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.

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?

User Guide

You came with a 'user's guide'.

The salesman guaranteed you.

I bought you,

and used you,

But I never bothered to read the guide.

Later I lost you.

Malfunction.

By this time,

I had known you so well,

I had thrown the guide out.

I wish that I hadn't bought you,

Whatever the discount was.

I wish that I hadn't loved you,

Whatever the special offers were.

You're a broken colour tv,

Through which I can only see black and white.

You're a broken telephone,

That rings when no one's calling.

You're an ipod,

Where I can only hear one song,

Repeating,

Even when I have a thousand others.

Stop.

I want to breathe.

I want to be free.

Free.

I want to be free.

Reflect

Click on the photo, to zoom in. Better quality, guaranteed.

Grandmother Blues

Awoke on a snowy summer morning,

A nightmare responsible.

Visions of Christ and balloons.

Took a bath,

thought of painting my walls,

yellow I decided.

Acrylic paint tubes, all empty.

'Use green instead',

a voice in my head said.

'May the force be with you',

was my swift reply.

A box of crayons, my eyes landed on.

Searched a bit, till I found yellow.

Bright like the sun, it shone.

Went straight to the walls,

And like a 3 year's child,

I began.

Too tiring, I concluded.

Time to call granny,

she'd be pretty lonely,

Took a while, to get here,

she did.

She rang the bell.

Greeted with a pistol and crayons.

The pistols where from last night.

An encounter with flying ninjas,

I'd rather not remember.

Told her what to do, I did.

An hour passed by along with two walls.

'I can't take it anymore', she said.

Teach her a lesson I had to,

A few rounds into her legs.

Right or left, I cannot recall.

Obedience followed.

A bit of blood,

Never hurt anybody did it?

Cinema

I want to learn how to make movies. I've even got a few ideas in my head for a few very short movies. Picture this -

Black and white.

A group of punks or skinheads are at a dining table, eating their fried chicken. There's a bucket (bucket of chicken) at the centre of the table. After eating their chicken, they put their bones into the bucket. They don't talk, just concentrate on eating their chicken. After they're done eating, and with all the bones in the bucket, they get up. One of them picks up the bucket and they all start walking. They exit the house or wherever they were eating at, and just walk. A few seconds later (skipping a bit of walking) they reach a graveyard. They find an already dug up area. They empty the bucket into it, and bury it. There's a tombstone there, but it's hidden by darkness. After burying they leave, and the camera zooms in on the tombstone, on which is written, 'Thank you, for dinner.'

Yes I know you loved it. I have another one for you, haha.

A man's lying on his bed, looking at a painting on the wall opposite to him. The painting is of a red balloon with a psychedelic background. As he looks on, the balloon escapes the painting and is flying around his room. The canvas has only the background. The balloon flies up and hits the spinning fan, and bursts. Unbelievingly the man rubs his eyes, and looks at the painting once again. The painting has the same background and the balloon's back in it, but this time, the balloon is a punctured one of the same colour.