In and out, all these years,
Buried, kept under layers,
Philosophies of optimism, put as,
Some words, like "serious" jazz.
Words like productivity, o hell,
Sweat to define, or even tell,
They're still in pursuit of it, hither and thither,
Overlooking self in self, finding self in Twitter.
Words like normalcy, bloody o,
It's relative, be it a friend or foe,
Pointless to tag it with difference in perception,
If there is, why's there a standard tension.
Words like future, shamelessly fuck all,
Entombing self in a basket ten feet tall,
It's insanely simple, if talking brings trouble,
Then why throw self in that bubble.
Words like realization, yeah, right,
It's consequential depression, so sit tight,
Illusions aren't menacing, if to believe,
Once grounded and happy, there's more to sieve.
Words like routine, ah, blazing steam,
Aren't you bored, or just don't scream,
If dug deeper, it's for uncertainty you'll see,
And then you talk liberation while you aren't free.
Monday 2 August 2010
My rap.
Crazy hearts, whacky hearts, insane hearts, heartless hearts,
Dumped in sorroundings, dancing on alcoholic crafts,
Seemless to say, till we feed on the humourous artefact,
The hip hop was all Freedom Writers, seldomly symphonically intact.
Remember when Green Day became greener by the sides,
The WHO wasn't worried, because they didn't use pesticides,
Sculptures of angels in the Vatican have cerebral peripherals, if you see,
Yet to believe, Anneliese Michel was killed by her demons, more than being set free.
Happiness, as defined, comes in miniscule lengthed shreds,
Or in droplets of Romanov, on practical breads,
Cornered yet popular, Gandhi listed to-do-things like elaborately,
Freed the nation, and his son too, quite remarkably distinctively.
Even evil inspires, unconventionally gives the routes to heaven,
Sam Bourne, JL Carell, who travelled on Da Vinci Code's path of maiden,
Angels, only when mixed with demons, did bring fame to Dan Brown,
So you see, and I hope you see, else strip off that crown.
We never look for sweat, but talk in swearing heaps,
To solve the equation, Gandhi's Talisman, like the perfect preamblic creep
For the ones in jeopardy and the ones beyond, 59 isn't 100 though,
But definitely richer than 45, like the disheveled, unarmed foe.
We don't need a WWII, or the 6/9 August nuclear sweep,
Not a fluke Swastik, not a cross, shedding blood to prove its deep,
Stand for Will.I.Am's Colors, or perhaps, the Leet Speak
Cuz we need a solid investment, like Heath Ledger's duck feast, sans the feet and beak.
Dumped in sorroundings, dancing on alcoholic crafts,
Seemless to say, till we feed on the humourous artefact,
The hip hop was all Freedom Writers, seldomly symphonically intact.
Remember when Green Day became greener by the sides,
The WHO wasn't worried, because they didn't use pesticides,
Sculptures of angels in the Vatican have cerebral peripherals, if you see,
Yet to believe, Anneliese Michel was killed by her demons, more than being set free.
Happiness, as defined, comes in miniscule lengthed shreds,
Or in droplets of Romanov, on practical breads,
Cornered yet popular, Gandhi listed to-do-things like elaborately,
Freed the nation, and his son too, quite remarkably distinctively.
Even evil inspires, unconventionally gives the routes to heaven,
Sam Bourne, JL Carell, who travelled on Da Vinci Code's path of maiden,
Angels, only when mixed with demons, did bring fame to Dan Brown,
So you see, and I hope you see, else strip off that crown.
We never look for sweat, but talk in swearing heaps,
To solve the equation, Gandhi's Talisman, like the perfect preamblic creep
For the ones in jeopardy and the ones beyond, 59 isn't 100 though,
But definitely richer than 45, like the disheveled, unarmed foe.
We don't need a WWII, or the 6/9 August nuclear sweep,
Not a fluke Swastik, not a cross, shedding blood to prove its deep,
Stand for Will.I.Am's Colors, or perhaps, the Leet Speak
Cuz we need a solid investment, like Heath Ledger's duck feast, sans the feet and beak.
Red-Green questions.
Questions were always there, rarely asked,
Meeting the blind eye, in confusion they basked,
Battling red and green, until both cried sigh,
Till both forced me to ask, “Who am I?”
Individual concentrations they contributed,
To the men of honour they booted and suited,
Berated, grated, churned and flushed them away,
Contesting to be the last one standing in the fray.
Streaks of red taught the art of scheduling,
Scrupulousness hitched with seriousness, no fooling,
Reading between lines, writing on the innermost,
No recklessness, no half chances, and no burnt toast.
It fought the battle hard, with no stone unturned,
Intimidating perhaps, with actions majorly spurned,
Standards at eagle’s height, expectations higher,
In a world of success, couldn’t afford to be drier.
Opposing sparkles of green, in a laid back style,
Caught up between mood rides – sober and vile,
Unstable at first thought, maniac at the second,
Until you recognize the pattern in gates opened.
Eccentric enough to suck nectar straight from the bee,
Spunky enough to draw Shakespeare on graffiti,
Uncanny to call, with antagonistic arms,
Messed up in the head, creative in its charms.
And the third breed, the streaks and sparkles,
Having best of the both worlds, feathers and marbles,
Fighting to find the identity, and which houses what,
Sinfully green, intellectually red, rest is a drought.
Meeting the blind eye, in confusion they basked,
Battling red and green, until both cried sigh,
Till both forced me to ask, “Who am I?”
Individual concentrations they contributed,
To the men of honour they booted and suited,
Berated, grated, churned and flushed them away,
Contesting to be the last one standing in the fray.
Streaks of red taught the art of scheduling,
Scrupulousness hitched with seriousness, no fooling,
Reading between lines, writing on the innermost,
No recklessness, no half chances, and no burnt toast.
It fought the battle hard, with no stone unturned,
Intimidating perhaps, with actions majorly spurned,
Standards at eagle’s height, expectations higher,
In a world of success, couldn’t afford to be drier.
Opposing sparkles of green, in a laid back style,
Caught up between mood rides – sober and vile,
Unstable at first thought, maniac at the second,
Until you recognize the pattern in gates opened.
Eccentric enough to suck nectar straight from the bee,
Spunky enough to draw Shakespeare on graffiti,
Uncanny to call, with antagonistic arms,
Messed up in the head, creative in its charms.
And the third breed, the streaks and sparkles,
Having best of the both worlds, feathers and marbles,
Fighting to find the identity, and which houses what,
Sinfully green, intellectually red, rest is a drought.
My science.
Science, and its theories that loomed over,
For centuries, creating that humanitarian cover,
And its limbs, which, through constant prayer,
Of itself, did all of us a huge favour.
Science proved its concepts in and out the day,
For a strict doctrine, much more than hearsay,
And it wrapped our breads on our daily tray,
Of erasing out scars of the flesh, so we say.
Science gave the optimal dynamics of eat and sleep,
For everything, it had an explanation so deep,
And with the scientific reign, someone had to honk a beep,
Of rising, and going, above a standardized seep.
Science may have radicalized, eased our lives,
For our skin, and taught effective reproduction to wives,
And disembodied me from the joy of fast raced drives,
Of bringing me inside the lines, as boredom survives.
Science assailed our sleepless nights, as an unhealthy cost,
For depriving us from an alternative life, and it bossed,
And misconceived mess as filth – creativity was lost,
Of standardizing our faiths, whatever they cost.
Science rationalized our natural instinct and desire,
For making future too foreseeable, made nostalgia retire,
And we tormented ourselves, burning in that anxious fire,
Of bringing ourselves back to that unhealthy satire.
For centuries, creating that humanitarian cover,
And its limbs, which, through constant prayer,
Of itself, did all of us a huge favour.
Science proved its concepts in and out the day,
For a strict doctrine, much more than hearsay,
And it wrapped our breads on our daily tray,
Of erasing out scars of the flesh, so we say.
Science gave the optimal dynamics of eat and sleep,
For everything, it had an explanation so deep,
And with the scientific reign, someone had to honk a beep,
Of rising, and going, above a standardized seep.
Science may have radicalized, eased our lives,
For our skin, and taught effective reproduction to wives,
And disembodied me from the joy of fast raced drives,
Of bringing me inside the lines, as boredom survives.
Science assailed our sleepless nights, as an unhealthy cost,
For depriving us from an alternative life, and it bossed,
And misconceived mess as filth – creativity was lost,
Of standardizing our faiths, whatever they cost.
Science rationalized our natural instinct and desire,
For making future too foreseeable, made nostalgia retire,
And we tormented ourselves, burning in that anxious fire,
Of bringing ourselves back to that unhealthy satire.
My alcohol, and the green cloud.
The alcohol is unleashed, pouring and unmeasured,
Sipped in big and small gulps, the taste treasured,
Some start off with a cautious and hesitant no,
Before you know it, you just don't seem to know!
Some go down in a quarter and float, some in two,
Some bear and sit tight, some run off to the loo,
The gold in the glass, like aristocratic brands,
Sharing labels of JD, Teacher's and Grant's.
While the highness starts kicking in, tied in a roll,
Is mashed greenery, one that liberates your soul,
Cattle graze it, but they smoke it in the air,
From tipsy to buzzed to GONE - building layer by layer.
The room becomes a mistful entrance to heaven,
The mind walking a satiable, gleeful terrain,
Wavelengths of psychadelic effects, hip shaking and dancing,
To the overtones of podcasts and Kamasutrance-ing.
And the day you decide, "Alright, this is it!"
"No more, that was definitely the last bit!"
You wake up next morning, with a hangover and a cry,
And realise your facebook status reads, "Fuckin high."
Sipped in big and small gulps, the taste treasured,
Some start off with a cautious and hesitant no,
Before you know it, you just don't seem to know!
Some go down in a quarter and float, some in two,
Some bear and sit tight, some run off to the loo,
The gold in the glass, like aristocratic brands,
Sharing labels of JD, Teacher's and Grant's.
While the highness starts kicking in, tied in a roll,
Is mashed greenery, one that liberates your soul,
Cattle graze it, but they smoke it in the air,
From tipsy to buzzed to GONE - building layer by layer.
The room becomes a mistful entrance to heaven,
The mind walking a satiable, gleeful terrain,
Wavelengths of psychadelic effects, hip shaking and dancing,
To the overtones of podcasts and Kamasutrance-ing.
And the day you decide, "Alright, this is it!"
"No more, that was definitely the last bit!"
You wake up next morning, with a hangover and a cry,
And realise your facebook status reads, "Fuckin high."
Thursday 1 April 2010
Dead You.
We, as have made it, are in a war,
Slick, sly, even worth dying for,
No, this time, not mechanized aircrafts,
Weapons are eccentricities, no bullet shafts.
Queen miss sunshine, her radiated longitude
Of scents from gravels, burrowed in solitude,
The sparkling, glowing anatomy, boiling,
An elope, miniscule escape, forever foiling.
1945, when nuclear blasted on the fences,
Of Hiro. and Naga.; though weren't the preferences,
An act of heroism perhaps, an act to end a war,
Hatched yet another war, this time, what for.
Then come the healers; making exceptions in healing,
Wounds are cracked open, not healing, but sealing,
Like a disguise to please no one but self,
Philosophy, social conduct - all books on the shelf.
The armoury's defenseless, till it strikes down,
Or if it hits bull's eye, all glasses frown,
Cops running wild, the sheep unleashed,
Momentarily contended, or even pleased.
And the slut on the job, one who ignores,
Gets a notice everytime, her shamefulness soars,
Or so it seems, even Einstein blew the remedies
Of the nuclear bomb to US, so without brevities.
Borders, and so they shrink down, the inferior cub cries,
Early education, pa teaching Hitler's defeatist sighs,
And the rainbows and twinkling stars and the nature,
Or productivity, resourcefulness, a bright future.
Street educators are smart too, they either die or become riches,
World's best rappers, sinfully best philosophical bitches,
Even the Joker, "Why so serious" are you for crying out loud,
His intelligence, personality, would've gotten him proud.
So, in the maze of catastrophe, the war we've embarked,
To answer, who's the dumb durt bag to be sharked,
"The one who cannot define lightening, or the one,
Who cannot understand it awesome natural power," as both get done.
To realize the bombs the Amercians dropped,
Dismayed tails that wagged, limping as it sopped
To the man of the hour, the peaceful sermon on the mount,
As his stoned body lay, his number of sins out of count.
Slick, sly, even worth dying for,
No, this time, not mechanized aircrafts,
Weapons are eccentricities, no bullet shafts.
Queen miss sunshine, her radiated longitude
Of scents from gravels, burrowed in solitude,
The sparkling, glowing anatomy, boiling,
An elope, miniscule escape, forever foiling.
1945, when nuclear blasted on the fences,
Of Hiro. and Naga.; though weren't the preferences,
An act of heroism perhaps, an act to end a war,
Hatched yet another war, this time, what for.
Then come the healers; making exceptions in healing,
Wounds are cracked open, not healing, but sealing,
Like a disguise to please no one but self,
Philosophy, social conduct - all books on the shelf.
The armoury's defenseless, till it strikes down,
Or if it hits bull's eye, all glasses frown,
Cops running wild, the sheep unleashed,
Momentarily contended, or even pleased.
And the slut on the job, one who ignores,
Gets a notice everytime, her shamefulness soars,
Or so it seems, even Einstein blew the remedies
Of the nuclear bomb to US, so without brevities.
Borders, and so they shrink down, the inferior cub cries,
Early education, pa teaching Hitler's defeatist sighs,
And the rainbows and twinkling stars and the nature,
Or productivity, resourcefulness, a bright future.
Street educators are smart too, they either die or become riches,
World's best rappers, sinfully best philosophical bitches,
Even the Joker, "Why so serious" are you for crying out loud,
His intelligence, personality, would've gotten him proud.
So, in the maze of catastrophe, the war we've embarked,
To answer, who's the dumb durt bag to be sharked,
"The one who cannot define lightening, or the one,
Who cannot understand it awesome natural power," as both get done.
To realize the bombs the Amercians dropped,
Dismayed tails that wagged, limping as it sopped
To the man of the hour, the peaceful sermon on the mount,
As his stoned body lay, his number of sins out of count.
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