Morphed

There is anguish in my heart, and agony too

As I sit here and brood

and see cigarettes after cigarettes after cigarettes burn

In the quest of something crude.

There is agony of what I am doing to myself ;

Blinded by smoke, crying,

and there is agony also of what I seek.

For I put up a facade, a farce

To show them who I am not

To show what I am not.

It hurts me and breaks me for what looks like living is

in its truest essence, nothing but misery – a shallow attempt to feed the sheep what isn’t hay.

To make them believe that there is something better than them that exists,

when reality is sheep and sheep only – their myriad heads flocked and huddled around some men and some women;

and more sheep who are wolves within, who wear the man’s skin – like I do and try to feast on the beliefs of their comrades and die in such beliefs with bald heads and Buddhist shirts and the sheep sing hymns when they die and that is what their life is – endless agony, endless anguish, endless misery – just the kind I bear in my heart.

For I am a wolf, just not the real one.

I am morphed – bits of this and bits of that but whole of none and it hurts me to see what I have collected in these 24 years – twigs and crowns of dried leaves and sad, fallen glory.

But I cannot stop. For like a woman said, it is like a disease. It will take me in its quest, and in which has also risen mine.

And so, even as my hand trembles and my throat hurts, the cigarettes burn.

Soap And Some Chemicals

This poem is based on a fan theory that says Tyler Durden from Fight Club goes on to become The Joker from The Dark Knight.

I remember the day.

“Do you know him? They say he was born in an asylum”, says Bob.

His words come from a distance,

A copy of a copy of a copy.
My ear still hurts.

Pain is liberation.

I smile at Bob.

He knows.
And that’s how it started

They all knew.

And the more they expected it from me,

The more I had to be.
Today if you ask me about it,

I would just smile.

You won’t ask again.

But it will sink in you after a while.
After that project,

The little, fancy antic of mine

I was at peace.

I could even sleep just about fine.
Then you failed me.
What can one fall do to a man? Nothing.

You took my home. Nothing.

You took my job and it in turn took my wife.

And then what? Nothing.

I took three falls and nothing.
Then you robbed me

And left me in the dark.

I stumbled and fell.

One more time.
What can one fall do to a man? That one did.

It bleached me.

The Lazarus Pit.

Did I change? Nonsense!

It just brought me back those lost colors of youth.
And since, I’m trying to do

What I did then.

Only my hair isn’t blonde anymore. It’s green.

Only this time, I do it in Gotham

Which is infested by bats.
I’m just a mischievous boy.

You can ignore me because I won’t kill you.

All I’ll do is hurt you really, really bad.
But you don’t know this story. You don’t know my story.

Why? Because I’m probably talking in my head.

No one knows it.

I myself wouldn’t have either.

But I know it, because Tyler knows it. 

Wilderness

I walk in the wilderness
Of love and lust
And the many million desires
Which attain I must.

And in the quest
Of finding these and such
I stumble and fall
And err too much.

The bruises heal
But the heart never learns
For it is oddly-sickened
And finds peace only when it yearns.

My shoes have worn
My clothes have tattered
For I’ve walked far down this road
To see many of my dreams get shattered.

So sometimes while walking tall
With a goal set in my mind,
I defy the determination
And sit down to see if happiness I can find.

And sometimes indeed I do
With nihilism and all that prose
And like a complete outsider
Look at the world as it grows.

In times as such
A stroll in the woods gives me joy
For in the moment I’m none to none
But just a brooding boy.

And yet some unknown force of belonging
Makes me walk
On the same old road
Which many voices mock.

The road now dusty, now worn
Makes me skeptical of my choice
But when a distant light promises me things
“Go on”, tells me an inner voice.

And so I keep walking
In the wilderness of love and lust
With a secret desire
That someday this bubble may burst.

The Temple of the Tiger

Art inspires art.

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And so it did when I saw this amazing painting by Shreya Shirgaokar, who apart from being a very good artist, also happens to be a good friend of mine. The painting mesmerized me enough to go ahead and make a poem on it. Looking at the painting again, I am skeptical if the words do it enough justice, but in all its rawness, here is the poem.

 

Stoic as a mountain
Still as a stone
His cold stare creeps
Through the skin, unto the bone.

He is a mean beast
I can always tell
But another glance at him
And I know I’m bound by a spell.

He urges me on
An unfathomable quest
To look in him deep
And envison nature’s best.

Amidst the magnificent coat
Of yellow and black and white
His icy blue eyes
Gleam and burn bright.

And his temple so rough
His temple so raw
Unkempt yet unmoved
Inspires all the awe.

With his unending charisma
Everywhere spread,
He reflects beauty
But also radiates dread.

And the tiger’s hypnotic looks tell me
I’m mesmerized, I’m mad
For a closer encounter with beauty
I have never had.

The Hero Who Died a Villain

What would you do if you had a pedophile dad?
What if you were forced in a choice you never really had?
He made that choice, and made it every night
With a quiet facade and jaws clenched tight.
What would you do if you were put through misery and pain
And were made to believe that all you did was going to go in vain?
He pushed through it and pushed real hard
And indeed went on to become Gotham’s best card.
And yet after winning this tough race
His colleagues mocked his diplomacy calling him Two Face.
He smiled through it and worked in silence
And became a DA, cracking down the Gotham’s crime and violence.
And yet he never won the respect and love he rightly deserved
For funnily, a caped crusader always had that spot reserved.
So in a woman he tried to seek peace and joy
But she was taken away from him and burnt like a wooden toy.
And when Carmine Falcone saw that his enthusiasm was still rife
They poured acid on him, scarring his face and conscience for life.
He still budged to give in for his mind was in place
Until the clown entered and turned it into empty space.
And right then the morale broke down inside him
Making his choices depend on a flip of a coin,  his decisions on a whim.
He became a villain, but only because of the lack of hope
He wasn’t evil, he was just at the end of his rope.
And therefore although he broke in twain, remember that he never bent,
He was a fine man, he was Harvey Dent.

The Girl I Saw

Under the pleasant sun that shone like gold

And in rusty breezes of winter I behold;

A sight so magnificent and yet so calm

A sight of you, in a different realm.

 

Oh how you looked

When your hair shone,

How utterly beautiful

In a world of your own.

 

And yet you were more

Beyond what met the eye;

Something vast and starry,

Just like the night sky.

 

I tried to look

And indeed I saw

The fire you withheld

Which could lead glaciers to thaw.

 

And I saw you also

Like a morning in spring,

Lively yet silent

Joys which could bring.

 

And the air of seriousness

Which halted about you

Also whispered to me

She is dauntless, just so you knew.

 

And the very feminine essence of you

When caught my hold,

A lover’s passion rose in me

And grew a thousand-fold.

 

And in your lady like aura

I as well saw a girl

Who could carry herself in grace

But also dance and twist and twirl.

 

And at one moment, still in your world

You smiled

And Isha there is nothing better I have seen

So original, so natural and yet so very wild.

 

And through all this, I could feel you

Like I felt the sun in my face,

And it felt so good

So much like I was in the right place.

 

That day as I saw you sitting on that rock with your feet in the water,

In my heart I knew I was more than smitten,

And I knew also, whether you’re the turbulent water whether you’re that still rock

I’ll always love you, it’s written.

Incestuous Love

Passion and fall

Conquers all

For cupid plays

In the most amusing ways.

Once upon a time in a land

That hath more gold than sand,

A beautiful pair of twins was born

Fairer than any other from Casterly Rock till Dorne.

And although beauty seldom comes without a curse,

What may possibly befall those with a full purse?

But when fate is defied, up rise the sins

And so they did with these beautiful twins.

And yet what sin may be darker than the one for a cunt?

For it can wage wars and set men on each others’ hunt.

So it befell the Lions of gold

When Cersei’s breasts Jaime behold.

A playful touch warm and nice

Made Jaime desire and indulge in vice.

And what began as a touch in jest

Led Cersei too, to plunge in incest.

Thence she always lied,

Naked and hungry by Jaime’s side.

And in return of her lust

Jaime had to her, his heart thrust.

Years passed by and she married a king,

And also took another lover – a casual fling.

And he, he was taken hostage in another land

From where he returned in rags and a mutilated hand.

But in all this time he never touched another skin

For his sin was black but conscience, clean.

And soon she too, confessed of her incestuous crime

But saved his skin, thus standing the test of time.

Despite being a sin, their love was pure

Of the rarest form, one that would endure.

And so what began in the womb

Would end, but only in the tomb.

If you liked this, read a poem on Cersei’s Cunt here. And about the Hound here.