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The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Wednesday, February 17, 2016


As I turn to stone,
Buried under ages of sooty stillness,
Eyes open
And glare down on my snug convenience
From within.
Consciousness rumbles,
Trying to shake off fossilized thoughts.
It inches its tempted tentacles
Towards wondrous hazards,
Hypnotized by the mellow, mutinous song of the soul.
Sacrifice is in order
As revived gods erupt into tumultuous dance
Atop barren, volcanic alters,
Crying for fire in their overflowing hunger.
I choose I must burn, let my being melt grain by grain.
This burning is the birth of my free will,
A prison bound in desire,
A labyrinth that twists itself into paradoxes
Every time it turns.
Every time it dies, it comes alive.
Such is the world I create,
Such is the grave I dig for myself.
In undying life, i meet certain death.

Saturday, February 13, 2016


अँधेरे खंगालने हैं, खोट निकालने हैं
दश्त का दूर से दीदार बहुत हुआ
अब उस पागलपन में डूबना है
पाप की राक्षसी घुट भरनी है
दिल के आखरी कोने से ऐसी चीख निकली है
कि उजाले की सफ़ेद चादर फट गयी है
जगत का काला चहरा साफ़ हुआ है
भद्दा मज़ाक़ हुआ है, इंसाफ़ हुआ है
आज अपने अंत का एहसास हुआ है
अब न सलाम चाहिए न दुआ चाहिए
दर्द की आस लगी है
पत्थरों की मार चाहिए
अपने बुज़दिल दरवाजों के पीछे छुपना मुझे देख के
मैंने आत्मा उघाड़ दी है, उसके दाग़ बिखर रहे हैं
नींद की ठंडी चाल बिगाड़ दी है
अब सूरज सा जगना है, प्रचण्ड अग्नि में जलना है
बेझिझक सर्वनाश की तरफ बढ़ रहा हूँ
मैं काल हूँ, अपने आप का विनाश कर रहा हूँ

Monday, February 8, 2016


Suspended in airlessness
Where up is down and in is about
I’m tumbling through unanimated rest
Awash in long unhurried shockwaves of exploding boundaries
Nothing moves
Nothing sees
Nothing gives
Nothing is
But I
My infinite peace
And sweet, sweet sleep

Wednesday, February 3, 2016


This is a prayer.
My soul has contracted and retreated into itself
From having gone round and round too long.
Too much birth has it suffered,
Now it begs for everlasting death.
Too many questions have run into each other
And withered, waiting, without answers.
They haunt my world, cursed and curdled,
Whispering confusion and commotion,
Unquenchable, inescapable.
They torment my soul,
It is tired of wandering and asking
It has sought and sought
But rejected everything it ever got,
Now it is desperate to accept.
It has gone out enough,
Now it wants to let in,
To just be, without further becoming.
Perfection keeps calling from the beyond
But just lies there,
Conspicuous and absent.
Let it fill my empty vessel; it is weary of its own noise.
I have searched so long,
Now find me.
I’m on my knees, praying,