Thinking on the move - the beginning

Beneath your calm facade is a gushing cascade. The delicate fibers of social etiquette try without success, to quell the screaming vulnerability you harbour. Why is it that you cant seem to resist peering into tinted windows, a mere five minutes after your tryst with a mirror? And why do you limit that look to a passing glance, when a good stare is in order? What keeps your shutter closed my dear, do you fear the sting of the wind? Or is it the dogs that snarl at every scent they cant place? Is multicasting as exciting to you as the overture in that song you adore? Is your need to shut out the world justified when you can surfeit your ears with music? Are you frequented by a vision of a softly lit room with tingling, warm carpets and tasteful trinkets? How many times have you felt like shouting and refrained? Is your style a result of a closed loop with every stranger you happen to be stimulated by? Where is that originality the world needs? Are you a sponge that soaks itself with the drifting moisture in the air? Has it dawned upon you yet that you're either a true source or a victimized sink? Living with questions is only as easy as faking an answer. A green apple stands out because it did not color itslef red influenced by the rest in the basket. Has slowing down ever been a priority? You need to be different or you need to be good; if you'd rather play safe, be both. Contrary to popular belief, freedom comes from within. Did that phrase sound good even if you did not understand every word? Have you had moments when making sense seemed unnecessary? Have you ever experienced the joy of that one face or voice that fills up a void? Have you ever felt that competition is more a waste of natural ability than an agent of skill enhancement? Think about it, anything can be important and everything can be trivial - but choice is a tricky friend we all need to handle and solicit help from, very carefully; sometimes having none is an option we'd like to have. Again, it's a question of perception, dictated by thought and taste.

So many questions, a few inferences and some tests of taste. Going on would be easy, but its a pain to satisfy the need for accurate representation of abstract visions. The same visions that I intend will spring up, if your eyes see what mine do.

Saffron Skies

I'll tell you all my stories,
Sad and clear.
Its time for purgation
Time to let go free
Trees,
swinging trees.
Take me away yonder,
With the floating breeze

Symphonies that play outside these walls
Un-trouble my weary eyes
Lay yourself down to sleep
Down on warm green grass
Cover your cold body with
Saffron Skies.

Kill these gray boundaries
Just wait and stare
In wonder, at the heaven
Stretches of joy,
Dont pinch me awake
The mist is yet to come.
Loath to take the long path
Back into the city.

Symphonies that play outside these walls
Un-trouble my weary eyes
Lay yourself down to sleep
Down on warm green grass
Cover your cold body with
Saffron Skies.

Pocket full of stones

Fell is the curse of the green leaf
That buys you and gets bought.
Count them slowly all you want
No slower it seems to run out.

You hopped all day and sang all night
And stole an afternoon nap.
The world looked smaller to your eyes,
When the evening had come by.

Dont you think you're dreaming
Sooner than you are allowed?
Where'd you think you're going
With your pocket full of stones?

Somber, concise and diligent,
They cruised by, through them all.
Past all the mighty mountains,
That held you back afar.

Toil and trudge, that you will
But theres always more to climb.
You chose to burden the beaten path
So, heavy your footsteps fall.

Dont you think you're dreaming
Sooner than you are allowed?
Where'd you think you're going
With your pocket full of stones?

Gilded skies lead you on,
And promise to take you there.
Where the sunshine filters soft and warm,
To tickle those dancing strings.

Off you go, down the road
Sweating, trudging, till you drop.
Brace yourself for you chose to share
Of all things, the dreamer's plight.

Dont you think you're dreaming
Sooner than you are allowed?
Where'd you think you're going
With your pocket full of stones?

Ten days

Bang in the centre of my head
It stays all the time.
Drinking all these worldly treasures in.
Claws at my deepest fears and,
Stirs up a storm.

Wield your cunning powers
Another day
Let me go and let me
Have my day.

The wait for the horses lasted
Ten full days
Days of apprehension and a little pain.
But the story now plays inside
The warmth of this wood.

Wield your cunning powers
Another day
Let me go and let me
Have my day.

Chime time

A distant breeze, once carried to me
A priceless gift on its crystal wings,
The light grew weary all around
As dusk drifted into the winter sky.

Ever so lightly, it crept inside
The vision of a high priest in prayer
As somewhere afar on a river bank
He joins his palms to salute the sun.

The magic contained, in a mere chime,
Set me adrift in an ocean of mist
Where the devil inside the water did sound,
The rover's knell with the Inchcape bell.

It took me away to the tall, cold halls
Of an ancient Chapel in the streets of Rome
Where the walls quivered in obeisance
To the mighty clangor of a holy peal.

A ding, a dong, a chime and a clang
Myriad pictures in an instant sprang
And silenced the demons in my brain,
For a splendid second, if not for life.

Bunch o' my brain - What goes a O comes a O

The circle's coming at you my friend
To give you what you gave me.
Its coming around to show you
All the places I have been.

"Bunch o' my Brain - Sensible" - the centurion \m/

You're not mad, I'm not sane
Thinking is such a pain.
I'll yield and tell you if I must.
In nonsense we trust.

Also, this happens to be the 100th post on this cheap imitation of my pessimism, projected onto an optimistic plane of mind, by my alter ego. Drafted by the whirlwinds in my brain, my dialogue with myself and no one in particular, tends to range from poetic prose to prosaic poetry, encompasses the physical and questions the metaphysical, indulges few and bores many, enlightens no one but refracts me (reflection is pretty much impossible I've learned) plausibly well, if not accurately. I'd like to thank anyone who's been kind (and patient/crazy/patient(the other one)/mad/intellectually gifted/parenthetically tolerant/tangentially eccentric/admirably athletic/patient(see what i mean?)/critically critical/ killer rajan) enough to go through all or any of my musings. Here's hoping for a quick double century!

Hocus Pocus gilli gilli boom.