three plus three is three

when you're always looking for a reason for why things that happen, happen. your finger points, strays, your waves lay your brain next to death. should you manouver a move? will you change the cause, or will the force? let's get to the root, the force.

the force.

why can't you find it? why are there so many fucking questions? thy needs to be sharper - thy can't get out of thy head - thy cannot stay in it.

this won't end well.

you have no hopes, no standards, no expectations. it's ruined, so replace it. how? by how much? for how much longer? when this will end, no - wait - when will this end? you were supposed to be okay by now.

this is failure. this - is - absolute - failure.

This Is Yours

As I scour through
the power of
denial and
revival of
the spirit wins
the battle ends

A fresher start will
level up
the pieces of
survival clock
gone is all
a dirty job
relive it like
you had a fight
you had it right
double or nothing

Walking worked until the feet froze. Parking yourself will never bear the same feat. If that's what it took you to figure this out, then cut your fucking liver out.

Matter of the Flap

Today, I dared to think. I thought to dare to think myself into thinking of self-reflection. Then, I reflected. Selflessly I caressed the nervousness in my nervous system. The veins weren't as jealous as I thought the thoughts would be.

To be created out of thin air is still creation. Existence is perceptive after all.

"somebody's paying the pied piper"

Whirlpool yourself to witness the eye of your eye. It's the third one that I speak of. Not the only one that matters. You run the oval to finish where you started. You find the pace altered, the tone altered, the mood altered by every yard. The sounds are, again, perceptive after all.

Listen carefully.

Slowly.

Chup.

Take What You Can Find

Hello old friend.

If it were possible for you to ever snare the layers without care for the bathers, the fountain could be well positioned to sublimely create absolute-patterned ripples. It helps, it yelps in pleasure.

Negative silence is a positive. Takes might to make it right. Takes perseverance to level the boat. How hard can it be? Depends on how live your wire is and how much thump you can pump. Fever isn't rock-bottom, cancer isn't a deterrent and shalom to you as well.

The good half is left to the right. It's still half, but it's good. Enough, maybe? It did not come down to blowing spark-less shivers that couldn't color a broken tool for all the eastern reasons. And that's why I forgot the title of my next book.

Until I remember.

The Fruits That Killed Their Roots

Every then and when, I blunder. A generation of sailors, carried by their saviors, into what would become (or what they assumed it was to become) undone without any brisk motion. Breaking every number into half, just like a folded paper, requires you to suck out the pulp of the living dead. The greatest of warriors were sailed by the sailors after the saviors couldn't offer more favors. And then, all that is doubled ends well.

Or all is doubled that fends well?

The tailors were born menders, until the warriors (credit to the sailors (credit to the saviors) ) expanded their notional principal of blending an optimum mix of peace and war. But the tailors would rather have peace than freedom. Peace, harmony and dependence.

Highlight: Dependence.

With great power, comes the lack of reasonability.

khwaar ft. Desi Phreak - Leak

All credits to Desi Phreak for putting pen to paper to tongue.

You are worthless
An identity so askew
That you borrow from east and west
Claiming the essence from lands of
Two forefathers, WHO?
When and why has that demented your
Cognition. Choose a side
And decide
What profile you want to imbue
Its true
You
Cannot be two
Or a two in one.
Your skin is brown, not white not yellow

No.

You pathetic Paki, curry muncher, FOB
Or should I call you a bloody Indian too?
A construction of two imagined destinies
Assuming acceptance from ME

HA

I chortle at your insolence.
Define yourself or else
I'll bury you under this conspicuous clause:
"I am nothing if not something discernable to the masses"

Got that?

Repeat and repeat until you understand
Until your brain expands
Perhaps at the hands of those around you
Who demand that you finally decide
Define
Youself.
As one from one, not from one two
Indian or Pakistani what the hell are you?


A shadowless soul attempting to find
Some place to rest your throbbing mind?
Don't come here, nor there.
The crowds'll point and guffaw
At how blind
YOU really are.

The faceless bastards around you
Yell for one side of the story
For they don't care
Where
You're from.
Don't exoticize,
Sexualize,
Or idealize yourself to the world
Don't explain or
try to regain anything
Like I said,

they

don't

care.

Give them one word.
"Paki"
One word.


Then its done.

ahhh

But you know, you care.

Ha.

Why?

I sigh at your stupidity, moronity,
Fearfulness of society. But
To accept and be embraced just
Conform, conform, conform.
To their model of you.
And gain acceptance to their
cookie cutters club.

Now stop watching yourself move, limb to limb
Staring at your black mane and brown skin
Move away from your ugly reflection and walk outside
So you can finally f***ing decide

Who the hell you are.

To Them

http://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Tw4WxYcqxo

Foreign Policy

The blip of the arena. The radical stone-turning, face-exfoliating, charge-mechanics of your voice. You are the cloaking bloke with another fear of hope. In the plans of forever and beyond, you are and never will be in crystal. No matter how minute, as minute as minute can be, and as as as as can be, you cannot shine without dirt, without birth (as dirt as dirt).

Don't make me. I just might with all my might. As mighty as mighty can be. As as as as can be.

Exhaust the Pool

He issued his statement, broad and clear. Twenty-seven years of construction, a building he called ‘Reputation’. The demolition committee was as unbiased as the tree that existed before the park around it was created. He knew the solid facts, and he knew his solid acts. Forging reality, an equivalent of using perception, is not only denied by common law, but also well frowned upon. But he knew that. He knew that nothing is subjective. He knew that democracy is an illusion. The nation had already confessed their state. They accept their desire for confusion, while habitually naming it education.

Later, with ball bearings in mind, he takes a stroll down windy paths. The sounds mesh while visibility vanishes. He is unable to notice the darkness. He is unable to get lost. His determination is the only catalyst for his pumped veins. Shin, calf, forearms and shoulder – each with their own conscience, each with obedience. Undefeatable synergy. There is no light at the end of this tunnel. There is NO NEED for a light at the end of this tunnel. There is no need for AN END to this tunnel. This tunnel IS the light, this tunnel IS right. He found no room for fear, and none for those who chose to avenge, for those who crawled along the fence, for those who remember the un-happened, for those who cried sanely. No room for sanity.

And then, a call to the devil: Come out to witness this purgatory, come to witness the fruits that killed their roots.

End.

Prawns and Cons

Together and tomorrow. The day after today. The day following today. A future period or time. Simultaneously. Do not attempt to re-discover reality. Don't blame me if you get violated.

Renovation could prevent or provide abolition. Prevented if done the other way. Provided if done the right way. There's no middle. No one is stuck. Fragmented to the core. Mercenary in the base. Self-sufficient in the muscle. Organic in the mind. Feel fisted?

If you were ever told, and if you ever believed, would your case have been any different?

Any criminal. Any disadvantage. The glass is fully halved. The brass is trusted and well used. The galvanized metal is rusted and well off your conscience.

If you ever told them, and if they ever believed you, would your case have been any different?

Twice Again

It was a while before a while passed. And it only passed when it passed. To many, as they heard, it was proper.

Only I can tell though, they were all but proper. What they were was Proper-Fucked. Like in London. You know, bad weather, worse food, Mary fucking Poppins! Thanks, Avi.

Chaand ki utaar di dono baaliyan? Dimaag kharab hai? Nanga karna hai?

Billo, ni billo, ni billo, haath maar, de taliyan. G**nd mei le kar jhoom.

As it seems...

Not allowed. Un-aloud. Proper ratification. Untouched, take a bow.

I hope high hope why hope

First, you don't take a right. You head over to the silence, turn around and wave. That should be your signal. Their signal. Don't worry, the universe is not in on this. We all are. We ALL are.

ARE we all?

Khair, deep down inside, take a left. Take a turmoil. Turn a little. Twist a little. Go on towards the fraction that separated the huge humorous negative bandits from the very soil that was more or less an encryption in itself till it lasted for the good of none yet deceiving the elements that thrived into forever. Oh, Yeah.

Double the signal. Do not double the wave. Trouble the wave, more like.

Theek?

Snitches

Why didn't you die when you laughed that hard?

And you never itched that scab only because you didn't see it. Didn't touch it. Didn't feel it. Didn't know about it. Ignorance requires skills.

Because you WILL twist that knob. Because you WILL arrange that pivot. Because you WILL neurotically induce steps. Because YOU will. And only YOU will.

Free. Free. Free. Free. Free.

If you didn't hear it then, you didn't hear it now, you won't hear it tomorrow. Give (the fuck) up.

Arrow on the Way

They jumped the puddle, and crossed at the green. Enough to keep it clean. The wind smelt like snow and vice versa. Only three of them noticed it. Only two of them knew why. Only one of them wanted to change it. It wasn't a good day for a gazillion steps. But men and women have to do what men and women have to do. Time was plenty, unlike luck. Persistence would offer rewards. Six of them thought so. Enough to use a bow.

The feet clapping comes to a halt. The enemies of the cold are discarded. The eyes of nine speak only one language, that of silence. And spoken are phrases, not sentences. It could be heaven, it could be hell. The path is set by four of them. Democracy didn't make the majority stronger. The vehicle still needed to be decided upon. It took eight nods to agree on a mistake. Eight nods.

Their fingers would not stop moving. Involuntary acts as a result of a revolution. The age of circus. Masks and masks and more masks. Or maybe there wasn't enough light. But their fingers could not stop moving. Seven of them craved excess. Two of them wanted success. Only one found it difficult to be driven. Like a flat tire, like a rotten orange, like a dying battery.

Time is the strongest in all competition. Only fades, never dies. It will recreate itself, and will never confine to becoming its old self. Fresh. Unlike the crushed coffee beans in jars. Time will never beg. Time will never give. Time will never waste itself. Time will never collide with itself. Time will never be time again.

Their belief showed them butterflies. Five of them admired butterflies. It was almost complete, until the creation was given its own life. And no conscience...

And no power...

And no strength...

But, where there's a will...there's a way...