| Posted in , , , , | Posted on 12:50 AM


There is a nip in the air tonight.
Outside it’s cold; my throat is sore,
And I miss you. I miss you more
Than you can imagine, alright—
The tides of time don’t swing my way;
I will wait yet another day.


I challenged myself to write and record a song in one day. Beginning at about 12 last night,
I wrote and recorded about 2 and a half minutes. I could've recorded more, but I was really tired, so I wrote a sestet instead. Hope you like it. The song should be done in a day or two (provided I do work, that is); hope you'll like that too.


Remnants [Fiction 55]

| Posted in , , , | Posted on 3:37 AM


I bump into you again—
Remnants of what remain
Are scattered, haphazardly
On the ground, on you and me.

Nobody picks them; they lie
There transfixed, silently.
There are too many to count;

None of us any peace found,
And none of us said goodbye:

Pieces lie there awhile, and die.


18th Fiction 55.

I'm officially back, bitches. Time to start blogging again. B)

October Moon [Fiction 55]

| Posted in , , | Posted on 2:21 AM


October Moon

You October moon
Will be leaving soon
Again, to go away
To another maroon.
I wish that you would stay,
That your silver lights sway
With this song I croon,
For another day.
I won’t ask you why
You have to leave the sky—
But come again if you’d like
To set the sky alight.


17th Fiction 55

Don't ask why it's 'October', I don't have an answer for it.

I have my Maths board paper tomorrow. Tomorrow, that is, on the 20th of March. I think I'm going to bomb it. But eh, for what it's worth, I'm going to give it my best shot. I did study hard for it; too bad there's no reference point to judge adequacy with.

Wish me luck! 

The Perfect Date

| Posted in , , , , , , , , | Posted on 9:42 PM


The Perfect Date

Every day I stand outside your gate
With much intent to see if fate
Has something in store so that we
May get to each others’ faces see.
I know all the flowers by heart
That stand tall on your balustrade;
With a flower too, I’d make my start
If only the gate did not forbade.

But I know that this hope is vain
And inferior, and profane;
And I wish you understand this, dear
What holds me back is only fear,
And so I want to count on fate
To get this wanton wait to stop:
I’ll know it’s not early, nor too late
When you run into me at a shop.

Then I’ll have nothing to complain,
And my fear will have been in vain:
I do believe destiny’s might
Can make a little something alright.
Then I won't stand outside your gate,
Knowing already that fate
Set us up for the perfect date
For which both of us had to wait.


Hope you guys had a fun Valentine's Day. 
I fantasized about a guitar that I'm going to buy, so I was all set. And then of course, I played the one I currently own for quite a while, 
knowing I should be studying. 

Guilty indulgences, I tell you, are a way of life.

Wish me luck for the Boards, which I just might end up bombing! :D

The Lesser Valued Friendships

| Posted in , , , , , | Posted on 8:07 PM


The Lesser Valued Friendships

I made friends
With the lonely corridor
On the first floor
At the far end
Of which I would stand
Sometimes and
Watch the others
Walk around everywhere,
Very busily,
And the little
Cuboid of cement
Beside the little kid’s
Computer lab,
Which I used to sit on
And play guitar
And just be
By myself, because
No one would
Come looking for me
I also remember
The green circle table
In the library, almost
Between two shelves
Full of books,
Where I wrote one
Of my longest poems.

I also got to know
The huge tree
Behind the grey school wall:
I stared at it during classes
When I felt bored, and
Its leaves fluttered.
There was also
The brick that peered
From a defaced
In that wall,
And the huge white
That I used to hide
Behind while
Playing hide and seek.
And then the stairs
That led into
And out of
The auditorium –
Both the flights
At different ends –
With a slope
On the other side
From the railings
Of which,
I would slide down
From time to time.
And then the
Steps of the foyer…
There are too many
Of them to recall,
Each a friend of mine,
In some unspoken way.

I am glad
I could cherish
These less acknowledged,
Lesser valued friendships,
For however short
A time, because
I don’t think I’ll ever
Find friends like these

But thanks to
The security guards
Patrolling around
My friends,
If someone like me
Were to find
Themselves in need
Of some quiet space
To be themselves,
Or to sort things out
Inside their head,
My friends
Will not be able
To come to their rescue
As they did for mine.

Now that I am leaving
I do not think
I will be seeing them
For a long time to come.
But if you can get inside
The school gate,
Get past the
Worthless security guards
That roam around,
And see my friends,
Do not hesitate to tell them
I said hi;
I have a feeling
They might
Like to know I was
Thinking about them.


| Posted in , , , , , , | Posted on 2:34 AM


  I had to say something. I REALLY had to say something... but I forgot. And I'm in no mood to retrace thoughts, so I'll just let it be.
  I have my Maths pre-board on Monday... and for some reason, I'm not in the mood to revise. Now, usually, Maths is one of the subjects I don't really mind revising, but today's different. This is rather odd. I like Maths, I really do. But I don't feel like it. Probably the fact that I've already gone through the syllabus at least twice or thrice might make an iota of difference, but still it's no excuse, right? Sigh. No maths, please.
  Moving on, I was just thinking about... AH! WAIT! YES! I JUST REMEMBERED WHAT I HAD TO SAY!
  Ah. Okay. So.
  Here's the thing... I'm getting a lot of, say, random jazz from people. I mean, I don't really know how else to put it. It pertains more to people behaving awkwardly than anything else, and let's just say I find that sort of behaviour rather 'random' and jazz, if you know much of it, gives more leeway to experimentation with time signatures and sounds somewhat random (think 5/4, for instance, or 7/8!), hence 'random jazz'. And I really like jazz, too!
  Now, people acting awkwardly isn't really a problem because, for the most part, people think I'm weird, which totally justifies their acting weirdly around me. Well, it doesn't exactly, but whatever, it's cool; I'm okay with that. What I'm not okay with is, say... me going up to the person who's giving me random jazz and asking them, 'Hey, why're you giving me random jazz?' and them replying, 'WHAT? Who told you this is random jazz? It's full on freaking metal, man! Bang your head to it!' That's weird, right?
  But again, it's cool. I'd choose to believe that the fault lies within me, primarily because you don't have to go out hunting for people to blame; it makes things really easy (unless you're obviously not at fault, then it's somewhat different). So what's happening at the moment? Not much. Nothing I can't handle really, but it's just... vague. It's like, I'm standing on my balcony and I see underwear flying in the sky! FREAKIN' FLYING UNDERWEAR. Blue, green, pink, white, redFLYING! 
  Tell me, how do you deal with that? It's not exactly a problem, per se... but seriously, flying underwear? What the fuck, right? Exactly how I feel at the moment. But let's recall a past instance for fun, right?
My friend calls me up when he's drunk, and tells me he's still pissed at me for dating a girl he had a crush on. It's been months since we've broken up, but he chooses this fateful night to call me up, only because he found a bottle of vodka that his friend procured from some shady source. Dainty, I say.
  'I'm still pissed with you for dating her, man. You shouldn't have dated her. I loved her.'
  'Dude, what the fuck? Are you serious? You saw how it ended, right?'
  'Yeah. And I'm very sorry it ended so badly and everything, but I'm still pissed off at you.'
  Following that ramshackle of a conversation, he proceeds to tell me he loves me. (Note at this point that I was conversing with a male friend.) I tell him to save his adulation for a time when I'm also inebriated, so as to be able to reciprocate appropriately (hopefully in the presence of many other females).  

That right there is an example of RANDOM JAZZ, and there's a lot more where that came from. Basically, let me just say that I hate it when people deliberately don't tell me something 'ugly' in attempt to not be rude, and in the process end up being more rude than they'd have initially been had they said it straight-out in the beginning. What is the problem with people being straight forward? Thankfully, I've never had the opportunity to tell another person to stop bugging me because I find them annoying, but I make no qualms about telling another person if I find them to be dumb, or arrogant, or homophobic (a male acquaintance was making too many penis jokes recently.)
  The very best of my friends I believe are the ones who can relentlessly abuse me for doing the wrong things that I've done. A friend of mine called me up recently and told me she hated me because I wasn't talking to her enough, and I appreciate her having done that. I get to hear the same thing about other people only their friends say it to me, which is a little weird. I'm exorbitantly bad at staying in touch, and I'll improve I'm sure, but if any one of my friends hates my guts for something I've done, I'd like it if they come and tell me so that we can sort it out, instead of being whiny little sissies who hold grudges. Oh, which reminds me, one of my friends said he had a grudge against me and I told him to grow the fuck up. He probably still has that grudge he was speaking of.

So here's what you should infer from this post: whatever you feel, just fucking say it. If you think saying it will make things worse, be assured that holding things back will make things worse in the long run.
  And I'm sure I have not done all of the things that I'm asking you to do. I've held back too, I've kept things to myself, I've been a whiny asshole who couldn't confront people. But I'm changing. And I hope you can change too, if you've been any of the things that I've been. Being able to tell people you don't like something that they've done is a nice feeling, very differently satisfying; you don't feel like that when you're bitching about something somebody else's done. 
  There is a friend I made recently... and when we were talking, she said, 'I guess you're someone I can share things with.' Then, for the next few minutes, I explained to her how I could be an asshole sometimes, and that there would be times when she'd want to choke the breath out of me, but that if she trusted me enough, we'd still be friends after all of that. And then I told her that if she were to ever find a fault with anything I had said or done, she should come up to me and tell it to me before telling her friends about it, because it'd make things easier to deal with. That's pretty epic, right?
  Are you secretly laughing at me for being so straightforward with a woman? Don't. She DID come and tell me when I made a mistake (I'm only human) and then I apologized to her and we sorted it out. See? So much better than freaking flying underwear!

But the downside of this is that it can actually have adverse consequences sometimes. For instance, I was speaking with this female and I remember mentioning, 'You're weird; I like you!' which she interpreted as me indirectly telling her that I have a crush on her. I'll save this story for some other, but for now, just know that this matter has been clarified. And with the exact result that I'd hoped for, no less. :)


Did you seriously read all of this? Well, I must say I'm impressed. So here's a little treat for you, a little poem I just scribbled in ballad meter. I'll expand it someday if I want to, but I think I'll get back to Maths, now. :)

Out of Your Hair

Do tell if you would want me to,
I’ll get out of your hair
But without any anger or rue,
I do solemnly swear.

Do tell if you would want me to,
And do tell me if you can,
I’ll surely leave and bid adieu
For I’m no lingering man.

 Thank you for your time. Now I shall go study Maths. Derivatives? Or 3D perhaps. :)

Goodnight, y'all.
Peace out!



Your Callipygian Frame

| Posted in , , , | Posted on 8:47 PM


Your Callipygian Frame

Did I say your callipygian frame,
Could put many women to shame?
Women who have worked hard for years,
On the arcs of their derrières.

Though this praise may be aesthetic,
I will not be apologetic:
The rest of you is just as nice,
And could equally as well, entice.

I just wish you would with your grace,
Leave me stumped with a gaping face—
But would you succeed if you did try?
There's not much that I can judge you by.

And saddening though that may be,
Someday I hope I know more of thee;
Till then timid glances would suffice—
The rest of you is just as nice.

(Though I should not be put to blame,
If found ogling your callipygian frame.)


Cal·li·pyg·ian [kal-uh-pij-ee-uhn] adj: Having beautifully round and well-shaped buttocks.

Now read it again.

Hat tip to Mayank Gulati for making me aware of the existence of such a word.
Thanks, buddy.

Sonnet XII

| Posted in , , , , , | Posted on 8:44 PM


Sonnet XII

I would say this to you if my tongue would speak
The words I will it to: you are growing
More and more beautiful as time is flowing
Away. All its mere essences now reek
In quiet corners, unaware; it is bleak
In front of you, for you are not showing
Any resistance to its crude bestowing—
That brings dust to wind and the soul to eek.
But what would these ugly winds of age do
To you, whose beauty is secured, in part
Somewhere concealed, in part somewhere so true
That it needs no hiding for itself, for who
Is it that dares questions raise? It is your heart
Of course which all beauty holds (and your eyes too).


My Passive Love Forlorn

| Posted in , , , , , , | Posted on 12:48 PM


My Passive Love Forlorn

My passive love forlorn
Is by the borders strewn,
And so the wind gale’s charm,
Has been long away gone.

Now no more does her arm
Reach out to make me warm,
Nor now does she hold fears
Of what may bring me harm.

And her voice not in my ears
Rings; her face appears
Never in front of me.
My heart now only sears:

We're both alone though we,
May not truly happy be.  


Hello, people. I wrote this while revising Chemistry for my pre-pre-Board exam on Monday. I don't want to talk about Chemistry, so I'll just write something about the poem.
  It's my interpretation of the sonnet form, although instead of the popular iambic pentameter, this one's written trimeter. I chose trimeter because I wanted short lines (longer lines would demand more time), and because... well, I don't know, I felt like it.
  The rhyme scheme (aababbcbccdcdd) is loosely inspired by the Spenserian form of the sonnet, as in the quatrains are connected by a common rhyme that carries throughout the poem and is followed by a couplet. I went without another rhyme there ('dd' instead of 'ee') which was somewhat, in part, both like the Onegin and the Petrarchan form of the sonnet, as the last six lines form a sestet. 
   Now, as with most Spenserian sonnets, there is no problem corroborated in the first two quatrains and hence there is no soultion in the third and no conclusion in the ending couplet. This is just a sad poem, with no metaphors (as you'd find in Shakespeare's sonnets) and no volta (as you'd find in pretty much every other form of the sonnet).
   Finally, in terms of variations, lines 9 and 14 have weak endings (also called feminine or amphibrachic endings). Line 9 is enjambed into line 10, as is line 13 into 14. I have not particularly paid attention to all inverted foots, although in crude estimation, the second quatrain has a few of them (line 5 and line 6 begin with an inverted trochaic foot). Line 9 also has begins with an inverted foot; line 12 ends with an inverted foot. 

So there. Yes, I want to study English. Proper English, not what CBSE passes for as literature. I want people to understand that there's a lot more to poetry than just words. Poetry is not just big phrases and big words and big feelings - it is also very intricate, very subtle, and can be very tough to interpret. Keep these things in mind the next time you read a poem. And for the love of God, DON'T EVER tell me to write poems as stress busters. I mean, I fucking get it that I'm supposed to study and that I can get stressed but that in NO WAY implies that I should not be dedicated to what I'm doing.
   I love poetry. I don't write poetry to get chicks. I don't write it so that people look at me and go, 'He's a poet!' and I certainly don't write it for people who have no respect for it. It unnerves me to think what art has reduced to these days - stress busters. I don't really give a fuck if people understand me or what I'm writing, most of them think I'm a PSEUDO (special emphasis on the word because it sounds 'fancy') because I always talk poetically and I use expressions and metaphors that fly over their fucking heads like airplanes flying at over 35 thousand feet. The reason I use metaphors and similes while talking is because I use them all the time when I'm writing poetry and I'm subliminally writing poetry ALL THE TIME.
   In the past few months I have almost doubled the amount of poetry I wrote in the last two years. I don't even give a shit about posting it on my blog because what most people want to read is something easy: one of my friends even said, 'In today's stressful times, there's not much point of poetry you can't understand.' And he said that for Keats. I'm thankful that guy's dead... I mean Keats. He shouldn't have had to hear shit like that.
   So there, stressed people in a stressful world leading stressful lives: I do not care if you read poetry. I do not care if you understand it, I do not care if you interpret it wrongly. I do not care if you think I suck balls at it, and if I really do, I'll improve because I'll work at it without looking at it as a tool to relieve stress. Because I love poetry. I love reading it and I love writing it.
   All that being said... wait.


   Sorry for the rant. You have no idea how nauseating it is to be with people who think I do it just for the fuck of doing it. It's weird, okay? REALLY weird. It's like guitarists can post pictures of themselves kissing their guitars with a caption that reads worse than a 5th Grade grammar exercise (and get a gazillion likes), and you're telling me I'm pseudo because I don't write like that? Because I don't post links to my blog on my facebook page and because I don't get a 100 likes? What horseshit.
   This has been doing a number on me for as long as I can remember. It's irritating to be around people like these. I've been way too distracted writing poetry, man. And why does this stress-buster thing crop up from time to time? Where would Shakespeare be if he wrote only to release stress? I'd rather be a delinquent of this age, I don't mind.
   What shit. I still have like 12 chapters to revise in 3 days. Goddammit. 
   But fuck it. I love poetry. I love it.


   If you love it too, you will read this poem by Nizar Kabbani, called 'A Man who Transforms you into Poetry'. I have found it to be one of the few amazing ones I've read recently, although its deceptively simple. I'll also take this time to dedicate this to girl I had a crush on once, and consequently transformed into poetry. 
   Don't take any offence regarding the statements I made about understanding poetry if you did, because it's usually the shallow ones that don't get any sort of poetry, irrespective of whether it's tough or easy.
   I hope you like this. Read it here. :)

   Holy Sweet Jesus. 
   Chemistry, here I come.

Diamonds and Rust

| Posted in | Posted on 12:13 AM


'We both know what memories can bringthey bring diamonds and rust.'                                                      Joan Baez, Diamonds and Rust
Quick update:
It's 12.06. Outside, it's raining; I can hear a medley of raindrops falling both softly and loudly on the street, as well as the lightning and thunder that sporadically accompany them. I have a Physics class tomorrow at either 7 or 9(there's an option). For most of my weekend classes I've preferred to attend the 7 o' clock class(don't ask why), but for tomorrow I'm thinking I'll attend the 9 o' clock class. Meh.
The rain stopped outside.
I have a Chemistry exam on 17th. I have studied only 2 chapters or so, out of a total 10. I don't feel like studying. I told a friend of mine recently that I was finding it harder to study as the days passed, too. Hmm.
The quote at the beginning of this post is from a song by Joan Baez, called Diamonds and Rust. I wanted to share it, though for no specific reason whatsoever. Go listen to it if you can.
So, yeah.
Pretty sucky this side.
I'll update when I'm feeling sane. Though no promises. None of poetry or fiction either, though I've written a lot these past few weeks—not exactly for public consumption, you see. No don't worry, not all of those are letters to ex-girlfriends; there is poetry too, though of a different kind. I've sent it to a few friends, I hope they like it.

It's raining again.

Kudos, yo.