere spectator but still so much more.


Somewhere between reading The Masque of the Red Death (Edgar Allan Poe) and watching When Nietzsche Wept (a movie based on Irvin D. Yaloms book by the same name), I came up with this. How does that even happen!?!?!?!?!?!?

Fredrick Nietzsche says, “that the urge to possess and assimilate, to change “something new into ourselves” is behind the experience of both love and greed. “Greed and love: what different feeling these two terms evoke! Nevertheless, it could be the same instinct that has two names.” He says the experiences of both greed and love are the same drive or instinct.

He says a lot many more things, but I got lost right around here. All I know is love is as complex an emotion as there can be, and I can’t, for the life of me, even begin to decipher it!

Of the many, I like this conversation from the movie “When Nietzsche Wept”:

“Nietzsche: Its the first time I’ve revealed my loneliness, its melting. Its melting away.

Dr. Breuer: its a paradox. Isolation exists only in isolation. When shared, it evaporates, my dear friend… “


Stay! Stay, Oh! Wouldn’t you,
But she didn’t!
She was strong but cynical,
Wavering like a drifter…
She was the desert sand in the desert wind!!!

Lithe yet nimble,
Stotting from one dune to the next!
Bowing only to the winds,
Way-less and astray…
She was resolute to make it to the crest!!!

When the golden arrow,
With the rooster sitting atop!
It swiftly changed its course,
Hollering him, the nimbus cloud…
This! It got her wandering to a frightening stop!!!

Stay! Stay, Oh! Wouldn’t you,
The plea repeated!
Carrying the smell of being touched,
She re-discovered mirth in surrender,
And belief and…AND she stayed!!!

A sea of wet soil,
The specks hurdled in a concert!
She was integrated,
But he couldn’t hold her together forever…
Before long, she, once again, was a mere mountain of dirt!!!
Forgotten sand in the sand of desert!!!

For the rooster, now, un-menacingly,
Decided to look away!
He (the nimbus) marched towards his summons,
To faraway lands…
She wished! She wished for him to STAY!!!


BASCULE: The Act of Balance


The dark is an intriguing phenomenon. Marry it off to shrieking silence, and its power to do crazy things to your brain grows many-fold. Its amazing how they, together, have the ability to make you delve deep into your consciousness and pull out things you never thought existed, make connections you never would have thought of otherwise, connect dots like they were actually lying in a sequence for you to see. The capacity to accumulate all random thoughts, events, ideas, occurrences, anything minuscule and easily discard-able by memory and put it in perspective. Who is to say they join hands and do this of evil intentions or out of goodwill!!!

I found myself in the middle of the grasslands with no sounds of civilization for miles for around a week, only random sounds of lions roaring in the background and millions of crickets going about their nightly business. They were scary as shit but amazingly interesting…

What follows is a product of the Dark!

Bascule: The act of balance


Basking in the gracious kindling,
Sagaciously on the rocking chair,
Clothed in warming content-ness…
The day finds him sitting in the dark,
By the hearth,
His eyes closed, hands rested on the side-press…
Sounds from his kid-dom,
Fill the space they share…

Symphony from the percussions,
Resounding his ears,
An image forming a convoy in his memory…
The see-saw bare on the other end,
Bedazzled by the rays,
He awaits his companion unwearyingly…
Wonted kindness never ditching his countenance,
For that was the worst of his fears…

Walking the years through swarming spaces,
Compassion conspicuously painted in his gait,
Benevolence for every strange face…
Relentlessly sauntering the streets,
Waiting to be shadowed,
Under the flight of the bird of Jove…
Felt a crushing weight,
Oblivious to his dire strait…

From the streets, gathering plumes of eagles,
Amassing them in a glass jar,
Locked away in a secret place in his room…
Back to being agreeable,
Once the boundary was walked over,
Light overshadowed the alleged darkness and doom…
Glee and laughter,
Masking the scar…

Tinctured by unscrupulous thoughts,
On befriending one flying sigil of power,
Who sat affably by his side, each sundown…
Possessed by a diabolic spirit,
He sat waylaid with his gimlet one twilight,
And maimed his loves beating heart out…
Its plumes now lie in a glass jar by the window,
Sparkling in the ray, as medals of mar…

Basking in the leashed kindling,
Procrustean-ly on the rocking chair,
Clothed in warming content-ness…
The day finds him sitting by the window,
Next to the jar,
His eyes closed, hands rested on the side-press…
Silence now,
Fills the space they share…

The see-saw STILL bare on one end
But this time the other way round!!!



Black and white or brightly colored,
We are but random chalk marks on a weary chalkboard,
Screeching sounds, traveling directionless,
Distressing poignancy in all pathos showed!

The jagged lines and the ones those are broken,
Each making a statement of their own,
Stirring sensation, these meaningless lines,
With each infinitesimal motion, a new character is born!!!

Find your space, Oh! Find your space,
Before he gets the vile rag out,
Helter skelter, to wave your paltry existence away,
Be lost or stand out of the crowd!!!

Stay on board or move on ahead,
No matter how darker you are than the rest,
Getting crammed, running out of space,
You can only stay on for a bit at best!!!



As I lay awake with my cigarette last night, at the window sill, like I have done, ummm, never before, I look down into it and realize how apt it is that the burning fire creates a prison of ash around it, keeping itself under bounds…Is that how it goes down inside of us too, a burning fire caged inside to keep it from blazing…Maybe! Who is to say!?!

Well and guess what, the smoke s got a part to play too. The white of the smoke against the dark canvas of the night transforms itself in all the conflicts held inside…Do people smoke because it allows them to watch, watch first hand, like a movie, the battles in the head which after a brief display are carried away by the High Air…Maybe! Who is to Say!?!

As you think that through,heres what happened last night!!! 🙂


It smoldered and it burnt,
Burnt inside the prison,
The prison of GRAY…
While she sat at the window sill,
Glaring into the bleeding night,
It slowly seared away…

It squalled and it shrieked,
Shrieked of excruciating pain,
The pain of being slain…
While she sat at the window sill,
Eros and Deimos battling in her head,
And Ares with his army of bane…

Vulcan still was seething,
Seething as a chained dragon,
The dragon behind bars of ASH…
While the moon glazed in peaceful silence,
The skirmish brewing inside,
She mindlessly looked through the stash…

She watched against the bleeding dark,
Watched them being laid,
Laid into their graves…
While the moon glared in baleful silence
The soldiers of King Deimos,
Being taken in as slaves…

All this while Vulcan blazed,
Blazed inside his cage,
The cage that he had made…
While she looked against the dead dark,
All the wars being fought and dissipated,
For smoke in high air never could stay…!!!

And now that she was free,
Free from all that lay,
Lay inside her prison of GRAY…
The arrows, knights and horses,
And the black robed man with a scythe,
May rest in peace till another day…