The Boy who spoke in Idioms

 I am not exactly the social type, and I am not really proud of it, but it is these limited set of social exposures which almost always brings me in contact with people whom otherwise I would have rejected as out right social outcasts.

I vividly remember the first encounter. It was wee hours of a chilly January, and I was out on one of my usual "Think in the stillness of the night" strolls. I don't quite recollect the topic of my mental misery that morning, but it was intense. I would occasionally mumble arguments to the pressing thought experiment, and shake my head in disagreement as the argument failed to justify the premise.

"I can offer a penny for your thought." The voice startled me out of my self imposed isolation.

I was so deep in my own head that I had not noticed any one else sharing the trail with me.

"Oh, Its nothing, just some philosophical arguments to keep me busy while I hike along the trail."

"Your mumbling caused a stir, now I am all ears with ants in my pants".

He piqued my interest and I decided to share with him the topic of my mental discourse, and at his requests, my self centered mumbling was turned into a louder monologue with an occasional contribution from the stranger on the trail. The stranger  was a young boy in his early teens, with a face full of patchy pubescent growth, and occasional pitch shifts in the voice.

The chance meeting soon became a regular event,  because we both lived in the same neighborhood, and he took the trail every day that time to collect his newspaper deliveries.

He was not exactly the mouthy one, and I realized why we could comfortably share the trail every morning. He loved to listen. He was silent most of the time, but on the occasions when he spoke, he would always be on point. My mental monologue now had an audience and a critique, and I soon realized the lengths I could push my arguments, thanks to a second brain. I slowly started enjoying the company, and this went on for a while.

Life in most cases blind sides you, and in my case it was in the form of a transfer. By the summer I had moved to a new neighborhood and soon my mornings were back to the old "isolated in my mind castle" strolls. I would not deny that I missed having someone add colour to my arguments, we humans choose to move on, and I did the same, but having some one to share the thoughts and conclusions was something I dearly missed.

I soon found a stage where I could share my profound thoughts, and soon had quite a following at my work place. My colleagues had become my sound boards and loyal audiences. This facade went on for a while, until I overhead a water cooler conversation, where some one was really annoyed with the constant showers of "intellectual fallacies" forced upon her. I confronted her, and gave her the stage. Her responses really stunned me. She said and I quote "You are not exactly the philosophical sod you believe your self to be. A kid armed with Idioms can add more to your arguments, than you can with all your knowledge."

Her words brought back what I had forgotten. 

I missed the boy who spoke in idioms.

Circle of Guilt

 Her eyes were fixed on the small leak that had sprung up in the faucet. "It was just an accident!!!", her inner monologue tried to pacify her thumping heart, as she paced her breath, a frail attempt at calming her nerves. The broken faucet was not the cause of her fear, but rather the image of her mother flushed hot with anger. "There is still time. I should be able to fix it", she continued her monologue. Her young mind raced to find a fix to the problem at hand, occasionally shaking her head as she discarded the fixes one after the other. After a little struggle with her thoughts, her face lit up, and she scrambled to the garage.

Sheryl's mother used to be a sweet person, but time is always a villain. It manages to turn the sweetest of them all into sour and snappy old souls. The constant hustle and the daily grind added fuel to the  ember which time had so generously kindled. The day the faucet broke, was just another day on the grind for her mother, and as luck would have it, she was home earlier than usual. That day instead of sprawling cloths lying on the floor, she was greeted with a fountain in the sink, a flooded kitchen, and Sheryl with a pipe wrench.

The anger turned into a blinding rage.

...

"I got my grades", the little girl had a grin sprawled across her face, as she handed her grade card to her mother. Sheryl was a dotting mother, and the joyous grin adorning her daughter just brought a smile on her face.

Sheryl had made sure not to walk down the path which her mother had walked. Sheryl had learned from the mistakes of her mother, and made it a point not to let her day, no matter how frustrating or grueling it was, leave an impression on her daughter. No matter how difficult the day was, the hope of seeing her daughter smile, gave her the courage to face what the world threw at her.

"Lets celebrate our little win, Mommy's treat for my baby". Their celebrations were special, but limited to within their means - A happy meal from the nearest burger joint, and the toy as the icing on the cake.

The ride to the burger joint was not so joyous compared to the occasion - Sheryl's car scrapped a parked car, the parking lot was full, and a thrifty decision to park on the curb won her an expensive parking ticket. Sheryl had her calm demeanor challenged, and a slow anger and frustration was cooking deep inside her, but for the sake of her daughter, she was all rainbows and sun-shines.

At the counter they ordered their favorite meal, a cheesy ham burger, salted fries and a large cup of coke. Sheryl's daughter always volunteered to carry the food back to the table, and with pride did she carry them - a trophy highlighting her victories, and today being a bigger day than all the other days, a trophy she carried. A loose shoelace played the spoilsport to the merry making of the kid, as she stumbled, splashing the contents of the cup, and the cheese spread on her mother. Sheryl was a bit annoyed by the clumsiness, but continued holding her facade. A small beady tear swelled up in the kid's eye, as she saw her hard earned prize splashed all around.

"Its okay baby, we will get another one". Sheryl consoled the now sobbing kid, as she wiped the tinny beads of tears rolling down her cheeks.

The kid felt a pang of guilt, as she was well aware of her mother's struggles. Between the sobs, the kid mustered enough energy to let out an apology.


"Sorry Mommy, It was just an accident."


Its funny when people say that words have the power to move mountains. For Sheryl that day, words stirred something buried deep within her.

The anger which she had locked away from her daughter, turned into a blinding rage.

Child of a Lie

Smile with the Sun, half circle through the sky,
Speak, mimic, act out a mortis reply.
The tone deafens my spirit, wading through the night,
Speak my tongue, sing aloud, recite my burdened lies.

Fear runs a-mock, love hides in the bludgeoned bushes,
Surrounded by wolves preying on the undead child,
She cries, she tails a fable, unheard at first,
But a familiar cry for help, I hear you,

The wolves surround me, jiggered my soul, it screams,
Stretched out into a jacket of human carcass, I lie,
Morbid sanitarium, my only recourse of solace,
I wander, pandering through the undergrowth of life.

Poison tipped heart, why do you cry, do you wail,
Pierce me with your hate ridden smirk, let me rot,
The wolves are upon me, I rest, peace my solace,
Take me home, heal this broken mirror of a soul.

I walk the shoes of my forefather,  lying my way,
I plunder life, yapping the same lie, I grow old,
The same six feet of a hole, for me to rest.
Touch me, kiss me to sleep, make me yours,

My child of lie.

[Two Song Poem] The Burnout Syndrome

'Who, reigns longer, chaos or misery?',
The question did  raise an eyebrow or two,
But adamant I was about the question,
An answer just a forethought to all the lies.

Do you feel it in your nerves, an urge to quit early,
Do you feel it burn your senses, in the dreamless sleeps.

'Chaos', I answered, she smiled, a smirk,
The battle is just about to begin, she pondered,
As she swung around in her childish prologues,
'I wish I knew the answer', sigh, all I could gather.

It ticks deep now, the clock of uncertainty,
It ticks deep, I should quit, the voice echoes.

Time is an illusion, I lie to myself,
Every step, a mechanical clockwork,
'Chaos, is life', I sigh to my self,
She laughs, mocking me to my core.

'Knock, knock', she says, a childish giggle,
I know its a joke, but 'Whose there?', I reply.

At last, she gets up, 'the game's up', she says,
'I am bored, and I need a new lie to live',
Empty, is that what I feel, searching in me,
'A new lie i need', She says, as she walks away.

I am stranded in an Island of lies, I see her walk away,
I am stranded in an Island, I see my life walk away.


The burn out Syndrome
(Songs Played Together)
Song 1: Arriving somewhere but not here
Song 2: Melodic Death Metal / Metalcore Mix

The Mirror of Scars

The box creaked, as beautiful dream bid farewell,
The velvet walls, broke the bliss,
They broke the silence.

'Sleep', said my spirit,
'Sleep, the nightmare will pass',
The wooden cage creaked,
As the carriage rattled down the stony path.

Yesterday I had seen the sunrise,
Today's just a dream.

The horse neighed,  repose to the hearse
A slow rumble on the cobbled stones,
Sang the shingle, 'Ahoy, and alight'

I heard the box creak again,
Through space I moved,
The squeeny voices of people I knew,
Drowned the being in me.

Yesterday, her face flushed with fear,
Today its a pale smile.

I heard them speak,
Concoction of lies, I sighed,
'They can't hurt',  My spirit replied.

My sins were forgiven, the soul obligated.
My ticket bought, kings I ride with you,
A purple robe sewed for me waited,
'Sleep, as long as you may',

I tried, I failed, the sleep eluded,
I tried, I failed, as dirt hit the box.

Am I dead, I asked,
'You are but asleep', says the preacher
I live, enslaved to trust.

I heard the knock on the wood,
The key clicked, the shambles untwined,
Light dawned, as I walk,
I was finally free, I sighed.

The Street Light

The eyes of the kid, street urchin, 

Shimmered, with a distant dream, 

As he lay wrapped under my light,

Skies and stars, reflected in his dream,

And he slowly faded into the sleep.

Her mind was fixed, thoughts calculated,

The pen poured ink, on the blank paper,

Hope filled her aura, blanketed in a yellow tint,

Hope to achieve, as she sat under me,

Hope to lighten the burdens of her life. 

A tear of joy, a tear of sadness, 

I couldn't tell them apart,

She sat cuddled in her lovers arm, 

A good bye I reckon, or a sense of comfort,

My light made them whole, as they waited.

The redness of the pool, dripping, reflected orange,

As he lay gasping, against a blinking headlight,

I wish I could help him, but alas I was not moved,

The wails of a distant siren, caught my ears,

As I saw his life, disappear, under the cold yellow light.

These are my stories,

Every night a new tale,

Every night a new life.

I wait, for someone, to look into,

I wait someone to talk to.

The Photograph

"Rest my child, sleep, dream and fade away ..."

Eyes, candy blue, shimmer, and fade,

Hair a mystic yellow, winds down the neck,

The pale white frock, dirty, hand made,

Imprints, faint await every call and beck.

Lips a pouty red, crack and creak,

Pale stained teeth, age never gone, 

Cheeks a faint blush to hide and seek,

Chin damped with lines, yes they frown.

Fingers, they point and dangle around,

Chipped nails covered, with painted blue,  

Hands which never knew no bounds,

Mystique clouds, future of a hidden hue.

Broken toy, a doll with no head,

Cradled along with her dainty sight,

A half torn sheet of poem never read,

Petals crumbled, leaves rotten over night.

Shriveled legs, bleak, but they do hold up, 

In a picture frame, dull with age,

The dusty shoe, of a kid who never grew up,

A casket in ground, a half written page.

The Nightmare

Cradle my thoughts, 
Shine, brandish the little fear,
Make it your own, 
Make me your little nightmare.

I walk, I stay, trying to find the steps,
My legs slip, I fly, I fall,
Night my shelter, 
Scared my soul, pumping hard, my heart.

Screech my brains, 
Scars of a past so blunt,
Fumes of sulfur, yellow thick,
I lay, clutching my head.

Wake me up, 
Before the night runs out,
The hands that follow my scream,
I am lost, I am just another dream.

Cradle the thought, 
Raise a dead child, 
Never let it see the light, 
Never it live outside your nightmare.

The Forgotten Names

The bloods in my veins, 

Why drown me, drown my pain,

I can recall all, but your name.

The wind of the fields, 

Mystique, and never to yield, 

People know you, but your name.

The light of the dawn,

My fears are your song,

You know me, but just forget my name.

The dead leaf that floats,

A grief like the lightning bolt.

You are forgotten, you and your name.

The old beggar who disappeared, 

Along with the dog he cared,

No one knew you, not even your name.

The kid who grew, to be me,

Why disappear, floating away in the sea.

I have forgotten myself, even my name.

It rains for years.

The streaming tears, on her cheeks, 

Mesmerized my being, for a while,

I had lost all senses, time flew by,

Cry turned to pleading, drifting in space

Why touch, what is not yours,

Make way, through the waves.

Let your hands play a tune, 

And dance, fluttering through the air.

The color black, looks pale,

As her eyes, witness the pain,

The tears don't stop, they flow,

I am drowning in an ocean.

Why did your smile fade,

Laugh and make waves in the sea.

Hold onto me, she chimed,

But I drifted, drifted way out into void.

I saw a hint of pleasure, lust,

As the sun burned my skin,

Weeping, she sits, weeping she lies,

I will fade with the memories of the night.

Turn me into a stone, heartless

Sculpt me, give me life, let me be reborn.

Caress my hair, let me sleep,

In your arms, let me be the dream.

The sky parted, rained for years,

I am drowning, in the rain of fear.

Hold me close, don't let me drift, 

Guilt, I hold dear, sleep a drunken lullaby.

One song poem: The sad man's fiddle

Wife, what art thou? Sitting by the corner,

Raking leaves, in the winter snow, 

Wife, what art thou? Singing a lullaby,

To a child long forgotten.

Wife, what art thou? Caressing my hair,

While I loath your touch.

Wife, what art thou? Kissing me good night,

When I would never sleep.

Wife, what art thou? Holding my hand,

While I let you go, a long time,

Wife, what art thou? Nursing my child,

Who decayed in the grave.

Wife, what art thou? Hiding a tear,

When the world laughs at you,

Wife,what art thou? Being soulful,

While your body gave way.

Wife, what art thou? Loving me still,

I know what you are, so 

Wife, what art thou? I do understand,

While I pretend not to

You are the sad man's fiddle.

One Song Poem : Voice of the Unheard

The touch of cool breeze, unwavered by thought,

She sat, her hair wavering like silken thread,

The Sun was her companion, as it smiled and shined,

Silence was her friend, as she sat, lost in thoughts.

A butterfly fluttered around her, wings flapping,

A gust of wind, she felt, raising her hopes of a new tomorrow,

The ruslting of the leaves, the stutter of the nature,

The thoughts were only what made her, the tresses of her past.

Niether did the gods could help her, as silence crept in,

Long lost were the days of pompous celebration,

As she sat, by her dark corner, walls casting their shadows,

The glimmer of sun, lost in the silence of her day.

A twig broke, cracking through her being,

A tear sparkled as she stood, walked away from herself,

The portrait of a bright future, dallying by her fingers,

Will this ever end, Will I ever speak.

A firefly twinkeled, as the night broke out,

The shadows of the walls, long lost to the night,

She walks, away from everything she knew,

Every thing that defined the being she was.

A hug, the tears find their way,

Paving a path of sorrow, she tramples,

The dying flowers, reflect her hopes of tommorrow,

Nothing but rain, as the clouds curl up.

The silver lost to the lust, she held it at her heart,

The rain would lash out its fury, as clouds darkened.

The silver lost to the clouds, as the moon hid in the night,

And it rained, her tresses wetted by tears of god.

Will she ever speek?

The Cat with the Blue Eye

The cat spoke, with spurts of laughter masking its voice,
"Do you know what makes this world a place worth living?",
A blank stare on my face, that was all I could give.

The cat smiled, its bright eyes shone, blue,
It straightened its fur coat, licking its palm.

It leapt from the table to my shoulder, to whisper,
"Its that little bird over the fence, which I need",
"That yellow cute bird, which would become my dinner one day".

An evil snarl, as it leapt back, its gaze fixed on me,
An evil smile sprung upon its whiskered face,

"Open your eyes, look around, find your bird",
The cat purred, as it lay, playing with its wool ball,
Then without warning it leapt out of the window, and my eyes followed.

With a lightning move, it had the bird in its claws,
A little struggle, and a splash of blood, a little tweet.

I understood what the cat had said, and my eyes watched,
As the cat feasted on the dead bird, relishing its taste,
I had to find my bird, the bird to make this world a place worth living.

Wings of Dream

Is this life just a path to the place, that we all have come from...

His eye glimmered, with an unending passion,
As his hands worked the soft features of his dream,
Delicately he shaped it, made it real, from his own desire,
Then he breathed life into it, as he watched it fade.

He watched it grow into a beauty, a beautiful nymph,
He gave it everything, desire from his deepest heart.

It had a heart, which beat with every changing season,
It had a soul, which he thought he had owned,
The beauty grew, grew into something he couldn't comprehend
Until it was time to part, but his desires strong not to let go.

Then the story of tears, and sorrow, that passed,
The story of loneliness, that swept across his mind.

He realized that he couldn't shelter his dream for ever,
And agreed to let it free, free into a world of conceit,
But his pride was broken, aged he looked back at time,
Watched his dream bear wings and fly away, loneliness his aid.

He waited, till it had gone out of sight, and then a sigh,
As he picked up his walking stick, with a retreat of an old man.

The Autumn Sunset

"...The leaves fall, and the flowers wither, but the memory remains."
The tenderness of the leaves lost,
Lost to the tears of the sky,
Clouds that never saw light,
Shade our lives for ever.

The smile of the damsel fades,
Fades into an autumn sky,
The loving hug of mate,
Fades into a sad departure.

Winds that play with the flower,
Withered by the summer sun,
Skies still rain fire,
Burning down the forest of hope.

The sunset was my life,
The life I held onto for long,
But today the sun sets for ever,
Never to be seen again.

I wait for this autumn to fade,
A new winter and spring awaits.
I wait for a new dawn,
To light up, after this autumn sunset.

Enemy Of an Enemy

The little rat ran, ran for its life,
As the snake pursued its prey,
Around the field the rat ran,
And soon the snake fell behind.

An owl sitting on a nearby tree,
Was enjoying the show at hand,
When it saw the rat about to run,
Run into a borough and spoil its show.

"The borough won't be of much help",
Hearing the hoot, the rat looked up.
"The snake can always follow you,
Right into the hole, you see"

"So let me help", the Owl continued,
"Why should I trust you", the Rat squeaked,
"Well I am your enemy's enemy", retorted the Owl,
"Let me think, I will let you know soon"

The rat knew that owl was right,
"The snake would follow me into the hole,
And may be corner me and eat me,
But how can I trust the owl either?"

"The owl may eat me too, if I stay,
But I think he is for real,
For an enemy's enemy is a friend",
The rat was in a deep thought.

"Help me Mr Owl, for I find you wise,
Help me Mr Owl, for you are correct",
"Promise me you won't leave here, until,
until I come back with the dead snake"

"We can celebrate together", said the owl,
And the rat stood his promise, as the owl darted away,
And a snoop down, the snake writhed in its claws,
It writhed and died soon.

The rat was happy, prepared for a celebration,
When with a hoot, the owl scoped down again,
But this time, the rat was there in its claw.
"Why do you break the promise", asked the rat.

"I never made one", said the owl,
And it flapped along the horizon,
With the new catch, in its claws.
And as it flew it chuckled to itself.

I am for sure the enemy's enemy,
But I never claimed to be the friend.
And it flew, perching on a high branch,
and feasting on its grand catch.

Change

"...To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly..."

-Henri Bergson

I need to change. I need to change, and I will repeat it for one last time, "I need to Change".

Its really fun being me, change every six months and become a new person all together, and apparently the six months duration from my last change has come to an end. I actually overstayed the period. (Geeeesh, I am bored).

Ever wondered what change is actually.

Ever wondered why the things you did once upon a time seems to be lame, but were brilliant back then.

It all started one pleasant spring morning, It was my first day at school, obviously a new one. It was my first day as a Columban. Then two years just passed by, like couple of hours, It was there I learned to change.

It was here I learned about 42, answer to life, earth, universe and everything in it. 42 still remains in my memory.

Change started there, I changed from a dumb fellow into a more reserved person, I started giving priorities to people, I started thinking about life.

Then again came a really crucial phase, *boom* The Engineering phase.

It was a cloudy autumn day when I first stepped into the campus, a neatly folded piece of paper held my identification and my pass to everlasting change.

The time period of my change increased drastically, from two years to one year, 3-quarters and then half yearlies. I adapted well to the half yearlies, new semester, new things to look forward to and a bit of holidays in between so that people won't actually notice that you changed.

The latest one lasted a bit more, because of this one person, who actually did have a great deal of influence in my life.

Then again I am here, saying I need a change, its long since I experimented with my self.
I need to get rid of many things, like, the three imaginary friends I have ( Yes I need to grow up ). I need to be more mature, I need to "SPEAK UP" of all things.

Last Saturday, I was wondering why I skip my meal so often when I actually have a good source to order and eat properly according to my taste, well It dawned to me that, I am scared of ordering, BLAH, ( I just don't know why I am so scared, Maybe as D once said, "...I am not ready to face the consequences of my action, so I would rather like to run away from them, or avoid them altogether" ) Well ordering food from outside may seem lame, but for me, its important, It showed me that I was just plain afraid of the consequences of my action.

And again BLAH.

So, once again I say it, I need to change, and its high time, I am bored being me, I need to figure out a new outlook, may be a little talkative this time, or may be a little more serious and scary, or a little more jovial person, but for sure I need to change.

And to conclude this long monologue, I would like to quote Charles Darwin,
"...It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change."

And once again BLAH.

The Truth

"...The war has made me, made me what I am. It showed me that life is what I crave for..."


I stayed, just behind the lines,
Lines of brave men, ready to die.
I stood, armed to the nails, prepared,
Prepared to bring down the enemy.

We charged, as bulls fed on anger,
To devour what came our way.
We charged, with swords drawn high,
To cut every head that stayed.

With each swing came down a cry,
A cry of pain, a cry of fear.
We marched into the midst, fearless,
Ready to fall mountains, on our way.

Little did we know, about the trap,
Trap that lured us into their midst.
And I watched on, as my men fell,
Fell one after the other.

I hid among their corpses, afraid,
I hid to save my life, and I held on.
And when the enemy was done, they left,
Left me with a mountain of corpses, my own men.

Was I a coward, or a wise man, I don't know,
For I just wanted to live, and I did.
And the war made me, made me what I am,
It showed me that life is what I crave for.

The Un-great-fool

"...He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has..."
- Epictetus

I am not wise, for I lament for the things I have not, and care even less for the things I have.
"Life"
I have a wonderfully gifted Life, a life which I got through a miracle, a real miracle, but still I play around with it, tossing it around, carelessly, the chances that I might drop and break it, are real high, but still I play around with it.
"Family"
It took a while for me to understand the importance and value of a family. It would be a lie, if I said that I cared for my family, but I have changed, I have become someone who I was not, changed for good, changed for bad. And together with me my family changed. It took me two years in a practical jail to understand what family meant. Now I long to see them, long to be close to them, but the truth is, time has run out, the only thing we as human beings can't control.
"Friends"

The only thing I have in abundance, friends, I can get along with people, easily, without trouble. I have seen people who are really a pain to adjust with, they don't have friends, they just have people around them who sympathize with them, because they don't have friends and because they feel sorry for them. And then there's me, who has his own private world full of friends, and doesn't even care about them. Well I have had complains from many, "...You don't hang around with me these days, you have got better friends than me", ah well they haven't seen me hang around with the "better" friends, I hang around alone, I crib about the lack of friends, I lament about being alone.
"Intelligence"
I have enough Intelligence to last me through my old age dumbness, enough to stand for my own beliefs, to protect my own principles, but I lament, I look at others who are better off than me, and despair for their intelligence, neglecting mine. I let my brain rust, its blunt these days, it requires a good brush up, but I know I will raise again.

"...I have been ungrateful to every one around me, to my friends, who have actually been there during my hard times. My family, because of whom I am what I am. My self, without whom I wouldn't have had this identity of mine."

And towards the end, the golden touch, golden words to give me solace throughout my life, a phrase which would be etched in my memory, which I can use as a defense, to protect my own ungrateful soul from torment.

"The Past is gone, a new beginning awaits you"

Reasons - 2

Its been long since I actually wrote something sensible in this blog, ( well apart from the regular poetic explosions of fear and anxiety ). Today was a day I actually ( when I say actually I mean it this time :P ) tried to understand the reasons behind my screwed-up existence. I have had dreams where I was as normal as others were, where I could talk normal things. Think normally. Fall in love, have some one, who holds my hand and walks with me when I am down. Well these were just perfect examples of a perfect life.
Something happened, something which made me believe that there was no turning back, there was no returning from what I am, but as usual- "Who gives a F***". I hate it like this, I hate the reason of my existence, and everything linked to me. Thanks to a handful of people, I still breath ( not fresh air though :D ), I just wish I had a time machine, but well people would have missed "me" then.


I knew a man with no face,

No face to remember by.
I knew a memory with no name,
No name to recall it by.

The night was in its youth,
When two hands touched,
The night was in its death bed,
When the dreams were shattered.

So I stand tall, to protect my dreams,
And to do what is best for me,
So I stand up against all fears,
But still the night crushes me down.

I knew a man with no face,
Because I choose to forget,
I knew a memory with no name,
Because I hated to recall it.