The concept of reincarnation is so boring. To make it only sound interesting all the ideas of nirvana hence have been devised. I mean who wants to indulge in living again or come Back again. To travel further or transcend sounds like James Bond Movies. Ironically James reincarnates.

Only humans Make Love. The rest of the planet is indulging in sex.

Time must come in days. There must not be any such thing as a Moment. Moments can be experienced in time which comes in days.

How long would you stay in my eyes asked Laila one day to Majnu.
As long as I need answered Majnu.
And when I die? she asked him again, what would happen to the eyes in which you stay?
I would have a build a palace in my mind for your eyes to stay long before you would have died.

To make anything happen you need to make it happen. There is a limit to all communications and limitlessness to what can be made to happen by you.

No one wakes up or sleeps to nothingness. The day does end in nothingness if one applies nothing to what one needs to.

Let me pretend that I can hear you. Makes your job easy and you get paid well.

I wonder (well that is the most I can do) what would be the heart of the universe. There has to be a super-nova lurking somewhere and a god protecting everything else.
It must hence boil down to what would be the fuel that one must fill to see and make the motor drive without any problems.
What problems the old man asks. What?

The mouse accidentally walked in to a shop of cookies one day. It was the also the day it died.

Perfect and yet changing. I laughed when I understood this. It couldn't be anything other than me. 
And this has to be about you.

You would be held. Made a prisioner and be bonded and gagged. Your only crime would be that you loved and applied that love. So was I told. Hence I write here to know, to see how nothing matters when I do what I love to do.

Walked right, walked left, up and down. Seesaw was tried too, rocked steadily and randomly. I had to be human to know I was in love and I could hurt.

She for certain did gift me a country side. A green pasture with sun, drizzle and a rainbow. It would be nice if she would complete the frame. One day she would.

.....something is still alive if and when a phoenix does rise.... or may be it was lucky that something in it's ashes was all not dead.....is the universe godly......or a universe lucky.....may be the earth could be called a phoenix....it rose up like from a universe that was otherwise still burning......

Your eyes.

The intelligence of your eyes; reassures me that my errors like me, would be understood.

Stand off.

Every so often, you simply outgrow them. There is no active breaking of rules if you can't recognize them.

Love is not Harmony; Nature is not built for harmony; but within this self; there is no war so there is no unloving; and no untruth.  

One cannot break unnatural laws in the open; and not expect an unnatural war. It's not an issue of cowardice, as much as cutting off the inconsequentials.

I will break all natural laws that I must; but never the unnaturals; it's not my war to fight for those who own it.

The follow through is never for the self. It's absence is a huge presence.

It's easy to make a follow through picture perfect; once the decision is made.

River flowing alive
Sparkling and no end of it
Working nothing to it
Only flowing to it and
Never ever becoming a story.

Virtue is alive
When it flows
Blossoming of a dancer
And it's dance
Up the stairs the sun shows
A thousands steps up.

No edges, no pieces,
The tree in it's all
Truth and not through imagination,
Identity describes,
The death conceives,
The space crams everything and...
The river,
The river only flows connected to
All of it outsides and the sunny fields.

And the blue bells rang
And I lived again

Little by little feet move
Wisdom now far far away
The source of fountains
Is what I only have

And the blue bells rang
And I lived again

Far from home as I could be
From boredom and mechanical as can be
And teachers and their purpose
The child man stood in the child with an engine in front

And the blue bells rang
And I lived again

I do recall, all still exist
Somehow they aren't me now
That which holds too went
All maps weren't mysterious no more
The father and the grand plan
Died

And the blue bells rang
And I lived again

Difficult to choose
Every time the eyes shut
The problems could never be enjoyed any more
The town and it's light now left
The child with it's two little feet
Was thinking to build a bridge

And the blue bells rang
And I lived again


Happy Children's Day

A dream.

I had a dream. A woman is in a red saree, in a some function, flirting with men; and I am getting burnt because she is not safe.

luckily its just a dream and I don't know the woman, and I wake up sooner than later and she will be safe and the dream forgotten.

Rockstar - Movie review.

In my younger days, I had a predisposition of wanting to like everything that caught my attention. I had no preferences, and what drove me was the need to understand the object of my attention in its essence before I brought it back with me to create a judgement through integration.

In some ways, it still continues with movies today. Any movie that catches my attention, I walk into the theater to watch, and my pre-disposition is to delve into that world and discover its essence as it stood and liking it when I saw internal consistency in that world.

So it was with Rockstar, the movie.

There are many performers, but very few artists. So the performers of the lead artists were just that, performances; quite competent at that; But they don't touch the realm of living, and hence art. Though, Ranbir Kapoor is a willing learner; and that is always a good sign. His transformations are visible, and that is an achievement in itself.

The story is not event based, hence, it is a directors movie; where he is delving into creating a story of contradictions in wanting and being; between wanting the world and living yours. This can always be a bed of manipulation, but it was good to see Imtiaz ali, recognizing his limitations and steering clear of the manipulative aspects of the story in conversion of his vision into an artifact. And his conversion of vision into celluloid (or bits) is above average. Which is to say, perhaps he had a grander and wider vision that didn't translate in its totality on screen. But this is rarely a limitation, and is worth an applause for the future.

The points touched are competent, if somewhat lacking in poignancy. Janardhan finds grace in Dargah to become Jordan the star.  Various influences and impressions taken from various classics to create an effect in the story (a touch of wuthering heights for example). All fine.

The novelty, factor - fine for Indian audience, but I doubt this is unique in world history.

The attention to detail, sufficient to create an emotional narration. But compromised by the nature of cinema we watch in India today.

Overall like, I like it by my predisposition, but not enough to quite judge it as much as learn from it.

Worth a watch. The BGM and songs are good too.

Question.

Can the effect modify the cause?

The blue prints, all
In one single cell,
All outside and in
Reflection on retina,
Never stays there still,
Travels inside to see people.

I can prove this,
It would take me away and
The image shall die, even if
I don't know where it is,
But I see them,
In colors and shapes,
I lived like that,
I live like that.

As a child was amazed with kites,
Use to hold the kite and
Run on windy beach,
Never fly them, but run into
The winds.

The singing self.

I laugh at my errors,
I smile at my sins,
My home, I have lived here,
Like a memory locked,
By your curling lips

You walked in like the wind,
Swelled like my air,
Within these walls,
You were shining,
You were grace!

After your fall,
Before my spring,
Let me nurse,
This broken wing

Green by life,
A collectable by death,
In your loving arms,
Let me catch my breath

Make me a subject,
Click me an object,
Frame me a memory,
Pick me up, for I am fallen too ...

The ending of a make believe is no ending at all
And the real can never end 
So if both never come to an end
Then one would also never know anything called birth of
A process
Or a birth of thought.

All emotions as of now
All most all desires and thoughts
of them as of now
All are Known,
What remains to be known then,
How could anything come to an end......
An idea never ends,
Nor do the centuries that speak
Of how it made it through,
through the blood, the violence.

The ending of a make believe is no ending at all

Don't say it should go
Discovery and adventure always
stays
Reading these pages here made sense
You could have been taken elsewhere 
An out of body experience, kind off.

So, don't say it should go
You would keep coming here
Weird poems and eccentricities 
All written here may seem a mistake
But a movement from dark to light might happen here.

Don't say it should go
The English may need a brother
Cold it may seem
Driving all to east
But all modest request of heart's
Are scattered across.

Don't say it should go
Don't say it should go

Hopes unchained, then woke up
to find no hope
Words could not call it hopeless too
It was a dream dreamt in human
thought
The all in it came from a language
The fear was make believe and
unsupported by a phantom heart
Could not buy a voice.

The morning in silence supplied
a time ideally spread
The heart was missing
The head tight and strong
Shook out all lows and heights.

If I be the dream, the dreamer I would be
My spirit would be my spirit
In a cycle, what follows is what is
The winters don't promise springs, and
Neither because of hope or hopelessness 
The spring follows,
These dark winter nights are bonded and chained to the springs.

Days of early have sources
The rivers rarely remember the springs 
I remember somehow
The work on me that made me now flow in spate

Energy was developed by benevolence in the days of spring
The guardians possessed unlimited 
access of romanticism 
I could study and play as the heart desired
I was a child and I was grown as one

Discovery I was taught is what all are born for
Want of skill should be revered
And imagination the only god
Production would lead to an ocean
That would realize the birth to the one born

Constellation moved for Cinderella
A fantasy that seemed more real
The tears flowed because of desires
The desires that always began with
'Once upon a time.'

Different voices challenging conflicts ages and in histories
Bringing the best out to
tackle pages of life
Stages and audience available all at all times by default
There is nothing that will end
There would be available plenty
To stop us turning back to clay

The flowers on grave are flowers on stone
Nothing but stones exist inside them
Life merges in to life
Death remains merely a definition that would always remain a grand illusion.

The axe and the killer all
in the causes of reflection 
The real being devoid of all beauty was never the goal
Sentence a sunrise, the sun still never moves
Love a sunset, it still remains there 
Yet the boys go to fight
To see born an event that they
Think how men should live 
On this earth, Marx being a classic example.

I'm intrigued and I wonder
I take myself off 
I remain responsible to me
That would be the truth 
The beauty and the image
All integrated to call a me.

A sticky world in my love poem.

On love please write says an echo
A fortune would wait when you write
Let years scatter, the world tear to pieces
You write on love, till you know real.

I know I reply.
I  have met love in dream, a beautiful emotion arched, it felt
You could do what you want, for you dreamt love.
One morning after the dream, I asked if it could be dialectical,
It was felt and it would sound crooked when it would run in words?
It may, it may not, 
But yet it would never be a business
Nothing to be sold or bought
There would never be a cage in which love could be held.

Love cannot be a relationship
Yet it requires two, and
Always two that take it to the grave.
Incredible yet and it begins and the ones in love feel human and the rest aliens.

Love is the word that gave birth to words like eternity,
So write the echo kisses
There may be more to be discovered 
As the forest still seems large.

So run along and write about love.

The sands held the light bright
I could see as I was on earth
The dust had a purpose for me

The sands held the light bright
For me to go on
At sunrise to see the path I
made when it was night

The sands held the light bright
Each step of mine built a new flame
Each flame held a promise to bring
More light, more strength to keep standing.

The sands held the light bright
And I finally asked the dust fleck
That held light in front of my eyes
What sees me inside my eyes?
My own body seemed strange when eyes remained closed

The dust looked and stared at me
It was quiet and knew it could hold light only when I opened 
My Eyes.

I could always See.

The abyss seemed cut
I could see it and name it
It remained known to me
Hence it up to the depth I saw
Remained no abyss.

The perception would always remain mine
The search would end in me
The road would always be lighted
If I walk or stop
If I walk I would own it
If I stop I would call it my freedom

Let then be done more
If abyss be recognized
Then it shall be cut
To build temples of work
Each to it's own can build
It's own god.

The tears flowed
They were made so as such
They had sensed a spirit
Many had seen
Many had forgotten
Then came time when
A man stood still and in that
The I was seen in light
In which where a life could be built
A house would thus come so

The tears flowed
They had to,
Living a truth for understanding
The joy of its own responsibility 
Such could exist
Such do exist

A need intense
Just to be with you
Look at you
Admire you
You being alive
You being able to see me
feel intense