Thursday, January 31, 2008


Alllllright!!! what? you wanna nominate me for Prez of India? Really? WTF are you people smoking?!!

You wanna get third world war started or something? Lord knows I'd nuke half the world to hell if I get the power :)

Anyway, it has come to my notice that some bloggers have been indulging in the practice of tagging and giving awards to each other, now as much as I hate any kind of labeling, YOU people are the reason why this blog exists. Yes, some of the shit on your blogs disgusts and excites me so much at the same time that I can not stop the poetry from flowing out.

But rest assured, I'm more full of shit than anyone of you can ever imagine to be :) now lemme not detain you all and show some love for the two lovely ladies, the ever charming Kat a.k.a Poetikat who has given me
The Roar for Powerful Words award
[Three things that writing is to me
I was supposed to tell these three]
the charismatic Vitruvian who has given me Writing Addict Award.

Here they are, feast yer eyes!

And now, generally we pass the same award to everyone, get a link and off we go. I'm not giving any of you these awards, I got them! but because I am so magnanimous and nice person inside I'm making ya a special award, its called....


This is for all readers who have the balls to upload this on their blogs! Because I love you all!! And if you DO choose to display this award, lemme know ;)

The misanthropy and disgust for all things living and non living shall resume from tomorrow.



Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Yum Yum Eat Em Up

I have a problem
I have many problems.
with the world
with the people
with the government
and the birds
and the cows
and the sewers of the world
and the minds of philosophers
and the theories of economists
and the promises of lovers
and the poems at this blog
and the words of this poet [ha!]
that would be me
also a song by Pearl Jam

But let me not deviate
from the things I hate
The common thread through all of it
Everything is so full of shit

Now read it again.
time is short and the words are many, just for the sake of telling, the new job is keeping me busy and i'm trying to arrange my schedule so as to get back to blogging properly.
hope all of you are well.apologies to those who were expecting replies to comments, when life lets me loose a bit, i shall respond, till then, read on :)

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Ask someone who gives a shit.



Your pain, oh your pain

Your broken heart and more pain

Your tears, your fears, your fucked up life

If you want to get laid man, get a wife.


You bitch and crib how hard life is

When you've been living it all soft

Getting drunk on borrowed money

Driving through life already lost


Put a bullet in your head for fuck's sake

Drive fast for a wall and don't hit the break

You are a waste of my precious clean oxygen

You are boring and duller than everyone


So get your fucking face out of my sight

I might be wrong but you are not right

I will not tolerate your presence anymore

Someone send this clown back to his shore

random anger at 4.27 am...have been ordered to sleep, so have to...gah.

Little Something

the little something called love
it holds the straining breaths together
it glues the rotting flesh
it holds life when it rains death
the angel of hope
the little something called love.
the other little something is hate
keeps the money rolling
keeps the blood boiling
that is also hope, just another colour
the red of madness and anger
the ghost of betrayal and lust
who do we trust?
0238 hours, just spitting out the frustrations :)

Words Late At Night--1

All the idiots have laid down their weapons
Slowly the music has faded to silence
Its only 1.10 am, and the night has died
The end of all good things has finally arrived

The clock is ticking and tocking in my room
No one else is talking to me these days anyway
I have kept my mouth shut for one year now
And I still do not want to speak, wow!

I wonder is someone can get addicted to pain?
The solid comfort of losing, the pleasure of defeat
A warm soft bed of death to sleep in the end
When there is nothing left in this world to defend.

Somedays my words do not make sense
So I just write everything without pretense
There is nothing I can do to stop this rush, but write
I might not get any sleep again tonight.

Some nights I hear the trucks rush through this city
They pass on the deserted roads through out the night
I wonder about the lives of the men who drive these monsters
Do they give a fuck about now or infinity?
The night is still young ladies and gentlemen, only 0158 hours now

Friday, January 25, 2008

The Fuck Off Feelings

I got some feelings in my head
These are not the feelings in my heart
Or anywhere else for that matter

These feelings are cold calculating numbers
Adding, subtracting, multiplying, dividing
Feelings as scary as a maths exam

I dare not tell these feelings to anyone
If I do these feelings will not let me live
They grow claws and nails sometimes. Scary, no?

I fall prey to my Fuck Off Feelings when,
Every truth is the lie that I haven't heard
Every heart I see is cracked like an ass

The hole is in everyone

The last two lines are the crown of this poem :)
We'll be back with more !

The Edge of Death and Sleep

tired,awake, alone i lie in this cold bed trying to sleep
slowly warmed by my breaths,i'm writing a poem on the edge of sleep and death.
and as i type on the keypad of my cellphone two things come to my mind.
will this poem make it to poetry?
have i fucked up the formatting?
never wrote a poem on my cell.anyway,lot of poems on keep
your weekend free!;)

Monday, January 21, 2008

The Finger of God

God's finger pointed at me and pointed me to the blog of super stylish Minx who blogged about, well, blogging.

Now this is not poetry but it is damn well related to the higher purpose of each and every blog on blogsphere, to write, about Monkeys. So feast your eyes upon this image and savor in the sensory delight that will make strawberry jam of your brain and make it flow out of your nose making your mouth all sticky and sweet. Without further due, I give to you.... Monkeys!

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Saturday, January 19, 2008

4 AM

its 4 AM
why am i awake?
why can i not sleep?

the world outside is waking up, slow
who are all these children of the morning?
walking slow and shuffling through the semi darkness
bending maybe they all have dropped something
like youth
there is a man in the Masjid
who has started his prayer
i do not understand a word of what he's singing
but i like the tone of his voice
a passion,
lost from lives that we live.

i'm sitting here in my bed
awake at 4 AM
have i really woken up to life?
or am i still sleeping?
so many questions
am i looking

This is what happens when you wake up at 4 in the morning.
oh and P.S i had to reconfigure the feed of the blog, because of someone who did a mischief on me. I just hope you all can spare one click to come and read the poems.
p.p.s Kris, don't kick my ass over this, i know your new phone can follow links!


The bastards took the paper
The bastards took the pens
The bastards broke my fingers
But they can not stop me from speaking

The bastards took my hands
The bastards took my eyes
The bastards took my freedom
But they can't take away voice

The bastards took tongue
The bastards took my face
The bastards took  my thoughts too
But they can not stop me from thinking

Now they will take away my life
They will  tear my last breaths from me
But even in this situation
They can not take my imagination
The Punjabi poet Pash smuggled his poems out of jail written on cigarette wrappers, he created a revolution with his words. I'm not trying to create a revolution, not yet :)

Thursday, January 17, 2008

I see ugly people

Ugly people surround me
Their fingers pointing at me like barbs
I have not eaten breakfast for a week
I'm missing my carbs

Why do these ugly people carry spoons?
Their vacant eyes filled with doom
And here is me feeling so fucking hungry
A hunger for everything deep in my soul

But these ugly people fuck up my revolutions
They throw their spoons in my solutions
I tell them to fuck off but do they listen?
No sir! No sir! They need an ass kickin!

This time I'm taking their spoons away
I'll beat them with spoons from jan to may
I won't have them stand with their pointed digits
I'll make them return to their pile of shit
OK i'm rambling, don't expect much from a man who has not slept in 2 days.

and that is only  the start of it.


Wednesday, January 16, 2008

What is this?!

Ladies and Gentlemen, please point your browsers at THIS link.

We shit you not, this will blow your mind away and make you believe for once and for all, that the poems on this blog are, but a Prophecy for a future that is looking at us with jaws wide open, wings flapping and a sharkfin on its back!

Beware Humans!! The Revolution is Coming!!

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Tuesday, January 15, 2008

The Clash of Giants

[*] Please be familiar with the rest of the Monkey Vs Tankman series at the links in the sidebar <<--- Here we go!

The Clash of Giants

A jumble of two bodies falls from the mountain
The Monarking takes to wings like the rain
Tankman smiles cuz he can not die
Monarking doesn't know that the tank can fly

The flying tank whizzes through the air
Like an eaglish dragon, on wings of fire
Tankman jumps inside the tank, guns ready
The Monarking flies away in a frenzy

The monkey somehow grabbed the turret of the tank
Tankman emerged and fired his gun point blank
The monkey and its wings disappeared with a *poof*
Tankman's life and his tank was once again monkey-proof

And by the mountain this strange scene was see
By the local monkeys and the tourist has beens
A flying tank firing at a monkey with wings
But that was normal, the world has stranger things
More some other day ;)

Saturday, January 12, 2008

Cribber's Blah Blah

Blah blah blah
I'm in pain :(

Blah blah blah blah
yadda ydadda baa baa
Blah blah driggry poo
I've been hurt by the world :(

and then blah blah
blah blah chiccky cickky
boo hoo, hoo hoo
Gee, I cut myself and I cry

Double Blah
here a triple Blah
blah blah blah blah
Oooh i'm so dark and mysterious

so nadda nadda
Nix nox, ntee ntee
tch tch, spare some sympathy
for the poets

oh gee, will this poem get comments?

This is my attempt to bitch and crib about people who bitch and crib in their poems.

Fuck yeah.

Friday, January 11, 2008

The Static Of Our Lives

My table is litered with my life
a pen
a watch
a glass of water
and a letter

A discman
coughing music
my phone
never rings
a half written letter
of apology
to god

the screen flickers
from white to black
I'd sell my soul
for a decent screensaver

my life is
ones and zeros
bits and bytes
little fights
I don't care to win or lose

when all is said and done
there is no need for anything

Just snow on the TV screen
What will be and what has been.

Lot of existential dilemmas today and a general disregard for any kind of positivity. And a hidden hint for someone in this poem;)

Love Gun

Why is love like a gun?
Is it Power?
All rolled in metal cylinders
A push propelled by the pull
So much like love, a gun is.

The love that's meant to save us
Is pregnant with our doom
Push and pull each other
Fuck the trigger *BOOM*

Oh the end will come one way or the other
Why not speed up the process?
With extra pain
Like cheese on my pizza
Or pineapple toppings

Love is something like this
Like a gun
The stench of suffering
Comes bundled with the fun.

Lord give me a gun, life would be so much fun :)
Hey I'm not depressed if anyone is thinking alcoholic poet down in the links, She is Depressed!

More to Life

There has to be more to life than this
The job,
The money
and a hint of love in life

There has to be more to life than this
The open road
The drive
The demon in me, trying to break the speed of light

There has to be more to life than this
The friends
The calls
The sms at 3 in the night

There has to be more to life than this
The food
The tea
The coffee and chocolates

There has to be more to life than this
The urge to write
The will to fight
The dream of something yet unknown

There has to be more to life than this

Let's see how much bull shit I can spew today :) 10:37 AM right now.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Nails In A Coffin

Some days, its just not worth
waking up and taking bath
shaving and wearing the same clothes
and come to the meathouse
to murder the muses

Some days its just not worth
putting fuel in this machine
to cough sputter and stop
on way
to destruction

Some days its just not worth
going through 15 blogs and more
throwing words and wisdom
into the unknown
when no one comes to read my shit

Some days its just not worth
writing words in rhyme
or being funny
weird and a host of other things
amongst being a "poet"

Some days its just not worth
being in love
or hate for that matter
or any kind of feeling
some days the only minor relief is
to still be able to say and believe
fuck it all.

The days hammer  like nails in the coffins of our lives.


Monday, January 7, 2008

Monkey V 2.0 v/s Tankman V.1

Allright, I hope everyone is well and having a rocking time. Past few days have been very 'emotional' at Poetry, because of which we have forgotten the basic purpose of starting this blog. Yes, you guessed it, MONKEYS! THE Eternal Conflict! Across Time And Space!!!!!!!1!11

Uh. Ok. So far so Good.

The latest news coming from the future is that a monkey who was surfing on the toxic waves on the destroyed beaches of Goan Jungles
was picked by a flock of mutant SeaGulls and a Great White Shark at the same time. A Green Battle Tank was also seen in close proximity of the place where the accident took place. The Aftermath, in rhyme, brought to you the courtesy of Time Travelling Correspondents of F.U.B.A.R Inc.


Monkey V 2.0  v/s  Tankman V.1

Something stygian swims up from the darkness
A monkey with wings, if nothing less
A fin on his back just like a shark
Evolution happened in the dark

The monkey now shivers like a dog
As he steps out of a muddy bog
He wraps wings around himself for warmth
As he readies himself for causing harm

It's a bright day on other side of the forest
Sunlight warm as hot chocolate at best
The Tankman is lying on top of his tank
Naked, sunbathing.

Butterflies twitter peacefully around his form
His muscles ripped not like the day he was born
Hey he's even got a six pack of abs!
He's Fab!

Whereas the monkey now steps in the sun
He soaks the warmth and gets ready for fun
He's got his eyes on Tankman's tank
He won't settle for bananas, no sir!

He spreads his wings and starts to fly
He fucks with eagles in the sky [*]
The fin on his back drives away other birds
A monkey like him was unseen, unheard

The Tankman sees the shape up above
The monkey dives down for the figure
Tankman magics a gun in his hand
The monkey does not understand!

They roll around in bamboo grass
Trying to kick each other's ass
The roll and fall from mountain's lip
Next poem shall tell the outcome of this!!

[*] If You want to fuck eagles you gotta learn to fly ;)


Saturday, January 5, 2008

The Shark In My Head

A thought swims like a hungry shark
In the depth of my mind as I sit in the dark
I feel like pondering on world peace
Or maybe Genocide
The slaughter of thoughts is being done
The animal writhes in anticipation
It makes me want to grin like mad
And maybe call and talk to dad
The waters are murky with shades of red
The shark is angry in my head
It makes me want to fuck and kill
And maybe eat something
The darkness now intensifies
What little control I had, dies
The animal I am will swim free
And maybe write some poetry
Jesus, what the fuck was in that coffee?!

La Petite Morte

Bubble Bubble
Trouble Trouble
A kick!
Of Life.
The ticks of my watch *tick tock*
As everything becomes a dream of ghosts
Fast a La Petite Morte, my life drips away
I wipe the sheets clean and start again.
To live
To die
In a vicious cycle.
La Petite Morte is French for 'small death' , we all know what that means ;). Oh and I don't know French, just picked this along the way ;)

Thursday, January 3, 2008


Every morning the zombie wakes
He takes his bath and then he shaves
Puts on the same clothes as day before yesterday
He walks out of his life and walks away

This zombie has a collar with his name on it
Not much different than a machine he is working
His fingers are attached to the sticky keyboard
Head fueled by zeros and ones, he is bored

The other zombies are different, but they are all the same
They just have different colored tags, with longer names
Their lives are the mirrors they hold to look pretty
Their ugly faces grin at them from infinity

And after six days of dead life one day of true death arrives
The zombie numbs up his senses but somehow he survives
On the day next to that he is thrown into the cycle
Zombie dawn arrives again in his own private hell

The work culture ladies and gentlemen! How we love it!

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

The Comment That Fucked My Sleep

Winged Fantasy has left a new comment on your post " TAKE MY HAND":

Do me a favour if you can.

Just once... for once... forget all the harshness in the world, within u, within the person in front of u. And for once, forget all the hunger for power, forget the practicality, forget everything, all the negativity. I know negativity can be subjective. But u know what I mean. And write a poem. Do this for me please. :D

(PS: I am not saying there is harshness within u. U might be the most sweetest person around. I am not gonna make any assumptions about u. I dont know u. I am just talking about ur writing.)

AND this is what I have to say...

I read this comment last night on my cell's newly activated GPRS system. It got me thinking, and thinking as we all know is a dangerous activity. It took a great deal of effort to sleep musing on what WF said. So I thought, hey why not!

I'm gonna give this a shot, to try writing without all the things she said. So dear readers, Behold! I give you!

The Forgotten Poem

Behind the door of pain
And the mask of harsh reality
Past the river of hunger for power
Across the ocean of negativity

Let's forget the madness for a while
and not plot the sweet course of revenge
Put aside the amber colored hate
And indifference to all things dead and living

So I question myself
What is left now?
Like a sober expanse of white storm-less sky
A glow inside, a zen calm
No pain, no hate, just a suffusion of yellow
Like an aching tooth
An irritation at the back of my neck

All is calm now and I can't think
To stir my thoughts, should I drink?
I can stir no images of rainbowed paranoia
The voices are now silent, but I see them grin

There is no disturbance to juggle words on the screen
A steady static buzz on the television of my mind
The radio in my head is picking up no alien channels
There is nothing to shake and rattle my soul

This is worse than purgatory

So, if I have to arrive at a conclusion
I'd say a poem needs a big does of confusion
An earthquake of thoughts from me to you
A soul scream to get my idea through
A medley of colours the shades of black
The opening my mind
And letting voices attack
There has to be a hunger to get the words right
The need to write and write when I can not sleep at night

Why write about salvation when all I see is pain
Humans have fucked this planet, again and again
This is what I see and this is what I'll write
There might be something wrong with me
But I guess it's all right.
It really is.


The gun feels heavy in my hand this new year's eve
12 bullets, the number seems so comforting
My glass is empty and my eyes are full
I finger the trigger but I don't have the guts to pull

But there is still a full bottle of vodka to go
The night is still a prepubescent girl
It will be a while before its morning light
And I can fuck my head in and out of the world

So with my heavy gun I stare at the world
Sitting on top of this tower like some drunk yogi
There is no wisdom or lesson in life to be learned
People die looking for a meaning, its funny

Why can't we all get drunk
And play with guns
Set things on fire
Listen to music
For once
Have some fun
I wish I could have gotten drunk on new year's eve, but as they say, never drink alone...and I don't even have a gun.

Life, how I loathe thee.

in next post, we talk about some comments people left on past few posts.