Author: seijiscribbles

In Waldosia

I wonder why the kàwn is always teeming with people.  Here and there, people are moving as if they were automated with some specific commands inscribed in each and everyone’s brain.  I usually feel shy to look at other people’s faces.  Because when I have an eye contact with someone, I feel disoriented since my brain instantly has to figure out what that person might have been feeling the moment we look at each other.

I think one has to have the chutzpah to look at someone without losing one’s poise.  It also takes quite a decorum because staring at someone with a blank face and emotionless expression is one kind of modern-day-rudeness.  We were taught in elementary to be affable to people on the road because it could be the last time we ever see them.

To quote ‘Man is a social animal’ is like to coerce someone to oblige that showing a face which has a gamut of indecipherable  emotions is a vice.  ‘Always be kind to strangers’ is also another adage which has an ulterior implication: If you do not smile at someone you’ve met for the first time, they’ll for ever be your enemy.  Well, it seems I have many vices being committed and enemies multiplied as the clock ticks by.

A wise man, I forget the name, says that waiting is the attribute of the anxious.  He must have been right when I ponder about his statement keenly.  When someone is anxious, he is almost always too little too early.  So, he has to wait and waste time—the most valuable commodity man has ever invented.  I wonder why I almost always get the fidget when I’ve had something to do in the near future.  Like, when exams are near, I get the exam-fever even when I do not bother to study at all.  So when exams start, I resort to reaching the examination hall with a handsome hour still left to go.  To tell you the truth, killing time at the examination hall is the worst kind of waiting.  Had I been a sadist, I would surely torture someone by letting him wait for a caravan in a desert that would never arrive.  How sweet would that be!

I remember one occasion, if memory serves me right, when I had to wait for you at a bus stand.  I had to endure my worst nightmare—waiting and being exposed in public with strangers.  It was the worst fifty one minutes of my life.  But you had finally arrived with a thousand alibis ready to be spoken out in ingratiation.  You smiled at me and it had the implication that everything was fine, would be fine, and finally broke the ice with ‘sorry I’m late Bud’.

Today, I did the test of patience.  I’d been sitting on a waiting shed for three emotionally strenuous hours.  I was scanning my vicinity and had to smile nonchalantly at the faces I’ve never met before.  Amidst those, I was hoping to see your face that would relinquish me from the torture I had to bear alone.  But you never arrived because our rendezvous wasn’t the one where I was resting my bum.  Then I realized I had to text you, but I was running out of data balance.

Miss Marauder

Miss Marauder

For Ilauza,
I listen to
Maroon 5’s daylight
as if it were
my first time.
The dawn
is breaking
with the scent
of petrichor lingering
in this twisted atmosphere
which is exactly like
your capricious fidelity.
Because these days
it rains in the night
when the sun
scorches the day.
Things seem to slip
away from its
usual trajectory.
You absconded
with my heart—
the one thing
I couldn’t keep.
And how the last
time I saw you:
you promised me
the faithfulness
of Altivo to Cortez.
That you would be
my today waiting
for ever for
the morrow ahead.
You build a house
of card with the spoils
of love you pillaged
from me. My soul is a
dilapidated fortress
beleaguers by nostalgic
nightmares & bitter-sour
technicolour memories.
I’m trying hard
to contemplate that
ours had been
a beautiful, splendid sight
like a child looking at
a diffusing contrail
for the first time
in awestruck wonder
even when the plane
has already left
far ahead.
I wonder why
time is always
generous to me.
I wish it stole
all the details
of your memory
for itself.
And time flies;
but never heals.

 

The System!

Almost all of my interest in economics has been nullified. It’s been the worst injustice I’ve ever suffered. Now I’m convinced, my bad handwriting is going to haunt me throughout my academic career. If I could get 9 more marks (which I’m wholly convinced I earn them), I would have earned 12 more credit points.
I think it’s time for me to exonerate myself; but the system tells me I’ll have to pay ₹2,200 for the mistake I’ve never made. I’m also chafed to see that 50 master’s students answer sheets have to be evaluated within 48 hours. Gosh! I hate the system.
Can anybody elucidate me more about RTI? It seems I can see my answer sheets if I write an application using this Act. But 7.181 GPA is not that low tho’. Still, the fundamental law of economics still holds true, ‘Human wants are unlimited’, and I am human.
I never compete with anyone, I only compete with myself. But it’s just that, I can’t believe it! When you sacrifice everything and toil with sweat and blood for two whole months, sleep less than 5 hours, I think no one will blame me for my indignation.
69 has become the number I hate the most. Because I get this fuckin’ number in three papers! If I get one more mark each, I could have get 10 more credit points! Huizzz

For Koppy

How I wish I could fly.
Red bull won’t give me wings,
Instead it would make me
burn the midnight oil,
And my mind would wonder wide & wild,
Searching for your fragrance that lingers
lucidly elusive, in my heart.
The saddest thing in this
moody monsoon is the fact that
you are not with me
to tame this hazy madness,
Of longing and loneliness.
But Koppy, I’ve sent my kisses,
I hope the wind, would carry it
to you, where they always belong.

Some Nights

Some nights are always long
& some memories always haunt

Some leaves are always green
Some games are always fun

Some people move on
While others wait & wait

Some things always break
While others merely bend

Some tears are out of joy
While others, like mine,
Are always out of pain

Some people die
We watch them leave
While we are doomed to stay

Here’s life
Sometimes I wish I were
A bird that sings in the rain
Patiently waiting for the
Sun.

[Some leaves are always green even in autumn.  And no matter how hard I try to forget you, somewhere the memory of you often lingers like an 8-bit game I could never forget–thrilling, fun and always mesmerizing; but long no more to re-live the experience.  I’m convinced everything ends in the long-run, and some things always break while others merely bend.]

I don’t mean what you think I mean

I don’t mean what
you think I mean
when you think
I intentionally mean
what you think
my words would mean.
What are words but
meaningless symbols that
have meanings only
when two souls
agreed to each other.
What is language
but a mere façade
of mankind’s endless
need to complain.

Often, at times,
my stupid mouth
spits out words
that might imply
something derogatory to
the object who suffers
my (tongue’s) action.
But deep down,
if their subtlety
is looked into,
they’re a mere subterfuges
where I try to
conceal the finer nuances,
so that one might
not think that I’m blandishing
with a flattered mockery.

I don’t know what that
freakin’ French philosopher
Derrida tries to prove with
his deconstruction theory.
But something is clear—
he’s trying to tell us
that what we think
is the meaning of meaning
is just a perpetual loop
that ultimately means
meaning of meaning.
Oh! Sometimes I feel like
I get photosynthesised
just because I feel
some words are trying
to be trapped inside
my thoughts, like the
process being involved
in plants trying to make
glucose out of sunlight.
And why glucose!
Can’t we just say sweet?

You haven’t texted
since last . . .  And
our conversation ended
with rage like a
beehive being catapulted.
I kind of reaffirm
myself that somehow
I’ve become a miscreant
in your eyes.  But what
does it matter anyway?
When you think that
I mean something
I’ve never intended to mean.

Twisted is the soul
that can’t be bent.
Foolish is the one
that never compromise.
I’m sick and tired and dying,
can’t you see?
Well, I’m just beating
around the bush,
you won’t believe my
‘says’ anyways.

Wherever you are
& whatever you
might be doing
I hope you are fine
& be able to sleep tight.
Like those times
You told me you were
having an acute insomnia
but always dozed off
at the first hour
while we were chatting
& only a blue tick that
always reminded me:
I too need to hit the hay.

Shelby

How do they name
a story that ends
before its prologue?
Perhaps if there
ever were, ours
would be one
of those stories—
of ephemeral ecstasies
& unquenched desires.
Sometimes in retrospect,
I regret the chances
I didn’t take.  The
dares I didn’t have
the courage to dare.
That place in Ai at KK,
where once I held
your hands & we
gazed at the stars
that were like the
freckles on your
snow-white face
in vast endless
sky above us.
I wished I would be
entrapped in that
moment for ever.
Now things often
break through
& apart. It rains
here today & the scroll
I see reads ‘who dares wins’
as if to only remind
me I’ve always been
a loser all my life.
Wherever you are
I hope you are happy.
I wish you would
find a way to reduce
the unforgiving masses
that make you
feel self-abased.  But
just remember I
still care less until now.
And you are
the best story
I could never write.
Cos you make me feel like
I could hit a jackpot
with coke’s cap.
I think I’m mad
as I always have been.