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Dark Times

Dark ages wasn’t so bad after all

They used to hunt beautiful witches

Brave men were crucified

Kids were burnt alive

Pagans killed the one who believed

Vikings were made to praise Christ

Women were whored against their will

Elders were beaten, Poor were frowned

They all had a void inside

They fought brutally before their kings died

No amount of women

No weight of gold

Ever quenched a barren soul

Those unknown to own truth

Jostle around with nothing to find 

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Now they have government, television, religion

Military, police, a society with class division

Robbery, rape, infanticide, murder, terrorism

Assailants, gurus, a society with lame vision

Dark ages wasn’t so bad after all

Times were changing

Now nothing is static

Everything is falling apart

It’s appalling

 

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Insomnia

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And her thought striked

Once again, last midnight

She leaves me be

When I think of dying

The moment my heart pumps blood

My socket of eyeballs starts crying

Lost in oblivion

She never nears

The moment I smile

She never bears

All the directions

Nine fathoms Deep

I got no dope

How the fuck do I sleep!

Closed eyes see her face

Open eyes menace

Go away go away

Lover, I got nothing to say

Go away, with your false bundle of joy

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Nothing is Static

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She moved slowly, towards him
With a definite pace
He moved slowly, away from her
With a chaotic pace
They moved closer with a sway
They parted away with decay
Everything is falling apart
Nothing is static
It’s appalling

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Those smiles faded
Lame cries echoed
No one to cheer
Souls lack the ability to hear
Those painful cries wrapped in love
Shut down feelings
Everything is falling apart
Nothing is static

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She smiled for a last night
Tears rolled down those pale cheeks
Salty are her bleeding lips
Blood dried between open legs
Nothing is static
Everything is falling apart

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It’s appalling 
She would go to find a new home
Today! This day!
The end; She said⁠⁠⁠⁠


Pics credit: Felisha

Loneliness

I was looking out the window

The green pastures smelled of spring

The raindrops held the leaves firmly

While they slowly dropped dead on the ground

There was none around me

No one to make a sound

I hate noise; it breeds turmoil

But today I felt the need of someone, anyone to be around

A tear struggled hard before rolling down the corner of my left eye

That’s when I realized

I got no one to call mine

I picked a pen and a paper

But the ink got laden with salty water rain

The paper turned RED

I got no idea

How much I bled!

I got no idea

How much I bled!

I guess, A pint of blood would be an understatement

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Celestial Time Shift

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I prefer staying indoors

I cherish isolation

When I look out the window

I see the vibrant ugliness

When I close my eyes

I see you and my soul cries

The tears drown my dry eyeballs

I roam around in empty halls

Looking for traces of lost memories

You are what I found

When I burnt everything around

Down to the ground

I won’t step out

I won’t let the world destroy my cherished memories

That’s the only learning

You my only earning

You my immense wealth

My prized possession

A bundle of joy

Of the times we spent together

Staring into each other eyes

Saying things we never said

In mid of a celestial time shift

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Kashmir: A Heavenly Cemetery

It was the Persian poet Amir Khusru who referred to Kashmir as a paradise on earth. There is an old stone plaque in, Shalimar Gardens, which proclaims “Agar Firdaus bar rōy-e zamin ast, hamin ast-o hamin ast-o hamin ast,” meaning “If there is a paradise upon earth, it is here, it is here, it is here“.

It is also mentioned that when Jahangir was asked on his deathbed about his cherished desire he is credited to have said:

“Kashmir, the rest is worthless”

Well, reading such great poetic words:

Always I wondered

How could one term a piece of land heaven

It baffled me for ages

Why do poets write such praises

After all it’s just a land, few trees, few mountains

A valley blessed with decades of unrest

Lost peace as a concept

A land once white as snow

Now has traces of blood 

On every leaf which has the mettle to grow

A land trampled by army boots and assault rifles

A land filled with widows, staring out the windows

Bleeding for someone long gone

A land whose kids wish a life at dawn

Return home clad in white, powered by saffron

What’s so special about a ruined town?

Why is it a talk among the nations around?

Well, I never knew what ‘beautiful’ meant

Until I set foot on Kashmir’s heavenly ground

A land blessed by Allah himself

A heaven with gunfire in the background

A heaven with bleeding, dying children in a mound

Throats choked with tear gas and smoke

Unable to make any sound

A heaven destroyed brutally

By you and me collectively

Absence makes the heart grow Fonder

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Yesterday night, the moon and the stars shone bright

The galaxy was alive, while I held you tight

And you slipped, like sand through my fingers

The clocks on the walls became motionless

While I secretly stole, few stars from your hair, tucked behind your right ear

I know someone else owns them, but ain’t finders, keepers

You belong to someone else but I never wanted to keep things

For myself!

I do want you to dance with me

But you prefer dying alone

I wish I could leave you be

But every morning, you & me

Need to travel to save those dying stars

You might but I can’t do it alone

Whoever you choose to spin with, on the dance floor

Whoever you wrap your arms around

The song would always be made of my broken words

The music would always be mine

The less you see of me

The more you would miss me, staring at you

With blank, silent eyes, laden with unsaid speech

I wanted to lie next to you

But haunting you in your dreams, works just fine

What the world fails to understand

Is, whoever you choose to dance with

Lover, you belong to me, You are mine

You would always be mine

I certainly miss the kiss, which I could not dare to steal

But then again, there’s always tomorrow, there’s always a fucking tomorrow!

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The Green Plant & The Lady in Red

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Grab Classy Sequin Wall Canvas – Lady in Red  www.grabclassy.com

 It rained last night

The stars were dull

The moon was gloomy

Her eyes shone bright

She flew kites, all her last days and all those lovely nights

She felt free, roaming around 

With a bear trap, chained to her leg

rattling the ground, as she walked and trampled and moved

This morning, the green plant caught her gaze

She got confused, she got dazed

The earth around was barren

Though her last night was brazenly wet

She looked at the green plant

The plant looked back

Staring he saw, his lovely lady in red

the plant bled, the plant bled

And the land around, blossomed

The lady in red stood motionless

She couldn’t see; hear no sound

Her heart skipped few beats

All she heard was a pointless rhythmic beating of few punctured valves

Lub-Dub Lub-Dub Lub-Dub Lub-Dub Lub-Dub

The lady in red, went back to her bed; she had witnessed enough rain for the season

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The Rain and The Song

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Brutally raining it was

In the middle of night when I paused

The waking dream of haunting past woke me up

my dried throat demanded a sup

My music player played a melody song

the sweetness of your voice; My soul felt the throng

Back to the time when we would be lovers

In a jiffy the period so long recapitulates

feeling the words that your lips tremble to utter

In the dark of these rainy nights

Baby, I want to feel the warmth of your breath on my neck

The song drowned me even deeper

Into a time where I would caress her

The lyrics appears lucid

corners of my memories bruised

Those haunting memories forces rolling tears

reminding me of a loss my soul bears

But I pick up my shattered pieces

I shrug off the daunting past

for there is no reason to steadfast

Our troubled times together

no longer offer, pain or respite

A day comes and you are a distant memory

I can’t even remember your face; you might

I want to thank you for the lessons taught

for the loyalty and gains that I had sought

Today my shackled self is free

like a bird on a sprouting spring tree

The rain and the song tried their best to drag me back

unshackling the chains I ran and ran, until I eluded the sack!

Malik Umar

Srinagar, Kashmir

 

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Rush to your nearby store! Keep your credit card handy! You may also visit our website but entire collection not available online. And remember, when you shop, the world gets better.

Happy Shopping Fucker!

Plastic Jesus

Good evening, dear Friend!

Today is the luckiest day of your lifetime…Today you would receive a gift, greater than mankind…This gift would change the way you see yourself…You would no longer feel any pain, any suffering…The gift would set you free…You would be able to buy goods, eg: cars, clothes, houses, boats; speedy one and the one which floats, motorbikes, super kites, sleepless nights, once again, you would feel sane and young ..You no longer would have grey hair,  you can visit expensive salons and get essential beauty treatments… Everyone in the dazzling malls would like your shine and you would come home and fuck your wife, while she finishes her wine.. the same wine which you would get because of the gift,

you are about to receive!

These are the little things, let me skip to the most appealing part…In times of dire stress, we cover your front and back, we would also make this gift earn you some reward points, which then combined by many other reward points, which you would earn after spending thousands of dollars, would then add up to $1 that would be donated to help the starving and the poor…..That gift my friend is here…

Open the box…It’s a gift from your trusted, friendly, banker….

Yikes, It’s fucking credit card…..Shit!

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This looks ugly!

This looks ugly!

Childhood is a curious stage of our lives. We encounter with and learn to deal; an entirely, never felt before, fresh set of feelings. Feelings unknown to self! Feelings which our enslaved consciousness is conditioned to consider, prohibited!

Each incident, we experience in our lives, both small and huge, is always unique, in it’s own flimsy way.  Each experience adds knowledge to our vast data base. Though our minds have been tamed by targeted, suppressive, behaviour training, by widely regarded institutions, we still have a crude, primal being, inside, wriggling in pain, searching for truth. The truth of our existence, which is hidden, behind all those, numerous, false stories, we tell us and the world, each morning and every night.

Growing up was fun. The solo objective of Nik’s days were not to get caught. You need to tread carefully, if you want to experience fun, for longer periods. Getting caught can change the equation and dampen your free spirits. Hence, Follow the rules and break them, when no one’s watching! That was his motto of life during those days.

Are you crazy? You want us to skip college, in order to, watch some movie, you find fascinating! Do you want to get us expelled?‘ shouted Max, as loud as his lungs allowed. He made sure, he displayed emotions of anger, using his facial expressions. Conversations, both friendly and unfriendly, are more impactful when proper display of emotions is added.

‘Not some movie, that is where, you are entirely wrong. The movie is named – Fight Club, based on the novel by the same name. This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time. ‘Your’ being the highlight of the moment. It’s your life, your time, your mistakes, your decisions, your contemplation, again, your mistakes and your failures. So you can decide whether you would like to use your time in order to understand something, larger than your petty life or you choose to follow, mundane, set guidelines of your so-called educational institution.’

And Nik continued preaching his philosophy –

“The essence of our educational system is to help us learn the art of making money. This in itself is a flawed concept, as money is a reward for success. Instead of learning, the art of making money, we should be learning how to identify and nurture our passions. Passion fuels our success, which in turn, generates, money, as a bi-product……You are advised to borrow money from financial institutions to achieve your temporary goals which are determined, not by you but by different, failed institutions of society, eg: Family, Schools, Colleges, Government, Corporations, Temples, Mosques and churches…

You need stuff! A big fucking television, an Iphone, a luxury car, a DSLR, social networking presence, celebrations in bars, branded clothing, matching footwear, planned vacations, tax benefits and a place to call home. Now, the world knows, you cannot buy any of these, without being successful. Even if your parents hand it to you, you would not be able to enjoy, the fruits of nothingness. Hence we got banks! They are such nice institutions that they offer you assistance, to buy your dreams, on easy installments. Welcome to the corporate endorsed world where happiness sells on billboards and if you find happiness expensive, your friendly banker would loan you money, which then you can pay back, till you die, of course, using an easy, payback, monthly, installment plan, which you are free to choose from many plans.

Sip a coffee, Drink a cola, You just sold yourself!


This excerpt is from Nishant’s – Broken Radio – Novel. This book is not for those who believe in happily ever after tales. It’s brilliantly creepy, violent and extremely offensive in nature. It preaches a cult philosophy against an emasculating consumerist culture.

The story is a brilliant mix of transgressed elements held together by dirty realism. It focuses on characters who feel confined by the norms and expectations of society and who break free of those confines in unusual or illicit ways. Because they are rebelling against the basic norms of society, protagonists may seem mentally ill, anti-social, or nihilistic. The book deals extensively with taboo subject matters such as drugs, sexual activity, violence, pedophilia and crime.

Read – Broken Radio (Novel)

What we talk, when we talk, about, Love! – Act II

Good Morning Planet

It’s a bright, sunny morning, here in the BrokenRadio Studios, and we bring you ACT II of

“What we talk, when we talk, about, Love!”

Act I – What we talk, when we talk, about, Love!


BrokenRadio Theaters present, to you, a play written by Khadija (You think You know) & Nishant (Broken Radio).

Act II – Begins,

( The stage is brightly lit with various performers dancing in the background. Nik is standing on the stage with few pages in his hand. He has, his reading glasses, on. The music fades away..performers continue dancing. Nik addresses the audience)

Curtains Rise!

(Crowd cheers. Loud Applause)

Understanding The Rise in Skies & the Fall on Earth

Nik : The title in itself, is enigmatic. The poetess is comparing two cosmic events. One being Eid and other falling in Love. The poetess talks about a confused and unsure kind of love, that is really rare and yet the most captivating. (He comes forward on the stage)  The protagonist to whom the poetess address as the ‘Dark Prince‘… is a great admirer of her and is madly in love with her. As much, as the poetess tries not to develop similar feelings, she does get smitten, eventually. Mostly, the poem talks about their secret encounters and exchange of words.. What poetess envies the most is when she experiences cosmic love, the Dark Prince is not their celebrating the rise in the sky; Eid.. As much as the poetess hates it, she’s willing to give him another chance as she too is hopelessly in love. (Nik throws the pages in air)
 But then again, who knows poetry.. It’s always, what’s not said, never, what is.

(Lights fade out. The background changes itself back to the Act I setting. Nik removes his reading glasses. Kate walks in)

Kate: Brilliant job. You scored an A. Although, it isn’t the true derivation entirely.

(Moves forward on the stage and addresses the audience)

Well, the rise in the sky and fall on the earth shows, how you take me high in the skies and then throw me down on the ground. I experience a bliss in a moment and in the next, you abandon me mercilessly. When the world spoke about us, You said; my destiny walked into my door. My pride and your ego clashed and doomed were we. Then one night we met again after your endless efforts of getting me back. And we celebrated the festival like it was the last Eid on earth. You said – it’s us against the world, give me time, cope with me.

(The stage fills itself with mystic silence. We could hear loud breathing.)

Nik: (murmurs slowly to himself) There was silence in the air. All three of us were breathing heavily. Me, her and Johnnie Walker. (Nik walks away from Kate and continues murmuring)  I am jealous of this Dark Prince, Kate dedicated a poem for him! (Looks at a picture of another women) The only lines she ever dedicated to me was – “I am nobody’s fool” and it took me weeks to understand, what it really meant.

Kate: Life was perfect!

Nik: (walks near Kate) Well, let me dedicate my prayers for your eternal, blissful, family stamped, first love. If this doesn’t see a happy ending, then love should, atleast, not be in dictionary and books should paint it black, with dark ink.

Kate: That’s so accurately put. This is not love, though! (pauses for a moment, looks lost in memories) I don’t know, what love is.. 

Nik: What is it, then? I have no clue, what love is! Truly, Sincerely, Please tell me.

(The performers swarm the stage and start dancing rigorously, there is no music, playing, in the background)

Kate: It’s hard to express. Maybe 10000 pages or maybe less! Why are you, so intent to know the definition of love?

Nik: I need to write about love and I have not, ever, experienced it. Hence the curiousity. I want to know, what love is!

Kate: (looks at him for a moment, lovingly, addresses the audience) Love is divine, it makes you experience the most extreme emotions that you were oblivious of. But it’s got one and only one rule; You have to forget self love and even if you can’t, have, your love, for yourself, forever, smile and be grateful for the memories and experiences. Love does not mean achieving. Love needs no labels, no possessions, no ownership. You welcome it’s arrival, with a smile, and then you let it go, with a smile. (looks at Nik and continues) So, If your fav doll is lost, don’t cry, rather cherish the moment you had with it and live life.

Nik: That does make a lot of sense, Miss. But, I need a clarification. I guess, in our lifetime, we experience love more than once. So is their something also called – True Love? Or it’s the same every time!

Kate: (addresses the audience) I don’t know, that’s an interesting question. According to me, love is just once, But that does not mean it seals your fate. You carry on and live life, settle for someone really charming, who makes you happy.

Nik: (looks at Kate) Would you care to know my thoughts? (Doesn’t wait for her response and continues, addresses the audience) To understand love, we need to understand time. (dancers in the background are not at all performing in sync, each artist seems to be following their own steps, the stage suddenly gets chaotic, lights flicker) 

There is past, present and future. Past is all memories and Future is entirely imagination. So, what matters is now! Present matters. Not what happened a moment ago, not what might happen next, No fear, no assumption, Just now – living in the moment. (Goes near Kate) What are you doing now? (she thinks, he doesn’t wait for her response and continues speaking to the audience) Right now…right fucking now…She is experiencing release of adrenaline and dopamine, look at her, how happy she seems (there is a sadness on Kate’s face) We are experiencing effects of tiny pills laced with love. (Nik comes to the edge of the stage and yells)

There is no absolute love. That is a cosmic event.. Barely happens.. I am trying to recreate, but still it takes ages.. This is day to day love.. What people call love, when they talk about love. What humanity needs to experience, is, Cosmic love. Feeling of being around even during absences.. Dreams.. Mutual dreams.. You communicate without words. You close your eyes and your partner feels you missing them…
Love is not necessarily both sided.. Moon and the sea try and hug each other, failing, every full moon night..When the moon is completely naked.. That’s the love I talk about. That’s the love I want to experience. I want to know what love is!

Kate: (holds his hand) Look at us, making a failed attempt at defining love..

(They both stare into each other eyes. Curtains Fall, Crowd goes crazy, Crowd whistles among the loud thud)

Play Ends.


Whoa! That was something. Huh? Let me make breakfast, she would be awake soon. You enjoy your friendly Tupperware! Have a nice day.

What we talk, when we talk, about, Love!

 

Good Evening Planet

It’s a lovely evening, indeed. There is a dazzling, shimmering, reason behind this love, in the evening. Yesterday morning, I released the first chapter of my 2nd book – Smokes & Strings – Boulevard of Broken Art. It’s a love story. A twisted one.

I had my doubts, because, what do I know? I, have, never been in love. I just experienced what television sold, not the books…the Television. I went out on dates in shopping malls, bought gifts and had sex. It did seem like love, back then. Now, I am a grown up. I no longer watch television. I only read books and I only talk to writers. And, I want to know what love is…..

I asked my friend, Khadija Fatima – Author of You Think You Know ,”Do you know, what love is?” She sent me a poem. The Rise in Skies & the Fall on Earth. But then we all know, we need to figure out ART. It’s always ”what’s not said” and never, ”what is”.

So, I made some failed attempts to understand it and finally gave up. I, then again, asked her to explain….And we both ended up writing this play….


Ladies and Gentlemen, Tonight’s entertainment is a play about love, loss, pride, humility and then, love, again. BrokenRadio Theatres Present, to you, a play written by Khadija (You think You know) and Nishant (Broken Radio) .

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Act I – Begins,

Lift the curtains!

(Crowd Cheers, Loud applause, A remarkably thin male is sitting on a stool, in front of a stunningly beautiful female. They both are in their prime youth and seem very cheerful. The entire stage is lit with bright lights, with no gloominess in any corner, apart from, in the eyes of, both the protagonists)

Nik: How are we doing today, Kate. What are we doing?

Kate: Heya! Ahh been occupied. I had company. Now, was enjoying my alone time, and then you walked in and sat, there, right, on that stool.

Nik: Well, if anyone would have such a delightful company as you, blessed are those few.

Kate: Ain’t you guys just too nice.

Nik: Well, you pay me to be nice. I think, I should get at least twice the amount you pay me, because, of the time I invest in you . Your project, I mean!

Kate: Oh, I didn’t know, I pay you to be nice.

Nik: Yeah, a very unfair amount though but then there are other perks which I truly enjoy.

Kate: You are funny! (Sarcastically)

Nik:  I am serious, always. It’s, you, who somehow induce humor in my deadbeat words.
And I guess, glamor, too.

Kate: Yes, glamor, I agree cause I just love it. We’re both sarcastic.

Nik: I am not. Talk about yourself, Lady! (pauses, clears throat) You are the friendliest ‘client’, I ever had the pleasure to service. Never met someone with your potential, in this, big, bad, round, uneven, world. 

(A smiles spreads on Kate’s face and the black and white lights change to a rainbow)

And, that smile, That’s, what makes my days, and evenings, and someday, other periods of my long, lonely, lazy, mundane, days.

Kate: My goodness. I think, I’m done with compliments. 

Nik: (stammers) Oh, Okay, no more for today, then. (Pauses for a second. Dramatic music plays in the background, for a second. Music stops) Glad, I have nothing to say about your, yesterday’s picture. It just made me speechless.

Kate: (blushes) Oh, about that, I think, I was too happy yesterday since everyone loved my poem. So, hence the glow. (Comes closer, and whispers in his ears) Even, in the theatre people were staring madly. (Pulls her face back and continues talking). So, Yeah, partial credit goes to you for publishing it. And my makeup of course 😸 I love shimmer!

Nik: (Comes closer, and stares in her eyes) The stares were all for you, so, you deserve the credit. (lights go dim, girl bows down) Shimmer, loves, being on you. (pulls her closer) You think, you know, let me tell you something, Ignorance is bliss. 

icelandic-dance

(Lights are back. It’s just a white, bright light. Nik and Kate adjust their seats, the moment lights, change color. There is a chaotic silence on the stage. The background music is of an animal being choked to death. The music gets louder. Nik stands up. Kate pulls her chair farther away from him.)

Kate: (coldly, her voice comes from far to the audience) So, what could you make from the poem? 

Nik: (Addresses the audience) And the poetess wants to know… What, the commoner sees… Okay! 

(looks at her and continues)

Understanding, The Rise in Skies & the Fall on Earth ….

The stage drifts away from behind, from beneath, his feet. The background metamorphoses into an old, dusty, rusty, library. Kate exits the scene. Nik wears reading glasses. And the curtains fall…Crowd cheers..) 

ACT I – Ends


Hope, you guys enjoyed reading this, as much as we enjoyed writing. BrokenRadio would return with the second act, soon enough. Grab a smoke for now. Will ya!

The Rise in Skies & the Fall on Earth

Good Evening Planet

An adrenaline junkie is somebody who engages in sensation-seeking behavior through “the pursuit of novel and intense experiences without regard for physical, social, legal or financial risk”. Such activities include extreme and risky sports, substance abuse, unsafe sex, and crime. The term relates to the increase in circulating levels of adrenaline during physiological stress.

Dopamine is another profound chemical. The effects of dopamine include increases in heart rate, body temperature, and sweating; improvements in alertness, attention, and endurance; increases in pleasure produced by rewarding events; but at higher doses agitation, anxiety, or even loss of contact with reality.  Stimulants such as nicotine, cocaine and methamphetamine promote increased levels of dopamine.

Only a handful of addicts are aware that ART induces a combination of both adrenaline and dopamine. This evening a dear friend of mine, Author – Khadija FatimaYou think You know, made me read one of her poems. Well, I am high on her words ; A perfect blend of two of the planet’s most profound chemical.

As much as I wanna save this drug for myself, I cannot deprive the world from such beautiful poetry. So, Ladies & Gentlemen, this terrific evening, Broken Radio presents you, an original poem by Miss Khadija Fatima!

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“The Rise in Skies & the Fall on Earth

You beamed with wits when you saw me

A little gut feeling went unattended

Danced like a lunatic when we met

Made me reminisce an old love song in your red dodge

Table with Kebabs and Game of thrones

Surprised me with taste of India in a Pak lounge

Twice the dawn turned into dusk, then we met again

Flirted with flamboyance until I gave up

We flew away as written in the palms of time

Months passed with eternal nights filled with thrills

Planning and preparation, our palpations never halted

Then you came crossing the deep seas

When we met in the mist of frosty days

I set eyes on you and I knew you were mine

When the world asked our story, your lips moved radiantly

And the bliss I heard, “my destiny walked into my door”

How we loved our chilly walks full of joy and fear

Our confound natures created a havoc

And it all ended in sorrow and vague

Until the darkest night crawled back, we met again

I buttoned your sleeves and relived your skin

Humoured and ridiculed the world in good faith

The mighty Eid arrived, and it struck what I missed

We spoke the unheard words, us against the world

My quest with the dark prince, who said we still got time…  “

— Kate

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I Could See The Smallest Things

I was in bed when I heard the gate. I listened carefully. I didn’t hear anything else. But I heard that. I tried to wake Cliff. He was passed out. So I got up and went to the window. A big moon was laid over the mountains that went around the city. It was a white moon and covered with stars. Any damn fool could imagine a face there.

There was light enough so that I could see everything in the yard – lawn chairs, the willow tree, clothesline strung between the poles, the petunias, the fences, the gate standing wide open.

But nobody was moving around. There were no scary shadows. Everything lay in moonlight, and I could see the smallest things. The clothespins on the line for instance.

I put my hands on the glass to block out the moon. I looked some more. I listened. Then I went back to bed.

But I couldn’t get to sleep. I kept turning over. I thought about the gate standing open. It was like a dare.

Cliff’s breathing was awful to listen to. His mouth gaped open and his arms hugged his pale chest. He was taking up his side of the bed and most of mine.

I pushed and pushed on him. But he just groaned.

I stayed a while longer until I decided it was no use. I got up and got my slippers. I went to the kitchen and made tea and sat with it at the kitchen table. I smoked one of Cliff’s unfiltereds.

It was late. I didn’t want to look at the time. I drank the tea and smoked another cigarette. After a while I decided I’d go out and fasten up the gate.

So I got my robe.

The moon lighted up everything – houses and trees, poles and power lines, the whole world. I peered around the backyard before I stepped off the porch. A little breeze came along that made me close the robe.

I started for the gate.

There was a noise at the fences that separated our place from Sam Lawton’s place. I took a sharp look. Sam was leaning with his arms on his fence, there being two fences to lean on. He raised his fist to his mouth and gave a dry cough.

‘Evening Nancy’, Sam Lawton said.

I said, ‘Sam you scared me.’ I said, ‘What are you doing up?’ ‘Did you hear something?’ I said. ‘I heard the gate unlatch.’

He said, ‘I didn’t hear anything. Haven’t seen anything, either. It might have been the wind.’

He was chewing something. He looked at the open gate and shrugged. His hair was silvery in the moonlight and stood up on his head. I could see his long nose, the lines in his big sad face.

I said, ‘What are you doing up, Sam? and moved closer to the fence.

‘Want to see something?’ he said.

‘I’ll come round’, I said.

I let myself out and went along the walk. It felt funny walking around outside in my nightgown and my robe. I thought to myself that I should try to remember this, walking around outside like this.

Sam was standing over by the side of his house, his pyjamas way up high over his tan-and-white shoes. He was holding a flashlight in one hand and a can of something in the other.

Sam and Cliff used to be friends. Then one night they got to drinking. They had words. The next thing, Sam had built a fence and then Cliff built one too.

That was after Sam had lost Mille, gotten married again, and become a father again all in the space of no time at all. Millie had been a good friend until she died. She was only forty-five when she did it. Heart failure. It hit her just as she was coming into their drive. The car kept going and went through the back of the carport.

‘Look at this,’ Sam said, hitching his pyjama trousers and squatting down. He pointed his light at the ground.

I looked and saw some wormy things curled on a patch of dirt.

‘Slugs,’ he said. ‘I just gave them a dose of this’, he said, raising a can of something that looked like Ajax. ‘They’re taking over,’ he said, and worked whatever it was that he had in his mouth. He turned his head to one side and spit what could have been tobacco. ‘I have to keep at this to just come close to staying up with them.’ He turned his light on a jar that was filled with the things. ‘I put the bait out, and then every chance I get I come out here with this stuff. Bastards are all over. A crime what they can do. Look here,’ he said.

He got up. He took my arm and moved me over to his rosebushes. He showed me the little holes in the leaves.

‘Slugs’, he said. ‘Everywhere you look around here at night. I lay out bait and then I come out and get them,’ he said. ‘An awful invention, the slug. I save them up in that jar over there.’ He moved his light to under the rosebush.

A plane passed overhead. I imagined the people on it staring down at the ground.

‘Sam’, I said, ‘how’s everybody?’

‘They’re fine,’ he said, and shrugged.

He chewed on whatever it was he was chewing. ‘How’s Clifford?’ he said.

I said, ‘Same as ever.’

Sam said, ‘Sometimes when I’m out here after the slugs, I’ll look over in your direction.’ He said, ‘I wish me and Cliff were friends again. Look there now,’ he said, and drew a sharp breath. ‘There’s one there. See him? Right there where my light is.’ He had the beam directed onto the dirt under the rosebush. ‘Watch this,’ Sam said.

I closed my arms under my breasts and bent over to where he was shining his light. The thing stopped moving and turned its head from side to side. Then Sam was over it with his can of powder, sprinkling the powder down.

‘Slimy things’, he said.

The slug was twisting this way and that. Then it curled and straightened out. Sam picked up a toy shovel, and scooped the slug into it, and dumped it out in the jar.

‘I quit you know,’ Sam said. ‘Had to. For a while it was getting so I didn’t know up from down. We still keep it around the house but I don’t have much to do with it anymore.’

I nodded. He looked at me and he kept looking.

‘I’d better get back,’ I said.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll continue with what I’m doing and then when I’m finished, I’ll head in too.’

I said, ‘Good night, Sam.’

He said, ‘Listen.’ He stopped chewing. With his tongue, he pushed whatever it was behind his lower lip. ‘Tell Cliff I said hello.’

I said, ‘I’ll tell him you said so, Sam.’

Sam ran his hand through his silvery hair as if he was going to make it sit down once and for all, and then he used his hand to wave.

In the bedroom, I took off the robe, folded it, put it within reach. Without looking at the time, I checked to make sure the stem was out on the clock. Then I got into bed, pulled the covers up, and closed my eyes.

It was then that I remembered I’d forgotten to latch the gate.

I opened my eyes and lay there. I gave Cliff a little shake. He cleared his throat. He swallowed. Something caught and dribbled in his chest.

I don’t know. It made me think of those things that Sam Lawton was dumping powder on.

I thought for a minute of the world outside my house, and then didn’t have any more thoughts except the thought that I had to hurry up and sleep.

Source: Raymond Carver (1985) The Stories of Raymond Carver, London, Picador/Pan Books, pp.204-7


“What We Talk About When We Talk About Love” is not only the most well-known short story title of the latter part of the 20th century; it has come to stand for an entire aesthetic, the bare-bones prose style for which Raymond Carver became famous. Perhaps, it could be argued, too famous, at least for his fiction’s own good. Like those of Hemingway or any other writer similarly loved, imitated, parodied, and reviled, these stories can sometimes produce the sense of reading pastiche. “A man without hands came to the door to sell me a photograph of my house.” “That morning she pours Teacher’s over my belly and licks it off. That afternoon she tries to jump out the window.” “My friend Mel McGinnis was talking. Mel is a cardiologist, and sometimes that gives him the right.” What other writer ever produced first sentences like these? They are like doors into Carverworld, where everyone speaks in simple declarative phrases, no one ever stops at one beer, and failure or violence are the true outcomes of the American dream.

Yet these stories bear careful re-reading, like any truly important and enduring work. For one thing, Carver is one of the few writers who can make desperation–cutting your ex-wife’s telephone cord in the middle of a conversation, standing on your own roof chunking rocks while a man with no hands takes your picture–deeply funny. Then there is the sheer craft that went into their creation. Despite their seeming simplicity, his tales are as artfully constructed as poems–and like poems, the best of them can make your breath catch in your throat. In the title piece, for instance, after the gin has been drunk, after the stories have been told, after the tensions in the room have come to the surface and subsided again, there comes a moment of strange lightness and peace: “I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone’s heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.”

Much of what happens in What We Talk About When We Talk About Love (1981) happens offstage, and we’re left with tragedy’s props: booze, instant coffee, furniture from a failed marriage, cigarettes smoked in the middle of the night. This is not merely a matter of technique. Carver leaves out a great deal, but that’s only a measure of his characters’ vulnerability, the nerve endings his stories lay bare. To say anything more, one feels, would simply hurt too much. –Mary Park

Smokes & Strings – Boulevard of Broken Art

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Good Morning Planet. My name is Nik. I think, I live and I write. Among all three, I like writing more.

This story is about three artists. The first being – Me, of course. I have to be in the story. After all, the story is, where, I am! My father never watched TV. I am the inquisitive kind. I wanted to ask him, “Why didn’t you enjoy television, like the million others who indulge in the magnificent human insight, offered by the men and women inside that glowing tube?”

I wrote him a letter from prison. Well, calling  my place of captivity, prison, would be lying, technically, ideally. But glad we do not live in an ideal, technical, world. No one needs to play by the rules. There is always a workaround.

So the story is about Me, Aisha and Karen.

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Part I – The Escape

“Dear Father,

Hope you are doing great. I am having a good time, here, in this wonderful institution which takes care of my mental health. I intend to stay here, till the institution which oversees the lawful conduct of people, wishes, me, to. In the end, it’s never about love. Society is about fairness and law. Everyone is a just being. Love is a lost cause.

The things we do, in the name of love. So low..So low!

Now marriages don’t happen. Corporate mergers are the new holy union of souls.

Anyways, I often wonder, here, alone, in darkness, why do you hate television so much? We all have a need of drama in our lives. Where did you find yours?

Do write back. I would wait eagerly!

Your’s truly,

Son”

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Thousands of persons must have said the same thing to him since, but Aisha happened to be the first in the line. Anyone likes to hear flattering sentiments, and more than others, I suppose, artists. They like to be told every hour of the day how well they use their creativity.

Part II – Aisha

I reached the house at a run and rested a while in the lobby to regain my breath. I went in, brushing back my hair with my hand and composing my features. The door was open. As I entered, I heard her voice –

You are early! What took you so long?

She looked both sad and profound. I sat down on a stool near her.

“You are alone. I suppose, I should not stay long.”

She choose neither to acknowledge nor answer.

I looked at my watch. She had been away from him for nearly 8 hours. I was wasting time. Time was slipping through my fingers. If I were to make good, I should utilize this chance.

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“Every night you generally sit up and cry, do you?” I asked boldly.

“When we are alone and start talking, we argue and quarrel over everything. We don’t agree on most matters, and then he leaves me alone and comes back and we are all right, that’s all.”

“It’s unthinkable that anyone should find it possible to quarrel or argue with you. You look like a smile machine for poor, tortured, souls. You are such a divine creature, even colors cannot paint, your reflection.”

She asked sharply, “What do you mean?”

I explained myself plainly. I was prepared to ruin myself today if need be, but I was going to talk and tell her. If she wanted to kick me out, she could do it after listening to me. I spoke my mind. Somehow, whenever we speak, time froze. Time became as slow as a tree falling in the forest.

Aisha lives at the Vista Regency, which is nothing but brown bricks held together with sleaze, where all the mattresses are sealed inside slippery plastic covers, so many people go there to die. You sit on any bed the wrong way, and you and the sheets and blanket slide right to the floor.

“Why did you marry at all?” I asked recklessly.

She remained moody and said, “I don’t know. It just happened. I guess, LOVE.”

People always talk about love. Everyone does. Whenever I hear, “Love”, Raymond’s voice echoes in my head.
“and it ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we’re talking about when we talk about love. All this, all of this love we’re talking about, it would just be a memory. Maybe not even a memory. Am I wrong? Am I way off base? Because I want you to set me straight if you think I’m wrong. I want to know. I mean, I don’t know anything, and I’m the first one to admit it.” 
― Raymond Carver, What We Talk About When We Talk About Love”

CALIFORNICATION (Season 3)

 

I see love as a cosmic event that changes the course of our lives. True selfless love, obviously, contrary to what is currently sold by popular media ; Where love is found online via matrimony websites on the virtues of income. That’s our institution of marriage. The Holy union of souls. She also has a piece of paper validating her love for him.
A piece of paper is what is needed for two people to stay in love. – Society
Things we do, in the name of Love, so low…so low!
I sighed deeply, overcome with the sadness of her life. I placed my hand on her shoulder and gently stroked it. “I am really very unhappy to think of you, such a gem lost to the world. In his place I would have made you a queen of the world.” She didn’t push away my hand. I let it travel and pushed my fingers through the locks of her hair.
Next day she visited my studio. She opened the – door, passed in, and hesitated, leaving the door half open. She stood looking at me for a moment, as on the first day.
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If you really unite with your soulmate, you are doomed! Because you both would sit and talk and that is it. Now love is sex, money and revenge. An eternal revenge inflicted by two partners on each other for the sheer reason; they were not supposed to be together. Else time would freeze and it’s just that moment. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, you don’t wake up, you don’t breathe, You just look into each other eyes and float in the space. You experience Nirvana, a state even the most potent opioids fail to induce.
She went in the resident artist’s bedroom and closed the door. She came out after a short while. She had taken off all her ornaments. She didn’t have gold rings in her ears, no gold chain hung around her neck, her arms were empty, her alms were empty. Apart from the tiny piece of silk cloth, covering her modesty, she did not have anything that she ever called hers. I could see her naked image, that slender frame, it must have took, God, six days to create her. On the seventh day, he created the world. That explains her divine beauty and this filthy world.
I stood up, held her neck, as I gently pushed her towards the bed, out of the way, and stepped in and locked the door on the world.
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Things we do, in the name of Love, so low…so low!

 

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to be continued….as the show must go on….. Have a lovely day ahead!

 

 

 

We the People demand Free the People

** The views expressed in this article are of an Individual. Government doesn’t endorse such views. They do not mind people being slaves. BrokenRadio does **

There’s blood in the streets, it’s up to my ankles
She came
Blood in the streets, it’s up to my knee
She came
Blood in the streets in the towns around
She came
Blood on the rise, it’s following me
Think about the break of day

She came and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair 

                                                 –Peace Frog

Good Morning Planet

Rain does push the morning bio-alarm away. I always make sure to wake up early. Early bird catches the worm. In a filth-rich society, someone got to give up on grabbing desserts and take the pains to catch the worm. I don’t mind menial jobs. Work is worship. So, I catch worms.

Today morning I was interacting with a fan, (I personally prefer the term friend) who belongs from Kashmir. She had the pleasure of witnessing years of tyranny. I wish, I too was that lucky. Witnessing political and social tyranny, first-hand is an extremely enriching and soulful experience. She is blessed. God bless her soul. God bless her family. She was sharing her agony about her little brothers, who were badly hurt by a state backed oppressive force.

I guess all of us have agreed on my views, that a self-aware state/society/system which stems out and breeds on a principle of self-indulgence cannot work selflessly for the self-interest of the people. To elaborate –

  • Your Government is a failed state.
  • Your Society is a failed organization.
  • Your Beliefs are a failed system.
  • Your Armed Forces are failed assailants.
  • Your Media is a failed tube.
  • Your Soul is a failed institution.
  • You are a failed experiment.

My Radio, though it’s Broken, still airs.

Now in this failed mindset, we end up agreeing to failed concepts.

“Get a job. Go to work. Get married. Have children. Follow fashion. Act normal. Walk on the pavement. Watch TV. Obey the law. Save for your old age. Now repeat after me: I am free.”

We are in a state of constant surveillance. This surveillance is then used to create propaganda that is wrapped in religious content and then weaponized for brutality against humanity to fulfill Political agendas. The Prime goal of the campaign being:

“Seasoned Subjugation of Mind!”

This is the ultimate tag-line endorsed by your governments across the blue dot, floating in the space, in an infinite universe, brightly lit with lights and fairly rich with darkness.

We are in a state of encouraged vigilantism. This vigilantism is then used to induce terror propaganda which is wrapped in fear and then weaponized for mass slavery to fulfill corporate agendas. The Prime goal of the campaign being:

“Autonomous Subjugation of the Mind”

In an era, where consciousness should be floating around, we the people walk proudly, in a state of deep sleep which is pleasantly masked as waking dream that is perceived as reality due to flawed sense of reasoning.

But the people wake up. They always do. Today or tomorrow or in the centuries later to come, an awakening is inevitable. Today I woke up late but when I looked out the window, I saw an awakened mass. After a very long span of time, I witnessed rising.

Ayat from Kashmir demanded freedom and I would help her attain it.

We the people demand Free the people.

Freedom of Mind. Freedom of Soul. Freedom of thoughts. Freedom to choose goals.

And it’s so easy to be free. It’s just a two-step process.

  • We pick up a pen.
  • And we keep writing about the truth, just the truth, only the truth.

No one needs to get out of their homes. No one needs to flood the streets. No one needs to yell. No one needs to scream. Hell, you do not even need to talk.

Just Write! Write about the injustice you witness! Write about the brutality you experience! Write about the extents of exploitation you are subjugated to!

Write about the Truth!

We the people will flood the streets with letters addressed to the establishment. The drains would clog with molten pulp and would burn the unjust system. We the people would ignite a cleansing fire and burn this crippled disassociated oppressive system and  We the people then would Free the people.

A pen and a paper is the only medicine crafted for this epidemic!

The first revolution is the revolution of the mind wherein you agree to at least the concept of tolerance for a different point of view. A view which you have never been shown before. A view which every great or evil person agreed to.

Be it murderer Escobar or the benevolent Teresa.

Writing letters is the only real art of war!

To achieve a permanent state of peace, let’s give way to a temporary state of unrest.

Let’s get out of our cozy couch and get in the library. Let’s write slogans. No stones needed. No bullets required. Just a pen and a brave heart.

We the People demand Free the People.   

#notinmyname

#wethepeople #demand #freethepeople @brokenradiocreatives

Have an Excellent Sunday. Happy Shopping.

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

“The Revolution Will Not Be Televised”

You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and
skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by American Express

In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you selfies of Modi
blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Mendel Rivers to eat
hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by the
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
thinner, the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

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There will be no pictures of you and Willie Mays
pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
on reports from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the right occasion.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so god damned relevant, and
women will not care if Dick finally screwed
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.

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There will be no highlights on the eleven o’clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb or
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash or Englebert Humperdink.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back
after a message about a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a dove in your
bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver’s seat.

The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
The revolution will be live.

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Gilbert “Gil” Scott-Heron (April 1, 1949 – May 27, 2011) was an American soul and jazz poet, musician, and author, known primarily for his work as a spoken-word performer in the 1970s and 1980s. His collaborative efforts with musician Brian Jackson featured a musical fusion of jazz, blues, and soul, as well as lyrical content concerning social and political issues of the time, delivered in both rapping and melismatic vocal styles by Scott-Heron. (Broken Radio took the liberty to make an edit to suit current times)

Religion – Major League Bullshit

Good Morning Planet

Yesterday night something strange happened, as usual. A friend messaged me posing a question,

“Have you converted to Islam?”

Recently I have been writing about Islam and Prophet (PBUH), a lot. So, I can’t really blame him. People always perceive and believe the easiest possible explanation . What they fail to grasp is, religion, like any other belief is just a web of entangled, confused, misinterpreted, set of words and quotes. It’s just another story and most certainly a captivating one. Now, when it comes to all the floating stories currently on paper and in tube, I like the love story of Khadeeja the Great and Prophet more than any other. It makes a lot of sense. Out of sheer love came a set of belief so powerful that it swept the world. The belief system is extremely strong and only preaches love and love and love and love and love, UNCONDITIONAL LOVE.

But as always it’s misinterpreted, (read “Are You a Chimp!“, to know why), twisted for personal gains and propaganda purposes by organized governments and unorganized pseudo governments.  

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Topless activists of the Ukrainian women movement Femen take part in a protest against the fierce opposition from the Roman Catholic Church to authorise gay marriage on November 18, 2012 in Paris. AFP PHOTO KENZO TRIBOUILLARD FRANCE-FEMEN-HOMOSEXUALITY-DEMO

“George Carlin – When it comes to bullshit, big-time, major league bullshit, you have to stand in awe of the all-time champion of false promises and exaggerated claims, religion. No contest. No contest. Religion. Religion easily has the greatest bullshit story ever told. Think about it. Religion has actually convinced people that there’s an invisible man living in the sky who watches everything you do, every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a special list of ten things he does not want you to do. And if you do any of these ten things, he has a special place, full of fire and smoke and burning and torture and anguish, where he will send you to live and suffer and burn and choke and scream and cry forever and ever ’til the end of time!

But He loves you. He loves you, and He needs money! He always needs money! He’s all-powerful, all-perfect, all-knowing, and all-wise, somehow just can’t handle money! Religion takes in billions of dollars, they pay no taxes, and they always need a little more. Now, you talk about a good bullshit story. Holy Shit”

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Bill Maher: The irony of religion is that because of its power to divert man to destructive courses, the world could actually come to an end. The plain fact is, religion must die for mankind to live. The hour is getting very late to be able to indulge in having in key decisions made by religious people. By irrationalists, by those who would steer the ship of state not by a compass, but by the equivalent of reading the entrails of a chicken. George Bush prayed a lot about Iraq, but he didn’t learn a lot about it. Faith means making a virtue out of not thinking. It’s nothing to brag about. And those who preach faith, and enable and elevate it are intellectual slaveholders, keeping mankind in a bondage to fantasy and nonsense that has spawned and justified so much lunacy and destruction. Religion is dangerous because it allows human beings who don’t have all the answers to think that they do. Most people would think it’s wonderful when someone says, “I’m willing, Lord! I’ll do whatever you want me to do!” Except that since there are no gods actually talking to us, that void is filled in by people with their own corruptions and limitations and agendas. And anyone who tells you they know, they just know what happens when you die, I promise you, you don’t. How can I be so sure? Because I don’t know, and you do not possess mental powers that I do not. The only appropriate attitude for man to have about the big questions is not the arrogant certitude that is the hallmark of religion, but doubt. Doubt is humble, and that’s what man needs to be, considering that human history is just a litany of getting shit dead wrong. This is why rational people, anti-religionists, must end their timidity and come out of the closet and assert themselves. And those who consider themselves only moderately religious really need to look in the mirror and realize that the solace and comfort that religion brings you actually comes at a terrible price. If you belonged to a political party or a social club that was tied to as much bigotry, misogyny, homophobia, violence, and sheer ignorance as religion is, you’d resign in protest. To do otherwise is to be an enabler, a mafia wife, for the true devils of extremism that draw their legitimacy from the billions of their fellow travelers. If the world does come to an end here, or wherever, or if it limps into the future, decimated by the effects of religion-inspired nuclear terrorism, let’s remember what the real problem was that we learned how to precipitate mass death before we got past the neurological disorder of wishing for it. That’s it. Grow up or die.”today

To sum it up for you,

“Isha V Singh – Organized Religion is a slow cancer. Keep Praying. God won’t save you.”

Eid al-Fitr 2017: The most stunning pictures from around the world

Eid al-Fitr is being celebrated today. A festival which is a celebration after a 30 day pious cleansing of the soul, that marks the end of Ramadan. We would be bringing you more news from Jama Masjid, New Delhi in the afternoon. Here’s few pictures to exhilarate you this fine morning :

A crescent moon rises close to an illuminated minaret of mosque in Amman December 16, 2001. Moslems ..SAUDI-RELIGION-ISLAM-RAMADAN-MECCAYoung-Muslim-praying-after-the-adultsPAKISTAN-RELIGION-ISLAM-EIDEid-Al-Adha-Celebration-Food-Imagesaudi-youth-dance-they-celebrate-eid-al-fitr-riyadh-2012image-20160705-814-8u1dd23164344097boyseidEid Greeting Wallpapers 2015

 

 

Why so Serious?

There is not even a single shred of evidence in universe, supporting, Life is Serious.

Isha V. Singh

I step out of my broken abode, I see trembling faces.

I look closer. Fear-struck are they. Fear of being judged, touched, loved, hated, heard, unheard, rejected, cheated, raped. Fear of being happy.

Fear of finding peace and tranquility. Fear of freedom from the chaos.

It’s very troubling to see, poor souls suffer. What can I do?

I can try telling some stories that might help you.

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“I’d consider myself a realist, alright? But in philosophical terms I’m what’s called a pessimist… I think human consciousness is a tragic misstep in evolution. We became too self-aware. Nature created an aspect of nature separate from itself – we are creatures that should not exist by natural law… We are things that labor under the illusion of having a self, that accretion of sensory experience and feelings, programmed with total assurance that we are each somebody, when in fact everybody’s nobody… I think the honorable thing for our species to do is to deny our programming. Stop reproducing, walk hand in hand into extinction – one last midnight, brothers and sisters opting out of a raw deal.

― Rust Cohen

“Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves. Here’s Tom with the Weather.”
Bill Hicks

“The world is like a ride in an amusement park, and when you choose to go on it you think it’s real because that’s how powerful our minds are. The ride goes up and down, around and around, it has thrills and chills, and it’s very brightly colored, and it’s very loud, and it’s fun for a while. Many people have been on the ride a long time, and they begin to wonder, “Hey, is this real, or is this just a ride?” And other people have remembered, and they come back to us and say, “Hey, don’t worry; don’t be afraid, ever, because this is just a ride.” And we … kill those people. “Shut him up! I’ve got a lot invested in this ride, shut him up! Look at my furrows of worry, look at my big bank account, and my family. This has to be real.” It’s just a ride. But we always kill the good guys who try and tell us that, you ever notice that? And let the demons run amok … But it doesn’t matter, because it’s just a ride. And we can change it any time we want. It’s only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings of money. Just a simple choice, right now, between fear and love. The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love instead see all of us as one. Here’s what we can do to change the world, right now, to a better ride. Take all that money we spend on weapons and defenses each year and instead spend it feeding and clothing and educating the poor of the world, which it would pay for many times over, not one human being excluded, and we could explore space, together, both inner and outer, forever, in peace.”
Bill HicksQunexc-Don-t-Be-Madness-Joker-Quote-Motivational-Art-Silk-Poster-The-Dark-Knight-Rises-24x36inch.jpg_640x640
My father was a drinker and a fiend and one night he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn’t like that, not one bit. So, me watching he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it. He turns to me and he says “WHY SO SERIOUS!?”. He comes at me with the knife “why so serious!?” Sticks the blade in my mouth “lets put a smile on that face!” aaaand….. why sooooo serrrious?
Why are You so Serious?
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Advertising Lullaby – George Carlin

erase

 

Quality, value, style, service, selection, convenience
Economy, savings, performance, experience, hospitality
Low rates, friendly service, name brands, easy terms
Affordable prices, money-back guarantee, free installation.

Free admission, free appraisal, free alterations,
Free delivery, free estimates, free home trial, and free parking.

No cash? No problem! No kidding! No fuss, no muss,
No risk, no obligation, no red tape, no hidden charges,
No down payment, no entry fee, no purchase necessary,
No one will call on you, no payments or interest till December, and no parking.

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Limited time only, though, so act now, order today, send no money,
Offer good while supplies last, two to a customer, each item sold separately,
Batteries not included, mileage may vary, all sales are final,
Allow six weeks for delivery, some items not available,
Some assembly required, some restrictions may apply.

Shop by mail, order by phone.
Try it in your home, get one for your car.
All entries become our properties, employees not eligible,
Entry fees not refundable, local restrictions apply,
Voidware prohibited except in Indiana.
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So come on in for a free demonstration and a free consultation
With our friendly, professional staff. Our courteous and
Knowledgeable sales representatives will help you make a
Selection that’s just right for you and just right for your budget.

And say, don’t forget to pick up your free gift: a classic deluxe
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Gourmet pocket flashlight.

And if you act now, we’ll include an extra added free complimentary
Bonus gift: a classic deluxe custom designer
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With detachable keychain, and a pencil holder.
It’s our way of saying thank you.

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And if you’re not completely satisfied, you pay nothing.
Simply return the unused portion for a full refund, no questions asked.
It’s our way of saying thank you. Keep your free gift.

Actually, it’s our way of saying ‘Bend over just a little farther
And let us stick this big dick into your ass a little bit
Deeper.

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ADDICT

Addiction is a condition that results when a person engages in an activity  that can be pleasurable but the continuation of which becomes compulsive and interferes with ordinary responsibilities and concerns, such as work, relationships, or health. People who have developed an addiction may not be aware that their behavior is out of control and causing problems for themselves and others.

I guess..
I’m addicted to the bullshit, the drama, the pain.
Ludicrous on a panaroma, drivin me insane.
Still gives me fuel to my fire,
Fire in my soul, just can’t retire
Glorified then crucified, just Like Jesus Christ
Hell or heaven, still I write…
Do me a favor haters, no more favors tonight!

What u can’t trust, you shouldn’t lust

#RagemanJD

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Let’s get High! On lyf 

Allah – He is the only ONE

To the one – ALLAH

He whose name gives you peace, He whose light fights the darkness

The greatest artist is he who painted this bright universe

We search him everywhere but he is within waiting to be found

He who they call ALLAH

Someone calling you a liar wouldn’t make you one

You let the voice go unheard, the voice of the supreme being inside you

Every word you say is a lie

He who made you would take the light away on that night of darkness

You would pay for your sins in a manner like no one ever paid before

All your sins would be washed away once he who lives in the sky

you find a way to him, he whom they call ALLAH

 

The Infamous Love Guru – OSHO

Truth is within you, do not search for it elsewhere.

Live wakefully, Die each moment so that you can be new each moment.

Do not search. That which is, is. Stop and see.

Love Guru – OSHO

Shree Rajneesh (born Chandra Mohan Jain, 11 December 1931 – 19 January 1990), also known as Osho, Acharya Rajneesh, or simply Rajneesh, was an Indian Godman and leader of the Rajneesh movement. During his lifetime he was viewed as a controversial mystic, guru, and spiritual teacher. In the 1960s he travelled throughout India as a public speaker and was a vocal critic of socialism, Mahatma Gandhi, and Hindu religious orthodoxy.[6] He advocated a more open attitude towards human sexuality, earning him the sobriquet “sex guru” in the Indian and later international press, although this attitude became more acceptable with time.

“When love expresses through you it first expresses as the body. It becomes sex. If it expresses through the mind, which is higher, deeper, subtler, then it is called love. If it expresses through the spirit, it becomes prayer….”

In 1970 Rajneesh spent time in Mumbai initiating followers known as “neo-sannyasins.” During this period he expanded his spiritual teachings and through his discourses gave an original insight into the writings of religious traditions, mystics, and philosophers from around the world. In 1974 Rajneesh relocated to Pune where a foundation and ashram was established to offer a variety of “transformational tools” for both Indian and international visitors. By the late 1970s, tension between the ruling Janata Party government of Morarji Desai and the movement led to a curbing of the ashram’s development.

aosho4

In 1981 efforts refocused on activities in the United States and Rajneesh relocated to a facility known as Rajneeshpuram in Wasco County, Oregon. Almost immediately the movement ran into conflict with county residents and the State government and a succession of legal battles concerning the ashram’s construction and continued development curtailed its success. In 1985, following the investigation of serious crimes including the 1984 Rajneeshee bioterror attack, and an assassination plot to murder US Attorney Charles H. Turner, Rajneesh alleged that his personal secretary Ma Anand Sheela and her close supportters had been responsible. He was later deported from the United States in accordance with an Alford plea bargain.

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After his deportation 21 countries denied him entry, and he ultimately returned to India, and a reinvigorated Pune ashram, where he died in 1990. His ashram is today known as the Osho International Meditation Resort.

His syncretic teachings emphasise the importance of meditation, awareness, love, celebration, courage, creativity, and humor—qualities that he viewed as being suppressed by adherence to static belief systems, religious tradition, and socialisation. Rajneesh’s teachings have had a notable impact on Western New Age thought, and their popularity has increased markedly since his death.

“If everything goes well and sex is natural and flowing it is a beautiful experience because you can have a glimpse of the second through it. If sex goes really very deep, so that you forget yourself completely in it, you can even have a glimpse of the third through it. And if sex becomes a total orgasmic experience, there are rare moments when you can even have a glimpse of the fourth, the turiya, the beyond, through it.”
 
But if sex fails, then many perversions happen to the mind. These perversions are expressed in hatred. Hatred is a failure of sex, a failure of love energy. Violence, lust for money, the continuous conflicting attitudes of egos: war, politics – these are all sex perversions.”
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Mysticism : Deciphering Sant Kabir

 

“Listen, my friend. He who loves understands.”

Before we begin talking about one of the original mystics, Kabir, let’s understand Mysticism.

Mysticism is popularly known as becoming one with God or the Absolute, but may refer to any kind of ecstasy or altered state of consciousness which is given a religious or spiritual meaning. It may also refer to the attainment of insight in ultimate or hidden truths, and to human transformation supported by various practices and experiences.

Derived from the Greek word μυω, meaning “to conceal”, mysticism referred to the biblical liturgical, spiritual, and contemplative dimensions of early and medieval Christianity. During the early modern period, the definition of mysticism grew to include a broad range of beliefs and ideologies related to “extraordinary experiences and states of mind”.

In modern times, “mysticism” has acquired a limited definition, with broad applications, as meaning the aim at the “union with the Absolute, the Infinite, or God”. This limited definition has been applied to a wide range of religious traditions and practices, valuing “mystical experience” as a key element of mysticism.

“The Lord is in me, the Lord is in you, as life is in every seed, put false pride away and seek the Lord within..”
― Kabir

Kabir was a 15th-century Indian mystic poet and saint, whose writings influenced Hinduism’s Bhakti movement and his verses are found in Sikhism’s scripture Adi Granth. His early life was in a Muslim family, but he was strongly influenced by his teacher, the Hindu bhakti leader Ramananda.

Kabir is known for being critical of both Hinduism and Islam, stating that the former was misguided by the Vedas and the latter by the Quran, and questioning their meaningless rites of initiation such as the sacred thread and circumcision respectively. During his lifetime, he was threatened by both Hindus and Muslims for his views. When he died, both Hindus and Muslims he had inspired claimed him as theirs.

“Listen to the secret sound, the real sound, which is inside you. The one no one talks of speaks the secret sound to himself, and he is the one who has made it all.”

Kabir suggested that True God is with the person who is on the path of righteousness, considered all creatures on earth as his own self, and who is passively detached from the affairs of the world. To know God, suggested Kabir, meditate with the mantra Rāma, Rāma.

Kabir’s legacy survives and continues through the Kabir panth (“Path of Kabir”), a religious community that recognizes him as its founder and is one of the Sant Mat sects. Its members are known as Kabir panthis.

Some scholars state that Kabir’s parents may have been recent converts to Islam, they and Kabir were likely unaware of Islamic orthodox tradition, and are likely to have been following the Nath (Shaiva Yogi) school of Hinduism. This view, while contested by other scholars, has been summarized by Charlotte Vaudeville as follows:

Circumcised or not, Kabir was officially a musalman, though it appears likely that some form of Nathism was his ancestral tradition. This alone would explain his relative ignorance of Islamic tenets, his remarkable acquaintance with Tantric-yoga practices and his lavish use of its esoteric jargon [in his poems]. He appears far more conversant with Nath-panthi basic attitudes and philosophy than with the Islamic orthodox tradition.

— Charlotte Vaudeville on Kabir (1974), 

Some commentators suggest Kabir’s philosophy to be a syncretic synthesis of Hinduism and Islam, but scholars widely state that this is false and a misunderstanding of Kabir. He adopted their terminology and concepts, but vigorously criticized them both. He questioned the need for any holy book, as stated in Kabir Granthavali as follows:

Reading book after book the whole world died,
and none ever became learned!

— Kabir Granthavali, XXXIII.3, Translated by Charlotte Vaudeville

Many scholars interpret Kabir’s philosophy to be questioning the need for religion, rather than attempting to propose either Hindu-Muslim unity or an independent synthesis of a new religious tradition. Kabir rejected the hypocrisy and misguided rituals evident in various religious practices of his day, including those in Islam and Hinduism.

Saints I’ve seen both ways.
Hindus and Muslims don’t want discipline, they want tasty food.
The Hindu keeps the eleventh-day fast, eating chestnuts and milk.
He curbs his grain but not his brain, and breaks his fast with meat.
The Turk [Muslim] prays daily, fasts once a year, and crows “God!, God!” like a cock.
What heaven is reserved for people who kill chickens in the dark?
Instead of kindness and compassion, they’ve cast out all desire.
One kills with a chop, one lets the blood drop, in both houses burns the same fire.
Turks and Hindus have one way, the guru’s made it clear.
Don’t say Ram, don’t say Khuda [Allah], so says Kabir.

— Kabir, Śabda 10, Translated by Linda Hess and Shukdeo Singh

In Bijak, Kabir mocks the practice of praying to avatars such as Buddha of Buddhism, by asserting “don’t call the master Buddha, he didn’t put down devils”. Kabir urged people to look within and consider all human beings as manifestation of God’s living forms:

If God be within the mosque, then to whom does this world belong?
If Ram be within the image which you find upon your pilgrimage,
then who is there to know what happens without?
Hari is in the East, Allah is in the West.
Look within your heart, for there you will find both Karim and Ram;
All the men and women of the world are His living forms.
Kabir is the child of Allah and of Ram: He is my Guru, He is my Pir.

— Kabir, III.2, Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

Charlotte Vaudeville states that the philosophy of Kabir and other sants of the Bhakti movement is the seeking of the Absolute. The notion of this Absolute is nirguna which, writes Vaudeville, is same as “the Upanishadic concept of the Brahman-Atman and the monistic Advaita interpretation of the Vedantic tradition, which denies any distinction between the soul [within a human being] and God, and urges man to recognize within himself his true divine nature”. Vaudeville notes that this philosophy of Kabir and other Bhakti sants is self-contradictory, because if God is within, then that would be a call to abolish all external bhakti. This inconsistency in Kabir’s teaching may have been differentiating “union with God” from the concept of “merging into God, or Oneness in all beings”. Alternatively, states Vaudeville, the saguna prema-bhakti (tender devotion) may have been prepositioned as the journey towards self-realization of the nirguna Brahman, a universality beyond monotheism.

Kabir has been criticised for his depiction of women. Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh states, “Kabir’s opinion of women is contemptuous and derogatory”. Wendy Doniger concludes Kabir had a misogynist bias. For Kabir, states Schomer, woman is “Kali nagini (a black cobra), kunda naraka ka (the pit of hell), juthani jagata ki (the refuse of the world)”. According to Kabir, a woman prevents man’s spiritual progress.

Woman ruins everything when she comes near man;
Devotion, liberation, and divine knowledge no longer enter his soul.

— Kabir, Translated by Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh

Singh states that this outlook of Kabir about women and their role in human quest for spirituality was not shared with Nanak who founded Sikhism. Surjit Singh Gandhi also agrees with this.

In contrast to Singh’s interpretation of Kabir’s gender views, Dass interprets Rag Asa section of Adi Granth as Kabir asking a young married woman to stop veiling her face, and not to adopt such social habits. Dass adds that Kabir’s poetry can be interpreted in two ways, one literally where the woman refers to human female, another allegorically where woman is symbolism for his own soul and Rama is the Lord-husband.

 

I guess the above stated material serves the need of hate propaganda for all the religions. So that’s why, Let’s go to Riot. Let’s take out axes and pitchforks and kill each other in the name of religion. I hope God would save you. You are essential. This entire planet thrives because of you and your closest advisor called GREED. Or let’s understand this quote and pray to the ALMIGHTY.

“बुरा जो देखण मैं चला, बुरा ना मिलया कोए
जो मन खोजा अपना, तो मुझसे बुरा ना कोए”

When I went looking for evil, I found it lurking inside, In my soul!

Translated by Nishant

Meera – The mystic lover Poetess

 

Don’t forget love;
it will bring all the madness you need
to unfurl yourself across the universe.

  • Mīrābāī, in ” Love Poems from God: Twelve Sacred Voices from the East and West

Perhaps the most remembered and quoted woman in India history is a sixteenth century poet, singer and saint called Mirabai, or Meera. Versions of her songs are sung today all over India, and she appears as a subject in films, books, dances, plays and paintings. Even Mahatma Gandhi promoted her, seeing Mira as a symbol of a woman who has the right to chose her own path, forsake a life of luxury, and in nonviolent resistance find liberation.

Mirabai belonged to the Rajput aristocracy. From an early age, she worshiped the image of Krishna. Her form of worship was influenced by a number of her male relatives who were devotees of a mystical form of Hinduism called Bhakti.

In the Bhakti tradition, one approached one’s god through pure love, without any restrictions of caste, color, or gender.

Many Bhakti followers gave up their worldly life and left their families to became wandering teachers or live together in like-minded communities. Their message usually was spread through deeply personal poems through which they conversed with their chosen God. Female devotees who aspired to live this life also had to give up their husbands and family. They had to live among people from a variety of castes, including those considered forbidden to them. In spite of what many felt were acts of subversive, some who overcame obstacles to follow their spiritual quests in time became respected and even revered.

In 1516 Mirabai was married to Prince Bhoj Raj of the Rajput kingdom of Mewar, the most powerful Rajput state in the early 16th century. It’s capital was Chittor. From the start Mira was a problem. She refused to worship her husband’s family’s goddess (devi), claiming that she already had offered herself to Lord Krishna and considered herself married to him. She refused the family’s gifts of silks and jewels. She insisting on associating with the community of bhaktas. And when her husband died after only three short years, Mirabai refused to join him on his funeral pyre, a practice at the time expected of high caste Rajput widows. Instead she claimed that now she was free to devote herself completely to the worship of Krishna.

Mira’s devotional practices became increasingly intense. She often sang and danced herself into ecstasies, even in public places like temples. News about her spread all over India and she soon attracted a following of devotees from all social groups and castes.

My Dark One has gone to an alien land.
He has left me behind, he’s never returned, he’s never sent me a single word.
So I’ve stripped off my ornaments, jewels and adornments, cut my hair from my head.
And put on holy garments, all on his account, seeking him in all four directions.
Mira: unless she meets the Dark One, her Lord, she doesn’t even want to live.

— Mira Bai, Translated by John Stratton Hawley

Mira lived in a time and place when the sexual virtue of women was fiercely guarded. Her husband’s family was shocked by her actions and finally locked her inside the house. In her songs Mira says that on two occasions they tried to kill her, but she was miraculously saved both times. At some point she left the palace and city of Chittor and returned to her birth family. They too disapproved of her actions. Sometime around 1527 she set off as a wanderer, traveling to places of pilgrimage associated with the life of Krishna. Her popularity grew. Before she even arrived at the site, people gathered singing her songs. Mirabai returned once briefly to her home, but in the face of further family harassment decided to leave the kingdom of Chittor for good. She passed her last days in Dwarka on the coast of the Arabian sea, the site believed to be that of Krishna’s youth.

Mira’s life resonates in the hearts of many in India today for many reasons. First there are her words, which with beauty and joy express a kind of female liberation. In them, her rejection and even disdain of the wealthy and their life of riches also appeals to the poor. Then there is her rebellion, which is seen as being against injustice within the family and within kinship groups in general.

While valuing women as mothers above all, India also reveres the self-expression of Mira, a childless woman who is identified as having rebelled against her husband and in-laws.

Love is something absolutely unselfish, that which has no thought beyond the glorification and adoration of the object upon which our affections are bestowed. It is a quality which bows down and worships and asks nothing in return. Merely to love is the sole request that true love has to ask. It is said of a Hindu saint (Mirabai) that when she was married, she said to her husband, the king, that she was already married.
To whom?” asked the king.
To God,” was the reply.

Swami Vivekananda in “Others on Mirabai”

Hare Rama Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare

Let’s Call this Love!

I know. I sure do know. You guys are gonna start screaming that why am I talking about Love. I am well aware some of you have left your lovers because you believed in my saying that love is an illusion. I still stand by that statement.

But I too deserve to act stupid at times. We all get to have a little fun. Yes, In a longer run mostly everything turns to shit. And so does Love. Something which initially starts as a tiny funny feeling in your lower abdomen metamorphoses into a pain inducing tumor in your head towards the end days and then becomes cancerous and kills you. Then you slowly and gradually pick the broken pieces and then start looking for someone else to make you feel whole, for a little while, again. This basically sums up everyone’s love lives.

But let’s focus on the first few days. To clearly explain why love is so addictive, I am going to present to you my LSD trip notes. Love is as addictive as any other drug and has exactly the same effects. Here is love explained for all of you.

You start seeing colors. Your lover takes over your consciousness and you feel aware after a very long time. You no longer feel the need of being lonely. You start believing – Experiences are more enjoyable when shared! You experience a surreal time shift. It feels your world is slipping beneath your feet and is being replaced by a bright yellow light. The light of freedom, with a shade of captivity . You make paintings which capture how you feel because no amount of words can explain this divine phenomenon. And no fucking blog can tell you what it feels, when you on LOVE. Remember ‘ON LOVE’ not ‘IN’. It’s a fucking drug.  The colors dance and they talk too. 

That’s how the initial days feel like. And then –

‘DEATH – That’s what happens to every FUCKING BEAUTIFUL THING. IT FUCKING DIES. WE KILL IT’.

Didn’t the Ancient Mariner kill the poor naked Albatross?

Anyways, I am in the initial days so let me have fun. Atleast till EID! And guys a fact which you might not know cause you do not use all your senses, all the time – Women’s Vagina and a freshly made Painting smell alike. That’s it for this afternoon.

Delhi – The Rape Capital

It’s 07:45 am. It’s a beautiful Sunday morning in the capital town of India, New Delhi. New Delhi is the capital of India. India is a great country. Though it is a ‘bit’ overpopulated, where ‘bit’ is being used as an understatement inducing agent.  India is also a very just nation.

Because Delhi is world’s worst places and natives of this place are really evil, Indians decided not to outcast Delhi but reward it with the title – Capital. Being a capital city is a great responsibility. You need to make sure you are overpopulated and scarce of resources. This in turn would hike prices and people would work hard and earn less. The city would get costly and to an outsider would glitter ‘RICH’.

A Rich place is a good place. Lights should always stay on. You should never sleep. Delhi never sleeps. It works 24/7. In between naps it robs, kills, scams, whores and rapes too. Delhi likes raping. India enjoys rape. India makes rape a frequent activity. Indians believe every women has a secret desire to get raped. The world also shares a similar belief.

India rapes in Delhi, Noida, Gurgaon, Surat, U.P and before you tell me to stop stating that you know this and you choose to ignore because things like these are depressing. I would like to state the real fact. Yes every women has a desire to get raped. And that is not at all a secret. And as shocking as it would hit you, every man also has a desire to get raped. The entire human consciousness has a desire to get raped, wherein rape stands for losing control over self and let the universe run it’s own course. Rape means not to try and control anything because it’s a futile attempt. Rape doesn’t always mean a sexual crime, you depraved society! That would be it for today. Have a nice day.

Model Employee

He’s a model employee

He wakes up 7 minutes before the alarm clock

He waits for the alarm

He makes his coffee

He takes his meds

He runs on the tread

 thinking about his power point presentation

He is a model employee

He is a model employee

He drives down to work

He owns a Honda to drive

A Lexus to impress

He wears Zara, She wears Prada

They notice this, Every time they bump near the water cooler

 

He thinks of painful ideas of Cost cutting

She and her skirts sell them to the board

They get huge incentives

They fly to Bahamas together.

They attend board meetings with no clothes

Making their last memories they also ensure

deleting the video of their sexual intercourse

Office romance is frowned upon , you see

Do not fall for your boss

 He’s a model employee

 He’s a model employee

Lucy – The Temptress

This occurred a few trillion years ago
Daddy was always an explorer
He wished to see new lands
He was in love too
Nothing sounds more beautiful than the ringing bell of starting a new family,
a new world
The world as we know it, is dying
Dad’s world wasn’t different either
His brothers had raped and plundered their mother.
She was a breathing corpse
Dad gave his dying mother a hug
Held hands and bid goodbye
Mama and Daddy got on the flying machine
And flew through million wormholes and saw a land so green
Never before their eyes had seen
I wasn’t born yet
But my consciousness was floating around
They met Lucy, Mom loved Lucy
Lucy smiled when she saw mom
Lucy danced, Lucy stole, Lucy made a garland
Mom: Lucy is like us. A little primal maybe. She wants to talk to me. I want to talk to her. Oh powerful one, Let’s gift her speech.
Let’s make her a little human.
Dad: There are some rules. Everyone wants to go around but nothing ever moves. It’s all static.
Lucy is a chimp. That’s what she’s supposed to be.
Mom cried, Mom wept
Mom slept, Alone
I cried, I came out from her womb
Dad: My fair maiden, Goddess of moon & stars, you gifted me a son.
I give thy, ‘Lucy the she-human’.
I saw Lucy. She was divine.
My mother was a river
Lucy was an ocean
She was untamed and fearless
Her youth only cared for passion
One day, naked she came in front of father and said, ‘ Father, mother is getting old.
I am ripe and I am bold.
Come, I am all yours.
I wanna worship you.
Crush my thighs.
Here, these bossoms
Come hold.
Father ran away in shame
He didn’t know, who to blame?
It was he who brought a chimp to life
Mother chased Lucy away
Mom and Dad died that day
They were around. Rotten were they.
18 Moon years later
While hunting for dinner
My eyes locked on a beauty divine
I hadn’t seen a female before
It was just mother and Babylon whore
She pounced on me as if I was a last meal.
Her lips touched mine
Ravage madness shook the forest
Thunderstorms came,
And it flooded Earth in no time
My parents came running
They shouted, ‘ Run away son. It’s Lucy.
They call her, ‘ Eve the temptress now’.
Dad died of shame, Mom of pain
I only cared about a naked flame
I wanted it to shine brightest
It wasn’t love. It was lust at it’s primest.
Lucy wanted a home.
I made Rome.
Lucy wanted diamonds
I killed some of my sons.
Lucy wanted violence
I made Hitler & Mussolini
Lucy never stopped wishing
I never stopped kissing
Her hairy white ass.
One day I grew old.
I no longer needed a hole
To warm myself
To feel whole
I am taking control
I have a new goal
Making a better world
I drove away Lucy.
But I have heard
Since centuries, she has been roaming the filthy streets of human settlements
Men beware of Lucy
Don’t buy her anything
She is just a pretty chimp
Don’t buy her anything.

Tranny She Was

Charming I am ,

No denying that.

She  too was charmed , but

she had to check.

“Have you ever been with a Tranny before, Nik ?”

I tell lies, but honest ones

Been with another one,

yes, just once.

Just once.

I hate people who judge.

Sexuality is fluid.

Ain’t you gay in a prison’s clutch?

They tell you male & female

they’ve got just a few more variants

they came up with Homo, Hetro, Bi & Pan

aren’t we all Satan’s spawn ?

You’re human,

Me too.

Wanna’ DESTROY MYSELF EMOTIONALLY.

All in the name of ART !

 

Blame Game

I hear you, O flourishing one!

I hear you loud & clear

Whenever I switch on the idiot box

you’re usually the first to appear

You’ve found your place under the sun

you’ve made your voice heard

what you say seems to matter to many

you’re now one out of the herd

You make no suggestions to the rest of us

they’re commandments of the biblical kind

waste no resources, you tell us

don’t put the Earth through the grind

You admonish me, as you look me in the eye

through the mirror that shows me your face

You do not approve of the house I just built

you tell me I take up way too much space

You measure each drop of water I use

You tell me I need too much

you’re thinking of punishing me for my abuse

I have no defense, as such

The bulb I light at night, you say

is causing the planet to lose it’s vigor

you make it sound as though I am the problem

For the Earth’s destruction, I am the trigger

I have no defense, like I earlier said

but here are a few facts I’d like to share

I’m not as influential as you

but my thoughts are open for all those who care

My small dwelling may take up some space

but your splurging mansion can house a hundred a day

My need for water may cost some liters

but your swimming pools gulp gallons away

My light bulbs may light up

two rooms in my home

but the energy you consume in a year

can light up the streets of ancient Rome

 

I may not be teaching a million kids

but like you, I’m not selling knowledge with a price tag either

I may not be sending a child to school

but I don’t bomb schools down & I fund it neither

 

So I sit in awe & utter amazement

when I see your virtual form appear

and ask me to pledge to sustainability

while rich folks like you cause the real wear & tear

Tell me O Self-proclaimed master

Did I dump all that waste in the ocean ?

Was I the one who cut all those trees?

and cause most of this thing we call pollution ?

Now you shall say, you do it for me

I simply need too much to live

Who created that need in me I ask?

Was it not your greed that did the task?

 

There’s , in fact, a long list of things I didn’t create

Nukes come to mind, so does war & poverty

unless you’re only counting damage to the Earth

& not including crimes against humanity

 

Of Course you won’t admit

to the claim I just made

that’s fine by me, let’s not blame each other

let’s just put an end to this charade

 

Let’s take ownership

of what both of us give & take

& stop this phony blame game

we’re both responsible, of that,  let’s make no mistake

She Lives On…I’m Dead & Gone

I thought I was something
Because I was fierce
I thought I was everything
Because I had passion
I thought I am a man
I can move mountains
I thought being a man
I can drill to the center
I threw plastic & waste all around
I became the ‘litter’ king
I broke twigs & branches
I trampled trees & flowers
I thought I was fearless
In a less of a place
I thought I had a place
Whose loss I feared the most
One fine day
The mirror cracked
I was hanging by a few leaves
I had promised, I would never beg
I am a man
What worse can you orchestrate
But when the thunderous sky blasted
 I fell down
I begged

I wept

I cried and prayed

I took my last breath
And I realized a truth
There IS someone I love
There IS someone I want to hug
\ just one last time…

My Shining Ray Of Hope

I wish to wake up now

It’s been really long

I must break free of this chain of thoughts

an ambiguous dream gone wrong

I can swim no longer in this deluge

Can no one hear my silent cries?

There’s no land in sight where I may seek refuge

I’m drowning, no matter how hard I try

My cries for help fall on deaf ears

I wonder why my own have forsaken me

The splashing waters wash away my tears

I search within for the faith in me

What stays afloat is my spirit strong

& the distant light I see

It’s a tiny ray of hope and frankly

my only reason to be

What if the light is just an illusion?

An oasis in the desert for the lost being

If only I could touch it once

I’d know that it’s something real I’m seeing

The need to join the light is strong

I seek the faith in me

I cannot hold this up for long

I must break free

I pull all of my being together

To make this final dive

I just need the light to keep shining bright

& I know I will survive

 

My Lonely Spirit

There was a bad stench in the wind,

my nostrils flared

the fellow passenger

seemed to care                                 

“what’s wrong?” asked he

“that smell, can’t you see?”

“what smell, i have never felt a more pleasant breeze

my nose twitched, I got pissed

“stop fucking around, I can’t breathe”

calmly he said, “I aren’t kidding buddy, maybe it’s within”

“within what?”

he looked into my eyes

and stared into my soul

he picked his belongings & ran away

he ran away,

while I stood there

I shouted, “buddy! please wait”

I heard his distant voice, “apologies mate, but I need to flee”

but why, I couldn’t figure out

At times, during lonely nights

a thought prances in my head

was that stench real or was it inside me?

I don’t have an answer,                                               

things have been hazy since I’ve been dead…

It’s A Long Way To The Top If You Wanna’ Rock & Roll!

 

It’s a long way to the top if you wanna Rock&Roll!

 

What the fuck is wrong with you people? I am asking this assuming, some of you might know.

Don’t you have something better to do?

 

How about television? Common, don’t be shy. It is your favorite pastime.

Not today.

Did no one make plans with you? Go to some movie or a little shopping, a little clubbing maybe. No?

That bad. Hmmm.

You can play some games, they are pretty involving. You can listen to those stupid tracks saved in your phone, you call it music. Check your FB, maybe post a selfie on INSTA. These things matter.

Isn’t that right?

You can always color your hair. Try that new shampoo you bought after seeing that commercial. Groom yourself a little. Get those yellow stained teeth cleaned. You not going to look any younger or any better. But try.

You can always sleep. I am an insomniac since the age of 14: The day I first saw a pair of titties. A 40-year-old milf neighbor showed me the doors to heaven. You call it child sex abuse. At my time, it was called fun.  Haven’t had any sleep since that day. But you love sleeping. Don’t you?

If you are hell bent on reading this, I must warn you. Nothing would change. You would read this, appreciate, get enlightened. And then the very next evening, you would go and buy something more entertaining. Who reads books? You do not get laid by reading books. Be honest.

They call me Goat-boy. I am a musician. No, no!

They call me Goat-boy. I am an artist. Oh, shit, no!

My name is Goat-boy. I am a recovering sex addict. Fuck this shit!

Okay, so my name is Goat-boy. I am diagnosed with chronic Insomnia. I am also a recovering sex addict. I play guitar. Shit man!

My name is Jack. I am an artist. Maybe. Maybe not.

But I like calling myself one. I create music, at least try to. I am not too good at what I do but seeing the current logistics, who is? Is Trump a good president?

You only need to be good to do great things: To make money, mediocrity does the trick. Look at you, you make money and good is a very distant expression for you. You are shitty and clumsy but still, you make good money. Don’t you?

I never wanted to be a musician but an interesting mix of life events landed me the trade.

 I won’t admit that it was easy but yes it wasn’t so tough either. My doctor asked me to channelize my sexual energy into something more meaningful than watching porn and wanking. He suggested me to try writing, painting, dancing… I thought a lot. None of these people get laid, a lot.

Writers, they are fucking sex starved delusional.

Painters, they are fucking sex starved crazies.

Dancers, they got no energy left to fuck.

Rock stars, You know the glamour. You would get laid, why won’t you? You are a Rock- star!

So I thought to try my hands on creating some original rock music. Apart from playing music, I also enjoy burning shit.

“Burn It To The Ground”

I was listening to the Radio. Nickelback was playing. Music always pleases me. It makes the voices in my head go away. You should also listen to music. But just wanted to advise you that, “Char bottle Vodka, Kaam uska roz ka” (Four bottles of Rum, Bitch drinks every day…. Please show me how she pukes and shits d pain away.) is not music. These lyrics are not thoughtful. If you listen to this kind of music, I am sure your God would save you. The same God whose idols you purchase for $50 at your nearest place of religious communion – A shopping mall!

I focused on the lyrics.

Well it’s midnight, damn right, we’re wound up too tight
I’ve got a fist full of whiskey, the bottle just bit me
Oh
That shit makes me bat shit crazy
We’ve got no fear, no doubt, all in balls out

We’re going off tonight
To kick out every light
Take anything we want
Drink everything in sight
We’re going till the world stops turning
While we burn it to the ground tonight

Suddenly doctor “UD” came. So, our doctor, an unattractive male in his 40’s, never got married. He got laid the first time when he was 28 years old and got his first job. That too because the nurse had a bad breakup and wanted a rebound. A decent doctor worked for her.

Now, he always had an issue with nervous ticks.

For the STUPID: Nervous ticks, are involuntary muscle movements caused by stress and anxiety.

Doc: Goat-boy, You know why you here?

Me: Yes sir.

Doc: Then you also know that if you do not stop lighting fire to financial institutions, they would send you to a prison. They are only acting patient with you because of your fan following.

Me: No problem. I would light the prison on fire. Lighting fire is my passion. I like it.

Doc: No. It’s a medical condition. You are a delusional and an Arsonist. You need medical attention.

Me: Okay Sir. As you say. But did you ever think why I only burn Financial institutions?

UD: Tell me!

Me: Financial institutions make money. Money is historically an emergent market phenomenon establishing a commodity money, but nearly all contemporary money systems are based on fiat money.[4] Fiat money, like any check or note of debt, is without use value as a physical commodity. It derives its value by being declared by a government to be legal tender; that is, it must be accepted as a form of payment within the boundaries of the country, for “all debts, public and private”. (For the stupid – Money is just a piece of paper and it has no value because it has no great saying or quote written over it. It’s abso-fuckin-lutely of no value.)

UD: Got it. Now make sure you buy your prescription from the shop outside. And also book the next week’s visit by paying $250 advance. Get well soon, Goatboy. We love you! 😊

Alice In Blunder-Land

I am Alice, Nice to meet you

I’d hug you & greet you

would you please be kind enough

to show me around your world?”

 

“Greetings of the day O’ Miss!

a hug for free? why not a kiss?

I am the random romeo on the street

with only my hands do I greet

If you don’t mind a little touch & feel

I’d love to show you my world!”

 

“Get Back! you filthy little creep

the longer I stay, the lower you steep

I’ve never known such audacious speech

I forbid you to further say a word,

I’d find my way around this world!”

 

“I am Alice, Nice to meet you

I’d hug you & greet you

would you please be kind enough

to show me around your world?”

 

“Make way, Miss! I have a cab to catch,

is it my wallet you’re looking to snatch?

Don’t bother with your sweet routine

I am the Corporate Ice Queen

I have no time for even family or friends

& here you are, thinking I have time to lend

and show you the world?”

 

“Oh My! you really are cold

I am shaken by your manner bold

your words hurt. your tone stings

you’re a venomous bee without wings

I’d like to flee away from you now

I’d find my way around this world!”

 

“I am Alice, Nice to meet you

I’d hug you & greet you

would you please be kind enough

to show me around your world?”

 

“What would I do with greetings alone?

I am an ‘artist’, to a price I am prone

My time , my art, my words are all for sale

I can show around but a charge shall entail

show me the gold

before I show you my world!”

 

“An artist you said?

Did I hear that right?

your art must be suffering a demeaned plight

your instinct must not be subject to a price

you can only be an artist if you freely entice

Your trading of art is rather twisted & twirled

I’d find my way around this world!”

 

“I am Alice, Nice to meet you

I’d hug you & greet you

would you please be kind enough

to show me around your world?”

 

“I a homeless man, I beg on these streets

these people you ask, are poorer than me

they have no alms or time to spare

they’re selfish & rotten, & don’t seem to care

with one arm they give, with the other they take

that, to them is charity, their ideals are fake

I’ve been watching you waste your time with these freaks,

greed is what each of them seeks

one is greedy for flesh, the other stingy with time

they won’t spend a second with you, till you spare a dime

Halt your journey here my child

you don’t need to see more of this world!”

Let’s get naked and run through the Jungle!

Let’s get naked and run through the Jungle!

 

A thought just came to my mind. A minute ago. Let’s get naked and run through the Jungle. I know what you are thinking, “Aa gaya pagla phir se.” (Here comes the crazy again.) But then in my defense, I have all the facts with me. Please hear me out for two minutes. I won’t rob you off your wealth. Corporations and religions are for that purpose. I just need two minutes, please. And also, “Insanity is just a state of mind like sanity. Who knows who’s what? I certainly don’t (#mostdef)”

My question to you is, “Why not?” We are clothed and civilized because we are supposedly social beings. But are we? I don’t see many social things being done around. I just see few people making money and others buying the goods made and sold by them. Then I also see Television, (fuck Television – the kind you watch. I watch RT.com), which has a propaganda content airing 24/7*365. Everywhere they teach you how to buy things and how to make money to buy em. No one teaches you to achieve freedom and not to willingly submit to slavery. A wise man said –

Don’t let the ones that want to steal your dreams 
They’ll steal your dreams away 
Just laugh and let it go 

So you’ve tried to pass along your doubt 
Oh you need somebody’s ears to hear you shout 
All your wasted and days and twisted ways are up 
So now it’s time to see the cards you dealt 

Don’t let the ones that want to steal your dreams 
They’ll steal your dreams away 
Just laugh and let it go 

A wise one said. Not me. I am the crazy one. So, the point being made is, “What’s the point of a consumerist society?” Why fight for it’s thriving? Let it perish and rot away in oblivion. Let’s just orchestrate a Phoenix event. (In the historical record, the Phoenix could symbolize renewal in general as well as the sun, time, the Empiremetempsychosisconsecrationresurrection, life in the heavenly ParadiseChristMaryvirginity, the exceptional man, and certain aspects of Christian life”.[3]). We no longer need to buy things. All of us who want things to change and pave way for a better tomorrow, Let’s just sell our possessions. Buy a ton of books. Buy a backpack. Burn our identifications. Become no one. Because “It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.”

“Let’s be a part of the great Rainbow Family. Let’s get naked and run through the Jungle!”

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Are you a chimp?

Are you a chimp?

 

Darwin told you, a long time ago that you were a chimp! You agreed, Didn’t you? But he made a small error. Yes, I said it. Loud and clear that Darwin made a mistake. Great men make mistakes too. That’s why Rome fell.

Darwin said you were a chimp. No motherfucker! You still are. Yes, you evolved physically but then that’s about it. You did not read books. You thought it’s too much of work. Let’s just look good and dress well, design an economy which resembles musical chair. Someone would always lose. It’s a musical chair. Those are the rules. And then you decided to fuck nature up and you enjoying, having fun. Just like chimps do. Break twigs, shit, puke, fuck, steal, at times hunt too. That’s your whole fucking story.

So, you still are a chimp! You were a chimp and you are a chimp.

I know some of you are laughing right now thinking I am joking but no I am not. I am damn serious. I am as serious as you were when you decided to nuke Hiroshima to make a point. A very small point. That you were a better chimp. Not so long ago you also decided to eliminate a breed of fellow individuals. One of the alpha male of your esteemed chimp community, ‘Sir great chimp – Hitler’, decided to kill Jews. You just stood there in shock and awe and I don’t know what as I wasn’t born then.

In my time another chimp, ‘Sir Donald fucking Trump chimp’ is doing the same. He wishes to kill every Muslim brother. That’s how chimps do it.

Now some of you are thinking what is my propaganda behind writing this. Am I a Muslim? Am I a naturalist? Do I have a PhD? How am I so confidently stating the but obvious truth. Well, for your chimp brain let’s just assume that I am Charlie Marvin, seventh great-grandson of Charles Darwin. And I also talk to the universe, because I am a human being, not a chimp! Unlike you.

So, please pay a very close attention to what I am saying. You are a fucking chimp! Okay! And you accidentally got the gift of language. You are not supposed to know the language. Because you use it to spread hate. You do not use it to spread love or peace. You should only communicate in sign language. Because you are a chimp and chimps are not supposed to talk.

And then came the shittiest moment in human history. You chimps got access to Inter fuck it Net. Holy Fuck! What’s gonna happen now? Every fucking chimp got smart devices. LMAO! LOL! Killing fucking language. (Smiley Emoji).  Because you don’t understand language. You are not supposed to talk.

And all of you who are thinking right now that you are a human being. Well, you are wrong too. You are also a chimp! Because you don’t understand, ‘Where there is will, there is a way’.  You don’t understand,”Honesty is the best policy“. You don’t understand,”Time and tide wait for none“. You don’t understand,”Find something you love and let it kill you”. You don’t understand,”Go all the way or don’t even start”. You don’t understand,”You are a piece of shit”. I don’t know why am I wasting my time talking to you. You won’t understand.”You are a chimp!“.

Please don’t buy a book. Go buy an I-Phone.

Charles Marvin seventh great-grandson of Charles Darwin.

Artist ¦Naturalist

The Monster Within

There’s a dark monster inside me

but mostly it’s away

locked in rusty shackles

but every now & then

a link in the broken chain gives way

to shattered hopes, broken dreams and an empty soul

Light was never bright

It never shined upon the Quixote of a knight

It’s all black within

black tar dripping every now & then

the darkness is within you too

& it’s within your loved ones

it’s within your mothers & within your son

your fake smiles can’t hide it

my tears & cries can’t hide it

smoked lungs can’t hide it

trembling tongues can’t hide it

mine’s at least away at times

yours is always out

with no leash dragging on the ground

nothing to stop it from taking the crown

It’s gonna’ rule your world & mine

’cause you adore it, I don’t

I want it to die

you need it to shine

I ain’t fucked up

It’s just an awfully tough time

 

 

 

 

Lover Friend

What is LOVE?

I don’t know

& neither do you

dear friend

So please, don’t pretend

Love isn’t that feeling in the lower abdomen

I know because it feels the same

when I see my sister after a long span

If this is love, then God save me

as I must be insane

What is LOVE

I don’t know

& neither do you

dear friend

So please, don’t pretend

Love isn’t that feeling of possession

when I see my muse’s eyes

love isn’t when I close the door

& the only noises are moans & cries

Don’t get confused between

love, need, want & the rest

When yesterday I looked into your eyes,

I saw something divine

I don’t wanna’ be with you

I don’t wanna make you mine

Hell! I don’t even wanna’ spend time

I just need the reassurance

that you would let me be around

’cause the world’s an ugly place

they won’t understand me

I don’t know what love is

but the universe says I am gonna’ find

I don’t need anyone

I don’t want anything to be mine

But please, smile at my poor jokes

your lips twitch

and I become sublime

I am sure this is LOVE

But I don’t wanna’ make you mine.

 – Nik

Thanks Goddess Kim!

I was lonely

I desperately wanted someone

I was horny

I desperately wanted someone

 

I prayed & prayed & prayed

Goddess Kim appeared

& said

“Why so sad?

go, have fun.”

 

I told her, I am lonely

I’ve got no one

Goddess Kim said, “I am the selfie Queen,

I would bring filters to your life,

red, blue & green!”

 

She shared her worldly wisdom

And now I am a celebrity

See what I have become!

 

The Goddess said,

“People of the world are stupid,

Because dead is poor little cupid

Now, love is found online

No need for flowers, dinner or wine

 

Send ‘Friend Requests’ to everyone

10% would accept, let go of the rest

Like & Like & Like

every one’s posts

Leave comments for them

not real ones, but ‘those’

 

The more you like

the more they see you

the more you comment

their narcissism would torment

 

In a state of vain, they ideally should complain

But that’s where the virtual genie comes

They won’t so much as twitch or get the scam

They would LOL, LMAO, TTYL instead

& become your fan.

 

‘Cause people are obsessed with ‘image’

& you know no shame

Thanks Goddess Kim for this wisdom

I shall not let down your name!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Lame Game Life!

I’ve been crushing some serious candies

I’m busy on virtual streets,

I grow veggies in my fake farm

I’m even friends with gaming freaks!

I have alienated my friends

by sending them game requests,

I’ve no clue why they won’t oblige me

& just help me in my quests.

You see, it’s a matter quite serious

my avatar is in constant need

My fish would die if not fed in time

my crops would turn to weed.

My journey would suddenly come to a halt

if you don’t send three tickets

And if I don’t buy golden coins

the enemy would kill my picket

Who would rescue my pets from danger?

If you don’t send me bonus lives

How would I run my restaurant?

If you don’t help me buy the forks & knives

What would I do with the city I built

If you don’t stop by once in a while

How am I to deal with the birds I anger

If you don’t help me fling them a mile

Instead of judging us poor gaming souls

come join this crazy ride

just quit the army of online trolls

& pick the whimsical side

We’ve got cops & thieves , detectives & chiefs

entrepreneurs, gem carvers & tour guides

All we lack is a life that’s real

But that’s alright,

we’re not missing much

Our lame game life would suffice.

Waiting In Love

“Why do you have to pull this ‘friend’ bullshit?

Why can’t you let your heart bleed

Walk up to her & tell her

that you’ve got the hots for her”

advised Nik.

“Dude! She’s Jasmine,

I’m an Aladin at heart too

But I got no magic carpet

I got no Abu

No fuckin’ genie works for me!”

“When she looks into the mirror

it tells her

YOU, YOU, It’s You whose the prettiest

When I do,

it cracks & yells,

“Go away you’re ugly as hell”

“But you’ve got other skills,

Your words not only hurt, 

at times they kill.

What about your sensitive heart 

which beats for even a selfish retard?

No one cares about packaging,

if such are the goods within”

I laughed & laughed till I cried

Nik, what century are you in?

You’ve stopped your therapy,

I request you to begin.

The world we live in

has no place for love.

It’s just nice clothes,

good looks, fancy cars,

& a hefty bank account

Did I miss Real Estate? Yeah! That too!

I got your point, Goatie!

But what makes you so sure?

that she’s one of those?

Did she ask for diamonds or just a yellow Rose?

Nik has a valid point

I don’t know for sure

what she wants.

Maybe, she’s the ‘other’ kind

but my mind disagrees.

“Let your heart ask her

whether she needs a hug or she wants to flee”

Hey Miss! I wanna’ be around you

What say thee, what say thee?

Let me know & it doesn’t need to be straight

any way, for you I’m always gonna’ wait.

The wind would stop, the rivers would dry

hell might rise, but hey Miss Wise,

some day, just, say

Me – I love you

You – Likewise…

A Flood Of Tears

A flood’s gonna’ come

not to wash away all that is

but to drown YOU

for what you’ve done

 

I can hear it

& I know you can’t

you’re focus is

on the sound of silver

 

You built some dams

you killed a few beavers

you suffocated some birds

you burnt a few jungles

 

I know you’re greedy

I know you’re needy

I know what your story is

You’ve risen from ashes

& are now basking in the false sense of permanence

 

Every time the wind blows

Every breath I take in

I am determined

to not let you kill me

in the name of religion

in the name of civilization

 

I won’t let you destroy me

for false dreams of a better tomorrow

I won’t let you laugh

while she cries away

 

A flood’s gonna’ come

slowly, but surely

Hear her sobs, Mother Nature is dying

So I know that a flood’s gonna’ come

I just ‘know’, I can see

 

I’d see you drowning

but don’t worry about me

‘Cause I would be safe

on top of a mountain

And I see the water is already beginning to rise

It isn’t too far away

A flood’s gonna’ come

Your end 

HAS BEGUN.

Unintentional Yogi

Ran away, from my place

To find solace

Ran away from the concrete jungle

into the hills

standing tall

 

I hate city sheep

no more greed, 

no more need,

to mingle

I no longer hum their jingle

 

Built a hut

with broken twigs

a shaky roof

no mattress beneath

Isn’t peace what every soul seeks?

 

My Insta handle did say

‘FARMER AT PEACE’

never really knew what it meant

till the time I lay

in the hay

me & my friend, ‘Caterpillar’

ate leaves,

smoked leaves

& knew no fear

 

One morning,

I woke to find ‘Caterpillar’ gone

he had turned into a butterfly

he left my lonely self crying

Oh My! Oh My!

 

I took a stroll

to mend my broken soul

walked tall, walked tall

saw a bench

sat down

a few fair maiden came by

they thought I was in deep meditation

they bowed down

I had no clue,

what that meant

but heard them as they chanted

Oh! Enlightened one

Bless upon us

luck, love & a little fun

 

By virtue of spontaneity

I lifted my hand & touched their foreheads

they smiled in happiness

as they left, 

the sound of silence was divine

the Universe was wrapped around me

&

Everything was mine,

Everything was mine.

 

A Happy Mothers Day To The ‘Other’ Kind Of Mother

Happy Mother’s Day Mom,

From your ugly looking, least favourite son…

 

I always wondered why they need a day for mothers,

Mothers are divine, all of humanity does succumb.

But I guess today I figured this shit,

What kind of mothers deserve this gig…

 

It’s for YOU Mom, It’s for YOU..

When I stole a penny at 8, I just wanted an ice-cream stick,

I think you could have just made me understand,

You didn’t have to practise JIHAD and burn me…

 

When I was raped at 10, You blamed it on me

It was my fault, I could have ran away… I understand…

But MOM you knew I had a broken knee…

 

You made me feel shitty ‘cause I was not a pretty child,

Your brothers didn’t shower me with love and were unkind.

I remember your older brother threw me on the floor..

Just ‘cause I had farted.. But I was 12..

Kids fart… I wasn’t 24.

 

When I started earning, It was never enough

Everyone wanted a house, a car and a lifestyle

What about me?

You didn’t even let me buy a book about Van Fucking Gough..

You hated my girlfriends… I didn’t complain,

You hurled abuses, you hurt them

But couldn’t you see , I was in PAIN

 

I filled your account with whatever little I could make,

And now That I needed a little help

I was shocked to see your take

I just took a plastic card

You got ill ‘cause you thought

Your son ran away with your life’s worth !

 

Now I can’t love any other woman,

‘Cause I loved you deeply…

Every woman I’ve been with,

Looked like you

Isn’t that something, even Freud dint see..

 

Anyway, I guess this is the end

I wish you luck and Oh yes!

Happy Mother’s day…

 

Happy Mother’s day Mom…

From your ugly looking, least favourite son.

 

Moment Of Truth

I cannot recall each story I read,

each story I heard, during childhood

but I do recall that each implied

in the end,  bad succumbs to good.

 

I never questioned the truth of it,

until most recent years

as tales & fables gave way to the real

& disenchantment led to tears.

 

For if this was true,

then it made no sense

for my honest display

to fetch pretense

 

I cannot, for instance, for a second believe,

that my hope deserved a stab more than once

the first time I thought it was fate at play

on what do I blame the second chance?

 

Is it that I’m blind to my own faults?

I think it not to be the case,

for each night before I sleep,

I turn my own worst critic, for goodness sake!

 

I make amends, I fail again

I win myself over each day,

I realize I may have hurt a few,

but that’s a debt I most repay.

 

 

None of the fairy tales I heard,

had parts full of such despair

wherever I look, whatever I find

misery, heartache, resentment, are there.

 

It’s only now, that I realize

that what they taught was a thought mislead

it is never good that wins over bad,

let me replace that word, in every book I read.

 

For people are never good or bad,

they are either honest or they’re not,

for what prevails is not good, but the truth

that’s what life always taught.

 

The truth uncovers itself,

in manners most perverse

it hits you when you’re least prepared,

to make matters worse.

 

So I end the game of charades today,

as I gain a new meaning to life,

goodness is an illusion, it is truth that shall prevail

With that, I end my longest strife.

 

 

 

 

 

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