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...

run ran rot rat

wouldn't you say it is marked, priveleged....centered maybe, claims maybe...

light without heat > little green men

underflowing rivers, overflowing sewages

to rhyme, to commit a crime, is?

and templates wasted, tried and tested and failed...that clarity, bring...

flow and grow...stop and afterglow...

is nothing, is nothing, is nothing, impossible?

do you?

now that the loss is complete
now that your silence rules
now that the creation is complete
it's time to take it apart again

now that we have gathered here
now that we delay
now that we grow into our sins
it's time to slip away


i seriously feel like shooting stars

plate tectonics

oh shit

as you crammed into the door

oh shit

the shit hit the fan

oh shit

flying without wings

oh shit

trained to serve

oh shit

accumufuckinglation

oh shit

bottle, no genie

oh shit

bottle, up

oh shit

fantastic

oh shit

the unendeavored, the palm of a crop

oh shit

fusion based on confusion

oh shit

melodrama

oh shit

hand(s) on waist, super to the core

oh shit

wait and wait and wait and wait and wait it out

gonna wait it out

"if there was no desire to heal"

"this tedious path i've chosen here"

"certainly would have walked away, by now"

revolve

the wig lies. the rising fall. the falling rise.

it was only going to take a moment to make a moment. we're all to punish, we're all to fail. it could end no other way. or has it already?

going on, down low. forget fate, fuck forfeit. basically, it's a product. a product. an unsatisfied want.

thank you and have a miserable day.

Ride On

the boy rides over the bridge on his streamlined silver bicycle, following the orange streak in the sky. he was once told that time follows the sun, and the sun sinks deeper than human emotions. this was his race against time, with breaths and the occasional panting on his side. he thought he had prepared his calves to fight this battle, but he had not trained his perception. the black patches now followed the orange ones faster than him. his sight was far-streched, but his memory was short-termed. he could see into forever, but every mile was a new beginning. he always avoided continuations, always believed in reforming. horizontal more than vertical. lay a million bases, never hit a peak. the jack of all trades, a master of none.

then, as he concentrated less and less on the path and more on the journey, concrete betrayed him. skidding for a few metres, his flesh decided to expose itself. they called it a wound, he called it a lesson. the revealed flesh took this oppurtunity to surface and asked the boy to stare at it. it spoke to the boy and took the role of the boy's memory. maybe that's where it always was. he was reminded that not only does the night follow the day (like the boy does), but another day follows the night. then, a perception...if the day never stopped its journey, why should he. he rose firmly (feeling taller than he ever felt), kissed the concrete and picked up his bicycle with the obedience of his arms. he stared ahead while getting into position, like a soldier with a sword, like an author with his pen, like a batsman with a bat. ride on.

ride on...