Suicide Blues

Chant the anthems,

The anthems of your death.

Stare blankly at the walls.

Ponder.

A thousand thoughts,

Flow like a river to the sea,

Through your head,

All in but a second.

'Do it'

'No, I mustn't.'

'Do it'

'Stop'.

Suffocate.

Lose control.

Feel the still walls,

Closing in.

'It's only your imagination',

'I'm dying'.

'You're dreaming',

'It's a nightmare'.

Ponder over the sharpest knives,

Load that pistol.

Stare down,

From the highest point.

Dive,

Through the air,

Through the balcony,

Dive, Dive, Die.

Untitled

The sheep are dying,
Your smile, stop.
Don't you see?
Don't you see?

You laugh and enjoy your parade,
You spill all your lemonade.
Careless, yes you are.
Careless, yes you are.

You've seen the strangest of days,
You've seen through my gloomy maze.
Yet you're blind now,
You're blind now.

You ride, you crossed the tide.
No more, you can't run and hide.
You're trapped, caged.
You're trapped and caged.

What used to be, a dream,
A nightmare, dark, beautiful, your scream.
Blaring through the radio, your scream.
Blaring through the radio.

I'm back to my rambling,
Hitchhiking life, and gambling.
Play my cards, that's all I have.
Play my cards.

Mystic mountains, A deep fog,
Laughing frogs.
They're laughing at you,
They're laughing at you.

Is your mask broken?
A parting token.
Don't fret. It's love.
Don't fret.

It's pain, crucifixion.
Don't blame me, you made the decision.
Your mother's faithful child.
Your mother's child.

It's the end of the day,
The night has awoken.
The day is broken.
The day is broken.

Hibernation. Deep canon balls,
Blaring through the sky.
Trees broken. Lives destroyed.
Trees broken, Death is here.

Look into it's eyes, vast as the sea.
The blind eyes, that you can't see.
But it can see you, death can.
It can see you.

Hill Station Blues

A horse, silent and steady,

Busy in contemplation.

A dog tired,

Half asleep.

A feathered sky above.

Steroid pumped clouds.

All you need to know about life and death,

Is up there, in that sky.

A cow, wild and hungry,

Grazing the grass,

That grew on the graves,

Inside a sombre graveyard.

A dozen or more,

Hungry monkeys.

Jumping restlessly.

Holding on.

Holding on to passing cars,

For want of food.

Diving and blocking,

Killing in their will to live.

Screeching tires,

A flying car,

A missed turn,

Upon the hill.

A broken vehicle,

Filled with fuel.

A forest in danger.

Fire.

The driver's seat is empty.

There is no magic here.

All that remains,

A few pieces of skin and bones.

The murder's own habitat,

Now threatened.

Yet, unaware, the monkeys,

Jump on to the next passing car.

Scenes From A South Indian Temple

Screams, prayers and chanting,

Laughter, tears and panting.

Countless people,

An M&Ms pack of emotions.

Children looking after the old,

The old looking after their sanity.

A group of religious skinheads,

You can find them in any corner.

A money hungry elephant,

That blesses the people,

That feed it money.

A tap on their heads, their blessing.

Women in prayer,

Blocking the way.

Another lot,

Blocking the music.

A hundred idols,

A hundred Gods.

Footsteps and eerie music,

Sounds from the background.

Coconuts and garlands of flowers,

All for an extra fee.

Photographs and another hall to see,

All for an extra fee.

Your Eyes

Your eyes,

The mirrors to my soul.

I held your glance,

and fell into a deep trance.

I saw my years,

Rolled into one.

I saw my dreams,

The ones I never knew I had.

Your eyes,

The mirrors to my soul.

I fell into them,

The deepest sea.

I drowned.

A ship that was your tounge,

Rescued me.

Your teeth, the able hands.

Your eyes,

The mirrors to my soul.

The never ending sky.

Cloudy.

The brightest blue,

The darkest black.

The greatest sky.

Your eyes.

The Dull Peacock

I dream about tomorrow,

The blank pages,

Yet to be written.

I should rest my sleepy eyes,

Get a good night's sleep.

Wake up to a brand new dream.

But the museums remain,

In my mind and thought.

Shabby faces, darkened places.

The museums of time,

The museums of my past,

Where every clock has passed 12.

I dreamt of a peacock,

Who hid it's bright feathers,

With a turtleneck sweater.

When will the peacock strip?

When will the world?

When will I?

Strip off the responsibilities,

The limitations.

When will I be free?

Rain

My heart is melting,

Like ice cream on a sunny afternoon.

Dripping slowly to the floor.

God isn't here now,

He's busy with his show.

He's making the clouds cry.

I saw God's show.

My life reflects on the rivers,

The rivers the tears fill.

A dazzling noisy light show.

The clouds are born actors,

Could they be any more natural?