old tell

Don’t open your eyes for you won’t see anything. I told myself. Of course it was dark everywhere. Darker than any cinema hall and unknown of the direction of the screen. Screen? A door maybe…

Hence I went roaming. Hence I walked. Hence I looked. Hence I was tired. and so I came back to the gentler world of dark. Did I see the colors? I went out past that door. Again.

Almost at the top of the mountain but not quite there, I met some returning faces. Ever eager to hide my embarrassment, I smiled as graciously as possible to hide the urge of throwing a hard fist at them.

“So here you are again”? I nodded my smiling head. “You are consistently late as ever. We found him already and to save all your futile effort of near future, we will tell you that he is a fake.” I wanted to nod my head again and get rid of them with a grateful smile but somehow I got rid of my smile and they started nodding their faces.

“We knew you would be here. So we just dropped earlier to check the facts. It’s a waste of time really but since The Queen ordered it, we had to do it.” I was already at my not so large wit’s end deciphering what this asses were talking about and I take pride at being a chosen one (although by the grand jury comprising a single member ‘me’) in this republic to start and finish at my own whims and not by the meaning. (Is the revolution happening already?) “Looks like, he doesn’t even know why he is here.” And they started laughing. I took it as cue to part the company with those honorable gentlemen and started walking ahead. “Go and meet the man who helped achieve the last wish of the last DINOSAUR. You both will get along and might swim in the bucket claiming racing through the entire ocean.” Then they laughed making funniest noise I ever heard and put me to the laugh as well.

It felt nice sitting at the top. The debris of unused or demolished concrete can take almost natural shapes at the top. It did feel nice. The man sitting across me never bothered to utter a single word. But then nor did I. The silence can be eerily romantic for the virtue of being silent. What knows What not Who cares When doesn’t Why bother Whom matters Which explains all the bullshit. Hahahahaha…

“So what was the last wish of that DINOSAUR”?

“That? Last DINOSAUR”

“Yeah, that last DINOSAUR”

“The last DINOSAUR”

“The Last Wish of The Last DINOSAUR. What was it”?

“Sky cannot hide the spots which twinkle for their own merry. And it is respectful enough to let the sun and the moon shine most of the times. I wonder if you can be as passive as the sky and still spirited enough to play along little games with distant stars and the moons and the suns. They aren’t confined by your reach and out of your grasp but you have the responsibility of telling others the stories of their escapades. To be a story teller is a great gift for you can hover above your audience and peek in their lives but a great curse too, for you can never reach and never fall.”

I had heard those words before. In the black pits of my hollow brain. I had a reason to smile. That smile worked as a key and opened the flood memories. He went on talking then. In a very monotonous, expressionless voice he offered me his birth and the childhood. I returned some smiles, some nods, some raised eyebrows, some quizzical monkey looks, some hollow looks, some stinking yawns. He went on and on and on… I kept track… wandered… came back… kept track… lost… found back… kept track… got immensely bored…

Suddenly I asked him, “Where did you come across the last wish of the last DINOSAUR”? As if whacked on the head, he came out of his talking train. Looked at me. Then looked below. Far below the surface. At the core of the earth his stare lingered for a while. Soaking the heat buried within the massive rocks. Then he smiled, smiled as if learning hard to use those mussels again.

“It was the last DINOSAUR itself who told me the last wish.”

“that is impossible cause DINOSAUR left the stage long before it was all hogged by idiotic lunacy of human race.”

“how do you like to be the part of this beautiful farce”?

“don’t know… I would have liked to know how my performance is… how well have I adopted to the role and made it my own… but then there is no audience… everyone is a co-actor… how would I ever know if someone is telling me the truth or acting out his part”?

“audience is important. Even in the play itself, we seek for a temporary audience on the stage. It makes us live. A conversation, even if only an acted part makes us what we are.”

"A Humble Tale of Cinna in the Making" OR "What's His Name Again?"

Do you know that Cesar was killed as a result of conspiracy? Of course you know! If anyone reading this bullshit in the Bard's language, he/she aught to know about the death of Cesar. Maybe you don't know the Bard and hence reading this... oops never alienate potential readers by questioning their intellect... forgot that for a moment. Sorry!

Very well then, let me start again.

Do you know that Cesar was killed as a result of conspiracy?
Mark Antony you took the center stage after that killing and stirred the crowd's emotions with passionately eloquent speech. The heat was on, the ingredients were mixed, the stirring was applied and the crowd curry was boiling. Sorry, read fury instead of curry. (does it taste different?)
Crowd wanted bread of revenge to soak the curry of fury. Revenge against the conspirators. The name of Cinna as a conspirator came forward. Cinna present in the mob was pushed forward. Now is the time for revenge! Crowd is licking their tounges...

But Cinna pleads with them, Says, he is not Cinna The Conspirator but he is Cinna The Poet.

 I don't know, where exactly Shakespeare has asked that monumental question, "What's in a name?" Actually it's not even a question, it's just a prelude to ridiculous justification of no matter what you want to prove, if you want to prove it badly, you prove it anyhow, anyway.

What's his name again? Cinna...
Kill him anyway for his bad poetry...

How many Cinnas have you killed? What would be your defense when your name is Cinna? Which conspiracy killed his? Rage of the crowd or his inability to become anything better than Cinna? Or was it foolish of him to be a part of spectator with many others when all those others are not with you but only with a fury which is boiling like a curry?

I don't know but anything, absolutely anything with definite agenda scares the shit out of me. For every such agenda has a potential Cinna and what odds are out there for me not being Cinna?
Come on! you know that I am not so innocent. But i just wish that when I am lynched, it won't be for the yellowness of my teeth...

To the conspirators of imagined sin...
What's His Name Again?

The undying Sun on the sitting Bull...

You fuck up everything...
But even your birth?

From all the available possibilities, you choose only those which lead to the BECOMING of you. You fucking moron! If your birth and this lousy existence could have been less lousy and better served at some other time then why in hell your eternal soul choose to be mortal in this period? Why not your so called best suited period? That is, if you got any soul in the first place. But in all likelihood you have chosen not to believe in any gibberish of soul and all that nonsense. So what are you gonna sell if and although its very marginal if, devil comes knocking to your door?

The sun roasting back while your pathetic perspiration tries vehemently to save your skin is quite an experience, the adrenaline pumped and hourly reason for existence at its peak, you are elated as nothing else. Mind, body and all your senses concentrated and frankly wasted on the field is a moment to live. Moment to toil, your moment of grace and personal dignity... ohh! cut the bullshit... been there and done that, know it all... say something new...

Sinking ever deeper in the pages, you can gain million friends. Get as close, to understanding the creation of universe to the importance of breathing as you ever get close to understanding yourself. Squabble around the desk with your fellow journeymen and unlock each others sleeping or never used before neurons of brains. cry with the other souls longing for some end. Fall in love and avenge all the wrongs. Spread your wings and fly only to land at earth at the last page and fly again starting from the first. Sweeten your tongue with the dripping honey of sublime poetry and blaze your heart sometimes when honey turns to acid. Meet Marx to understand the rifts. Feel connected to the earth via struggles of Mandela. Disappear and reappear as a colorful butterfly with Marquez. Live the moments of war from the past and future. Strive to understand that somewhere your understanding stops and either you can understand everything in your own way or you can only accept that you understand nothing... Will you list everything good you have read? There ain't much space and time. For every name you drop, I can drop two and at the end we both will be defeated. So take my word for that, BEEN THERE AND DONE THAT...

Smoke is a curios thing. A curtain for everything unwanted to hide. Picture a world all for yourself with brain at its pleasurable most. Giving you ideas but not the time to ponder over it. You dream and you talk. You sleep and you walk. You sleep and tap at music of the world. All behind a curtain. You see, only you. You love, only you. You find a soul mate and greatest sympathizer and its you. Drip a liquor through your veins and smoke your lungs. At the root of the weed is the dream of the wind. Vivid and unstopping. Wrap yourself in the curtain and you have as good as wrapped the world... BEEN THERE AND DONE THAT...

Fall in love. Feel the warmth and find a place. Get ready-made ambition if you cannot conceive one. Find a purpose and stick to it. Love yourself for the fact that you are lovable enough to be loved. A little bit of responsibility won't hurt. Unless you question the bloody situation. Believe that situation does not exist. Its you and her who are worth of existing. Feel the lighter air and greener grass, most opulent of feelings and their spills. Hate one, curse one and forget in the shadow of the love. Fool yourself by fooling the other one...BEEN THERE AND DONE THAT...

There is a track laden for every train to move. Moving from the track is disaster if you haven't got the tires. That track leads to every station from the birth to the death. Every station is said to be worth visiting and part of the official social schedule. Stick to the route and enjoy your journey. Fulfill your birth. But your are special and entitled to the tires then you can take the detour. Visit less visited halts and experience the broader world. Stop and add some fuel, to go another extra mile. Take pictures of exotic places and share with fellow travelers. Enrich your world. Take something and return more.

But you won't take it seriously, will you? Make either journey and you will have company. I don't know how but it dampens your spirit. So you think, actually don't think at all but only act and you choose. You choose to walk and wish this choice will make you worthy enough to walk. You walk and play where its possible. You walk and learn where its possible, you walk and read where its possible, you walk and see where its possible, you walk and love where its possible. Which is nothing but just a blur to the others as you think, is more known to you, you think. You Think. Happy for a while with the sudden burst of details. You grasp and you are heavy. Suitably forgotten that its not just about the distance but about the time as well. Time is heavy and its a terrible burden. So much of walk and with sullen curiosity only boredom is the companion. For all the possible actions to avoid and get rid of ever present companion you have an answer... BEEN THERE, DONE THAT... The road is miles away and track is the distant past. And ever increasing doubt which will surely turn to fear with the burden of time that you have traveled so less and your destination has himself walked to you.


Well... I just gave me a chance and that me fucked me again...
For a long time I wished to do it and today is the day when I will do it. I have been sitting here whole night to shoot him. This is one of favorite places. A small hill and sibling valleys on the both side. On the adjacent hill god himself made his home (so they say!), it must be his favorite place too! Here is a tiny shrine with a bull which goes nowhere, although I have a vague sense of feeling that he is lost so I move his face to every possible direction but still it chooses to sit. Being carved out of stone has made him as senseless as stone I guess. Nonetheless he is a great company and quite a relief that I am not the only one around with stone for the brains. Hahahahaha... You see? I am a bit nervous, shooting someone is not a joke so I am trying to humour myself with any random thought. Talking to myself is not an option as it will again take me on some bullshit 'my ass is so pristine and beautiful' talk. So sitting bull which never bullshits is great! The moment is very near. To achieve something you got to do something. When End matters, the talk of sanctity of Means is bullshit. I have left forgotten Mahatma to forgotten place. To kill is important. Specially this killing is the most important thing. I want to shot him and bleed the whole sky. The moment he shows up, he is gonna be dead. But curiously someone may have attempted before me... sky is bleeding a bit as it is. No matter. I am gonna shoot him myself too!


At the precise moment, I took the aim and shot him. I never heard the bang and never felt any recoil. Maybe it was because I was so eager to see him die. I shot him and yes the sky bleed profusely. It was red. And then I slept. Never to wake up again by the rays of now dead sun.

I don't know after how many hours, days or years but I was woken up by the harsh sunlight. Bloody sun wasn't dead at all. Maybe next time I got to bring bigger pen to shot him again....