the shepherdess and the wolf

2012-01-09T17:25:00.002+05:30

You are for the moments,
I am... for years.

- The Shepherdess

2012-01-09T16:26:00.002+05:30

On a rainy January 9

Today I am the pink, I am the punk.
Today I am the cat.
And the Japanese girl who knocks on your door
On foggy nights.
I am the one wearing newness today,
On my ears, body, heart and mind...
Today is just mine.
Today is Red Wine's.

- The Shepherdess

2012-01-03T09:50:00.003+05:30

You were intriguing. And I was 'shrouded in mystery',
They believed we were made for each other.
What they didn't know was my 'mysterious' heart got trapped
By your chords of vagueness, carefully tuned.

- The Shepherdess

The face of the Sun

2011-08-01T05:07:00.000+05:30

I want to die and see the face of the sun
I want to cry till the world disappears in a fog of tears
And only you are left, and I am bent
In humble supplication and dignity
In the starry splendour of Judgement Day
In the beautiful wrath of your compassion
And the assurance of your exacting forgiveness
Liberation comes in a day
In the silent trumpets and fanfare of repentance

~Scio amo

The Morning Brakes

2011-05-12T12:39:00.000+05:30

The Volvo bus driver slams on his brakes and the man with a few extra pounds sitting opposite me is on me; his bag making a purple impression on my knees; his pen drawing a blue line on my arm.

- The Shepherdess

Lovers?

2010-07-18T19:37:00.002+05:30

Then with forgotten promises in our skin

And fake “love you” on our lips

We float under the half moon…

Lusting for the bitter taste of land,

Effacing every chance to reach it.

- The Shepherdess

Reconnaissance

2010-04-17T23:31:00.002+05:30

Many lips I had kissed

I had caressed many souls

Effaced were many faces

Inking stains on my parole

Sanity prevails

After the storms

Thank you, my glowworm.

Lumiere. Liberte. Liebe.

2010-04-14T05:01:00.000+05:30

I have seen the face of God in a cloud of gold
Burning the leaves of autumn in indescribable agony
I have heard a man, a man I love,
Deny the possibility of human love,
And I have believed him
I have burnt like the old woman in a tram
Her cheeks pale with gold,
Or like the seventy-year old man in tweeds
Who after a night of rain, goes out in the morning
To the park to die burning in a shower of sunlight
I have seen the point where desire ends and blooms into a spray of lilacs

scio amo

Within

2010-03-03T15:45:00.003+05:30

Ten thousand insects beneath the skin,

Searching for a drop of light

To die, obliterating the already dead.

- The Shepherdess

2010-02-21T14:39:00.003+05:30

When the lightning strikes
I think of my lord
When the clouds are dark
I think of my lord
When it is dark
My friend clasps me
Thinking I am afraid
I enjoy the warmth
Even though the air outside
Is cool with rain drops
My lord has two bodies
With one he sends rain
and with the other he enjoys me
When it is raining
Though I have no virtue
He has given me the capacity to enjoy
I count myself blessed
Even if I can never reach heaven
What is the moon in heaven
If I can gaze at his face
Dark as the clouds, his smile
Breaking out like lightning
When it is raining

~scio amo

2010-01-19T17:43:00.003+05:30

He asked me, “If you knew you would be dying in a day, what would you wish in your remaining mortal hours?”

I paused. And replied, “I would take a stroll down Park Street.”

Dripping water from the hair. Drenched in the evening downpour, I entered the pub. Unknown faces. A few known. Exchanged smiles. Twinkles in the eyes that glittered among the shabbiness and the occasional rats. “Oh, again you have coloured your hair.”“Yes,” I smiled, “Golden this time.”

Both of us knew the gold of my streaks extended its roots deep inside us. Us. Inebriated by the rum. Ensnared by words. Words that blew in the smoke from the hot cuppa in the café nearby. Words that were chewed in between the ham sandwich at the street corner. Words that were run over by the meandering traffic.

A dark alley was discovered while being in the mood for love. In another chunk of darkness wavering in between the flickering lights, I saw my namesake on an earlobe.

From Candide to Vagina Monologue, from Sans Toi to squabble over homosexuality, I tasted them all. Taking a few steps up, we sat in a corner that offered us a view. Umbrellas. Blue. Pink. Yellow. Emerald green. A shade in my mocktail glass. Smooth. Soothing. A bit like the struggling words, born from my lips that witnessed the tears sitting opposite.

Spells of disappointment. Bouts of despair made room for themselves sporadically between Spring’s red Gulmohor trees and December’s warm cuddling breaths. I thought I could create an album of Melancholy. Thoughts remained thoughts, amorphous and anomalous. Thoughts morphed into photos in black and white; into today’s me, O Park Street.

- The Shepherdess

For a Compatriot, on her Birthday

2010-01-09T05:08:00.002+05:30

Let me weep
It is evening, and the wind blows cool
Every land is a land of exile
Let me weep for the sun that has set, for my youth that is wasted
Let me weep for my first love, for my last
I long for freedom, I long for love
Let me weep for my futile desires

~scio

(since I could not better the painting, I thought I would change the mood :p)

2009-12-16T22:57:00.001+05:30

Show me the places of your agony, O Christ, o spring
O first born harvest, show me where the scythe has cut through thee
My lips thirst for your wounds, my brother, my spouse
I long to feel your pain, immerse me, o Christ, o stormy wind
Nothing about me is true or sincere except my prayer to you
My longing for you, my brother, my spouse
Forgive me and come to me, o dark sea, my brother, my spouse
My heart has pined for you since I knew love, do not abandon me
Forget your just wrath to me, come to me
None but you can turn me towards the path of penitence and righteousness
Do not abandon me, my parents have abandoned me, my friends have left me
Do not leave me, my sweet brother, my spouse, let me tend to your wounds
Where the roman soldier pierced your chest with a spear, and the blood flew out
Of your fair chest, like doves from a cleft in the rocks
Your hair is matted with sweat and blood, let me brush your hair dry and clean
My brother, my spouse, do not abandon me
My lips are parched for your lips where the roman soldier wetted you with vinegar
Your lips are wine-red, how fair are you my brother, how emaciated like a soldier in a Hospital, if you leave, the candles will all be extinguished
Do not leave me, show me a sign that you still love me, my brother, my sweet spouse
How handsome is my brother as he rides to war
Beware o night, o evil, o solitude, my brother is with me
See the crimson sash he wears across his soldier, with the golden and purple cross
My brother is with me, and each day is a test where we fight against the forces
Of the world
The forces of life rise in torrent after torrent, o death where is your conquest?
O misery, where is your victory, the Cross rides triumphant

scio

2009-10-20T20:45:00.003+05:30

I gaze at you with another’s eye
As you pass by the road
I borrow a pair of binoculars to look at you
My eyes have lost their sense of shame
This road could be a sea
And you could be bathing there

This moment belongs neither to time nor to eternity
Neither to desire nor to its absence.

~scio

Love is not enough

2009-09-09T14:36:00.001+05:30

I don’t want to understand what you say
I only want to watch as you speak
The angry frown in your face
I want to kiss it away, and make you angry again
I don’t want to understand what you say
I only want you to make hate to me
Like a tiger mounts a calf
And then when I am under you
I want you to pour me a glass of wine
And make it all up again
Pretend anger, pretend love, I don’t want your love
Only understand me, love only suffocates
Make me dance, and I shall be yours for today
Put your hand on my shoulder, don’t look at me
I want to desire you today
Love is not enough, love is never enough,
I only want to dance today

~Scio

2009-09-07T14:43:00.001+05:30

A piece of chocolate?
A cup of cappuccino?

Self-denial?
Renunciation? Refusal?
Of things cerebral?

How much?

How much does a bite of the heart cost?

- The Shepherdess

2009-08-23T07:00:00.003+05:30

Some gods are so beautiful
That when you look at them
You will want to die
Your body will want to burst
When you look on their piercing eyes
For there is not even one organ in you
That can contain their beauty
You will masturbate and masturbate
Till every bone in your body
Will be sated and languid
But still your mind will know no rest
A nameless pain will bruise
The interior of your heart
And you will want to leave
The prison of your flesh
To become the soul
To become the twilight sky

~scio

2009-06-23T02:02:00.003+05:30

Only in my sorrow I find you
You for whom I have no name
You are the bridegroom who comes
In the middle of the night
When I am asleep
You are the sorrow that has no name
When I speak of God, I speak of you
You for whom I have no name
And everyone thinks that I am a saint
I whose sin has no name
I see you everywhere
In every thing, that has no name
When I am naked I feel your gaze
And my body burns with a nameless shame
When two make love, there is always a third
You are that third which has no name
Never removing your eyes from mine
You make love to another man
My soul becomes a bird and leaves my body
To make love to you in the space between you
And the other man
You are the love that has no name

~scio

2009-06-06T05:38:00.002+05:30

I think it was first in college that I became aware that it takes two to live. But I somehow convinced myself that what I wanted from my Other would be happiness. I yearned for happiness, more perhaps even for happiness than for love. Or rather I confused the two, I wanted the One who would make me happy. I dammed myself from everyone else, everyone who could hurt me, who could leave me. And for three years, I condemned myself to a long night waiting for the one who would never come. I still look for Him. I covered myself with images, to stop myself from feeling anything for anyone, to live without love, I lived like I was dead. I never let my desires get the better of me, or rather I controlled them almost perfectly. There were images to satisfy myself at a particular hour of the night. There were stories to satisfy myself when everyone slept. If the feeling of loneliness became too overwhelming, I would jerk off the feeling, there is no greater antidote to desire than a healthy round of masturbation. I think my flirting with others was also, partially, a form of masturbation, a need to remain in control, get hold of the thing, keep it. I genuinely care for each and every one I have ever flirted with, each has been a dear friend, and some of them have been ones for whom I would have done anything to help them. Yet I flirted with them knowing it might hurt them because I was not in control over myself at the moment I thought I was in the greatest power over myself. I needed to feel I was a part of them, that they were a part of me, that I was a leaf that had lost its individuality along with its selfhood, which by falling had joined a heap of red and golden dreams lying under a tree. One cannot be happy unless one dies, to live is to be drawn out of matter, a loneliness out of swirling clay. To get a form is to be alone, to live, to think, to feel, is to be unhappy. To live is to be exiled from the eternal and infinite harmony that animates gods and corpses, that utter contentment in which one becomes united to all that is, till nothing is left to desire. I had to jerk off this feeling. I had to live. I caged myself in fantasies. Anything bad would happen to me, and I would retreat into my fantasy, weave a story while crying in the pillow. Weave a story where He would make everything alright. If God did not exist, Voltaire has rightly said, it would be necessary to invent him. A theosexual who flirts with everyone, who cannot form normal friendships, who must flirt with every man and woman he meets, just to feel wanted, sufficient, who ends up hurting the ones he loves the most, such was the paradox I made myself. I flirt, therefore I am.

For sometime now, I have been changing again, I feel it. I feel like I want to be overwhelmed, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of it all, without having to control that beauty by turning it into an object of masturbation, and jerking it off. Parallely, I feel a need to let the web of relationships I had formed to remove my loneliness; I am feeling a need to drown in that web. I don’t want anything from anyone anymore; I just need to feel that exquisite feeling which comes from self-abnegation. To perform one’s duty to others, expecting nothing, no love, in return, it is alike medieval and sensuous. I yearn to abandon myself, and abandon my desires; I want to flow out in the web because now I know that only by becoming a river can one purify oneself, cleanse myself of the guilt I have incurred in raising expectations I could not fulfil, in giving love yet poisoning it with selfishness. I want to lose my self. I want to be free from myself. I want to be one with the images, and look beyond them, beyond the dense layers of metaphors and promises, illusions of permanence and power in which I had bound myself, into Existence, bare existence, stretching like a smooth sheet in which I have lost myself. I felt a great desire today to kneel down. I don’t want to strip everything anymore, I don’t need to make everyone naked anymore, I don’t need to know myself anymore. Most of all, I want to be washed away by desire without wanting to control it, and especially by this desire to serve. I want my ego to die. To die is the greatest romance, that is why all true romances end in tragedy. When you have nothing more left to keep for yourself, are you not dead? When you love, are you not dead? When you make love, when you peak, is it not called the little death? And when you come alive again after the little death, or when you wake after sleep, is there not an overwhelming melancholy? Is it not the melancholy, the regret of being alive? But I am not talking of physical death when I speak of what I want, what I am, yearning to, experience, but the greater death, the spiritual death. The physical death, suicide as it is wrongly called, is not the death of the self, the literal meaning of suicide, but only the final, last and most successful, attempt to mark out one’s existence. Only those who desire life too well can commit suicide.

One cannot be active unless one surrenders. He who surrenders can do anything for he is freed from all rules, all confinements. One cannot experience desire unless one has abandoned oneself to the danger of desiring. Those who live in the world have never known desire, those who have left it feel it but cannot give it a name. To see something beautiful without wanting to f-ck it, to experience the glorious moment when everything becomes hued with beauty because at last one has let go of all hang-ups, to see a nipple exposed to the air and it brush one’s lips, without any urgent need to touch that, it feels as though I were tied to a bed, two hands and two feet tied to the bedposts, unable to take control, unable to possess, have you ever felt it? It is glorious. To orgasm again and again, but not allowing the body to intervene, to climax again and again while the flesh is rigidly confined so that the soul can take over, the body and the mind receives such pleasures then, they are washed away, it seems as though I were floating and tides were passing over me, as though I had become an ocean of bliss. To see beautiful creatures, to see creatures in love without wishing to possess them, till all creatures become beautiful because desires are robbed of their specificity, desire for this and not that, for this curve and not that, for this hardness and not that, desires fly away, run amok, desiring everything like little children who have not been taught that is beautiful and that is not, it is glorious. To sink in pleasure, it is glorious. To feel that pain is pleasure when it is incurred to serve others, it is glorious. To feel that death is the sweetest bliss when one dies for one’s beloved, it is glorious. To feel the pain of seeing something beautiful but not having it, it is glorious. To acknowledge that pain and not strive to possess that beauty, or to substitute that beauty by something which one has and can therefore control, it is glorious. To reject images and seek the Real, it is glorious. To drown in images wanting never to reach the surface, feeling the pain that images bring, it is glorious. To feel pain, it is glorious. To see beauty covered by a veil, knowing one can never penetrate, it is glorious.

I knelt down today. It was glorious. If I ever meet Him someday, I would kneel down and forget myself. It would be glorious.

~scio

2009-06-03T06:28:00.002+05:30

Is it a greater pleasure to watch you make love to others
Or to make love to you myself?
I carry a cross on my shoulder
You bear to the altar the perfume of wild flowers.
Is it better to have loved, and never to have spoken
Or is it better to have spoken, and watched that love droop with the years?
You say that I love you, I say I will always love you a little less
So that tomorrow I can love you a little more.

Man loves only once in his life, and he never recognizes it
And when he is past his prime he finds a name for it
And searches for it in others, but it never returns.

~scio

Mon café

2009-05-20T16:41:00.002+05:30

It was winter, with rain clouds inside
Me, hovering over me,
I gave you a call

We met, we talked, and we saw each other
Over coffee…deep and dark, my coffee.
We sipped, we spoke, we smoked
Under the melting sun, in the darkening city,
I listened to your hopes, your desires
Shared your taste in movie and music.
The hours called us for another coffee
We talked, we laughed, remained silent
Sometimes with reason, sometimes without one
Over coffee…deep and dark, my coffee.
You listened to my French, my broken Spanish
Gave ears to my wings, my desires
Hours flew, seasons flew, making the way
For a song of the next December.

- The Shepherdess

The Music of Aulos

2009-05-18T11:38:00.001+05:30

A storm in the fiery poppy field
Intoxicant-nymphs in chest’s left corner
And stimulating fancies
Like old Bacchus-days.
Gushes of blood running
In the veins…
The common phenomenon of
Not knowing and wanting to know –
If my shadow plays your body’s harp
Like the way you play with the child-woman.

- The Shepherdess

2009-05-01T23:13:00.001+05:30

The night is one with the sea, the sea is one with me
Nothing exists except the flowering tree, you and me
Who do I desire but you?
Three walked, a fourth came, and I lost my sense in love for the fourth
Now all is me
What is this infinite happiness, what is this sea of immortality?

~scio amo

2009-05-01T23:03:00.001+05:30

Close your eyes and see him
Why do you search for him here and there?
Why do you search for him in every face?
Why do you wander like a madman from forest to mountain?
Close your eyes and see him
Why do you search for him in every face? Why do you invite strangers to your bed?
He is the beauty of every face, though even the earth has not seen him
Love him who has no form
He is in your heart, the torches burn
The carriage runs, vanishing now and then
If the body burns, does the soul vanish?
I speak only in metaphors, his beauty is without form
Why do you seek him in man?

And if you cannot be satisfied with the one you love
The one you were betrothed to, then o unfortunate one, burn
The scriptures gave him to you, your heart chose him
If you cannot still be satisfied, then burn
I have seen the infinite and yet I long for the finite
Who can be more unfortunate than me?

What is this joy I feel? I sing of my joy
The sky is full, the kalbaishakhi comes,
I am in your heart, yet I delude myself you are not there
All is you, I have vanished
With your sword you have destroyed me, the sky sparkles with lightning
This sorrow is joy, this sea of absence that washes me away is joy
I have reached a state where I cannot be unhappy anymore
What ever you give me, gives me joy
I neither seek salvation, nor do I seek this world
You are all, what shall I seek?
How can I be wrong, when you keep me in your lap?

O you who wear the moon in your hair, o destroyer of passion
O terrible fear, o you from whom I seek escape
O lord of fear, o lord of nightmare, o lord of the infinitely cruel and infinitely returning
I seek nothing, o death, what shall death do to me when I have you
The greater fear chases away the less
O thirst, o lord of elements, you are the fear and loneliness at the heart of things
You give sorrow to the world, you smear it with ashes
You destroy love, you make all men orphans
You take them back into yourself again
What death shall I fear? What fear shall I fear? What lack of love shall I fear? What failing of duty shall I fear? What ill-repute shall I fear?
I strike my hands on your unyielding chest, you keep your doors closed
O fear that lies at the heart of things, o insecurity
In my fear I saw you, in my fear I asked you to rescue me
Now my fear has become my saviour, my fear showed you to me
I do not want this fear to leave me, fear is my dearest friend
In my fear I saw the sky, I saw the sun in the eclipse
One moment I am unconscious, the next I preach consciousness to the world
I sought you in form, now I see you in everything
Who is as fortunate as me?
I asked you to become finite for me, now the infinite washes me away
Who is as fortunate as me?
The night is one with the sea, the night is one with me
Nothing exists except the flowering tree, you and me
Who do I desire but you?
Three walked, a fourth came, and I lost my sense in lust for the fourth
Now all is me
What is this infinite happiness, what is this sea of immortality?
I am numb, yet my senses have multiplied
I feel as though the world has become a thousand worlds
And I am living a thousand lives
I am a corpse on whom a thousand sensations wash away
I have stopped living as a metaphor, I describe my own sensations
I can do no wrong, for God works through me

Your body is as lightning, your face is the moon
I shiver, yet my bones are full with satisfaction
Let others receive wealth and glory, you alone are enough for me
And this marrow-deep satisfaction, this ache of being well-spent
Night and dawn have met in my body and become one
Let others seek freedom, even death sings to me and singes me with pleasure
For you make love to me when I die even as you did during my lifeThe serpent that coils around your neck enters me
I become the starless night
I cannot share, so I chose as my betrothed him who has no part
Now he has made me partless
My bones ache, my marrow sings in ecstasy

~~the wolf

2009-05-01T13:19:00.005+05:30

Tale of a threesome

There is a me. Let us call him X. X is a lover of pleasure of all sorts, but the more kinkier and dangerous, the better. He loves freedom more than anything, flirts with everyone, is reckless, narcissist, grey, vicious at times, and plays games without a twinge of morality, dark and cruel, loves being on top, is fun, witty, charming and definitely attractive, all sun and light, but totally amoral. He is a wine that goes well with both women and men. He is promiscuous and delights in infidelity, for promiscuity prevents him from becoming the slave of any one person, and because like a mad drunkard, he seeks to behold every form in which the beauty of the divine beloved is manifested. He knows the hearts of men, and knows how to give them pleasure, but he always withholds the supreme pleasure. He never loses.

There is a me. Let us call him Y. He loves games too much to leave them, but he is moral at heart, more or less, as far as possible, is responsible to those he loves, dreads hurting them, helps people. He is the sweetness that keeps things simmering and intense, he loves and is loved. Those he loves, whether they are related to him by blood or not, he calls family. Y can give his life for the ones he loves, but not the freedom of his body and mind, his inner sovereignty. In return, he can give all freedom to the ones he loves, and yet love them fully.

There is a me. Let us call him Z. No man or woman has access to him. He is dark and brooding, light and cheerful, he is always faithful and never in word or deed will he ever betray the one he loves. His heart is narrow, for with the maniac, possessive and majestic love he can give, he can have space for only one person in his core, his base, his everything, he can make the one person of his dreams fly. Infidelity, physical or mental, infidelity that lasts even for the winking of an eye, in a stolen and quickly buried-into-the-subconscious glance at a stranger, is the one thing he cannot tolerate, and since all men and women he has met are partially or fully unfaithful to him and to others, he has allowed till now, no one access to him. To love Z, to be loved by Z, you must forsake desire for everything and everyone except him, become a monk, and then he shall initiate you into a dangerous and cruel love, the grandest love the world can see. He will surrender completely and unreservedly to that one, and will receive complete and willing surrender. Z sees his love in everything, and his love shall see Z in everything, in every meaning and beauty and form, and all directionless metaphors shall lose their power and collapse into the spring dust. Their love shall last till death and beyond. He craves a love that is divine, whether the divine be manifested in form or not. He has tasted of ecstasy already, and will settle for nothing less. For the one he loves, Z can give not only his life, but his everything.

If and when Z were to meet the right one, X would cease to be promiscuous, for in the one Z loves, X, Y and Z shall see the world, see the all. Z shall have no problem in being faithful, for the world shall be metaphors for the one he loves.

every step you take with me, i shall take with you

love me more than anyone else in the world, i shall love you more than all creation

love me and let me be your everything, everything you love, everything you hate, everything you are mad about, love me only, i shall love you only, and every person i shall love, i shall love in you, through you, and for your sake only

~~~the Wolf

Homecoming

2009-04-21T15:48:00.003+05:30

Travelling amidst swarm of bees,
Blue seats bluer than the Robin;
From one city to another,
Eyes weaving villages and villes
In-between.

Little kisses running wild
On my neck,
Dreams to evade
Another heart-break.

- The Shepherdess

To the Poledancer...on his special day

2009-04-17T23:30:00.003+05:30

For the one who reminded me that the pen's not just for words.
Love,
The Polestar

Holmes and Watson

2009-04-15T02:55:00.005+05:30

Was jus thinking, of nuffin, of everyfin, and how much she has come to mean in my life. We never talked about it, we didnt discuss it, and yet, somehow, i dunno how, she filled up so many of the missing pieces in my soul. She found me, though she didnt know that back then, a lonely wreck. She never talked about it, we never talked about it, she made me Scio. Days passed, months passed, years passed, i dunno how, she became my companion. And slowly all those darknesses, shadows, monsters under the bed and behind the wall, we never talked about them, she never knew about them till that night we spoke, they crept away, slowly receding. Nowadays they reappear only as sharp, momentary pangs after a fleeting, i dunno why am doing this, flirtation with some unknown person i dont care about, in the bried realization that i am giving them pleasure, they are giving me pleasure, but there is no happiness here, just a mild amusing friendship. I dont even desire those i flirt with. Who do i desire? Honestly, i dunno. Confused, maybe. Dunno. Flirting's fun, as long as you know it's jus about friendship. Love? Does it exist? Who knows? I certainly don't. I jus know i like her. And yes, in my own weird way, I love her. Never thought i would say this bout anybody. It's weird, and the feeling, when i admit it, leaves me shaken. But i love her, and its exhilarating.

Like suddenly someone has messed about with a heap of red and brown leaves that had been carefully collected, and now, are flying once more in the air.

i dont expect stuff from her. And that also makes things great fun. It's always new with us. And it's awesome when suddenly, in a precious moment of soppy heart-to-heart talk, we don't generally do that sort of thing, its awefully hard, she suddenly admits she likes me back. Dunno what happiness is really. The sort of thing you read in books, dunno bout that, never had that kind of unalloyed joy and all that. i dunno what happiness is, mayb i'll never have it, mayb its not meant for people like me. But i like it when she leans on me, and i lean on her, it sure feels like what you read about it in the books, and all that sort of crap.

Hell, am talking too much, and talking's not our style of dealing with things, not mine at any rate. But i think i owe her an explanation bout what i meant when i sent her that sms in the middle of the night. Talking so much leaves me drained, and a little doubtful, luck is not meant for people like me, mayb she'll leave me one day. Hell, who cares? I love her, that should be enough for now. And everyone agrees we are a great pair, better than Laurel and Hardy, better than Holmes and Watson, better than Superman and Lex Luthor. God willing, we'll be a legend someday.

image captions: dont analyse it to death, watson
huh! easy for you to say, holmes, its not you who will havta put this all in words

Ca ne va pas, ca ne va pas

2009-02-25T11:42:00.005+05:30

If you ask me to cry you a river,
lemme tell you I can't;
I am a strong woman
behind the veil of shyness
sipping the cup of strength
every other minute,
driving the car called Life.

- The Shepherdess

5.40 am: an SMS flew over the Atlantic

2009-02-24T11:36:00.006+05:30

How does one traverse
Ten thousand light years
Between two souls?
Between two bodies?
How long does it take exactly?
Ten thousand light years-
The distance printed in the pages of Physics...
Or does the barrier mocks at you...
Forever?

- The Shepherdess

2009-01-27T01:39:00.000+05:30

I live at the edge of your scimitar
The wind rushes through my hair
As though I were reeds on the Shatt-el-Arab
And you a debauched river god

I paint you naked, telling you art is for art’s sake
Then I wash the painting away when you ain’t looking.
Life is only an excuse
To get you to strip
And spread my legs.
.
You score me as though you were the hand of God,
Virginity is a small price to pay to be able to laugh
Jesters can bring kings down on their knees.
(Though I can’t tell you what happens afterwards

Horses ride, winds blow
Why should I care for nature
When you can do better than both?

~scio amo

2009-01-25T03:49:00.003+05:30

When the sultan’s daughter had asked for a doll
You, lord of Srirangam, came to Delhi and played the flute for her
Long gone are those days
But even now the storm comes, and memories rise like swirled sand dunes
Even now in the messed up courtyard the girls come out to drench themselves
Though they are not allowed to leave the house
It is monsoon, and you are not here,
And nothing has any meaning.

I may not have virtue but I can give my life for you
Surely that should count for something.

I was sad all evening, now I realize I can give up my life for you
I think the evening was worth it.

A squall has come in the ocean, and the boatmen, instead of chasing the waves
Want to sink the ship.

Through wind and rain and reefs and rocks I have steered my boat
Then the fog came, the images vanished, I became a moth that has left the shadows

I don’t care who tells me what
Tonight I make love thinking of God

When all the stars have blown out, and the poor man in his hovel
Has no money to light a candle in the freezing cold and gloom
You still shine, you still shine, you still shine
And the rich man in his palace fears

The day we shall meet, whether you greet me with a sword
Or a caress on my cheek, whether I am young and innocent as greenwood
Or old as a thousand unspent desires,
I shall tell you, I love you

A thousand more lives I may live
A thousand and more loves I may love
Bless me with this memory that I may never forget
It is none but you that I love
I am you, you are me, you are all this creation
Let us meet where you are all
And I am lost.

~~scio amo

Happy 30, Swas

2009-01-08T07:07:00.003+05:30

I assume some of you, like me, have the habit of taking a warm shower after a harrowing quarrel with someone…you could take a shower, or you could sleep with her…………

I never thought I would like abstract art before I met her. Michelangelo or Caravaggio for me please, no thanks, I don’t understand a few lines and broken faces masquerading as great art. Les fauves, wild beasts……

Have you seen horses run?I imagine part of the reason men go to her is the same as why they like amphitheatres…You might as well tell her you fancy her as wave a red rag in front of a bull…

Have you ever stood at crossroads and wanted to make no choice, but blow away in all directions, like the winds, like a trail of smoke from an incense-bearer…you must swirl her in your tongue for a long time before you taste her…..she needs to be kissed, long, hard, and by someone who knows how

Her eyes dance like mountains of light. And she sees.. As Toulouse-Lautrec would see his ballerinas, his Moulin Rouge, the bare lines, the drawn faces, the shadows behind the eyes and glittering lights. Abstract art, the skeleton of a man, the bare self……She saw me, I saw her, and the rest didn’t matter…….

Have you ever drawn a picture and then watched rain fudge all the colours? Watched the canvas draining out, flowing like so many rainbow rivers, molten pieces of the blue and gold sky, have you ever held someone and broken down…old wine, even when it turns 30, only ripens…..isn’t Kilimanjaro old?

Have you seen the light of the Impressionist painters? You would know her then. That light, that light which doesn’t just serve as a backdrop to a picture, a kind of convenient companion to the chef d’oeuvre, but is the picture itself, pouring out like passion from every branch en plein air, from every pore of the skin, from every picnic basket, till finally the whole painting becomes light itself, the light walks, not caring if it is wrong or it is right, it gambols, escapes the museum…..can light be dark, can we even think straight when we meet her?.........you must watch her when she think you aren’t, and you will notice how her eyes darken with passion every time she loses control when you say something that was nice…oh, and don’t forget to play with her foot, its one of the most erogenous things around, lickability second only to a ferrero rocher…

Its okay if she broke a bed while making love. You really cant hold it against her, can you? When she is 40, buy her a new bed, and break it again.

Just sit down with her. Watch the world and all its cares vanish away as the smoking waves ripple over your muscles, teasing, stretching, warming and cooling you in turns, whispering: all your cares are gone, you are safe now, you are safe…..and you are back to the bush beyond which the forests begin…….

Play her like a Spanish guitar, she loves all things espagnol. Make a mean tequila for her, get her drunk, and take advantage….trust me, she’s the most precious thing you can bring back from a pub. (and she doesn’t have a shred of modesty, so I don’t think she’ll mind)

You make me laugh like no one can, that’s enough reason why I call you home

With her you have all the world to gain, and she has nothing to lose except her virginity….Voila, c’est la revolution quand elle aime! Don’t let her think or she’ll start thinking you feel she is ugly (blame some stupid upbringing antics), just f--- her senseless before she can think. Then tell her to play rannabati with you…..

……..

You feel like you are the luckiest man in the world because you love her and she loves you

It’s the simplest thing in life

scio amo

marbles

2008-12-19T12:41:00.001+05:30

Blues, greens, yellows and oranges
With dollops of the bubble-kisses
But she liked black the best, knitting
Little dreams in her little marbles.

Mirror, mirror, where’s the dreambox?
Lost in the galaxy like her grandma?

- The Shepherdess

2008-12-08T19:44:00.002+05:30

This night this emptiness
This silence at the heart
Young paddy fields, fresh dew
The buffaloes shaking the flies with their tails
Leaves fall swirling the water
The window catches the first drop of light
This womb of joy this silence in every soul
Freshly cooked rice, the milk oozes over
From this light this emptiness
You rise, o prince, o god
There is a mystery where words fail
Only the warm blush hints it, and yet even it fails
We work all day thinking of you
You are the king of this nation
You are the saviour of this people
You are a stranger and yet welcome at every door
Have you seen a sorrowful man that had not within him a strange joy?
There is happiness at the heart of grief
Where all are lost there are the marks of your feet
Asking nothing of you let me behold you in all creation
The devotee’s longing is his song of praise
He sees you in all, yet he longs
You are his desire, for your sake he renounces all desire
The sleep of sorrow passes away

scio amo

2008-12-06T13:51:00.003+05:30

And we the children of destiny
Caught in the hive of bees;
Sugary nights, future’s memories.

- The Shepherdess

2008-12-06T13:48:00.002+05:30

But if we want to be wild
And was born to be wilder,
Dear, why not the latter?

-The Shepherdess

2008-12-03T16:32:00.002+05:30

Mutter…
Whisper…
Speak softly…
Pour some words
In my ear,
Revive it by your voice dear…

2.30am…still the phone lies in silence.

-The Shepherdess

should i call it 'poor poem'?

2008-11-19T16:51:00.001+05:30

Is an A4 size paper liable
To only a single poem?
Otherwise why this poem
(Call it a scribble,
Abandon it as trash,
I don’t mind)
Was afraid of not
Finding a place in the page
Flashing a poem already?
Was it apprehensive of not
Getting the touch of
My fingertips on the keyboard?
Was it anxious meeting a half-hearted
Poetic(you joking right?) soul
(As if this poem was wrong in thinking so)?

Cigarette in one hand, another
Following the Alert mind
Pressing the keys…
Ears filtering in some strange words
Used by the Nazis once…
Poor little poem of mine
What a fateful day you have chosen
To be born,
By a surrogate mother.

-The Shepherdess

nameless

2008-11-19T14:01:00.004+05:30

Just hug me tight
Save me from being lost
In the abysmal darkness.

Hold me in all might
Shelter me from wolves,
Eyes blazing from coldness.

What’s wrong? What’s right?
The world is a maze offering
Cold shoulder to tenderness.

Missing you Solitude, badly.

-The Shepherdess

HOMELESS

2008-09-29T14:41:00.000+05:30

Sometimes it rains ceaselessly
And droplets race down my body
Like some slippery moments
I spent with you on long wet nights.
Sometimes the sun scorches my body
And I miss the silhouette of your body
Against the warm rays of the sun
While I lay in bed feeling blissful
Screened from the rest of the world
Finding a sanctuary in the shadow of your eyelashes
The incandescence of your form
Mellowed the cruelty of the sun
And I’d come alive under the shade of your presence
Sometimes it gets really cold out here
I hold my body tight
And clasp my knees with my arms
And rub my forehead against the inner arc of my elbows
Yet I shiver and shake
And when I search for your reassuring eyes
I find myself squinting in the dark
I miss the blanket of your body
The fire of your touch
I miss burning in your caresses
I yearn for the fever of pleasure
My frozen body wants to melt into yours
Sometimes the streets get breathlessly crowded
And strangers brush past me like I don’t exist
They stare blankly as though I’m just another thing
Some stares longer than the other,
Suddenly becoming aware that there must have been beauty
Residing in me somewhere
I miss being held by your piercing gaze
I remember holding your hands
I remember walking with pride
Knowing in this over brimmed cup of life
You were mine
Secure that I belonged
I had a home.
And I had believed its walls won’t give away.

A home is all I had ever wanted
To be myself with you.
To let the masks slip
To be vulnerable
To give in
To let go
To merge
To disappear
To be free
To be found
To love
To be loved.
My home
Your body,
Your mind,
Your heart
Your soul
My only home.

Then came the tempests
Then shook the earth
The walls couldn’t contain you
Your illicit needs made cracks on the walls
Your indifference took up the entire place.
Yet I endured
My home
Was all I had?
Till it was no more

I’m homeless
A waif
Available now
Vacant
Should I advertise?
They touch me
They promise me shelter
They grope me
They say it’ll last
Just that I don’t live here anymore
Who is it inside me I wonder?
There isn’t me inside of me
Sometimes I miss my home.
Sometimes I really do.
BY
ZAID AL BASET

.......................................

2008-09-19T18:41:00.001+05:30

Do not make promises that will disappoint,
Don’t make me search for eternity in your sparkling eyes

Just let this moment be
Let no past taint its sheen
Let no future mar its gleam,
Just take a snapshot of this moment in your mind
Cause sooner than you think ill be out of your sight
Cause sooner than you wish ill be out of your mind.

I have rummaged for love in this cluttered world,
I have gathered bits and morsels of love,
But let me not forget that love cannot hold me tight
For I’m not what, with which is love defined
No you can’t marry and take me home,
No you can’t hold my hand and feel bold

Don’t tell me you want this to last forever
Don’t be so sure that you will never go away.

I have heard these words so many times before.
I have seen such eyes admire me before
But trust me there a thin line between poetry and abuse
Please believe when I say you won’t stay forever seduced

I’m a magician and I can cast spells
But let me tell you a secret - these illusions will betray
And then you shall run, run for your precious life
And you shall make every moment a beautiful lie

Don’t insist you can love no one but me
Don’t say you are attracted to just me

Love, that fleeting, ephemeral high
Lust, that desperate unbearable sigh
So you felt both with me in your arms
Yet your eyes were closed,
Your senses were numbed with pleasure
You did not realize what I was, did you?
Not a man that in daylight you could abhor
Not a woman who you’d desire in some wet dream
I was just an essence
A promise of love
A soul searching for some permanence
In this temporary world
You neither lusted nor did you love

Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you the dream would break,
Don’t tell you didn’t know that you will wake up and leave.

For I was simply an essence
A promise of love
A soul searching for permanence
In this temporary world.

by ZAID AL BASET

2008-09-15T21:36:00.001+05:30

Watch there, the day coming
Watch the shepherd leading
His brown hair in the wind
Watch there, opens the door
Of the house of love
He comes as gentle as the wind
That plucks the apples from their boughs

Scio amo

2008-09-15T21:36:00.000+05:30

2008-09-04T05:17:00.000+05:30

The rose fades, only its memory remains
The friends have all gone, the Friend remains

~~Scio Amo

2008-09-04T05:15:00.002+05:30

What if I offer you the blue sky?
Will you return then, I have nothing to offer you but my breath
And the blue sky
O friend, will you return?

O heart, what has happened to you?
Without a lover, you have fallen in love

Does the grape wait before fermenting?
You may ask the moth not to sink in fire

I have spent my life gazing at the road
One more day, my heart will not break

Was Ayaz the most beautiful of slaves?
Yet he was acceptable to you

I had a thousand wishes, none could I satisfy
Beauty teased Adam with the curse of mortality

A few sparks were enough to turn my nights to sleepless day
If creation was so beautiful, how beautiful must the creator be?

Four men take me to a bed of flame
An evening of regret for an eternity of ecstasy

The rose fades, only its memory remains
The friends have all gone, the Friend remains
Naked in Eden you saw me,
Now it is you who have removed the veil

Fading summer leaves a warmth on my cheek
When you shall draw away the night, what shall protect me
From your gaze, my friend?

I whirl, all is you, I whirl, I am you
The sun has sent out its light and veiled itself
But all is light, all is you

O gazelle, the perfume is in you, stop your mad longing
The fire you run from, Man, is in you

When the candle is extinguished can you see anymore the burnt moth?
Where I am, you are not, let me die, all will be you

If a beautiful face can leave behind such peace, my heart what will happen to you
When you see the beauty of souls?
Your beloved in flesh has veiled beauty, yet a bird sings of emptiness

I leave the tavern
True drunkards make their house in the street

I have spent my days in dreaming, and my nights in searching for you
Does the victor ever return to what he has won?

Heaven has given us wings, and a lifetime of sorrow
So what? Shall we blame God?

All cry for the martyr except he himself who in death has met God
Never does love find so beautiful a nest as in the executioner’s axe

When the Companion comes you will offer your neck and cease to exist
Why worry what will happen after? Will the pot complain if the potter breaks it?

Sing like the swan and cease to be
You have lived and loved, that is all you are,
Now be silent and let Him love

Scio Amo

who does Scio love? who does he desire?

2008-08-17T00:57:00.001+05:30

A re-affirmation of the love of God

As we met this evening and Zaid made some rather revealing comments while reading tarot cards for me, a question that inevitably arose was on my rather elusive carnal life…it is a pity that Zaid, and less surely, Swastika raised some interesting questions but could not find the answers to. Neither did I have the time to answer them fully and clearly. Here then is a reply addressed to them.

Do I feel carnal attraction? Yes. To whom? To God, and in a particular way. Why?

We feel, I think, carnal attraction when someone sends us certain signals, and we are aroused by them, and respond to a certain way. The question next arises as to why, consciously or unconsciously, we get aroused.

One major unconscious reason is of course reproductive. Evolution dictates that such genes shall survive and be able to propagate themselves as ensure attraction to reproductively compatible beings, females for males, and males for females. The large majority of the gene-pool therefore dictates us to be attracted to human beings of the opposite sex. As women with a certain hourglass shaped waist hip ratio, and milk-giving large breasts, and tall and muscular men who could hunt the best would be most able to ensure the survival of their offspring, therefore evolution again dictated that those genes would survive which ensure our attraction to women or men of these body structures. Other evolution-dependent factors such as facial and bodily symmetry, estrogen or testosterone induced secondary sexual characteristics are also important factors in inducing carnal attraction.

Genes are obviously not the only determinants. Cultural factors (which are as socially produced as the biological ones) have produced their own influence. Fair skin is prized, for example, in both an Aryan-dominated and later colonial-dominated society. A liking for some talent like music or a social characteristic like wildness or rebelliousness or power might all be attractive, not necessarily for merely reproductive reasons, but for the other desires too that we feel.

What I mean to say by this is that carnal desire is nothing spontaneous or natural or some such thing but produced because we desire something and someone makes us feel that they have that something.

The question next arises as to what do I desire.

I desire love.

Perfect love.

I desire safety, security, comfort, redemption, climax, perpetual unending pleasure and everything else that love implies.

Who arouses me and sends me signals that I will get this from that person?

Not human beings. I love my parents, I love my grandparents, I love a very few friends, but not in the carnal way because when I love them I do not put my desire at the forefront of relationship with them. I can’t say I leave my ego completely behind when I deal with them, it would be too saintly, but the desires of the ego, its tensions, angsts, madnesses, passions, crazinesses, everything that one associates not with love, but with one specific form of love, carnal attraction.

With the rest of the world, there are (as for everyone else) fluid hierarchies of affection moving on from liking to dislike, and in a few cases of people who hurt me a lot, hatred.
But I do not feel attracted to them either because I do not think they can give me what I desire.

In short, what I desire is not satisfied by human beings I know. Therefore I do not desire human beings.

Perhaps there is also an element of semi-conscious power involved in this also. The body is very important to me. I like to maintain it as an inviolable sanctuary. All the people who have hurt me have, maximum, hurt me mentally through abusing, jealousy etc. my mind may have been bruised and hurt but never my body. I hate losing control of my body, so I don’t get alcoholic or drunk or engage in sex I don’t desire. My body is a room into which I can always retire into, withdraw into, safe from hurts, safe from the world, the one place where I am sovereign. Hence perhaps there is an element of semi-conscious policy in never being carnally infatuated with anyone because that would mean losing control of my senses, i.e., my flesh to someone else, of surrendering to someone, of becoming someone’s servant, if only from the point of view of the senses. It would mean defeat if that other person did not equally desire me.

Also, with respect to human beings, I am always a top or an equal. I hate to be a bottom, to be passive, to surrender, to lose control to the point that the other person willingly or unwillingly may hurt me. Maybe it is because of the hurt people have caused me, in school, college and university, maybe it has got to do with my ego, possibly with both. Zaid invokes society’s patriarchal power equation to suggest that masculinity lies in being top, active, penetrator. In society’s language then, I am a man with respect to human beings.

Why do I flirt?

With the people I love or care for a lot, and I am excepting my relatives eeeeeeeeeks, flirting is like poetry, a way of reveling in intimacy, of affirming non-physically the bonds we share, the places where our souls cares each other, linger …… you don’t do it in a utilitarian way to attract someone to you, that would be crass and materialistic…..its like how monkeys often scratch each other’s fur or women braid each other’s hair….

With the people I do not care for so much, I flirt to get attention, to make people desire me…..i hate to be ignored, I want to attract others not because I want to engage in any carnal relation with these people, but because I desire their friendship, decrease my loneliness, and because flirting is one way I feel will make them intimate enough to me to the extent that they will not hurt me as the people did to me earlier. It’s a mixture of friendship, of desperate solitude and the depression engendered by it and a natural defence-mechanism…….but it is not, it is never, carnal…

Who am I attracted to then? To the one who gives me what I desire. God. Or the idea of God, if God does not exist.

Why?

I imagine God to be a rock, a saviour, someone who has always been with me, protected me, shielded me, anointed me, and will finally come to me, fold me in the divine arms, and give me peace and rest. God is what I hope for, what I carnally love, the one I think of as the source of every pleasure, every meaning, the source of strength and the remover of loneliness, the meaning behind all metaphors, the beauty behind all beauty, the rewarder and the punisher, even whose punishments give pain only to chastise us and take us to good, to be one with the Good, which is ultimate pleasure. I imagine salvation to be an unending sexual act, an unending love, the way indeed in which our religions generally describe it, Hinduism and Buddhism directly, and Christianity more indirectly.

Adopting the language of a patriarchal society, my seeking for God is in some senses akin to a woman’s seeking a man. Is this abnormal? Yes, from the point of view of secular atheistic or agnostic modernity, no, from the point of view of eternity. Tagore, chaitanya and the vaishnava poets, tantra, the song of songs in the bible and the psalms, bhakti and sufi songs, the Upanishads, the Christian mystics, all speak often of the devotee as a female longing for God the male. Here man and woman are metaphors for the beloved and the lover, the strong and the weak. Chaitanya speaks of feeling Radha-bhav in him, the feeling of being Radha. But gender here is only a metaphor. And it is an unstable metaphor. In vajrayana Buddhism, God is imagined as at rest, as a woman, while the restless devotee is male and seeking union. in Hinduism, it is the female Shakti that is seen as active, and the male Shiva as passive. In medieval troubadour songs, the strong is the woman lady while the weak is the male knight lover. Therefore one cannot on the basis of a narrow 21st c. experience claim that to desire to be passive is to be feminine. In Bengali hindu poems, Shiva is the repeatedly seen as passive, while the active Kali is the one standing on top. It is a poor colonial hangover that makes us ignore these crucial issues.

I desire God. But do I love God? I do not know. My desire for God is in some ways egotistic, I desire God because god has and will save me, protect me etc. this obsession with God is narcissistic then. But that is not the only thing. When I love people or try to do good to them, it is only then that I truly love God for God’s only commandment to us is to love the Other as my Self. I love God when I help my fellow beings.

Why do I help and try in my own small ways to help my fellow beings? I love loving people and being loved in return. Also, I genuinely try to be good to others coz I feel that in those moments God is closest to me, I can feel God………. I feel alive when I am good….i feel rewarded too…..like that night when I was emotionally climaxing while the wind caressed my thighs and I felt one with the universe, alive, alive….

I don’t want to bring desire into the picture with people I love coz desire starts games of power, of seeking attention and so on that often ruins relationships….i have messed up a lot of relationships coz I wanted ppl to not only desire me but give me the love that is fulfilling

Desire and ego and hence carnality are things that for me are directed to God who alone can satisfy them….i try to love God too……perhaps because I want god to protect me in return, to reward me, but that is only partly….i do love, not perfectly of course, but I love…..a few human beings, and God

So why should it wrong that I do not carnally pursue any human being? Why should it be abnormal?

I have had and have some extremely intimate and enriching relationships that by God’s grace I think has allowed me to become in some small ways a better person. Is that not true love? Why should love always be about carnality and desire? Why can’t it be about friendship? Of living everyday? Of feeling the breeze between one’s thighs? Of having some indescribable moments when you feel you have reached the stars? I have had all this..and you still mean to tell me, that I have not loved and been loved in return?

Scio Amo

2008-08-02T16:04:00.001+05:30

when words can't express the paroxysms of my heart, the eyes say it all..and the silence in them speaks for itself, yet you look not, you turn your eyes away.....

by zaid..

confessions of a broken hearted mind part 2; the night

2008-07-29T12:36:00.003+05:30

18: 20: I wish I could bang the phone really hard and throw it away. Alas it’s a mobile phone. I want to squeeze the life out of it. Can’t do that either. Words, your words are creating a pandemonium in my mind, like a thousand bees buzzing inside my head. I can’t whisk them away. (Your words whip the heart)

18:25: Yes. Tying your shoelaces is more important, and that’s just one among the zillion other things that are more important than me. Yes I have incarcerated you, imprisoned you, yes, I must have been a disease which sequestered you from the exhilarating and seductive world. Yes, I’m the shadow that you have been trying to run away from but couldn’t out of mortal fear!!!! Yes I’m must be a monster eating you away. (Strangely though I could never make you stay)

18:45: Sigh! Lying in bed silently, doing nothing. Feeling a little numb, are these things really happening to me? I feel detached, its like a nightmare, where terrible things are happening to me, Im falling, tumbling, breaking, drowning, exploding, arrows are hitting me, knives are cutting me, rocks are bruising me, fire is burning me and yet im placidly asleep. That’s how I feel now. It’s a nightmare all rite, but then again I have the assurance that I would wake up and things would be like they always were. Wouldn’t they? (Things would never be the same again. Never ever, ever!!!)

18:46: I stare at the clock blankly, the minute hand doesn’t work, time seems to have stopped, I stare at it harder, hoping time would move on, hoping that this too shall pass. If only the minute hand showed some sign of movement, it won’t budge. (Three years of living a lie, such a waste)

18; 01; my aquarium looks filthy with overgrown fishes, they stare at me, beseeching me for food, they are perennially hungry it seems, like the hunger of the entire African continent has united inside their bellies. I go n drop some dry pellets which they gobble up with much enthusiasm, they depend on me for food, and I resolve to alleviate their hunger, how American eh? See I could try American, you kept saying we are great losers, that Americans break up on a fast track, like breaking a kit kat I guess….but I can’t, I have a mawkish Indian heart.( I’m sure Americans cry too for love, all humans do,u don’t!! get the point?)

19; 02: spick and span, prim and polished, now your highness has deigned to give me a missed call, such royalty makes me cringe, like the sight of an artistic mix of garbage in front of the slums adjacent to my house, perfect in its repugnance.

19: 10; I call, all I hear is a cacophony of horns and voices and the wind howling like it has nothing better to do, like an eternal bully, howling like its laughing at my misery. Then u tell me all I know, then you confess with a voice so rueful that I could imagine you sitting in a confessional of a beautiful church in the French countryside, such a dulcet voice, and such harsh words. I know you don’t love me anymore, u never really did, I know you aren’t attracted to me anymore, were you ever? We just groped each other for some time and it was fun, but then you realized you were caressing all the wrong things, oops! Wrong number. You never really made love to me; you just sought carnal pleasure (unwittingly I was making love to you)

19; 30: I take out my tarot cards, shuffle them and lay them in a fan spread, like a violet Chinese fan, I choose a card, it’s the reversed knight of cups, which means love is going away, and there is an impending heartbreak. True, so what’s next I ask my cards, and I pick up the devil, of all cards the devil, which means discontentment and depression and all things dark, it also means shackled existence, I’m fettered by my feelings for you, true again, what’s the ultimate outcome? I reshuffle the cards, I choose one, it’s the fool, the first card of the major arcane, symbolizing the air, the freedom of new beginnings, the spirit of hope, strange the fool is the first stage of realization, yup I feel like a fool, a fool of the highest most profound order. (You fooled me with false promises and fake reassurances)

20;00 SILENCE

20;30: well couldn’t help it, tears roll down my cheeks, tried not to but just couldn’t stop myself, I want to heal, I don’t want to hurt, not for a worthless liar, but the truth is I loved, I loved with all my heart, my soul and my body, I loved every moment, I loved every inch of you, I loved like there was no tomorrow, I loved like it would last forever, I loved like ill never love again, I loved like you are my breath, I loved like id never let go, I loved like ill be you, I loved like crazy, I loved you like my life, I loved you like my most precious, I loved you for all that you are, I loved you for all that you couldn’t be, I loved you. I really did love (and I lost)

20;45 kept crying, popped a sleeping pill, want to die, no! no not for a moron like you, but I just don’t want this life, u give it your best and it gives you a kick in the butt!!! I don’t want myself someone who could love so much and is still shamelessly in love….. (Fuckity fuck, I love you)

20;46; feeling inadequate, like I lack something, I’m a little scared how would I walk down the streets seeing the things you desire and covet and realizing I don’t have them( but they’ll never have what I could offer just that you didn’t need it)

21;00 I go to the mirror to look at myself, it’s a habit really, took a hard long look at my face, tiny rivulets of tears on my cheeks, such expressive eyes, so ancient, such pain, such beauty, what the hell? with a face like that, who needs you honey!!!!!!!!!

by zaid al baset

Ode to Nothing

2008-06-14T20:18:00.003+05:30

“Nothing! Nothing can save us from parting ways!” exclaimed my ex-boyfriend. He accused, “You want nothing but a boyfriend, and when you have one, you want everything.” I protested, “I want nothing. I wanted nothing. Period.” He answered my words with a sarcastic smile that was enough to set the fire in me. I yelled, “You are in love with Impeccability. But remember that the maxim ‘Nothing but perfection’ may be spelled PARALYSIS.”

To my agony, my forte in quoting and deconstructing quotes did not work wonders that time. My ex dumped me.

A shroud of gloom enveloped me from that fateful day. I ate nothing. I did nothing. Nothing lured me. Gradually my days and nights were entwined with Nothing. In my reveries, I could think of nothing but of Nothing. At night, I dreamt of Nothing. I searched for the etymology of the word. I explored the thesaurus. A plethora of synonyms greeted me…Non-existence, Non-life, Non-being, Nihility, Nullity…what was that? My eyes caught hold of the word encore. Nihility. Sounds cool. But what does it mean? The internet played my saviour. “Nihilism (from the Latin nihil, nothing) is a philosophical position which argues that existence is without objective meaning, purpose, or intrinsic value.”

“I too believe in Nothing. I too think nothing is superior to Nothing.” My thoughts became profound and elevated. “My existence is attached to Nothing. I am in love with Nothing. I lust after Nothing. Yippee! That makes me a believer in Nothing!”
So you see guys, what Nothing has made out of me! A nihilist, a PoMo in the same league of Derrida!

Nowadays I have nothing to declare but my genius. At social gathering, at addas, people look at me with awe. However, none but I can see at times a lady resembling me cocking a snook at me! Illusion! I bury it instantly. Still her wicked words linger in the air…”Cherie, you are a mere nothing.”

-The Shepherdess

The Sociobiology of BITCH

2008-05-15T14:34:00.001+05:30

The word ‘bitch’ has had a long history to traverse, and on its way across cultures and epochs has taken new meanings, discarded old ones, turned over a new leaf, has been embraced by some, derided by others, some have shied away from using it while others have used it as their takiya kalam, it has instilled a sense of pride in some and some have been shamed by the very label. Bitch is undoubtedly one of the most versatile words in the English dictionary for it exhibits reptilian tendencies of changing its meaning and usage with varying contexts, the word dangerously oscillates between the derogatory and the complimentary and consequently humble recipients of this word are never too sure of how to deal with it.
I use the word regularly being unabashedly fond of it. Infact so enamored I am by this word that I have seldom shirked to advertise myself as one, and have used the label lovingly for my near and dear ones. (Except my parents of course, lines have to be drawn somewhere isn’t it?) bitch for me means everything in general and nothing in particular, if you would ask me to define a bitch, id be rather tautological and contend that a bitch is a bitch is a bitch !!!! But then again what is a bitch and why do I use the word when I love something that someone has done, when it’s nasty and exciting, or when I hate something and its equally nasty and exciting? Why do I use the word to denote a person, an act or simply as a full throated exclamation BITCH!!!! A loud thump of a noise is created from my mouth with my tiny eyes bulging out of its socket and I feel like it’s a job well done, I breathe easy and I feel lighter as if the pressure of the word against my chest has been eased, like I have excreted what refused to metabolize inside me and was desperate to come out and declare itself. Yes bitch is such a word, a word that’s powerful and finds itself being uttered in the most inappropriate situations without any precision of meaning. We all use it, most of us don’t know why we use it and are rather vague about what it means, and to put it philosophically it bridges important gaps between thought and speech.

What made me think so profoundly about this commonplace word??? Well let me narrate an incident that transpired in our beloved orkut, a rather favorite friend of mine, who got married recently and was honeymooning with her spouse had chosen to forget my existence on earth( mind you the debate that prancing around in the arms of a lover in the Swiss alps is heaven achieved doesn’t console me much). Much to my dismay she refused to answer my scraps for sometime which resulted in a large fonted entry in her scrapbook with the ever elusive word BITCH!!!! To which she still didn’t bother to respond, such is the power of newfound love and sex. To add to my woes her hubby saw the scrap, didn’t take it kindly and it culminated into their first fight, wherein the hubby insisted that no friend of hers had the RIGHT to call her wife a bitch, particularly someone who goes by the name witch in orkut!!!!( and is a man). Guess it pricked him at all the wrong places and I was asked to abstain from addressing my beloved friend in the same loving manner again. At a loss of my favorite word bitch I felt grossly inadequate; it took me less than a nanosecond to label the hubby himself a bitch!!!!

The word literally means a she dog. On googling the word I came upon an interesting site which provides clear cut distinctions between the male and female dogs. Male dogs are affectionate, exuberant, food motivated, attentive and aggressive. Cut to the human scene, men are affectionate too (of others wives), exuberant (in displaying their powers and prowess) food motivated (yes food for the stomach n libido!) attentive (to work and female anatomy no doubt) and aggressive (hyperactive balls!). Analogies like this fit well, and are ignored or taken for granted. The problem arises when we consider the bitch. Bitches are independent, stubborn, and territorial, reserved and have mood swings. Clearly in a patriarchal system such qualities have to be suppressed, rendered unnatural for being a woman entails being submissive, pliable, allowing men to treat them as their property, caring and displaying melodramatic emotions, (name it and they feel it). Thus a woman cannot and should not be a bitch. Lo behold if she ends up being one its bad news!!! No wonder the word bitch has been generously used alongside words like ‘slut’ ‘whore’ ‘easy lay’. Society commended that the women bitches had to be condemned. Not surprisingly today’s bitches were yesteryear’s witches and they met with terrible fates, burnt for being perverse for trying to create a place for themselves other than their man’s sacrosanct feet.

Clearly then when it came to the question of finding a voice and an identity in this unequal world, women especially the bra burning, chest thumping brigade decided to elevate the status of the bitch, they embraced the identity, they reveled in it, they united through it. Finally bitching and gossiping received it due status in the scheme of affairs. Obviously there are the puritans who still regard a bitch- woman as a bitch-dog and that is understood as not a very nice thing to aspire for.

Palpably bitch and bitching were emerging as female hegemonic traits challenging the hegemonic masculinity and its consort, the emphasized femininity. Obviously men had to save their balls, had to penetrate (the desire doesn’t expire till death) and encroach by subverting the power that was being associated with the feminist acceptance of the word bitch. What did they do? They gave birth to the male bitch, gay, effete and rather low in the masculine hierarchy, it all began in prisons, where prison bitch were men who were passive recipients (polite way of saying they were sodomised) of the desire of the more powerful or senior inmates, men are horny by nature, if they don’t get women, men of certain kinds would suffice, so carpe diem it was. So men didn’t even allow a women to be a bitch peacefully, such tyrannical usurpers of identity were never born. Even this did not satiate them so then emerged the trend of male gossip reputed to be as pernicious as its female counterpart and clearly the word bitch lost its sexual exclusivity, and since then the word has taken a plethora of meanings and can be used for everything and anything under the sun. so now there are male bitches , female bitches, sexy bitches, gay bitches, lovable bitches, sweet bitches, bitchy bitches, bitch bitches ( I mean the she dog) infact even life has become a bitch !!!! It’s fascinating, the uniqueness and adaptability this word is capable of, I won’t be surprised if a new bitch cult emerged worshipping the word bitch.

Well I think I have bitched enough, wagged my tail enough its time I bitch off!!!!
But before I do that id love to raise a toast or let’s just say a tail to all the self confessed bitches of the world. Stay a bitch and keep bitching!!!!!!

BY
ZAID AL BASET
© 2008 by Zaid

2008-04-30T23:56:00.000+05:30

I come to your tent,
Grapes trail my hair.
The best wine you have left
Till the end,
When the sun set, we were two,
The rising sun sees us one.
O wind of Jerusalem,
O wind of Beirut,
Tell my mother not to look for a bridegroom anymore.

April 30- may 1, 2008.

Scio Amo

2008-04-29T18:40:00.001+05:30

What is this night when the ecstasy a thousand saints
Got by a thousand years of piety
I got by getting drunk
And offering my head to the executioner’s axe?

April 27th, 2008

Scio Amo

2008-04-29T18:39:00.001+05:30

For the love of God

I do not seek a lover
To settle down,
But to quench my thirst before
I move to another.
My heart is an empty mihrab
Lusting for the sun as he throws off his night clothes
And rises to hear the muezzin’s prayer.
I steal my way to the mosque not to pray
But to watch him in whose beauty
I am lost.
I hold the book, with jasmines among its pages
Pressed, to smell his fragrance.
Light laughs among the branches, even his mocking
Makes me shiver.
What is this pain that only increases my desire?
Satan wants me, and I want God
What is this desire where no one gets what he loves?
I slept one night with darkness, and darkness now wants as her cost
My soul.
Let her wait in the tavern, I shall not come.
What was that night when I made love to darkness as a man on his bridal night
But saw in her eyes only my absconding God?
Who shall love me and not be scalded?
Who shall marry me and not have to share me with another?
What is this wedding when I give vows to one, and am faithful to another?
What is this Faith that has made me an infidel?
Tell me, Fire, before whom I walk seven times
What is this wedding when I am married to one and betrothed to another?
What is this love where I have broken all idols to worship an idol in a mosque?
People say I am a kafir, let them say what they want.
I am an infidel for God, let them say what they want.
If they stone me it will not be so pleasing as when they cut to pieces
A better man than me.
Mansur met his lover at the executioner’s axe
Let me at least get an ill reputation for the sake of God.

April 27th, 2008

Scio Amo

2008-04-29T18:38:00.001+05:30

I dive into pools of fire
Your eyes are cool green pools of flame
If hell can bring so much pleasure
Where turtle doves make their nests
What need have I of heaven?
Even the sun blushes when you rise from bed,
And night flees like a girl who has seen too much
Your looks are as harsh as Judgment day,
I uncover my neck to the executioner’s axe.
The muezzin calls you the compassionate one.
Either he knows nothing or he lies to win your favor.
You have set fire to my senses,
When I saw you I lit mine own funeral pyre.
I know nothing, only I feel a pain I cannot explain
Even when I am in the company of my friend.
I am a prisoner of my pain, the evening breeze
Holds me captive by a broken heart
To the hell you made only for me and you.
I am a fool, so I take pleasure in the marks on my wrist
And come as you fan the wounds on my neck
You bit yourself to stifle my cry.
You closed my mouth, so I speak.
You save me, I die (perverse me),
From a surfeit of pleasure.

April 27th

Scio Amo

2008-04-29T18:36:00.000+05:30

Men are metaphors.
You alone are real.
We exchange our lovers
As a dirty moneylender his coins.
You alone, beneath the slapping of sweating palms
And sweating flesh,
Endure.
You are the hollow after every unfinished coitus,
The unclean feeling, the soiled sheets
Fanned by the spring breeze.
You are that breeze,
The mango tree in the courtyard while an alien
Destroys my body and destroys my house
Like a storm ripping through thatched huts.
You are the lazy black buffalo
Among the lotuses,
The rest.
You are the law.
And the lazy lad who breaks it
While coming home from school
One afternoon.

27th april, 2008.

Scio Amo

2008-04-29T18:32:00.000+05:30

Every pore of your body breathes of violets and lilies,
Roses bloom when I smile at you.
What need have I of spring
When you are there by my side?

You brush the kaash from my hair,
I lie down on the grass.
You burn me, my palms cool,
What need have I of monsoon
When you are there by my side?

Why do they bow down before nameless stone
When in the play of sun among the mango leaves
In the tree I planted in my grandma’s yard
And on this waving grass and the billowing clouds
In this waiting, and the joy of seeing you again
You are always by my side.
I once was lost, but you found me out.

April 29, 2008.

~~Scio Amo

pour Milou

2008-04-18T07:01:00.002+05:30

Under a star-lit sky
In a room corner
She sat quiet
With Champs-Elysees
Twinkling in her eyes;
While spreading wit and charm
Bringing the sun
From the dark outside,
You stepped forward
“Comment vous apelez vous, Mademoiselle?”
Since then thousand little dreams are dreamt
Dancing with the white gardenia
Rushing on the wind of bohemia…

Merci Milou, pour m’ apporter les reves du vent.
Bises.

Swastika

godless'ness'

2008-04-15T20:17:00.002+05:30

I saw a cross among a crowd of buildings while driving on a flyover, atop a church which was not visible. It had red lighting along it edges which made it stand out against the black and white background, the blackness of the night sky and the dull white of tall buildings. Cars move fast on a flyover since there are no speed breakers, no traffic so obviously the cross vanished from my sight as soon as it had appeared, yet I had a desire to stare at it hard and long. It was a fleeting but fetching sight, as exhilarating as spotting a shooting star. And just like a shooting star is lost before we can close our eyes and wish for our deepest desires to come true, this bleeding cross passed me in a flash. I’m not a Christian and neither a religious soul at least not in the way people define being religious. Yet the sight of the red shining cross overwhelmed by huge buildings made me wonder if in our city god feels a little claustrophobic. The city life, the busy life, the hard life has profaned god; god is now just another building among a plethora of others albeit of a different shape and size as though we have shown some grace and kindness to him by placing him in a different looking building. A building with a dome houses Allah, a building with a cross is the abode of Jesus, and a building with ornate carvings is where the Indian idols (not the singing variety) reside. It’s easy to recognize each of these buildings and their respective gods but it is easier to ignore them in a city like ours. How many times have we crossed these buildings and spat on the pavement in front of these sacrosanct structures? the adventurous few have also relieved their bladders on the walls surrounding these buildings. They do not have anything against god per se; there isn’t any real malice in their hearts, just that public toilets are a huge paucity in our city and like all other things we men have little patience and perseverance when it comes to controlling the pressure. At least gods have some space left to themselves, we humans are overflowing everywhere like flooded drains, and I think we are invading god’s space in more ways than one.

A bizarre question comes to my mind; many would think it rather perverse, what is more important for the bustling cityscape more toilets or more space for god? I think I’d avoid answering the question lest the VHP, the Fatwa Committee n all other religious organizations label me a blaspheme for equating toilets to religious spaces and pose serious threats to my existence on the planet. All I’m saying is that both toilets and gods are a necessity for most of us and both are having an existential crisis in our city’s public space.

God made us we are made to believe, god made earth our home then why on earth are we limiting god’s spaces, these days all we get in the name of houses are concrete boxes, with very little space for our own existence, so god’s space in our homes have reduced too, mostly its gone. Though strangely enough we have nicer toilets, with new state of art equipments like jet sprays! Clearly we are not giving god his due space. We are the meanest children that ever could be.

But then again the battle for space is not simply physical; I think what has transformed more dramatically than the cityscape is our mindscapes. We haven’t forgotten god, god forbid us if we do. We are still very religious, when we are very tired we do say “oh god”, when the examination papers are difficult we do say ‘shit god’ when we see that snobbish hot babe in skimpy clothes walking ahead of us we whisper ‘oh my god’, when we see couples indulging in public display of affection we exclaim ‘hey ram’ when we can’t bear those aches we shout ‘ya Allah’ when we have forgetten something that we should have remembered we cant help but sigh ‘jesus!’ of course we pray to god morning , day and night, reminding him off all the things he hasn’t given us like good marks, nice salary, hot partner, the latest mobile phone, the split A/C, the flat with a verandah and before I forget the angrezi style toilet, we remind him that we love him and because we love him he must love us back and the only way he can convince us of his love is by giving us, through some ingenious twist of fate what we don’t have. We also need god to blame him for all the things we haven’t been able to accomplish. Its difficult enough to accept failures in a city where we are judged all the time, to take the blame for the same is just beyond human capabilities, so there always a god in hand to dump our failures upon, truly a god in times of such pressing needs is a god indeed. But of course we are religious people; we are as religious as we can conveniently be.

In a city like ours, its not god who has created us, it is we who have created god, a god we can conveniently pray to, love, ignore, hate, argue with, philosophize about, riot over and most importantly dominate. We provide him space if we chose to; we kick him out if there’s no room for him, we follow him only through our selfish motives, we take him for granted like spoilt children. In a city like ours god has ceased to reside in our edacious hearts. He is a figment of our stressed out minds, a cheap and effective balm to the headaches that the city life gives us. In a city like ours there is no real god, it is we who have perfected the art of playing with gods and deceptively letting god assume that its him who calls the shots, truly the only space god can claim today is a fool’s paradise.

by
zaid al baset
© 2008 by Zaid

the abyss of love

2008-04-10T17:17:00.000+05:30

Tumbling down faster than the waterfall
And crashing against the obstinacy of my feelings
Breaking into tiny droplets of hope
Against the hardness of your indifference
My bruised soul begs for freedom
Freedom from the pangs of you
Yet there is no satiety in the horizon.
Hunger fulfilled is only hunger renewed

Has falling water ever stood to rest?
Have the hard rocks softened a little?
Another cruel law of love I guess
What falls keeps falling
Faster and faster
Into the abyss of love.

There are no oases to rejuvenate
There are no lifts to rise again
There is no light
But for the burning within the soul
There are no platforms for temporary breaks

Once the heart skips a beat
Once the heart slips a bit
The soul is left with no choice
Its falls forever
Into the abyss of love.

by zaid al baset
© 2008 by Zaid

2008-04-08T23:26:00.001+05:30

You are the infinite sky.
I rush out to open every window to meet you.
I make love to you in every room so that everyone can see us.
I fear no blame.
You are the starless chest of the night, the sunlit heaven shaking oiled locks.

I fear no evil when you are with me,
You who are the cause of everything,
Not a blade of grass can perish except in your love,
No wound but that made by your teeth.

I tell you I love you in the sunshine, I tell you in the rain
You only smile, say nothing, yet you love me more than I ever
Could.
How can you show so much in just a wink?
The sun I think smiles to me and the clouds hold my hand
The world is a garden, I swing from the four horizons
You are everywhere, we’ll never be apart

Let the neighbor girls say what they will
I have hung out the soiled sheets to dry in the monsoon breeze

You are everywhere, I whirl, I run from you to you
Everywhere your hands, everywhere your smile
All is you, all is in you
Still I move apart and say, in my foolish pride,
I love you
I love you my love
I love you so.

~~Scio Amo

2008-04-08T23:26:00.000+05:30

Through the waking hours, I somehow go on. When I sleep, the nightmares come. Familiar figures become enemies, strange beings that try to attack me. And I am alone, or hold on for support to friends from forgotten memories. I wake again, and feel hopeless, suffocated. I see injustice around me, and apathy, and amorality, and I do not know how to stop it. I interfere, and the results perhaps worsen. My good intentions are stairs leading nowhere. No one is good enough to tell me what to do, what is certain, what is moral, what I should do even though it means sacrificing my interest. My heart is cunning and treacherous and has walled itself. My brain moves in mysterious delirious paths. I feel no reason to live and no courage to die. Only hope remains, and that too seems a mirage.

Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani?

Why have you turned your face away from me?
Have I sinned?
Did you not promise to stay with me even though I was not strong all the moments of my life?
Why do you desert me now that I am trying to be good and courageous?

I have no hopes from men. If you forsake me, who shall I have?

I find you in my tears. I embrace you in my pain. When I am too broken to think of anything but you, there are you, golden, waiting for me.

You are dark, and into your arms like dark fire, I run. You cool my soul, you soothe my dreams, you lead me to green pastures.

In a thousand strange faces I have sought you, their hearts were cold, though I sought warmth in their embrace. I sought you in them, but you were not of them. In my pain were you, in my tears, in my joy are you, and in my hope. You are in my heart, and you are everywhere, the others are only veils to hide your warmth.

Burning as the Yule log, you are my memory, my myrrh and my frankincense, the beauty of every form I have adored, the ardor of my sins, and the scarlet of my blush, the melody of every note I have heard and every song I have sung from evening to dawn and from dawn to night, you are every word that has given me solace and every word that has fanned my lust for you, you are the stars that alone have seen me cry and the sun who has dried my tears, you are the honey in the spring breeze, and the good that is in each man, you are my punishment and the red bruises of my memory, you are my reward, you are what I have mistakenly sought in every man, and you are that which makes them desirable, you are the final meaning of everything, you are my love, my virtue, my chastity, my pride. You are a lion among the gods and a wolf among men, the anger in the lightning and the smile of the first rain. You are everyone and everything I see, there is nothing beside you, you trap me in icy forms, you set me free from the glass of this world. You are all right and all wrong, all that I have ever desired, all that I ever shall desire, the fullness of incomplete flesh, the fullness of incomplete spirit, the truth of all religions and the untruth of all flesh. You are beauty and blindness, the song the deaf can hear. Come to me,bring me to yourself, let no veil stop our union. Let my flesh be a sacrifice to you, and my spirit an evening hymn. Beauty of beautiful forms, blood of kinship, you who are all, I am drunk in you and I feel no shame. Let me realize you, be naked to me, do not hide yourself. I am an empty well that thirsts for you, a spring in summer, a barbarian’s heart. Joy of my loins, salvation of my soul, my God, my spouse, come to me tonight.

I sacrifice myself to you, let this smoke show you the way to my bed and the stars be a nuptial flower.

Ps: both this post and the post after it, namely the song “you are the infinite sky” were written last night, 7-8 april. 2008. It was while writing the above post that acute despair gradually began to change into joy.

Pps: might be an example of bipolar disorder with short duration cycles lolz or of Deus ex machina 

Scio amo

Contemptuus Mundi

2008-03-29T05:16:00.000+05:30

I am fine.
I really am.

I dunno why I am telling you all this. Must be that insane possessed urge to tell the truth that has been the undoing of the cleverest of men. I who am a mere jester cannot pretend to have more power over my tongue than to let it loose as a snake without a charmer.

I am disgusted with the world. If it’s not a malady, if all of us from time to time have that sickening world weariness, then there’s nothing more to it. Disgusted by almost every person I see, meet, hear. If the world were a glass ball, I could easily dash it on the ground, see it crumble, without a heart beat’s regret.

Disgusted with forms. Repulsive, those forms that promise all, and deliver nothing. Hungry gaping faces yawning for a kiss, needy hands roughly tearing apart a shirt, gestures without meaning, acts only, mindless habits, a geometry of meaningless want.
I am disgusted with every face I see, I want to bury myself as it were in endless horizonless snows.

There has never been a dearth of people who have liked me, some who have liked me passionately, spouting the most inane words of emotion that would have been laughably clichéd if they were not so morbidly interesting in delineating the hackneyed phrases that define an epoch more than its famous artists or authors. Words. Words. Words. Ghosts of forms, ghosts of turpitude, swollen like the engorged member of a syphilis victim.

The latest was/is a girl who has been saying the most emo things to me for some time, telling me how she misses me when I am not with her, how she is fond of me, likes me, feels a connection with me, is angry with me when I spurn her (or so she imagines) to talk to others……. You know the drill. Passion has its drill no less exacting than the schoolmaster’s, so I played along. But I was naughtier this time, or just wanted to finish the game faster. So I scratched beneath the surface, itched and scratched, scratched and scratched (all the things barred in foreplay that is) and out came out the fact that I was lower in her hierarchy of affection than the cats and dogs she keeps in her ménage.

Much the same can of course be said about most of my other professed friends. They might like me, feel some images of passion while recollecting me in tranquility, miss me when I am not with them, feel a knife in their heart when I flirt with others……… but at the end of the day, most would gladly give me up for a sip of afternoon herbal tea, or a film they like, or some such trivial dainty.

Vanity, vanity, all is vanity. It is my vanity to believe that I can ever be more precious to someone than the piece of porcelain in their drawing room, a blue Ming to be cried over if the cat broke it, to be exhibited to fawning neighbors for its peculiar talents, and simply to be kept and missed at alternate intervals of meaningless reverie.

It is my vanity to look with pure and unadulterated disgust on all such people.

A relationship ends not with a bang, or a sudden betrayal generally. It erodes languidly when the urge of passion turns into the monotony of duty. Duty, that heavy word that makes us perform a relationship, and carry its pastoral burden long after all interest in it has ceased, long after it has become for us the drinking of a mirage. We carry on (some rascals don’t) , giving answer for answer, advice when sought, and solace when necessary, but our heart has long left that place.

We are birds that thirst for love. And if you wish to keep us in a gilded cage, you know that you have already lost your battle. For though we are in this world, we are not of it. We desire something more than the drill of forms, this march past of one affair after another.

I could have carried on playing games with that girl. That peculiarly wonderful game of one-upmanship that some misconstrue to be genuine affection. Advance, retreat, advance, retreat, that contredanse, that show of love followed by a quick coldness that leaves the recipient with her or his tongue hanging out much as Pavlov’s dog would wait on its master. We have played that game many times before, we know how to snatch desire from the jaws of boredom. A game is won when you are no longer interested in it, much as in tennis, love is only loss, some would say.

They are wrong. Love never loses, it alone remains long after you are disenchanted with puerile sports. Love of a dream. Love that doesn’t appear as games you have to win, where you lose if you show too much the throb of your heart at a stranger’s carelessly thrown words. It appears as an yearning and a weariness, a quenching and a thirst.

A fire that makes ashes of the world, and makes us run after rocks. a rock. A shoulder. A simple sun warmed blanket. Call it what you will.

Laying down on a green field blooming with violets and myrtle, and roses with dew on their cheeks. Resting one’s head on someone, in a peace gentler that the grave’s, and more immortal than heaven.

The end of desire is only the beginning of love.

~Scio amo.

Don’t walk away in anger

2008-03-13T00:23:00.002+05:30

Don’t walk away in anger
I shall fight when they drag you away
I wear your chain around my neck
I’ll be back, you say
When the spring wind caresses your cheek again
And the hazel tree has bloomed
With the color of your eyes.
I’ll free you, I can’t live without you
What the law has bound I shall set free
Your blush sets the rose afire
Your love makes the forbidden free.
Let the neighborhood girls say what they want, Khusro
Trails of roses have sapped the prison bars
You don’t care, they are just jealous
You made love to your darling this afternoon.

Scio amo

2008-03-13T00:23:00.000+05:30

A field of grapes
The moon, a glass of wine
And you pressed against my brow
A midnight ritual
A sealed letter, a secret wink unwillingly
Stolen
Don’t talk to me of letters, don’t break your vow
To stay with me
Now and forever
You are all I have, this rising pillar of fire
You break through symbols encrusted on glass
…
I make love to you over broken words, roses torn
You prowl on me, I trip over a stack of books
My thighs inscribe the turns of your tongue
I love, you catch my tongue,
I speak.
(I cannot speak unless I love).

Seems the four winds rise from your navel
And the night swirls in the sorrow of your eyes
I nick your shoulder, you laugh
And the Sun rises.
Like blood
On a bullfighter’s chest.
What care I if the world has drowned or not,
If you are there by my side,
You and I are enough for the ark.
All shall bloom in spring’s field of grapes
And men shall come out of their caves
All shall bloom in Adonis’ garden
And stare and stare at the blinding light
But none shall know you so well as me,
My love
My all.

You look at me
Wearing nothing but your smile.

Throwing off the drapes and sheets
Crumpled by your warm sighs
Lover mine, I think
The sun rises every day from our bed.
Even as I laze on your arm.

Scio amo

TEMPTATION

2008-02-28T01:24:00.000+05:30

You look at me
A little scared
A little hesitant
Ah you try to resist my temptation
My long slender shiny curve
Am I too hot for you?
Shall I burn your tongue?
Ah the redness of my skin
Doesn’t it spice your fantasies?
I know you undress me in your mind
I know you long to sniff my body
I know I smell of secrets
And treasures you have always hunted
Yet your hands shake when you bring me close
Yet your lips quiver against my smooth skin
Are you too pious to sin?
Are you not daring enough?
I know you always weigh the pros and cons
But don’t you know the eternal law
That pleasure comes only from pain
I know you want me inside your mouth
Ah but I see you know I sizzle
So you are scared to burn?
I know I can make you cry
I know I make you salivate
Ah my friend I can feel the fire in your lions
Ah I see they warned you against me
They said you’ll gasp for breath,
Your tongue will burn like hell
You will thirst for more
Oh those silly prudes what do they know
Insipid lives they led and died
I’m sure you don’t want to be like them…
There I see your eyes stare at me
You are ready to devour me
I’m a challenge ain’t i?
You don’t like me being such a tease
Well then what are you waiting for
Here I’m shiny slender and naked
Waiting to be tasted
Burning red
Tantalizing red
Inviting red
Come bite me
For I’m your red chilli!!!

BY
ZAID AL BASET
© 2008 by Zaid

FORBIDDEN

2008-02-10T00:38:00.000+05:30

Drenched yellow flowers on wet earth
That fell from trees shivering in the rainy cold
Fill the night with an intoxicating excitement
Huddled together, along a slender pathway
They escape the grasp of the brutal winds
Like children running away from an angry mother
I gaze at the patterns they make on the ground
The demure yellow flowers tease the salacious earth.
They distract me for a moment or two
And suddenly I tremble from head to toe
In desperate anticipation of you
Wrapped in a warm blanket
My body yearns for you.

The wheels of the cars that pass by
Crush these flowers under it
Stains and bruises the helpless petals.
Again that same shiver runs down my spine
I press my hands against my thighs
To control these uncontrollable fits of passion
I can’t explain the paroxysm
All I want is to be crushed against you
All I want is to suffocate in pleasure
All I want is to feel oppressive pain

Piercing needles of water strike the widow panes
The wind spanks the door over and over again
And all I want is to gasp and groan
And all I want is to hurt and moan
In desperate anticipation I wait
To be your obedient slave.

BY
ZAID AL BASET
© 2008 by Zaid

In Quest of “Missing You”

2007-12-28T18:43:00.000+05:30

What is meant by “missing you”? How grave is the word “miss”? The introspection is doing the round since I have read one of my buddies’ custom message on GTalk which read "She was the prettiest one, save a sad song for her. Benazir we will miss you."

Yea, as you all know the charismatic leader has been assassinated yesterday in Rawalpindi. Sad enough, the poor lady appearing to be the meatiest part in this post is nothing but the catalyst to delve deep into the sea of “miss u”. Sorry Ms Bhutto, to “use” you even after you have left the mortal world. May your soul rest in peace. Amin!

me: lol

Godspeed: ??

me: benazir missed by an indian- be-nazir act indeed

Godspeed: beauty is not bound by boundaries and LOCs
all this after im pro musharraf

me: there r 1000s of beauties like benazir
she was intelligent. pretty. assassinated

Godspeed: but there aint 100s of Benazirs...

me: am shocked.
thats all

Godspeed: am not ...
she had the guts to live thru all the heats..
and not chicken away...
leaders are different...

me: but to be missed by a common Indian...balderdash

(meanwhile, mirza’s take on the issue of missing Miss Bhutto :

me: aaaargh
she is dead. assassinated. am shocked. buty what more? she was never from us
"She was the prettiest one, save a sad song for her. Benazir we will miss you."
this is wat one of my pals has written on his custom msg
……………………………………………………………………………

mirza: ask the pal to go and fall in the deepest darkest part of hell
benazir is waiting thr)

Godspeed: ye its human too.
the person u keep seeing on tv and read about in evry daily.suddenly u hear she is dead...
sounds a little more realistic than falling in love with some spanish actor ........

me: that makes u miss her

Godspeed: unheard in the wide world of english speakers

me: dint know the profundity of ur immature self

Godspeed: ye .......
sachin retires .....
wont we miss him
ganguly dropped

me: sachin will be missed by all the cricket lovers

Godspeed: dont we miss him

me: benazir will be missed by common pakis
but us?
dont be ridiculous

Godspeed: you are a very closed minded buffon
expand your horizon...babe

me: u missed another "o"

Godspeed: how can u question whether i miss her or not...

me: coz of this
"She was the prettiest one, save a sad song for her. Benazir we will miss you."
think rationally

Godspeed: ye

me: she was definitely not ur every nite fancy
but bernal is
most of the time

Godspeed: if we can listen to songs like Candle in the wind ...

me: i enjoyed his presence on screen

Godspeed: thts ur problem

me: dont dare compare him to that corrupt woman

Godspeed: i used to find her charismatic....
man ... u dont identify doesnt mean noone does..

me: even i find her charismatic, that doesnt mean we indians r goin to MISS her

Godspeed: To miss someone you cant have any conditions applied
wat corrupt...

me: yea wat corrupt

Godspeed: she is a courageous leader

me: even we r corrupt

Godspeed: ye evry one is

me: oh yea courage comes b4 corruption
be courageous to be corrupt

Godspeed: ye sure
ye
the first female leader of an islamic state..
take some balls

me: and y do u hav prob wid my falling in love wid the mexican actor?
yea bernal is mexican not spanish

Godspeed: i dont have problems with your third world dreams

me: oh 3 rd world
and pakistan is...in the 1st rung
wow

Godspeed: i never said wat is wat
just said third world

me: coz ?

Godspeed: pakistan is more in news than mexico
more powerful as a nation

me: mexico is third world state
yea coz of laden
how honorable

Godspeed: a little more GDP than mexico

me: plz dont bring economics here

Godspeed: third world is economics

me: u may now say swiss r culturally rich than indians!
i dont care

Godspeed: richer chocolates

me: mexico= frida, maya, colors, tequila, life
pakistan= veils, army rule, dark ages

Godspeed: it is ideally natural to identify with pakistanis than with mexicans on the other side of the world

me: how fascinating it is to hear that u second our eighbour

Godspeed: i have a lot of paki friends

me: so hav i

Godspeed: and i talk to them over ph..
wanna find out how much they are like us..

me: that doesn’t mean we will prefer the state to Mexico

Godspeed: i don wanna know bout Mexico...
simple i kno lots of pakis

me: then dont compare it wid that al Qaeda land

Godspeed: i kno the situation there
pakistan is not al Qaeda land

me: so u put pakistan ahead of mexico
how logical

Godspeed: then bengal is a naxal state

me: so?

Godspeed: any day
my neighbours

me: bengal isnt run by some general

Godspeed: if pakistan plays any other country i support them
ex general
get ur records rite

me: here u can ogle at women...poor paki men, all they can do is to be lost in the darkness of veils

Godspeed: thts misconception

me: oh ex.....i am so happy to know

Godspeed: pakistani majority is like us
its a few islamic radicals

me: that doesnt mean we will bring that country ahead of mexico

Godspeed: and benazir & nawaz sharif was trying power on the radical support

me: that doesnt permit u to insult my admiration for vernal

Godspeed: the radicals dont want musharraf
musharraf is himself very western and liberal

me: plz i know the contemporary history of paki

Godspeed: insult...... vernal
not interested with some culture i donno
these are as good as hebrew to me...

me: coz u r hardly interested in oder cultures

Godspeed: im not unrealistically obsessed like you are
im not
i sell to ppl of my land

me: wet dreaming benazir is so rational....i never knew

Godspeed: i don have time for anything
wet dreaming.....
it aint so .....even if

me: u do hav time to be a part of a brawl for winning a lost case

Godspeed: doesn’t matter win or lose
our neighbour
thtts period

me: who cares

Godspeed: neighbour ********************** global culture *******
be open to ideas and respect others likings

me: plz
dont try to sell me ur ridiculous custom msg

Godspeed: tui jerokom 1000 reasons dite parbi y benazir
i can also give 1000 reasons y carnal Bernal

me: charnal bernal
wow
i like it

Godspeed: so dont think u r rational ..........
everyone is ...

me: ufff...u r going a diff way
i watch bernal's pix
i mean movies
benazir wasnt a part of my life

Godspeed: i like benazir as a courageous leader

me: uff abar shei katha
u admire her, respect her. i understand

Godspeed: a female face in the radical islamic world

me: but how can u miss her when she played no part in ur life?

Godspeed: a leader who embraced death for her ppl
tho i feel musharraf is a better leader for pakistan
how can u say she hasnt
she taught me a lesson
nothing shud deter you from pursuing your goal
a small lesson but a lesson

me: and u will miss her

Godspeed: tht cud make my life different

me: i doubt if u really mean thw ord "miss"

Godspeed: miss
simple word
miss her in the newspapers
miss the issues
miss her on tv

me: mis(s)understand

Godspeed: miss about reading about her in the forthcoming elections

me: how praiseworthy

Godspeed: thts ur mistake with english
miss is a simple word

me: benazir is bestowing blessings n love on u from hell

Godspeed: fuck off .........

As soon as Godspeed uttered the four letter word, it was he who disappeared! Must be the supernatural power of Ms Bhutto…a modern, smart, intelligent lady with occidental outlook can hardly bear her ardent fan across the border using abusive language…that too to an innocent meek vulnerable soul.

After coming to learn about the heated episode:

mirza: u know in this heat, u missed out poor rawalpindi local(Mr. Shoaib Akhtar).
He def deserved a mention

me: hey i was thinking of him wen i heard of the venue
i will blog it
but mirza honestly tell me
if u dont fancy benazir, how can u miss her being an afghan cave dweller?

mirza: is that a trick question?

me: na
just reply that

mirza: you don’t miss someone no cause they are dictators or some hosh posh politician..just how close they were to you

me: exactly...
thats wat my point is
how can u miss her? u may feel sorry for her. but miss...thats a big word

mirza: anyways..probably all he needs is a quite thinking over and he will be through

me: and he is a senior copywriter!

mirza: well lets start with a resignation!

- The Shepherdess

For Swas, For us

2007-12-20T03:08:00.002+05:30

Dansez gitane
Dansez bohemienne

Lalalala lalala
Fire on my wine
Knives in your eye
Foot flints the snow and flings
Showers at the starry sky
Throwing winter’s blossoms
Waltz of mist and light.
lalalala lala la la la

Hold my hand, dance into the sky
Lala la la
Your face peers from a hundred mirrors
Trapped in glass lakes, I still
Dream of you
Dansez!
Leap over the fire to the pole star
And the dragon’s mouth

Torches in their brackets, spilt wine
Rotting on rose stems, grapes
Tendril your hair

Dansez gitane, dansez bohemienne
Spend your youth or die
Timeless time flies
Snowflakes melt on my nose
Stamp your feet on the snow
They rise to star the winter sky with
Flaring breaths of lost passion
Lalalalala lalalala

Lalalal
Clap ur hand
Beat ur drums
Shadow princes rise and die
Once upon a dreamtime
Breaking your tenthousand sleep
Words of sigh swim across the sky

“love tonight, or die…

-- Scio semper Amo

2007-12-18T17:19:00.000+05:30

On va chanter
On va danser où
La parfum de la pluie luit.

-The Shepherdess

FAREWELL

2007-12-01T01:06:00.000+05:30

My bags are packed …
I took everything I could
But some things are left behind.
I couldn’t bear the load
Some memories are scattered here and there
Few words of love
Some abuses you hurled at me
Uncomfortable silences

I couldn’t take away my tears
They fell off my eyes
Like orphaned raindrops
And you didn’t wipe them dry
U were looking away….
So I have left them behind
Don’t worry they wont stain your floors.

I think I lost my smile somewhere too
Looked around everywhere
Rummaged through all our dusty rooms
I couldn’t remember where I had kept it away
I guess you had snatched it some time ago.
Maybe it’s still there with you.
I don’t think you will treasure it
So let it free sometime

Oh yes I also left my dreams behind
And some unfulfilled wishes too
But of course I couldn’t carry my expectations with me.
And my desires just refused to contain themselves inside my bag.
So I threw them all away
Out of the window of our room
I saw them falling like feathers
Slowly being swayed by the breeze
I guess they wanted to be rescued
To be saved and secured…
But I let them go
You never cared for them anyways
And what would they do when I’m gone?
I saw them lying broken on the streets
Weeping silently, they were crushed by footsteps
I saw it all
I felt like a murderer
But you had murdered them many times before.

Another thing was too heavy for my bag
Lots of unanswered questions
That kept darting across my mind.
Why didn’t you care enough?
How was I a sadist?? When I got all the hurt???
How was I the cheapest?? When all I asked was love??
Why did you break all those promises that I gave my all to keep???
So a bag full of questions I locked inside a cupboard.
They kept shouting for answers
Maybe someday you will find their answers
Now all your time is yours, so just spare some for them….

And finally there something else I just couldn’t take with me …
I placed some below your pillows...
I left some on my side of our bed...
I sprayed some like perfume all over our home.
Maybe you will hear them at night like a melancholy lullaby
Maybe you will listen to them when you miss my voice
Maybe you will feel them in your silences
Unsaid words I’m leaving behind
I know they’ll reach you when I’m gone
Unsaid words….
That I love u
That you will be missed
When you are tired of your noisy music
All I ask is just try listening to them…..
Unsaid words
Like a story never told…
Like a song never sung…

Well then, its time to go…
The bag is ready, waiting by the door…
I’m leaving…letting you go…
I’m walking really slowly…
Quietly, towards the door…
I know you won’t call my name …
I know you won’t hold me back…
I want to run back and hug you tight
For one last time ….

But you were already enjoying your music
So I slipped away unnoticed
Like a flimsy musical note….

by zaid al baset
© 2007 by Zaid

Wait

2007-11-23T11:09:00.000+05:30

she wanted him to come....
she really wished him to...
she knew he wont...
she waited still....

by zaid al baset

THE LIGHT-BEARER

2007-11-12T11:36:00.000+05:30

His plans seemed crazy, but crazy enough to work.

He remembered that night as he lay under Michael, pinned down. Michael, as fierce as a spearing lily, the very likeness of the one he loved.

He had loved God. No one understood that, so on that crazy night, he had made that crazier plan, to take heaven (did he think he could succeed?), to storm his throne, to fling him down on the floor. To tell him he was wrong to anoint man. Lucifer, light-bearer, handsomest and wisest of angels. Why did God spend so much time over puny man?

Man had eyed him. Always so easy to tempt, always bored with the perfect. In that garden where he lay. Lucifer wanted to hurt God…

He saw god flogged. He saw him whipped. Crucifigo, crucifigo, he had veiled himself in red, and shouted from the crowd with the voice of a harlot. God lay like a rose on snow, and his blood trailed down the thighs, just as Lucifer wanted.

As a lily and a rose. Blood brought the end of winter.

Adam had been so easy to take. But why did God kill himself?

For three days he had waited. When he saw the empty cave, he had screamed. He wanted God to live. He needed him. He hated that need.

And those processions in the circus. Bent over, they cried, the wolves leapt upon them, and the lions. Catarina on the wheel. Sebastian pierced by darts of fire. What lash of sin could compare with the lust in their eyes as they were hit, kicked?

Outcastes who had defeated Lucifer.

Sweet defeat, he thought, as he lay under Michael's spear. Transfixed, he had been fascinated by the liturgical vestments. The rush of blood as the censers moved.The bread turning to flesh, the wine to blood. Heady. As a summer's storm, a whirlwind. The spires lifting their hands like an evening prayer.

Alleluia, alleluia, he cried out with the voice of the archangel..

He had always wanted to be defeated. He had watched his love even as he had snaked into Adam.

That was the craziness of his plan, its magic. His reason, his insanity."Let my soul burn as incense in your altar", he cried.

He would wash himself with hyssop.

And God would lie him down in the green pastures, he would gambol with the sun.

-Scio Amo

2007-11-10T16:56:00.000+05:30

Dancing in the drizzle,

Ablution with moonbeams,

let Luna abort my past, Papa

Let the new 'I' arrive, Luna.

- The Shepherdess.

my perfect stranger

2007-09-08T01:04:00.000+05:30

Silence steps slowly, softy
Along with the crepuscular skies
Phantasmagoric images dance
In front of my tired lonely eyes
Shadows perform orgies on dusty streets
Desires are crushed with every heartbeat
And there I walk among the milling crowds
Catching glimpses of me on glass doors
Reflections ask me is it you?
I look away bewildered and blue
No I will not lose myself tonight
No! I promise myself I will not look at me.
I want to believe that reflections lie.

Ah my pretty stranger walking next to me
Do u know I have been thinking of you.
I know not who are you yet I match your footsteps
And I feel so safe and secure.
Are you thinking of me too?
I know we may never walk together again.
I know I wont even remember your face
And yet a secret we have shared
Do you know I lost my love tonight?
Can’t you shed a tear for me?
Oh pretty stranger wont you even try
You know love left me to walk alone tonight
But look I found you my lovely stranger
Wont you hold my hand?
Can’t I hug you and cry?
Wont you so much as give me a sympathetic eye?
Oh please! At least a comforting smile…
Can’t we walk together forever in this stolen moment?

Ah my pretty stranger you left like all others do.
You walked away straight and I had to cross the road.
I turned around to take one last glance at you.
Goodbye my lovely stranger
Wish you love and happiness
Thank you for the gift of hope you left me with
Somehow I know we will meet again
Just that tomorrow you will have a different face!

by
zaid al baset
© 2007 by Zaid

Love

2007-08-05T21:23:00.000+05:30

Love, as we all know, was invented by novelists – and that too of the rather middling sort, whose chief-clientele are the petit-bourgeois, who contract unhappy marriages for the sake of social conformity and gild it with the name, happy domesticity….and those who therefore, men and women alike, enact their fantasies in the broken-eared yellowed pages of novels, and their reality on broken beds with mosquito nets over them, a cheap substitute for a royal canopy --- it is to please this clientele, and defraud them, that novelists invented love. That is why no self-respecting maestro ever gives a happy ending to his novel – imagine Anna Karenina knitting wool in her old age – it is vulgar. Love is crass, it is loss alone which gives a certain grandeur to man. Man is never, I assure you, more beautiful than when he is mourning. So the catholic church calls the death of her savior – the Passion. She exults in her sorrow, as a bride for three days she mourns her bridegroom, taken away by the soldiers, hastily buried in a cave. She celebrates it in the eucharist – the doctrine of the real presence – it is not a commemoration of death, but the loss itself, a sacrificial orgy that recurs with frightening beauty, the real body and the real blood offered for consumption, the bridegroom presented in his death to the bride, a body of roses and lilies, for the flowers do not toil, they merely are beautiful in their everlasting sorrow. So too did Venus mourn for Adonis, the handsomest of men – and Cybele for her Tammuz. The presence of the lover is best felt in his absence.

Love creates unending paradoxes. To use a demotic metaphor, like Newton’s third law of motion….if you love someone, they will not love you back ; but the moment you fall out of love with them, or better still ignore them because you feel no passion for them, they will chase you as moths to a candle. One of my friends loved a man. When she did not show it, he chased her ; when she confessed her feelings, he left her. Vulgar, but true. That is love. You can never quite repeat the magic of the first meeting, because it is not love that we crave, but the mere sensation of tasting something new. Replace a man with a new lace shawl that is latest a la mode, and a woman will not regret it, replace a woman with a tacky gold watch, or better, a stimulating detective novel with enough magic-eyed femmes fatales, and a man will forget his thousand-confessed passions. Love is nothing but our craving for something insubstantial and vague, that which makes us suddenly wake up from sleep and feel sad….it is frightful because we do not know why it is that we are sad, just a strange fatality that hangs over us, over some more than on others, giving even quite undeserving individuals a sensitivity that is almost a martyr’s halo. One doesn’t need to be a good man in order to be an artist, one only requires that queer morbidity that ruins life and makes it meaningful. To die is to live, to love then is nothing but to desire desire itself.

All love therefore is doomed, if satisfied in the short-run, it leaves us unsatisfied soon, if unsatisfied, it is still a slave’s fetter, a lost traveler’s mirage. For how can one capture desire itself? It is a mere magic bird that sings a song and flies into the neverending forest, it is a wolf that howls to the moon to ask her not to fade away. Love is the feeling that is left when a feast is just over, that indefinable flame that burns us, refines us, and in the end destroys us.

But I have spoken of mere human love, bound by the twin ropes of virtue and temptation. Above that is a love which the ancient fathers called agape, and the latin monks, caritas, . but feebly translated in English as charity. It is the sun that vivifies, the seraphic flame, loving which, man loves all the world, lost in whose beauty, he sees all the world as beautiful, and so loves all, yet is faithful to his god. For all we see are mere shadows as Plato would say, or as shimmering darknesses under a candle-flame, pointing to the Beautiful, yet never reaching it. It is the tragedy of modern man that he worships god but loves man, man who is a mere nothing, a symbol drawn on parchment, an Egyptian god with the face of a beast, yet we seek to see god in this strange being, fervently worshipping him more than all the heathen nations….we seek god in man for we love man with all the fervour that a nun loves her absconding God.

And so must modern man forever be sad, for what human being, howsoever comely or gentle a friend she or he maybe, ever incarnate the power and the charity of godhood….beneath whose dark luminosity, whose cruel affection, even the angels shield their faces with wings (for who shall behold the face of God, and still live?)…and cry, incessantly, in unfulfilled ardor

Sanctus Sanctus Sanctus
Dominus Deus Sabaoth.

~~scio.

2007-08-03T16:37:00.000+05:30

He increased the pressure. It still felt good. And he couldn't control it. Like a young bridegroom who had just come out through the door. Or someone running. Down the paved streets, the brick lanes, a kite in front of him, he chasing the kite, never looking who he bumped into.

He had never felt so free in his life. He wasn't answerable to anybody now. He was finally doing something which gave him pleasure. Him. Not others. Not his family, friends, lover, no one. Just him.

He pressed the blade. 'He'? He wondered. Who was pressing it? A part of him told him not to go on. The rational part -- he thought with a sneer. The part that told him to guard his correspondences, use euphemisms, be diplomatic. Oh yes, he was diplomatic. To the point of obscurity. Everyone said so. He had fooled so many, Even himself -- how cliched.

The sudden sharp pain jolted him back. Who was he? Who was inserting the blade? He was fair, exceptionally fair. So for this occasion he had specially chosen a black satin sleeve. His red lips. Ya, he looked good. But who was he? Someone was pressing him on. Asking him to find out more. To know -- what if? What if he went on? How much could he go?

~~scio.

Santa Lucia

2007-08-03T16:24:00.000+05:30

Don’t you remember the fights we had?

I miss you so

Together we fought the world

And fought each other will pillows and thrown clothes

You told me I could never catch you

I told you you will fly away

Now I stare at the empty cupboard

Even our shoelaces were tied together

Who will fly kites with me?

I never knew where you ended, where I begun

Saturday afternoon at the pictures I would play on your tresses

Felt you tremble under my palm

Let’s sail to santa lucia

Where the white sails furl

Lets; know each other all over again

Where the blue waters pray in penitence before the endless sands

And the waves spray the halcyon’s nest

Meet for a cup of tea

(I’ll know you by your bandaged thighs)

it’s never too late to miss you again

like after we met the very first time

and you won my heart before I could bat my eye

you couldn’t ignore the language of my eyes

let’s sail to santa lucia

to santa lucia where they make they brew the best nights.

~~scio amo

pain

2007-07-25T01:05:00.001+05:30

It’s a tumultuous night
Dreams have faded slowly
Tears have been rubbed away
Insecurity is at its vertiginous height
The heart aches unbearably
Despondent desires hold their sway
The air is restless and confused
Thoughts swirl in a dark room
The mind pines for the shards of peace
Which has been shattered and abused
Love has butchered the vulnerable veins of a hapless heart
The spilt blood carries the pathetic pain to every cell
The prostrate body twitches with a start
Helplessness enshrouds the battered soul
Trust and faith have been broken apart.
The lover has played a malicious game
Deceit and betrayal has been his forte
Excuses and defenses have become far too lame.
The despotic lover lives his life
Ruthlessly he had labeled his beloved a compromise.
Paranoia of the tyrant’s infidelity had plagued the beloved’s mind
The belligerent beloved craves, sulks, pines, frets and waits
The sly lover taunts, mocks, tortures and neglects
The beloved‘s fatigued mind flirts with the idea of suicide
Death cajoles loss to take its side
Distrust chokes the beauty of love
The baleful beloved is caged like a dove
Fettered by his own emotion
A victim to his torturous lover
A hostage to his irrevocable need

So, in this unending tumultuous night
The beloved seethes and bleeds
Fresh wounds lacerate the soul to the lover’s delight.

By
Zaid al baset
© 2007 by Zaid

2007-07-08T02:54:00.000+05:30

The Night

The naked moon pines for the warm embrace of a cloud
Stars coruscate in their solitary splendor
The sky plunges into the depths of darkness
The tress stand solemnly witnessing the age-old ritual
Orange lights illuminate a soulless city
Cars swerve in a flash of psychedelic lights
Tired legs tread home for vacant solace
The end of a cycle begins
The night cascades like thick dark mane of a goddess
Oh night ..the lonliest among the lonely

Two bodies turn against each other on opposite sides of the bed
A man shivers in delirium inside the deep tunnel of love
A woman whispers sweet nothings on her beloved’s ears
Two bodies entangle in a sacred embrace wrapped in a warm blanket
The sweet smell of sweat
The swift and staccato breaths
Two men discover sacrilege in a shabby hotel room
Hearts beat wildly
Lovers moan softly
He waits to be pressed against the wall
She can’t bear to rise and fall
A half filled glass of wine is kissed by red wet lips
Lilting music makes the wretched whore sway her hips
The night enraptures like a lover’s ballad
Oh night.. of searing desires..brighter than the burning flame
Oh night of blissful passion…when lust has lost its rein

The black widow devours her mate
In the brutal act of fornication
She is cursed to be the prey and the captor
The owls caste an evil spell
Ghosts in our fearful hearts dwell
Wasps and moths are drawn to the glaring lights
They reach the cresendo of their facile lives
The cat’s eye shine an emerald green
Street dogs howl at the corner of an empty street
Bats fly around searching for something to eat..
The night coils like a venomous snake
Oh night like the inescapable web of the black widow spider
Oh night of secret mysteries… magic wand of the true magician

The nights wraps us all in the light of darkness!!!

By
Zaid al baset
© 2007 by Zaid

2007-07-07T06:26:00.000+05:30

He pressed the blade on his wrist. There is nothing more jeery than a failed suicide. There's a certain glory in death, a grandeur -- think Cleopatra, or Brutus. But if you fail, you are marked for life. What a queer, what an idiot, why did he do it, pathological -- thousand mockeries, smiles, only half hidden whispers, pitiful glances. If he died there would atleast be a general round of tuttut, perhaps even a condemnation of society. If he lived, universal disapproval. Was life ever so dear?

Still the blade felt nice. Cold steel on bare skin. The sleeve rolled back. He could almost imagine himself in a dark alley, maybe in a foreign country. Someone chasing him. The long arm of the law maybe, or someone he had repudiated. He rubbed his thigh. The sudden friction ran a warmth through him. A frisson? Ya, the word sounded nice.

scio.

Standing On A Rain Soaked Road

2007-07-02T12:40:00.000+05:30

The coming and going of known and unknown faces,
Like seasons in precipitation…….
None waiting for me.

-The Shepherdess

2007-06-30T07:57:00.000+05:30

It was quite cold that night
Without even a blanket to wrap him
He ran towards the railway station --
The rushes breaking against him
Sending grey flowers into the air
To fill it with dew --
Were you there that night?
Were you the God he thought you to be?
He has dyed his clothes in zafrani
But the sleeves are green, giving the lie --
I can neither live in the world,
Nor renounce it :
A kafir, I yearn for God.

Why do you ask me to choose between God and sin?
It was in sin that i saw God
A kafir I am, so He visited me
God came to me as beautiful as sin --
Yesterday evening in a tavern I saw Him,
And his scarf was dyed in my colors.

~copyright, scio amo
the kafir..lol

A wall...and an unopened Closet

2007-06-30T06:07:00.000+05:30

FLOCCINAUCINIH(that's zaid):
lol
a sudden lol...sent to a stranger's scrapbook...
or the beginning of a mating game...

Shiladitya:
u can take a picture of something u see,..

an impersonal comment...zaid adavnces, shilo retreats
classic venetian strategy

Shiladitya:
u can take a picture of something u see,..

zaid's silence provoks shilo..shilo advances
the picture as a metaphor of the self..
come paint me..:p

FLOCCINAUCINIH:
can i???are u a u2 fan????

a little drunken,,where did u2 come from?..

Shiladitya:
a bigtime one! lol

big?..where did that come from?..now you have my full attention..;-D

FLOCCINAUCINIH:
my love is also a crazy fan of u2... i enjoy some of their songs!!!!

predictable enters love..and boys...
o..and did i forget songs?
saki indianized..lol

Shiladitya:
if u cud hav taken the picture there wudnt hav been any make-believe game to satisfy the troubled frenzy..lol

pictures? frenzy? my my..even my ears are blushing..:-I

FLOCCINAUCINIH:
the troubled frenzy is insatiable... vistas can never be completely beheld by our tiny eyes ....

ooo..ooo..the crecendo is rising...ooo
play on...aah

btw..if vistas cant be seen, can they atleast be...umm...pokered?...:)

Shiladitya:
dedicate 'All I want is you' to her....a very fulfilling U2 number...eyes in a moon of blindness...

'HER'!!!!!!!!!!...wowowow...is shilo nuts?
(or being just a tease?..i wonder

FLOCCINAUCINIH:
thats among my favorites too.....v soulful.....dedicate to her????? who her???? i guess u dont carefully read our blogs

sharp retort..go zidddddddddduuuuuu

Shiladitya:
some ones' microscopic visions seldom realizing the true frenzy, tried to look into the screen behind the mirror...brought in some words...they couldnt supress the wrath of the poised night..

shilo ducks under his usual obscurity..:-(..coward...lol

Shiladitya:
may be him !lol

only to swiftly recoup..bloody politically erect..:-D

then...

FLOCCINAUCINIH:
the multiplicity of truth...the shallowness of the mirror....the ineffablity of words...the lonliness of the night....poison maybe....elixir could be....microspocic visions only aggrandize minute non-existance.......ya maybe him.......u wanted to rape scio sometime i had read.....i couldnt picture that lol

MDDLF!!! AM I 'HIM"???/
:-$

not that mind being the stuff others dreams are made off..:-)
i am such an obliging angel..O:-)

Shiladitya:
scio is too lovable to be raped by this nazi!lol

:-D...men in uniform..
[or out of it...lol

FLOCCINAUCINIH:
if u knw scio well enough then ud knw that rape to him mite be the purest ...most passionate expression of love......trust me on this.... all her wants is some one to push him against the wall

Shiladitya:
yeah...the oldest passion of scio is to be driven ...like wriggling against a wonderwall , with wolves howling to devour the sciovian impurity ! lol

FLOCCINAUCINIH:
impurity????..... he is virginal....much to his sad desperation...someday he'll be deflowered

...
...
too stunned to react...
what is it bout men intruding into a flower's fantasy...
o mia rosa...

what is it about a wall that i find so damn appealing? a wall to protect myself. and a wall to be broken.
hope there's no young freud (or lacan..lol) around

will a flower be as charming deflowered?..lol..i wonder..and the bird that will pollinate it?..wont it fly away?
or will it bleed..with the flower..
as the thorn pierces the nightingale's heart...
drawing blood, closing wounds.

work out your imageries...lol

meanwhile..be ready to be pressed against a wall
snarllll

Ode to tahseen

2007-06-28T15:10:00.000+05:30

Remember how we loved the rains
Getting drenched to the core
Running around like free souls
Needles piercing our bodies
Wrapping us in shared ecstasy
Greens all around us.
Hungry eyes hoping they could be us
Celebrities of Park Street
Daring to live and beguile
U and I
Oblivious to the world.

Remember how we sat in class
Huddled together at a remote corner
Sneering at the boring lectures
Giggling at the professor’s gestures
Restless in our imposed lassitude
Writing our incoherent thoughts
On thin single lined copies that talked
Didn’t they know we had our own space?
Didn’t they know we created a whole new world of words?
Why couldn’t the professors just catch hold of us?
U and I
Impenetrable in our togetherness

Remember how we walked around the streets of kolkata
Struggling under the dreadful scorching sun
Fearing we’d get tanned
Shading our sweaty faces
With bags, rags, copies, files and hands
Just to prevent sunburns
Your slow footsteps struggled to match my hurried catwalk
I always turned back to look at your permanent grimace.
Your spoilt slothful innocence
Endearing at its best
People leaned out from cars to look at us
Shopkeepers couldn’t help but notice us
We made heads turn
U and I
Two rivers flowing under the open skies.

Remember our great escapes
How we hoodwinked three professors
Slipped out and bunked class
To watch a movie
Or sit at ccd
We roamed around pantaloons
Window-shopped at Westside
You enjoyed the attention of a salesman at planet m
Wherever we went you paid the bill
And I paid the tip.
How we avoided your father’s friend
You walked ahead
I walked behind
What if your bitchy relatives saw us?
What if juicy rumors did their rounds?
We had thrown caution to the winds
U and I
Perfect partners in crime.

Remember how much we talked
Face to face, talking copies
Phone calls smses et all.
We woke up to each other’s voices or words.
We went to sleep with the same
We would study together in our separate homes
Racking our tired brains.
Is there anything that escaped our words?
Is there anything that we failed to express?
We were together even when miles apart
U and I
And time just flied….

Remember how good we looked together
Our classmates would bet their lives
Believing there was something between us
Even the professors were curious
We stood out among the crowd
We stood out among the audience
You pretty faced beautiful girl
I the tall handsome n gentle man
Weren’t we what adolescent dreams are made of
How they wanted us to be what we were not
How they wished they could prove our denial wrong!
U and I
Raising the bar
Selling romantic dreams

Remember how much we shared
Our joys and sorrows were inextricably linked
I cried your tears
You smiled my smile.
How we would sing along.
How we would love the same songs
How we would not share a word sometimes
And yet know each other’s most hidden thoughts
Our silences even spoke to each other.
Our shadows walked together
Your eyes would question
My eyes always had the answers
Didn’t they envy what we shared?
Didn’t they wish our story was theirs?
U and I
Inebriated
On an emotional high…

Remember always the times that have passed
Now we have busy lives
We have our own journeys to tread
We have our own battles to win
We have our own separate lives to lead
Yet somewhere we are connected
Yet somewhere our souls communicate
Yet somewhere our love is intact
Yet somewhere our feelings still match
Yet somewhere we are just the same old people
Yet somewhere we are just the way we are
U and I
‘hum’ and ‘tum’
Us always
Us forever!!!!!!

by zaid al baset
© 2007 by Zaid

The Butt..or Man as a symbol

2007-06-28T01:38:00.000+05:30

What, after all, is Man?....

all our present philosophy is obsessed with him..we speak of human rights and human dignity and most of all humanity...we serenade on love and all that it means to be humane..kind generous courteous saintly...
rot...lol

to get a perspective let me quote two wellknown philosophers...

Oration on the Dignity of Man
Giovanni Pico della Mirandola

excellent man...a bit whoozy n too optimistic in a typical renaissance way...

'Most esteemed Fathers, I have read in the ancient writings of the Arabians that Abdala the Saracen on being asked what, on this stage, so to say, of the world, seemed to him most evocative of wonder, replied that there was nothing to be seen more marvelous than man. And that celebrated exclamation of Hermes Trismegistus, ``What a great miracle is man, Asclepius'' confirms this opinion. ....man is the intermediary between creatures, that he is the familiar of the gods above him as he is the lord of the beings beneath him; that, by the acuteness of his senses, the inquiry of his reason and the light of his intelligence, he is the interpreter of nature, set midway between the timeless unchanging and the flux of time; the living union (as the Persians say), the very marriage hymn of the world, and, by David's testimony but little lower than the angels.'

man as a marriage hymn???...gosh,.,...these romans are crazy...
tho..like most latinos i know...rather passionate...:-D

voltaire n shakespeare wouldnt mind too much either i suppose...

then lets take the indian philosopher...zaid al baset talking to his hag, swastika...waxing eloquent on his (ex?-) lover c...

zaid: he was good lo0oking .
i thnk i loved his ass more than him anews.
swastikarimi: lollollollol.
that was lovelyyyyyyyyyloll;ol
zaid: waht?
ya i just miss his ass coz as a person he was ass only
swastikarimi: lollollol..
perfect bitching

bitching?..or was he just being truthful?

what is someone to us?...a voice? a letter? a butt? a shoulder?
scary...but aren't we sometimes just symbols..big stilletoes you have a fetish on...or maybe a cuddly teddy you just cant get rid off
are we ever men? lower than angels higher than beasts? what are we seriously?

swas thinks her lovelife is just a broken bed...[its true..she broke a bed while...umm...:-D
zaid thinks his is a broken wrist..[c armtwisted him,..proving wifeabuse isnt a heteronormative thing alone...lol

are we ever loved as we?..or as metaphors supplements signs?
a hallmark greeting card, a poem on charity..pictures hieroglyphs

surrounded by senses, we fall down and worship idols...

on a positive tune, its not all bad,,having a good..umm...image..can take you places..:-D

zaid: yippeee
9:48 AM become gay
me: LOL
lol
lol
zaid: lose more weight n start seein me
me: why???

lol
zaid: we'll be fine only
me: lol
lol
zaid: as in together in love n fuck
me: lol
lol
lol
lol
lalalala
9:49 AM zaid: see it
if u like it

me: :-)
zaid: u can experiment with men
me: LOL
lol
lol
9:50 AM and u will be my teacher?
:p
zaid: yes
ill do u ever so gently
me: lol
who says i dont like rough?..:p
9:51 AM zaid: no it hurts a lot but

im thick also..
9:52 AM thick
me: dahling...do u think u will only top me?
;p
9:53 AM zaid: na
mutual fuclking.....
u do i do
9:54 AM me: lol
lol
versatile renaissance man
zaid: yes
also so gorgeoues

9:55 AM zaid: yippppppeeeeeeeee
so scio
whn u want me n where?
condoms ull wear???
me: lol
lol
lol
ol
lol
lol
lol
lol
lol
dahlinggg...wherent u supposed to b mongamous?.
:-D
9:56 AM zaid: yes
i am
to u
me: purr

unfortunately, i think i will remain straight for a little more time..
and there's always it...
my repertoire of symbols..wolves and birds...

tralala

ps: picture chosen by swas..
[sexpearian aside..is she lesbo?..or bi?...
marry swas get another girl free
yipeeeeeeh..:-D
come to straightman's fantasy land..:-D

THE GREAT PATHAN FIGHT

2007-06-27T12:51:00.000+05:30

As the title holds the key to its content, needless to say this fight comprises of two Pathans (well, I really doubt the origin of the fighters involved, one says he is a domiciled Bengali (he doesn’t care a wee bit about the aboriginality of his ancestors), the other claims he was born and brought up in a dark den in arid Afghanistan.

But being a witness to the pugnacious nature of the two personas (that of Zaid al Baset and Maisim Mirza), it is hard to resist the temptation of concluding that they both are nothing but Pathans. Oh, how I loved the cricketers, the sheer good looking Wasim Akram and Shahid Afridi- the Pathans of pulchritude! Oh yes! Both Mirza and Zaid are extremely handsome- that’s another proof of Pathanhood.

So how did the verbal duel begin? Blame it on G-talk. Yester night my G-talk had conked and I couldn’t chat with Zaid furtively. Orkut appeared to be our saviour- forget about stealth and surreptitiousness.

Zaid, poor lover, was confused as usual about his single status. He couldn’t cope with the fact that none was waiting for him to bump into his arms. So he decided to see again his lover’s undulating sand dunes dotted with cactus (read: his lover’s butt with boils). While deciding to hold the hands of his lover encore, he became perplexed, so he came online to see me playing agony aunt to him.
…………………………………………………………………………………………
The agony aunt session was going perfect. Sometimes I acted as Malaika Arora( remember the love-problem show on MTV?), sometimes I was as shrewd as Suhel Seth. But Orkut, being the grotto of all the perverts and voyeurs across the globe, whispered into the ears of its members about the spicy love session going on in the scrap books of Zaid and mine. Zaid and I did not mind the presence of the ghosts, but some of the spectres were so enthusiastic that they could not hold their tongues back. Mirza had a say on Zaid’s love story which is soon going to be as popular as Eric Seagull’s book. But Mirza with the likes of Camus and Kafka doesn’t care much about mundane love stories….natural, he called Zaid’s story a “not so sorry but a stupid story” and offered me an online cup of coffee to get the fretful story out of my mind.

Who knew that “not so sorry but a stupid story” punch line had the power of an atom bomb?? The American Orkut became the Hiroshima and Nagasaki of 2007!
................................................................................................................................................................
zaid:
sweetheart....if only some ppl concerned themselves with the stories of their own lives or the lack of it.. than opine on stories which they really cant fathom wnt the world be a haven....(U)

zaid:
if only some ppl had the ability to understand the finer and subtle nuances of a language........then nincompoops would get the hint ......use an ofxord dictionary n do a google search on sarcasm( as a form of rhetoric)

and here comes mirzu's defence
مرذا:
cool can you try english now

cunning mirzu is enjoing the wrath of zaidism
مرذا:
aaaah aaaaaah this guy is killing..what vocabulary what syntax.. what "oxord"

the pen is mightier than the sword- encore!
zaid:
i knw i can kill with words....thank you....as far as the typographical errors ..well i have better things to do than type msgs to a loser who really has nothn better to do than being..... well a loser!!!( of the highest cult.......)

mirza to me(or is he actually hinting at zaid? ;) )ا
مرذا:
well....shhh. may your words not hurt the ones you speak of, might be that they are just around the corner.

mirzu is hurt, so it seems...to zaid
مرذا:
well..me i all awe..how virtuoeus of you!

mirzu seeking empathy from me
مرذا:
read my scrap from zaid...how kind!

the ever furious zaid:
zaid:
as far as virtues go.....the only virtue i religiously follow is that of nt being virtuous 2:29 am (0 minutes ago) zaid: well..me i all awe..how virtuoeus of you! ... n dearwest u really need to work on ur grammer....dont they have wren n martin in afghanistan?????

the tired zaid/the end/:(
zaid:
anews take care .....heres wishing u a happy story.......

turn of mirzu to get mad at zaid...tells him to get lost...total sympathy to the naive zaid, the poor zaid.
zaid:
is that all u can say ???get lost??how sorry n stupid ......so there we come a full circle ma friend.

mirza, the bull. zaid, the matador.
مرذا:
whatever....and plz am not ur friend

the modest zaid:
zaid:
well im a philanthrope... i call every inconsequential human being a friend...just to humour them u knw.....

oh! the fight is still on. mirzu is back wid a bang after fagging. The power of a cigarette!
مرذا:
anddd? i know my grammar sucks, but doesn't "..." at the end of a statement mean you are going to vomit some more of crap?

zaid is back too.this time accompanied by his passion for a-posteriori as well as a-priori!!!
zaid:
dearest ppl like u are at best worthy only of my excrements......whch really is so much more valuable than ur whole self... u knw waht...honestly u arent evn worth my stinking bile ridden vomit......

The ever monstrous mirzu:
مرذا:
anddddd? do I have to remind you grammar?

amores perros part 2. :(
zaid:
well every dog has his day.......:).....

bark-estra
مرذا: yes. do not restrain yourself, must say your grammar is astounding..aaand?

the end.finally. or is it like the evergreen end of z-c fling???
zaid: now u are boring me......do dont this gandhigiri and and.....give me more types.....im bored.....gdnite....n grow up....tc!

The biggest brawl ever on Orkut lasted for 2 hours. Venom in their souls, the Pathans hit the bed (no, not together) with bad taste in their mouth. And I, the PoMo Sanjay from Mahabharata went to bed with a content heart hoping to see more of that brouhaha next day. But man proposes, god disposes! Next morn an instance of unrequited love at first sight ruined my hope. Zaid had a glimpse of a snap of Mirza (aaaaarghhh…why did I mail the photo to Zaid?) and instantly fell in love with him!!!!!

Is there any schism between love and hatred after all?

-The Shepherdess

words fly....

2007-06-26T01:22:00.000+05:30

Words fly, words lie
Words dream, words wake
Words droop to cry
In the time of earthquake
That intoxicates the black river and its sunless tributary
Digging a furtive furrow in a heart of pebbles painted with frost.

-The Shepherdess

Break-up High...lol

2007-06-25T06:27:00.000+05:30

In case anyone didnt know..this is the time of th year popularly called Break-up High

or the seasom when your fondest hopes are dashed, and greatest devilries unleashed..yum

why?...well it is monsoon, the rains have just begun to fall, washing the sky. it is the young rain, not the stale rain that fall on streets of garbage and mud, but the rain that brings a pang in one's heart..making you feel the hollow inside..the unsatisfaction...the feeling that you love, but no one loves you back...

ask the yaksha of meghaduta...kalidasa definitlely knew what he was talking bout...the yaksha separated from his beloved by a curse is exiled many hundreds of miles away in a faraway mountain...yet damn, he cant admire the nature, or go rockclimbing, but has to think of his beloved al times...and, worst, choose a cloud o carry his message to her...

how more of a diva could you get...:-$

its true nowadays too...our latterday yakshas n yakshis start writing [generally saccharine..and scarcely readable...] poems..they r so dripping with honey n candy u wanna eat them than read them....[witness eg, the two posts below..;-D...]

and start pining away..or in case of the author of the last post...fattening away from overeating in front of a tv showing [what else?] mushy romantic soaps...

sheesh...
who invented the rains???

too take more examples...

girl G....she falls everyday for anything that moves on legs...preferrably men..but known to have spent the night with women too..nothing wrong in that...except come june...she must start liking a singer more than his appropriate for any healthy redblooded promiscuous female to do...gets hurt...starts hating him...stares at the wall...writes reams of poetry...excellent stuff [she is the exception...okay...zaid writes really brilliant too...to be honest..:-D]....but makes herself miserable...and cant even start lusting after someone new..[okay,,,except another married star..but thats oops exeptional...]

boy B...another gonner...known to be a a masochist...generally classifies people a-posteriori..is a good friend of above coz she has a heart-shaped...well....a-posteriori..;-D...been in a tortuous relationship for almost three years...with a guy...[alas for lady above, he isnt buying what she is selling...MUCH TO MY GLEE]....coz of well....lets quote...

B: heelooo
me: hmmm
how r u?
11:27 PM B: c has really left mei feel so usedlike my love has no meaning
me: B
look
move on
he wasnt worth it
when u dump someone dump him well
B: im am nt sad bt i thnk my emotions were played with life goes on bt still
me: he was just an exploiter
11:28 PM B: i loved him with all my soul u knw
me: but he was necessary
to break u
B: anews wahtever how are u?
me: n ur pride
very bad
i will tell u later
B: pride is intact
me: lol
lol
n manhood
B: need a fuck
11:29 PM me: LOL

which is fine...except that thanks to the monsoon, his cockadoodleness is sighing away his nights, and sleeping away his days..cant blame him..that c was really a freak...

girl D...loves a man for two years...then just coz i have danced once with her...[ok..to b honest, it was a damn good tango..:-D]...has to confess that very evening she loves me...and in class has to scribble lovenotes to me...geeeesh...come monsoon, she is breathing fire..when i tell her i dont want her [after giving loads of hints and pinches of salt..:-D]..she burns me with eyes and words..[as only nubile girls can], complains about me to all her friends....doesnt get much response..coz i hav..umm...spent time with them in the rain too..winkwink...lol...complains to teachers...again obvious lack of response...so abuses me and struts off

now..i like strutting peahens...but still..one can only have so much of something..lol

boy S...falls in love with his cousin brother...tucks gifts under his pillow n sheets,,,[what sort of gifts i wonder] while the poor straight boy is prolly geting a morning woody...i do so feel vulnerable as a straightboy sometimes...must remember to avoid my cousin brothers [in any case,as wilde said one must always hate one's cousins..]....not that there's anything wrong in being nonstraight...:-I

i could go on multuplying examples...i will if ppl ask me..[there, thats a hint..:-D]..who knows i might even reveal ur secrets?

so i hate monsoon and i absolutely hate love...never ben in love..[thankgod]...two friends have publicly reviled me as being footloose..i say 'i am waiting for the right person'...:p...if i did fall in love, i would prolly avoid the monsoons like hell....and after sufficient time has passes, confess that exalted and odious emotion to my unfortunate beloved....if the beloved agreed, bon...if not, i'll prolly prefer a clean end...no messy entanglements for me..thankyou...if i stop loving someone, i'll stop forever..[maybe after sticking a few needles into their voodoo dolls]

anyways,,to conclude our discourse...
there's still a silver lining for all u hopeless lovers...fall for me..;-D

as the following quote of post-c B shows...

11:57 PM B: hmmmm
11:58 PM waht odes reciprocation mean to u ???
me: reciprocation means loving me with every molecule of its body
11:59 PM savng me from myself
n from the darkness outside n inside
putting me bfor everything
B: every1 doesnt love the same way
me: i hav a high costprice..but i am worth it
12:00 AM lol
B: yes u are
me: :-)
B: bt u mst cnsider the time restraints>>>>
distance restrainbts
me: as u r too
12:01 AM B: i love u scio
u knw that rite/
if ever u wanta loving fuck im there
me: lol
ya..i know
B: n im there whn u are fucked up
12:02 AM me: lol
lol
lol
can i blogpost this?
devilish grn
grin

lalalala

diary of a broken hearted 'mind'

2007-06-22T21:11:00.000+05:30

09:12:02: i am awake..or am i waking up in a dream????no ..wait..i can see my room...its vibrant blue and yellow walls....my fish(es) are leisurely roaming inside the aquarium....rummaging for food..digging...my home gym looks as dilapidated as my soul..i deliberately avoid looking at the huge mirror in my room..yes i am wide awake.....
09:13:00:i narrow my eyes

09:13:01: i shut them

09:13:03: i open my eyes....rub them ..blink..life sucks..
.
09:15:45: life still sucks...its been drizzling outside...the sky looks vague and lost.. the clouds have no meaning..they are just hovering about the sky aimlessly just like my eyes hover around them.. the breeze is yawning ...stretching...its making the tired looking curtains fret..it reaches me... i can feel it on my face....i tell the breeze to go get a life...

09:16:52: i will sleep....i shut my eyes and try all sorts of postures in bed....a kamasutra between me and my pillows...head on pillow...head below pillow..head without pillow..pillow clutched by my arms tightly as if i am holding you..(i won't let you go)..pillow between the legs...pillows all around me....nothing works...i can't sleep...sleeping pills are like a politician's promise ..fake with no consequense....i give up....

09:20:12: i am standing at the window...nobody seems happier than the insects it seems...i see bees arranged on top of each other like neatly ironed clothes on a shelf...i wonder what orgy like ritual are they performing....on the other side of the road i look at the square building with square balconies with square towels hanging on undulating ropes and a 1940 engraved on the upper edge of its facade staring at me blankly...(if only it was you). the road is glistening grey....
wet earth is burping..footsteps squelch on dirty mud..puddles all over... garbage soup....an urchin is answering nature's call on the pavement....i wonder what would shiv sena have to say about public display of excretion...( you never held my hands in public.maybe you were ashamed of me..you were were'nt you?)

09:25:43:i am staring at the mirror ....i smile a smile that would make monalisa cry and run out of her painting..my canine teeth have become yellower than the permissible limit of beauty....i brush my teeth hard and fast and long..canine teeth still look yellow( how little i have looked at myself these days...all i did was look at you.. admire you)....i wash my face...

09:30:25: im inside the bathroom ...i look at myself in the mirror..i realize my robust physique has shrunk into a delicate figure if you know what i mean.....(i miss the soft flesh of your body)

10:45:33; im travellin in an auto balancing myself next to the driver.. the driver is exasperated because of the traffic...he begins a religious chant of invectives..."mother's cunt !!! the school releases its students at four different times during the day!!!!! mother"s cunt..it causes traffic.....mother's cunt ..reduces our income....when the auto is empty there are no takers.. bloody cock when it is full..evryone wants a ride...bloody whores!!!!!" i don't know how to react...i blush....as though they were sweet nothings and give a silent nod...(you have abused me worse...)

11:05:35: i have reached the university.... if anything looks more meloncholy than me then it is the universtity..i find comfort in its sorrow...(there was no sorrow in your eyes when u left me..they were mocking me)

11:14:40: i have reached a dark looking corrider where bright looking girls and some stupid looking boys are talking animatedly..they are discussing answers to questions being asked at the interview with those already interviewed...i give all answers...girls give me a look of admiration...someone tells me im super intellectual...i think balls!!!!(were'nt you in love with my mind?)

12:25:35: returning home....i wish i could sing...i want to sing the song 'aaj jaane ki zid na karo'
i hum the first line and realize that my own soul will leave the body if i continue.. so i stop....i wish i could sing my pain away....i wish i could dance in the rain....(you must be listening to rock songs..playing air guitar)

14:18:56:im restless.. i surf channels hysterically....i try listening to the radio..some bloke is confessing undying love to a girl...i sigh n shut it.....(i am not missing you)..

15:45:23:im lying in bed ....making grand plans about my future...ill study hard...ill do all the right things.... ill stay focussed.... all im focussing on is my cell phone really....switching it off ...then on ...off again... on again.... off on off on off on off on!!!!!!upturned in general mode....away from me in silent mode....i play a game on it....(u think ill wait for your call and keep looking at the cell..noway!!!)

16:35:28: i look at myself in the mirror and smile again...why have the canines become so bloody yellow....is it jaundice i wonder....i brush again.....i tell myself its looking off white.....suddenly i remember how taj mahal is becoming yellow too....air and water pollution....(maybe its your kisses...you yellow dirty big teeth monster how cute you were)

18:32:31: i have walked so much.....im looking good ..people are staring at me....lifes calling me out....i have a half smile on my face...i look at noone walking past me .....im just aware of their stares....a song is playing on my mind.....im moving on...im walking fast....i have no destination though....there are so many peolpe in this world..so many places to go...so many moments to experiance...i feel exhilarated..i feel hopeful ..i feel alive....(Ill forget u ....lifes too long)

20:55:11: spoke to a dear friend...love is taking a toll on her..she had unanswered questions....i knew all the answers ...played agony uncle to the hilt....how much i know about love, life and things beyond.....(i really didnt expect this from you...i didnt know you were such a hypocrite)

22:35:27: lying in bed...silently....staring at nothing....thoughts obfuscated by the noise of an angry downpour...(why?WHy?Why?)

23:15:49: i survived today.....(i survived you)

00:00:00; tommorow is a new day...a new beginning....( without you)

by zaid al baset
© 2007 by Zaid

2007-06-19T01:26:00.000+05:30

You, sun, do not satisfy me
Like a snowstorm pelts a bear
Then leaves me spreadeagled on the ice
As it evanishes, only a faint water streak
On the tongue, as beautiful as a mirage
In the desert whose four corners
Are the four minaars
That tie my arms, as the doves swoop down
To drink from the cool green pool
And a word escapes to you
There is no God but God, and so I worship you
Long did I worship statues
Now shall I adore you in empty halls
And whose windows carved in mirror reflect
Me, not you
I can't leave you -- if I do, my soul shatters
And boys play with it, in their cruel smiles a new game
I sit down and collect the pieces
Every shard shines with your thought
Do you exist? I do not know
I to exist -- must believe in you
For you are, so I am
If you are not, I will not be...
Just a lie, a thinning blood.

What is prayer but flirting with God, I asked
God laughed, and gave me you
I prayed no more.
The jealous God laughed in your eyes
I clutched your hair
And forgot myself
The drowning breezes
Swept dust away from the courtyard
The bared graves swept by brown leaves
Turned their heads and went to sleep
Till Judgement Day will wake all men
And ask them how much their love was worth

Worth enough, merciful rogue, to give us spring,
And wine when it has left, a cup of fire
And ice to cool it, the dark span of lengthening night
When I wait for you, though you do not come.

Will it not be God's proudest day,
When pointing to his heart, Man shall say
This, God, is your temple, worship me,
Or go away --
Be conquered by what you have made
I am your qiblah, or you are not so good a sculptor
If your art couldn't make, what I worship everyday.

~~copyright...scio amo...lol

2007-06-05T14:28:00.000+05:30

run ....
run as fast as you can
run for your life...
run faster than your breaths
run faster than your thoughts
run so that all u see is a mirage ....
run so that each image blurs into another
till u see nothing........or better still
run with your eyes closed
run run away from your senses
and hide yourself inside an empty room
with no windows....
run run run u bloody coward
dont u dare fall in love
cause u cant endure the intesity of pain
dont u dare writhe in lust
cause you fear the esctasy of touch...
run run run
your senses will conquer your timidity....
but u must be a coward all your life
shouldnt you?
so run run run lest u learn to live
run away from this new religion of the senses...
go to the church and confess
go to the mosque and ask forgiveness
go to the temple and ring bells
curse yourself cause u sought pleasure
curse yourself cause u did what u wanted to
curse yourself u rotten sinner
curse your senses...curse the secrets they hide
curse your desires
n wait till u die.....
u will go to heaven..
or burn in hell
and honestly nobody has time to care..
not even your sad angry god and his contrived doctrine.....
good bless
amen!!!!!!!!!!!!!

by
zaid al baset

Zaidism--a Riposte!

2007-06-03T16:33:00.000+05:30

It is not known if zaid's haven is or is not heaven..most likely being damp wet and untouched, it resembles a prehistoric cave rather than heaven..but well, we could ignore that

more serious is this newfangled cult..utter nonsense if u ask me...pleasure can never be found in human beings...

make war not lust..if u ask me, frankly speaking...human beings are not worth loving..if you love them, they will tease you and throw you away like a discarded linen..ignore them, and they will cling to you

take pleasure in yourself..you are your own heaven,,,never love.,,never lust either,,,those young things will fade away,,,fly away leaving you alone...one day you will come to your window, and stare at an open cage

take pleasure in yourself...so zaid, put bananas to creative uses...lol..you know they are good lubricants too...dont wait for your love...use lemons...love nature as rousseau says...rub yourself against a tree...stare wildly at a sunset...dear reader, lay yourself on a beach withput anything on you but a smile...and feel the warm sand caress you...coax you into abandon...they will never leave you..unlike humans...

feel the breeze teasing your ear..use that opportunity to pluck a jasmine..and wrapping it in an envelope send it to your ex's present partner...by all means, ruin their relationship..and welcome sin into your world...hell too is in you

dont ever love..are you in love?...i'll tell u the symptoms...[coz if u r, then run,,.]....do u wait for a word from ur friend as tho it were the most precious thing in the world? does a word from her or him make you feel you hav reached heaven. gained light? do you feel you cant ever leave them, coz if you do you will kill yourself...do you prefer eternal torment to the thought of leaving them?

when you think of leaving them, do you feel like vomiting? when you feel they are leaving you, do you fell someone has torn apart your intestines,,and like some weird japanese harakiri has left you all twisted up without anything inside you

do you want to be with your friend all your life? do you feel they are the best in you, and you are nothing without them?

run...

and zaid is wrong...we fools we fall in lust and end in love...we look for a casual fling, an anonymous flirtation, a brief rondel, and then.,,,,and then they grow on you,,,those young things,,,,they grow on you...till your every sense vibrates to them, and them only

run,,,

never fall in lust...that coquettish glance with which you steal hearts...that hand with which you warm a thigh, it will imprison you,,,till your lust will imprison you.,.till your desires enfold you.,,,and all you will love is your beloved

run,,,

put fruits to good uses,,,use sand creatively...or even a blindfold..take pleasure,,ye.,,but in the sun and the empty sky,,[soon even in the clouds, you will start seeing their face,,and the sun it will seem is painting the horizon with the blush of their cheeks..run,,,]

just run away from yourself....from your senses.,.into dark alleys..into empty pubs..no matter where....just run away from yourself

and run away from zaidism

for we poor men,,,we start to fall in lust..with a flutter of an eye, and the swish of a word.,..a carissime, a song of the streets...

and we are in love..

fie...

2007-05-26T15:16:00.000+05:30

ZAIDISM-THE NEW CULT

I, zaid al baset proclaim myself the founder of this esoteric cult. It is an order strictly based on the principle that mans life on earth should be directed towards and is a function of the only supreme goal of mankind- the pleasure of our senses. I shall further lay down the 10 commandments, which every zaid fearing man must abide by. Each commandment is a pillar on which rests the faith n true meaning of zaidism…these commandments will enrapture your senses for the ultimate truth of mankind is about to be revealed.

THE TEN COMMANDMENTS OF ZAIDISM

1 You are free to be sexually attracted to any idea, image, living being or an inanimate object n express your attraction without causing any emotional mental or physical degradation to the object of your desire.
Zaidism prescribes sexual desires and sexual activities involving mutual consent among the acting partners.

2 You have the freedom to eat all that you wish to eat, anything from beef to cockroaches even human beings (only the dead ones lest you end up in prison) but u are not allowed to whine n complain about the bulges in your body. Zaidism means being aware of the consequences of your actions. We are all victims of our own choices so don’t you dare cry over split milk

3 You will not shirk from calling a spade a spade. If somebody is a fat stinking ugly pig you must reveal so without any inhibitions of any sort. Zaidism requires that we accept ourselves simply the way we are and we accept others for what they are. Never be ashamed of yourself Revel in your beauty or ugliness and flaunt all that you have with equal zest .the good the bad and the most ugly

4 You must worship anything and everything that is beautiful. Beauty is the true manifestation of the divine. Zaidism has no fix standards of beauty. Henceforth you shall define beauty for yourself n worship its expression whatever it maybe so that you can be true to your senses

5 You must regard your ex-es as your most staunch enemies- men and women or animals that have stabbed and hurt your most tender feelings by using your vulnerability for them. Insult them publicly beat them, seduce their current patners, ignore them and finally completely forget them freeing your soul from any malice and hatred and be ready for your next partner.

6 Do not respect anyone because you are supposed to respect them. Do not love anyone because you are supposed to love them. Do not do any work that you are supposed to do. Respect, feel, love and work only when you want to and feel the need to. Listen to your senses they will never disappoint you. Ofcourse you must bitch about those who you do not either love or respect or both.

7 Use condom always. Never be shy to buy them. Think of them as a status symbol. if u do not wish to use a condom then be celibate or simply go fuck yourself.Zaidism requires ushering a new found respect for alternate sexualities.

8 Virginity beyond 18 years is original sin. You must lose it ASAP or
you will burn in zaid’s hell

9 You will never bow down to anything .you will take the austere path of following your senses leading them to the highest pleasures that which is music to your ears, electrifying to your touch, delicious to your taste, and perfume to your nose.

10 Finally you are free not to follow any of the above principles because your senses do not agree to them. Negate each principle only with the conviction that it does not suit your senses not because your neighbor or friend or society disagrees

Adherence to the above principles will ensure you admittance into zaid’s haven during this very life. Mind u the haven is not my arse…it is a haven but not for u.
I have also formulated a hymn a prayer that will make u a true apostle of zaidism. You must recite it 10 times everyday staring at the mirror.

“I am my own culture society and god … I am the best that was ever born”

© 2007 by Zaid

.

2007-05-23T14:40:00.000+05:30

Flirted away in an art Deco ballroom late into the night
Then slept all day today
There’s a languor in my blood, my veins flow with wine
And wine-dark grapes are growing all over
O taste and see
Vines grown with salt brought by the sea air
That from the distant isles, brings a flavor
Of things that yet may be
A sea’s a mug for all that
A mug to be quaffed in a draught
And when I have swallowed it whole in one bitter gulp
What island will you take shelter in? what refuge
Wont the world be too dry?
Too small—far too quenched
For you--distant one--to be left unspoilt?

~~scio amo
copyright 2007...lol

a narcissist's self-indulgence

2007-05-20T07:01:00.000+05:30

Hope an old and jaded fool is allowed to take a little perverse pleasure in hearing others discuss about him...

especially as being talked about is the only pastime for a diva way past his past and his prime gathering dust with not a few old skeletons of forgettable lust

for we are a spectacle...and the crowd needs its bread and circus
lol

some comments on me..impoliteful
tsc tsc

Black: he is a damn liar...i tell u.

Black: he is so double standard yaar...he never reveals his secrets...wen he does he never reveals the name of his sex objects, forget abt subjects...and he reveals all our naughty slutty thing on d blog...THIS IS UN PEU TOO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!

zaid: yes.... i knw....v v v shrewd n wicked boy

Black: ei dont call me prude...think abt urself...wat u r? born diplomat...choose politics as ur profession....u will shine like a crazy diamond.

Black: true...the men in my life r eminently forgettable,for instance, u.

scio: i know i am forgettablebut then..all dreams are....no wonder everyone leaves me n forgets me...

Black: u commit sin...but u dont reveal them...how dare u reveal our sins candidly????

Black: no...i dont forget all my dreams...not always.....some dreams r always in my monikotha.;)

hmmmm...what is she indicating?
am i an unforgettable dream?hope others think so too
ishhhhhhhrsr

How are you?...you asked me

2007-05-20T06:43:00.000+05:30

How are you?...you asked me
I am fine…I said

How much pain does it take to break a hope
How much is the heart of a man worth?

I don’t know..i don’t want to know
Today I just want to be free

Silence all round me… I danced when I found
Your eyes all around me

But now I will be free..free to die
Don’t save me..dont give me a false hope

I will run through the fields today
Fields untouched by axe and plough
But the green rice grows in them, and golden corn,
And no man toils

The boys are running today
Can’t you see the silver festoons… untimely holiday
No one to beat them…
To their home they will go
To the green forests, and the green fields where golden corn grows
Untouched, unripe

I shall be free today… you will not touch me
Don’t tell me what’s sin… your eyes all around me
I will dance with myself tonight
My hand on my heart, I will forget you

Let my soul be blank…heart don’t betray me
Courage don’t leave me… all the pain that I have felt
Dig a grave for me a thousand feet deep
Where I can lie
Side by side with my hope.. a tinsel princess
My bride…

You never loved me… why did you pretend?
Why did you say you will never leave me?...
Beautiful stranger, leave a rose for me
In my grave, my nuptial bed…

Adeus…you said you will never leave me
Yet not one word did you say…not one thing to show
You cared…
I wont complain

Just let me be alone tonight
Just let me be free
Like those boys running home, their ties unloosed
And sweat on their cheeks,,,

~~by scio amo
copyright 2007...lol

2007-05-19T19:21:00.000+05:30

Her crooked story!

Her eyes are lachrymose
Or may be she’s just too fatigued
Her smile is too artificial.
Or maybe it’s hiding her abomination
Her clothes are too gaudy
Or maybe she doesn’t much care about fashion trends...
Her skins like a glazed brown rubber
Or maybe she just rubs it furiously to cleanse herself of the dirt within
Her frame looks too emaciated
Or maybe she can’t gulp down food after what is being rammed inside her mouth
Her lips never utter a word
Or maybe she accepted the fact nobody would listen to her pain.
Her gait carries the burden of misfortune
Or maybe she’s just had a long night at work.
Her child’s uncared for
Or maybe it’s just an occupational hazard
Her thoughts are vague
Or maybe she’s learnt not to think about her ordeal
Her emotions are few
Or maybe her heart has more scars than the marks on her body.
Her soul is soiled
Or maybe its just the need to survive
So now
She sits naked on her rickety bed
Breasts firm on droopy thin shoulders
Legs wide apart…
Waiting for money
Waiting for him
Waiting for redemption
Waiting for freedom
Or maybe just the end of this wretched night…..
© 2007 by Zaid

Talk To Her

2007-05-14T01:09:00.000+05:30

Silence hangs in the musty room
Through the motley glass panels
Enters the shadow of a sparrow
To talk to her.
Will silence find words?

The white washed walls,
The shadow of the bird
Inebriated by the reverberation of the panels,
The heap of dust lazing
On the faded portrait of the priest,
Dead, a dozen of years back.

Everything, everything is here
To aggravate the profundity of silence,
Her bereavement, her mourning
For losing her tongue-
A penalty for revealing too much of her heart,
A punishment for resurrecting her corpse
Rotten, stinking, which was lying
In some unknown morgue,
Her putrid corpse….half eaten by millions of ants.

-The Shepherdess

2007-05-11T12:56:00.000+05:30

A suicide note!

So I thought I’d just let you go..
Let those moments slip away like sands through my empty hands….
I ain’t bad, but I know I ain’t any
good for you…
We didn’t really go wrong, we just didn’t seem that right..
I know you’d be happy when I’m gone
My love couldn’t give you what I thought it should..
Sad though cause I gave my all..
So walk away from my life.oh! love
Please don’t turn to give me one last look
Cause my eyes wont lie
Yet I don’t want to stop you…
I’ll just jump from these lonely cliffs
I’ll free myself from hope!

I know I have been a disappointment
And that’s what I’ll always be to you
I know I couldn’t be what u wanted me to be
Even though I really wanted to.
I wish you’d understand
I am that I am
Not an aberration
Not a mistake
And it’s not my fault..
I know its not yours either…
So I wont blame you
I’m sorry I’m not that perfect son
I’m sorry you couldn’t pat my back and be proud of me…
Though I’m proud of you..
So please don’t expect anything anymore from me
Just let me hide my face and cry
Don’t wipe my tears
Let them run dry
Cause here I stand at the edge of these barren cliffs
I’ll free myself from shame!

Oh please don’t remember me anymore…
Do not cling to my memories
For they’ll make u you bitter and sad
Maybe even a little guilty..
Don’t shed a single tear for me
Try once not to mock this last gesture of mine
I will be indebted to you all
I ain’t a coward
And yet this is my steadfast choice
So let me erase myself from your esteemed story
I know for sure I don’t merit a place.. even a tiny role..
Please don’t try to search for me
Let me be lost to the winds of time
Let me drown into the sea of oblivion
I don’t want a fake cortege
No formal good byes
So I’ll just jump off these eternal cliffs
I’ll free myself from existence.

By
Zaid al baset
.