It is so good while it lasts,
but nothing remains, when its past...
History leaves its leaves in past,
only stories pass on...
The brief moments seem from an other world,
but you linger ahead,
in same old song of clouds...
Upon the skies,
and amongst the streams of flickering shadows,
some brighten, and go back,
flow past, and you stay,
like a frog, jumping,
from a lone solitary rock to another one...
Never sticking at a rock for more than a while,
knowing - the more you stand,
the more you slip in that shower...
A friend of mine taught me this song,
gave me a moment of shelter,
and here I slipped,
and she is gone...
It is so good while it lasts,
but nothing remains, when its past...
History leaves its leaves in past,
only stories pass on...
Here I linger,
but the story passed me on...
Yet I smile...:)
Saturday, 26 November 2011
Thursday, 24 November 2011
Confessions of an Agnost Puritan.
Let me not weave a string of woes,
let me not sit aghast at the wash,
let me not at the sight of distress,
let me smile and walk with what's left of smiles...
Let me not meander and wait,
purpose showered and darkened by the silences...
Let me not ask mercy, for God forsees.
Hail Mary, full of Grace,
I chant thy name.
And Holy Father, to thy feet,
I shall bend down,
brush a kiss of devotion
and say, "I sinned, and beg thine forgiveness."
Let me not weep, tears are but forbidden,
ah so is a man's plight.
I have erred, I have lost,
let me not sit,
but become a servant, obedient thine.
For I no longer beg for the glories.
For I no longer long for those treasures of life.
I beg to thee, old Father...
Moses and Judas pray on my stead,
I ask Ye, of only peace,
and thy blessed Hand...
I know myself lack
the ability to sing flowery songs,
and I know, O Lord,
that I can't weave pretty pictures
to make Ye smile.
I am but a servant,
aye, I see this now.
I am your son,
so guide me by thy hand.
let me not sit aghast at the wash,
let me not at the sight of distress,
let me smile and walk with what's left of smiles...
Let me not meander and wait,
purpose showered and darkened by the silences...
Let me not ask mercy, for God forsees.
Hail Mary, full of Grace,
I chant thy name.
And Holy Father, to thy feet,
I shall bend down,
brush a kiss of devotion
and say, "I sinned, and beg thine forgiveness."
Let me not weep, tears are but forbidden,
ah so is a man's plight.
I have erred, I have lost,
let me not sit,
but become a servant, obedient thine.
For I no longer beg for the glories.
For I no longer long for those treasures of life.
I beg to thee, old Father...
Moses and Judas pray on my stead,
I ask Ye, of only peace,
and thy blessed Hand...
I know myself lack
the ability to sing flowery songs,
and I know, O Lord,
that I can't weave pretty pictures
to make Ye smile.
I am but a servant,
aye, I see this now.
I am your son,
so guide me by thy hand.
Search for Skylark...
The vacant streets emptied of life,
the tiny flicker, teased and now far, gone...
Oh where, where, I ask, to search that distant skylark,
in the boughs darkened with soot of distance,
or on the waters deep with waves of mistrust?
Oh how, how, I ask, is it to reach,
that twig on which fluttered the single leaf,
the branch, dried in winter's wrath,
where lay in peace skylark with its song?
Deliverance, my lame saint, I cry,
deliverance from this quest,
for I was not
one designed to sit and wait,
fiddled is my restless soul, earnest...
If only lied this heart of curiosity,
or in silence, remained in a desolate moor,
if only existence meant slumbers,
in a ship destined to moor,
I, with all grace would embrace silence,
but life is earnest, it is swift,
and I curious, with time do drift...
In these moments where I see myself shiver,
I ask, did I mistake a hailstorm for shower?
Harboured my thoughts, anchored my love,
I pause, and cast the thought lantern on that lonely beach...
Humour, ah destined end,
for now in this moment,
there is nothing that I see...
Down to the old man's play,
resigned and resting,
I humour the Old Saint,
with my lame gait and
humourless speech...
I ask the Lame Saint a question for which he smiles,
I wonder what humour he finds in my trials,
yet I persist, I ask again,
Where is the skylark,
who sang so sweet?
I am met with silence, he chooses to sleep...
the tiny flicker, teased and now far, gone...
Oh where, where, I ask, to search that distant skylark,
in the boughs darkened with soot of distance,
or on the waters deep with waves of mistrust?
Oh how, how, I ask, is it to reach,
that twig on which fluttered the single leaf,
the branch, dried in winter's wrath,
where lay in peace skylark with its song?
Deliverance, my lame saint, I cry,
deliverance from this quest,
for I was not
one designed to sit and wait,
fiddled is my restless soul, earnest...
If only lied this heart of curiosity,
or in silence, remained in a desolate moor,
if only existence meant slumbers,
in a ship destined to moor,
I, with all grace would embrace silence,
but life is earnest, it is swift,
and I curious, with time do drift...
In these moments where I see myself shiver,
I ask, did I mistake a hailstorm for shower?
Harboured my thoughts, anchored my love,
I pause, and cast the thought lantern on that lonely beach...
Humour, ah destined end,
for now in this moment,
there is nothing that I see...
Down to the old man's play,
resigned and resting,
I humour the Old Saint,
with my lame gait and
humourless speech...
I ask the Lame Saint a question for which he smiles,
I wonder what humour he finds in my trials,
yet I persist, I ask again,
Where is the skylark,
who sang so sweet?
I am met with silence, he chooses to sleep...
Wednesday, 23 November 2011
Blackbird...
Stoppeth I, my winged dearth of time,
and thou shalt wait for eternity's sway...
Always the smile in heart hath haunted,
and my soul, quick caught its flying wings,
trapped in the palms, with no gate to leave,
the thoughts fluttered, and smile wept
in clutches of my childish act...
Stoppeth I, my winged dearth of time,
and thou shalt smile at my agony's grave,
for I refuse, say no to my distant enemy,
and friend over all this time.
Yes, yes, no more I say, no more,
no more in the years to come, I refuse to cry...
For who is that poet, that earthly soul,
that vagabond of roads, who wept while
time passed by...
Pain, the sweet respite for soul,
to rest, to ponder, to renew...
I stoppeth, the dearth of time,
my wings cut and bruised,
my forgotten cry, now in this emptiness,
I refuse to sit,
I in earnest, ponder,
I in zest, with broken wings,
like a Blackbird, try to fly...
and thou shalt wait for eternity's sway...
Always the smile in heart hath haunted,
and my soul, quick caught its flying wings,
trapped in the palms, with no gate to leave,
the thoughts fluttered, and smile wept
in clutches of my childish act...
Stoppeth I, my winged dearth of time,
and thou shalt smile at my agony's grave,
for I refuse, say no to my distant enemy,
and friend over all this time.
Yes, yes, no more I say, no more,
no more in the years to come, I refuse to cry...
For who is that poet, that earthly soul,
that vagabond of roads, who wept while
time passed by...
Pain, the sweet respite for soul,
to rest, to ponder, to renew...
I stoppeth, the dearth of time,
my wings cut and bruised,
my forgotten cry, now in this emptiness,
I refuse to sit,
I in earnest, ponder,
I in zest, with broken wings,
like a Blackbird, try to fly...
Monday, 21 November 2011
Sand Goblet...
His dreams, the little dunes,
ever wakeful for another storm
rise up and bend down,
little trickling sands of time
passing, meandering the winds,
and the hot wave engulfs the plateau...
There seems silence, and dismay,
and yet, in the unearthly presence
of the angelic spirit of lone black cloud,
I see smoke, dust paved on the block of charcoal,
misted, the granules move, digging a hole yet again,
dune succumb under the duress of the storm,
and the tunnel, deep and dark is dug,
hitherto unknown save to the trained eye,
and a goblet, deep to Hades' vestige forms,
misted, gravels look down,
and that lone traveller afar notices,
a single tear falls...
ever wakeful for another storm
rise up and bend down,
little trickling sands of time
passing, meandering the winds,
and the hot wave engulfs the plateau...
There seems silence, and dismay,
and yet, in the unearthly presence
of the angelic spirit of lone black cloud,
I see smoke, dust paved on the block of charcoal,
misted, the granules move, digging a hole yet again,
dune succumb under the duress of the storm,
and the tunnel, deep and dark is dug,
hitherto unknown save to the trained eye,
and a goblet, deep to Hades' vestige forms,
misted, gravels look down,
and that lone traveller afar notices,
a single tear falls...
Thursday, 17 November 2011
Coffin.
I live in this oblong room, and this room is my prison. I have heard of many seas, never seen many; I have heard of snow-capped mountains, never climbed any; I have heard of dark, perilous forests, never been to any. I sit in this middle-class household’s urban and well-furnished room. My tasks have been laid out, my escape blocked, and the lock though not on the latch, the spirit suffers in the emotional blockade of society.
I live in this oblong room, where there are pink walls and a dilapidated bed, where the only wilderness is few remnants of cobwebs, and the bed bugs on my sheet. I am a captive of my birth, searching to find all that is heard of, and praised. I have heard lark’s sweet song, but only on Television, and I have travelled to lush green tea estates only a few miles away from my home, but on Television.
I live in this oblong room, with its maze of furniture, torn papers, all thoughts in earnest yet lacking experience of life. I yearn to tell a story, talk of journeys and adventures, aye, I want to live, but am a victim of survival.
My health is sound, and energy yearning, my love for creation intact to admire the marvels, but alas, I live in this oblong room with pink walls and pink curtains and a dying canvas bed. Even this oblong room seems to be dying, it is always cold as a chilly carcass and it is always numbing, and the slumbers troubled.
I live in this oblong room, and my doors are different. I like it alone, as it is my respite from a long forgotten past, and now the way of my life.
I look at this room people call as mine-
I look at those pink walls, the oblique windows, pink curtains, furniture and dried coconut shells.
And then I look at all those torn papers scribbled away under the pressure of my lost ink and lost thoughts, crumbling to dust. Sometimes the light reflects the darkness outside.
Perhaps it is my room that is darker, coffin like. I see no lock, yet I feel bound.
Locked myself inside, I have thoughts of outside world, and often I ponder of mountains and monasteries.
I try to plan, to set out for the journey to find those places only known to me to exist in Television.
Perhaps I am waiting for the time to come, perhaps I am looking for the key to an unlocked door. Perhaps walls are supposed to be pink, perhaps I am waiting for my bed to sink.
Perhaps it is something else.
I live in this oblong room.
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
I live in this oblong room, where there are pink walls and a dilapidated bed, where the only wilderness is few remnants of cobwebs, and the bed bugs on my sheet. I am a captive of my birth, searching to find all that is heard of, and praised. I have heard lark’s sweet song, but only on Television, and I have travelled to lush green tea estates only a few miles away from my home, but on Television.
I live in this oblong room, with its maze of furniture, torn papers, all thoughts in earnest yet lacking experience of life. I yearn to tell a story, talk of journeys and adventures, aye, I want to live, but am a victim of survival.
My health is sound, and energy yearning, my love for creation intact to admire the marvels, but alas, I live in this oblong room with pink walls and pink curtains and a dying canvas bed. Even this oblong room seems to be dying, it is always cold as a chilly carcass and it is always numbing, and the slumbers troubled.
I live in this oblong room, and my doors are different. I like it alone, as it is my respite from a long forgotten past, and now the way of my life.
I look at this room people call as mine-
I look at those pink walls, the oblique windows, pink curtains, furniture and dried coconut shells.
And then I look at all those torn papers scribbled away under the pressure of my lost ink and lost thoughts, crumbling to dust. Sometimes the light reflects the darkness outside.
Perhaps it is my room that is darker, coffin like. I see no lock, yet I feel bound.
Locked myself inside, I have thoughts of outside world, and often I ponder of mountains and monasteries.
I try to plan, to set out for the journey to find those places only known to me to exist in Television.
Perhaps I am waiting for the time to come, perhaps I am looking for the key to an unlocked door. Perhaps walls are supposed to be pink, perhaps I am waiting for my bed to sink.
Perhaps it is something else.
I live in this oblong room.
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Wednesday, 16 November 2011
Cold Gaze...
Here stranded, I sit,
nervous due to lack of tact,
worried endless in the day's cold...
Those eyes flicker, ever observant...
'Rest!', I yearn to say, as I now am silent
and you shall see me gone...
Next moment I move, a tilt of my head,
the eyes follow me, and I ask why,
and something inside says, why not...
I say no, but the gaunt image follows...
I say no, but the haunting gaze swallows...
I say no! Enough, confound me no more,
and then I notice a jerk,
I notice from the corner of my eyes,
a jerk, a twist, and an ever diminishing silhouette...
I have accomplished my goal,
the eyes are no longer on me,
and I feel all alone...
Regret, but swallowed as whole...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
nervous due to lack of tact,
worried endless in the day's cold...
Those eyes flicker, ever observant...
'Rest!', I yearn to say, as I now am silent
and you shall see me gone...
Next moment I move, a tilt of my head,
the eyes follow me, and I ask why,
and something inside says, why not...
I say no, but the gaunt image follows...
I say no, but the haunting gaze swallows...
I say no! Enough, confound me no more,
and then I notice a jerk,
I notice from the corner of my eyes,
a jerk, a twist, and an ever diminishing silhouette...
I have accomplished my goal,
the eyes are no longer on me,
and I feel all alone...
Regret, but swallowed as whole...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Sunday, 30 October 2011
Breaking the fuzzwire,,,
Thoughts cloud mind's fuzz wire,
lost in the quest of who we are,
finding solace in the dark,
and we sing 'nothing else matters'...
Chide, smirk - what is new...
Empty face wants tears few;
but clouded thoughts ring a buzzing tune,
everything is left in tatters...
Hark! caution beasts are there,
noises in darkness, bats in fray,
endless forest and night shall stay,
filling blood on your platters...
Ashes ashes, I withstand,
all the thunder on the cursed land...
rising smoke opens burning eyes,
and the mind is broken in quarters...
A gentle stream, now flows across,
I will walk till I reach that far,
in the end I'll break the fuzzwire,
and sing 'nothing else matters'...
- Anyo Shiyen a.k.a Karthik Adithya Singaraju
lost in the quest of who we are,
finding solace in the dark,
and we sing 'nothing else matters'...
Chide, smirk - what is new...
Empty face wants tears few;
but clouded thoughts ring a buzzing tune,
everything is left in tatters...
Hark! caution beasts are there,
noises in darkness, bats in fray,
endless forest and night shall stay,
filling blood on your platters...
Ashes ashes, I withstand,
all the thunder on the cursed land...
rising smoke opens burning eyes,
and the mind is broken in quarters...
A gentle stream, now flows across,
I will walk till I reach that far,
in the end I'll break the fuzzwire,
and sing 'nothing else matters'...
- Anyo Shiyen a.k.a Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Monday, 24 October 2011
Redemption of Loss...
Always in silence,
suffering in darkness,
huddled with a song
and your memories in the heart...
Growing - this darkness,
lonely this laughter,
empty with you in the past
lost - my heart...
Time and again you've tried,
but I was naive enough to
choose hurt over heart...
Time and again I've tried,
but can't erase your tears
off the walls of the past...
Lets go back to the start...
I promise that I won't be,
hurtful or crazy...
Please try to forgive,
let us get back to the start...
- Karthik Adithya Singaraju
18/10/2011
suffering in darkness,
huddled with a song
and your memories in the heart...
Growing - this darkness,
lonely this laughter,
empty with you in the past
lost - my heart...
Time and again you've tried,
but I was naive enough to
choose hurt over heart...
Time and again I've tried,
but can't erase your tears
off the walls of the past...
Lets go back to the start...
I promise that I won't be,
hurtful or crazy...
Please try to forgive,
let us get back to the start...
- Karthik Adithya Singaraju
18/10/2011
Song for the Cynic...
I am a bleeding cynic, says she.
So is the frigging critic, says me.
If you wanna know, who you are,
Just marry the freaking person, that you are.
She says,I have the ashes covered on me,
So does the burning phoenix, says me…
If you wanna touch, all you dreams,
Just learn to fight, and break free.
So when people shout,
And you drown in doubt.
You gotta shut your ears, and your mouth!
You better Open your heart, and burn your doubt!!!
Listen, oh baby! Just listen…
Hear what you want you to tell yourselves…
Listen, oh baby! Just listen…
Just listen this once, then rise up and shout!!!
As no matter what they say,
we gotta live it our own way...
And when the time does come,
say goodbye to all those strings
that hung upon your dreams,
and move on...
I am a bleeding cynic, says she.
So is the frigging critic, says me.
If you wanna know, who you are,
Just marry the freaking person, that you are.
She says,I have the ashes covered on me,
So does the burning phoenix, says me…
If you wanna touch all you dreams,
Just learn to fight, and break free.
Cos, in the end, when all is said and done,
You ain’t never gonna be happy.......
Cos, in the end, when all is said and done,
You ain’t never gonna be happy-
If you never listened… to yourself…
As no matter what they say,
we gotta live it our own way...
And when the time does come,
say goodbye to all those strings
that hung upon your dreams,
and move on...
(Cos, in the end, when all is said and done,
You ain’t never gonna be happy-
If you never listened… to yourself…)
(Cross fade out)
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
04/10/2011
So is the frigging critic, says me.
If you wanna know, who you are,
Just marry the freaking person, that you are.
She says,I have the ashes covered on me,
So does the burning phoenix, says me…
If you wanna touch, all you dreams,
Just learn to fight, and break free.
So when people shout,
And you drown in doubt.
You gotta shut your ears, and your mouth!
You better Open your heart, and burn your doubt!!!
Listen, oh baby! Just listen…
Hear what you want you to tell yourselves…
Listen, oh baby! Just listen…
Just listen this once, then rise up and shout!!!
As no matter what they say,
we gotta live it our own way...
And when the time does come,
say goodbye to all those strings
that hung upon your dreams,
and move on...
I am a bleeding cynic, says she.
So is the frigging critic, says me.
If you wanna know, who you are,
Just marry the freaking person, that you are.
She says,I have the ashes covered on me,
So does the burning phoenix, says me…
If you wanna touch all you dreams,
Just learn to fight, and break free.
Cos, in the end, when all is said and done,
You ain’t never gonna be happy.......
Cos, in the end, when all is said and done,
You ain’t never gonna be happy-
If you never listened… to yourself…
As no matter what they say,
we gotta live it our own way...
And when the time does come,
say goodbye to all those strings
that hung upon your dreams,
and move on...
(Cos, in the end, when all is said and done,
You ain’t never gonna be happy-
If you never listened… to yourself…)
(Cross fade out)
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
04/10/2011
Iced Light House...
Here I come,
locking down the wired fence,
stepping outside the burning sun,
seeking shelter in your arms...
How could you,
believe that I would leave you be,
thought that I could please you still,
while you ate through what was mine to scream....
Time after time
from between my fingers you slip by...
But in my thoughts you stay,
biting sane me away...
Washed in the chime,
of a distant tower drowned,
by the wails of my lullaby
silenced, you scream...
Locked up in iced
light house which never glowed,
loathesome that you were never on the road...
You just seem,
like a jellyfish in a lantern beam,
glowing night away,
with your poisonous sway...
Washed in the chime,
of a distant tower drowned,
by the wails of my lullaby
silenced, you scream...
And so there we belong,
wails on walls that were never done,
painted scars of our scorn...
Here we bellow,
skipping heartbeat for a song,
climbing mountains for a moan...
Time after time,
from between my fingers you slip by...
But in my thoughts you stay,
biting sane me away...
Biting sane me away,
long, too long to stay.... alive....
Here we bellow...........
- Karthik Adithya Singaraju
06/10/2011
locking down the wired fence,
stepping outside the burning sun,
seeking shelter in your arms...
How could you,
believe that I would leave you be,
thought that I could please you still,
while you ate through what was mine to scream....
Time after time
from between my fingers you slip by...
But in my thoughts you stay,
biting sane me away...
Washed in the chime,
of a distant tower drowned,
by the wails of my lullaby
silenced, you scream...
Locked up in iced
light house which never glowed,
loathesome that you were never on the road...
You just seem,
like a jellyfish in a lantern beam,
glowing night away,
with your poisonous sway...
Washed in the chime,
of a distant tower drowned,
by the wails of my lullaby
silenced, you scream...
And so there we belong,
wails on walls that were never done,
painted scars of our scorn...
Here we bellow,
skipping heartbeat for a song,
climbing mountains for a moan...
Time after time,
from between my fingers you slip by...
But in my thoughts you stay,
biting sane me away...
Biting sane me away,
long, too long to stay.... alive....
Here we bellow...........
- Karthik Adithya Singaraju
06/10/2011
Wednesday, 19 October 2011
Random Barrage...
Failing, those grass green lights
failing grin...
the rattling oxen of pigeon storm fields,
vexed by sensual monkey,
the moronic stars glitter....
ensenada, another word from jimmy,
'dances in nature's swinging arms,
as the Pope naked, devoid of empty dresses sings birthday song,
Jesus Christ,
let us sing a metal song and forget Holy Chalice in dancing arms...
Russians said it right,
I dance in the nights...
The Chinese dragons from mage's guild,
sing this song mind enthrilled...
But then wait, there is no such word,
the vodka spirits haven't yet heard...
Beer buddies listen out this is warped time,
my spirits rest now,
and before hangover sues,
let the peace rule,
and lameness be fooled...
All idiots drinking UB spirits,
there is nothing better than Russian Venice
and Metacafe snippets...
One who gets this, is genius of our time,
psychedelic spirit
and crazily awesome in the mind...
Well then, hey ya fools,
I give it a rest...
When I go and sleep trip full,
Know that people like Jimmy and Floyd rule....
failing grin...
the rattling oxen of pigeon storm fields,
vexed by sensual monkey,
the moronic stars glitter....
ensenada, another word from jimmy,
'dances in nature's swinging arms,
as the Pope naked, devoid of empty dresses sings birthday song,
Jesus Christ,
let us sing a metal song and forget Holy Chalice in dancing arms...
Russians said it right,
I dance in the nights...
The Chinese dragons from mage's guild,
sing this song mind enthrilled...
But then wait, there is no such word,
the vodka spirits haven't yet heard...
Beer buddies listen out this is warped time,
my spirits rest now,
and before hangover sues,
let the peace rule,
and lameness be fooled...
All idiots drinking UB spirits,
there is nothing better than Russian Venice
and Metacafe snippets...
One who gets this, is genius of our time,
psychedelic spirit
and crazily awesome in the mind...
Well then, hey ya fools,
I give it a rest...
When I go and sleep trip full,
Know that people like Jimmy and Floyd rule....
A Tale of Ebbies...
Trickle stream, trickle stream,
A rain drop bullet,
And a finger light beam…
Trickle stream, trickle stream,
Death lullaby of cricket,
And a monster’s sweet dream…
Trickle stream, trickle stream,
Everyone sang you a wishful song,
But lonely moth drank Devil’s cream…
Trickle stream, trickle stream,
Born on this window sill,
Tell me your name and
where you bound this spring?
Trickle stream, trickle stream,
Also let me know my dear,
Who do you read?
The tear on the pallor
Or the laughter evergreen…
Trickle stream, trickle stream,
Let me rest on your flowing seam,
Stranger to sorrow,
drenched in it, I gleam…
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
A rain drop bullet,
And a finger light beam…
Trickle stream, trickle stream,
Death lullaby of cricket,
And a monster’s sweet dream…
Trickle stream, trickle stream,
Everyone sang you a wishful song,
But lonely moth drank Devil’s cream…
Trickle stream, trickle stream,
Born on this window sill,
Tell me your name and
where you bound this spring?
Trickle stream, trickle stream,
Also let me know my dear,
Who do you read?
The tear on the pallor
Or the laughter evergreen…
Trickle stream, trickle stream,
Let me rest on your flowing seam,
Stranger to sorrow,
drenched in it, I gleam…
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Monday, 10 October 2011
Tale of Guilt....
How do you do the impossible?
How do you atone and let your sin be undone?
How do you speak your feelings loud,
how do you confess your love?
How do you ever explain
all else's colour that you stowed?
How do you apologize?
How do you beg your pardon?
How do you eulogize
when nothing remains
but a dark carton?
How do you tell the person,
what you did was wrong?
How do you make it up
to someone who is gone?
Nurture, nurture,
a field of pain,
nurture, oh my dear heart!
a guilt restrained...
Let it grow, eat you up...
And let your heart hope
that you are forgiven
when with death you elope...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
How do you atone and let your sin be undone?
How do you speak your feelings loud,
how do you confess your love?
How do you ever explain
all else's colour that you stowed?
How do you apologize?
How do you beg your pardon?
How do you eulogize
when nothing remains
but a dark carton?
How do you tell the person,
what you did was wrong?
How do you make it up
to someone who is gone?
Nurture, nurture,
a field of pain,
nurture, oh my dear heart!
a guilt restrained...
Let it grow, eat you up...
And let your heart hope
that you are forgiven
when with death you elope...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Drowning Phoenix's Cry - An Elegy.
All the criss-crossing pathways
rocking me unto slumber betwixt loss...
All the humming skeletons,
ghosts of the past and present premonitions,
lighting the fire of incessant slumber last...
Hath I observed a sane moment sooner,
the malady of fate, twisted and wry, Dear Lord!
But Alas! so fated was I,
that now I lose myself
in a drowning phoenix's cry...
And wet, infected it falls asleep forever...
Dies, withers, wet lump,
ashes unburnt, resurrection undone, lost...
And here I lie, lamenting the phoenix's loss...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
rocking me unto slumber betwixt loss...
All the humming skeletons,
ghosts of the past and present premonitions,
lighting the fire of incessant slumber last...
Hath I observed a sane moment sooner,
the malady of fate, twisted and wry, Dear Lord!
But Alas! so fated was I,
that now I lose myself
in a drowning phoenix's cry...
And wet, infected it falls asleep forever...
Dies, withers, wet lump,
ashes unburnt, resurrection undone, lost...
And here I lie, lamenting the phoenix's loss...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Sunday, 9 October 2011
Ode to Dragon Flies...
Dragon flies,
yes, swarming the cold asphalt,
as though pot-holes were not enough,
to be the traveller's plight,
'Yours truly' sing the
Dragon flies...
Blinded by the hits,
the cold slaps of Dragon flies sting,
while the wheels burn and
smoke bellows,
I pass them by...
Dragon flies,
garden full of dragon flies...
While those ants bite,
and the grasses itch - allergic,
Dragon flies swarm,
flapping their wings
hitting my blind side...
Dragon flies,
the walkway filled with dragon flies,
the fruit some say spoilt by them,
and the sticky smelly Fruit flies...
Between them, perhaps
lies comradery in style...
Time and again they vanish,
hitherto unknown to my unromantic soul...
You see, there wasn't a bone in me,
that gardened or learnt of flies...
But yet again, I notice
when the evening comes,
they are back again,
ruckus and annoyance...
And I just resign,
as it is just another dusk,
to be welcomed with a smile...
Calming soothing evening rhyme,
sung by the flapping wings of Dragon flies...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
yes, swarming the cold asphalt,
as though pot-holes were not enough,
to be the traveller's plight,
'Yours truly' sing the
Dragon flies...
Blinded by the hits,
the cold slaps of Dragon flies sting,
while the wheels burn and
smoke bellows,
I pass them by...
Dragon flies,
garden full of dragon flies...
While those ants bite,
and the grasses itch - allergic,
Dragon flies swarm,
flapping their wings
hitting my blind side...
Dragon flies,
the walkway filled with dragon flies,
the fruit some say spoilt by them,
and the sticky smelly Fruit flies...
Between them, perhaps
lies comradery in style...
Time and again they vanish,
hitherto unknown to my unromantic soul...
You see, there wasn't a bone in me,
that gardened or learnt of flies...
But yet again, I notice
when the evening comes,
they are back again,
ruckus and annoyance...
And I just resign,
as it is just another dusk,
to be welcomed with a smile...
Calming soothing evening rhyme,
sung by the flapping wings of Dragon flies...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Saturday, 8 October 2011
Esthete's Moments Enchanted...
And through the mind's eye,
I whispered,
the slow song talking of the mist
which was cleared with first rays of the sun...
I tried to look, but the cloudy day had made it all very dark,
and then the drops fell,
with the pianoforte clicking away the key notes...
Nature seemed to understand the music,
and the music seemed to understand nature...
I stood there, mute,
trance gripping without any drug's trace...
Truly enough,
while there formed those tiny rivulets,
I heard a whisper in my ear,
someone's breath had fogged the back of my neck,
I smiled listening to the little song,
now the October rain splattered in my face,
while someone whispered to me,
"what more could you ask for?"
Hearing this, I smiled and wept...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
I whispered,
the slow song talking of the mist
which was cleared with first rays of the sun...
I tried to look, but the cloudy day had made it all very dark,
and then the drops fell,
with the pianoforte clicking away the key notes...
Nature seemed to understand the music,
and the music seemed to understand nature...
I stood there, mute,
trance gripping without any drug's trace...
Truly enough,
while there formed those tiny rivulets,
I heard a whisper in my ear,
someone's breath had fogged the back of my neck,
I smiled listening to the little song,
now the October rain splattered in my face,
while someone whispered to me,
"what more could you ask for?"
Hearing this, I smiled and wept...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
A Scene from Beyond...
On God’s Altar I stand-
And passed to me,
I take and drink red wine,
In a silver goblet with golden rivulets engraved,
Written in a tongue not known to me…
In front of me a giant waterfall,
Wine in the colour of blood flowing in front of me
From a source only "heaven" beholds, me supposed…
Behind me a thorned carpet,
Piercing every limb that walks upto the altar,
Like mine, numbed by the incessant red roar
of the Boss Chimera and his league…
I do not sweat, nor fatigue engulfs me,
I just stand, and I just see
vision but no feel…
Here I am in a dream,
On a bed of broken shells,
All glistening like an old Greek sea's
mythical lost pearls…
Here I am,
Where everyone laughs,
Ghastly demented, and soulless zombies…
Here I am,
At a place called God’s own Altar,
And hear only wails and screams
of afterlife's ghouls and hags…
All there is,
Is just empty hollow me
a shell of my body,
a zombie with no zeal…
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
And passed to me,
I take and drink red wine,
In a silver goblet with golden rivulets engraved,
Written in a tongue not known to me…
In front of me a giant waterfall,
Wine in the colour of blood flowing in front of me
From a source only "heaven" beholds, me supposed…
Behind me a thorned carpet,
Piercing every limb that walks upto the altar,
Like mine, numbed by the incessant red roar
of the Boss Chimera and his league…
I do not sweat, nor fatigue engulfs me,
I just stand, and I just see
vision but no feel…
Here I am in a dream,
On a bed of broken shells,
All glistening like an old Greek sea's
mythical lost pearls…
Here I am,
Where everyone laughs,
Ghastly demented, and soulless zombies…
Here I am,
At a place called God’s own Altar,
And hear only wails and screams
of afterlife's ghouls and hags…
All there is,
Is just empty hollow me
a shell of my body,
a zombie with no zeal…
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Friday, 7 October 2011
Prying on the Ancient Lie...
On the road we live,
And beside we die…
We lay rotten until a storm picks us by…
Seems like the journey
Is half as healthy,
Thinking back on how useless wealth is…
Seems like only rich that we get is
The gravel on the tar
And the mind that is empty…
Seems like an ancient doorway closing,
Vaulted the secrets of immortals posing…
Its been a ride,
Where we all are at posing,
Doing things we shouldn’t
And still drinking our throat pipe dry…
High enough on hills you might be climbing,
But the birds hunt down
The tired and broken,
There is no life when the wild sun is scorching,
It all ends in a dried shriveled coffin…
And there we all pry,
Our ancient lies…
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
And beside we die…
We lay rotten until a storm picks us by…
Seems like the journey
Is half as healthy,
Thinking back on how useless wealth is…
Seems like only rich that we get is
The gravel on the tar
And the mind that is empty…
Seems like an ancient doorway closing,
Vaulted the secrets of immortals posing…
Its been a ride,
Where we all are at posing,
Doing things we shouldn’t
And still drinking our throat pipe dry…
High enough on hills you might be climbing,
But the birds hunt down
The tired and broken,
There is no life when the wild sun is scorching,
It all ends in a dried shriveled coffin…
And there we all pry,
Our ancient lies…
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Thursday, 29 September 2011
Poet in the Heart...
Highway keeps calling,
Telling me it is late,
‘come back and try to be a part…’
And the worst thing is,
To be the one hiding,
Telling ‘I don’t know where to start…’
There is nobody thinking with reason,
As all have been busy doing their part…
There is nobody happy this season,
As all have been living their lives apart…
There seems to be a,
Simple thing called heart,
One that keeps looking
For you to notice what it wants to do,
from the start…
All that it wants to
be is be happy,
And bring a smile upon your face,
that is all…
‘All that I look for is a smile,’
Says it with pain of being torn apart…
Somebody needs me, like I do, a walrus,
But the only one listening is a goat from the past…
There is lamb, running on water,
Past the rains of shame and,
Distance only brought between the hearts…
Somebody needs to
be out there,
Who would be the savior,
And save this journey that is there
without a start…
All that I see now,
Is an empty palace,
Groaning are empty hallways,
Without doors and people,
And a laugh…
So many players,
sang in the darkness,
But the only voice that remains,
Is of the poet in the heart…
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Telling me it is late,
‘come back and try to be a part…’
And the worst thing is,
To be the one hiding,
Telling ‘I don’t know where to start…’
There is nobody thinking with reason,
As all have been busy doing their part…
There is nobody happy this season,
As all have been living their lives apart…
There seems to be a,
Simple thing called heart,
One that keeps looking
For you to notice what it wants to do,
from the start…
All that it wants to
be is be happy,
And bring a smile upon your face,
that is all…
‘All that I look for is a smile,’
Says it with pain of being torn apart…
Somebody needs me, like I do, a walrus,
But the only one listening is a goat from the past…
There is lamb, running on water,
Past the rains of shame and,
Distance only brought between the hearts…
Somebody needs to
be out there,
Who would be the savior,
And save this journey that is there
without a start…
All that I see now,
Is an empty palace,
Groaning are empty hallways,
Without doors and people,
And a laugh…
So many players,
sang in the darkness,
But the only voice that remains,
Is of the poet in the heart…
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Wednesday, 21 September 2011
Orange Dreams...
From the deep wells of my mind,
to the dark room with the blinds,
the thoughts and the tangerines,
play a song of orange dreams...
With the crimson of the fruit,
and the blackness of my hoof,
the thoughts and the tangerines,
play the melody of orange dreams...
The guitar lay covered,
the webs and dust on top, showered...
The strings of my fingers' music,
lay, rusted and I, feeling sick...
Here I lay wondering,
if the Hula hoops were barbed rings...
And here I lay half asleep,
awake, yet to take a leap...
You see, I said,
the thoughts and the tangerines,
keep playing a song,
the tune from the orange dreams...
And here I lay half asleep,
awake and wondering what to play,
song for the dungeons, or the mind's keep...
But then again,
the thoughts and the tangerines,
I hear them play,
this song from the orange dreams...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
to the dark room with the blinds,
the thoughts and the tangerines,
play a song of orange dreams...
With the crimson of the fruit,
and the blackness of my hoof,
the thoughts and the tangerines,
play the melody of orange dreams...
The guitar lay covered,
the webs and dust on top, showered...
The strings of my fingers' music,
lay, rusted and I, feeling sick...
Here I lay wondering,
if the Hula hoops were barbed rings...
And here I lay half asleep,
awake, yet to take a leap...
You see, I said,
the thoughts and the tangerines,
keep playing a song,
the tune from the orange dreams...
And here I lay half asleep,
awake and wondering what to play,
song for the dungeons, or the mind's keep...
But then again,
the thoughts and the tangerines,
I hear them play,
this song from the orange dreams...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Sunday, 18 September 2011
House of Cards
Here I sit, spaces between,
The moments of past and future unseen,
Here I linger, hitherto unknown,
Poised and in languor, telling the story untold…
The moments of toil must’ve been in past,
But the remnants of memories are things that last.
There might come a gale that destroys,
But the picture of what stood remains with joy…
There has been the moment where a little swoosh of air,
Or a lighted match, or water, I mean, everything that is fair,
Have rumbled the House of Cards built with toil,
Have taken that away, which has eaten my midnight’s oil…
But then again, my memories don’t cease,
A thing of past Card House might be,
But its image still lingers, and cherish I with ease,
a thing that could be and never is…
What is life, but a House of Cards,
Built through ages, through toil and labour hard,
Stands for an instant, crumbles in a sweep,
But the memories of what had been, never cease to sleep…
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
The moments of past and future unseen,
Here I linger, hitherto unknown,
Poised and in languor, telling the story untold…
The moments of toil must’ve been in past,
But the remnants of memories are things that last.
There might come a gale that destroys,
But the picture of what stood remains with joy…
There has been the moment where a little swoosh of air,
Or a lighted match, or water, I mean, everything that is fair,
Have rumbled the House of Cards built with toil,
Have taken that away, which has eaten my midnight’s oil…
But then again, my memories don’t cease,
A thing of past Card House might be,
But its image still lingers, and cherish I with ease,
a thing that could be and never is…
What is life, but a House of Cards,
Built through ages, through toil and labour hard,
Stands for an instant, crumbles in a sweep,
But the memories of what had been, never cease to sleep…
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Thursday, 11 August 2011
Things that don't glow...
I smile the past away,
I always look this way...
I talk along the way,
and the laughter creases my face...
I spend the nights so cold,
with a pretense inside my soul...
I feel the bright sun, shine,
and all that's hidden entwined...
There is always a reason to show,
a mask that I don't know...
There is always a reason to smile,
though laughter just makes you tired...
There is always a reason to know,
that when you walk away in the snow,
you might leave that place,
but the prints will always leave a trace...
You may smile as if you know,
but your shadow will never glow...
It will remain a faithful mirror,
showing the image of the buried sore,
frozen in the past's dirty snow...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
I always look this way...
I talk along the way,
and the laughter creases my face...
I spend the nights so cold,
with a pretense inside my soul...
I feel the bright sun, shine,
and all that's hidden entwined...
There is always a reason to show,
a mask that I don't know...
There is always a reason to smile,
though laughter just makes you tired...
There is always a reason to know,
that when you walk away in the snow,
you might leave that place,
but the prints will always leave a trace...
You may smile as if you know,
but your shadow will never glow...
It will remain a faithful mirror,
showing the image of the buried sore,
frozen in the past's dirty snow...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Saturday, 9 July 2011
A Walk down the hallway...
Here walking down the hallway,
wearing casts, weighed down by the mask...
The little yellow glitter of the gloomy lamp,
shining blood-like, dull and ominous...
The limbs, all bleeding, buckling under the tales,
stories of happenings, unknown there in gargoyle
guarded homes...
Standing erect, inspite of cuts and bruises,
inspite of the swollen wounds, oozing liquids,
devil's own. Satanic pain searing through the body,
and a darkness consuming the long hallway,
and yet, walking down the hallway...
The chilling silence, and the echo of footsteps,
driving sanity away, along with the gaze, into that distance...
And down that hall, yet, with all earnest attempts,
succeeding to stand up yet again, after a failed attempt
to catch back the fast losing sound.
Once stood up,
the walk continues,
as if it never stopped,
with a dying yellow light of a candle;
and dark distance to traverse, that
in darkness remains...
Karthik Adithya Singaraju
wearing casts, weighed down by the mask...
The little yellow glitter of the gloomy lamp,
shining blood-like, dull and ominous...
The limbs, all bleeding, buckling under the tales,
stories of happenings, unknown there in gargoyle
guarded homes...
Standing erect, inspite of cuts and bruises,
inspite of the swollen wounds, oozing liquids,
devil's own. Satanic pain searing through the body,
and a darkness consuming the long hallway,
and yet, walking down the hallway...
The chilling silence, and the echo of footsteps,
driving sanity away, along with the gaze, into that distance...
And down that hall, yet, with all earnest attempts,
succeeding to stand up yet again, after a failed attempt
to catch back the fast losing sound.
Once stood up,
the walk continues,
as if it never stopped,
with a dying yellow light of a candle;
and dark distance to traverse, that
in darkness remains...
Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Wednesday, 6 July 2011
The Kid with mismatched gloves...
I am a kid, a little one at that,
with a pair of mismatched gloves,
and a cap, tad smaller than my scalp.
I tried to do away,
be done with whatever I had to,
with my lunatic rant,
but then again, couldn't help...
I wear an overlarge sweater,
which protects my insides,
from a cold place I got to survive.
I am just a guy, with a torn jeans,
unsure which way to go, to make it fit right.
I tell you, things are distasteful,
and they freak people out.
But then again, I figured,
in my clumsy movements,
there lied what Emily tried to describe,
before she died.
You know, it is very funny,
that after all this time,
while I tried to figure what is wrong,
on the outside,
it turns, it was my turn,
to push it all aside.
Move away, lock in the corners,
warm in their cold comfort,
huddled, where I could meditate,
and there wouldn't be any bug,
or even a beautiful butterfly,
feeding on the sack of fungus,
rich and ripe.
Then again,
I was just a kid from some corner,
with mismatched gloves,
noone would ever try...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
with a pair of mismatched gloves,
and a cap, tad smaller than my scalp.
I tried to do away,
be done with whatever I had to,
with my lunatic rant,
but then again, couldn't help...
I wear an overlarge sweater,
which protects my insides,
from a cold place I got to survive.
I am just a guy, with a torn jeans,
unsure which way to go, to make it fit right.
I tell you, things are distasteful,
and they freak people out.
But then again, I figured,
in my clumsy movements,
there lied what Emily tried to describe,
before she died.
You know, it is very funny,
that after all this time,
while I tried to figure what is wrong,
on the outside,
it turns, it was my turn,
to push it all aside.
Move away, lock in the corners,
warm in their cold comfort,
huddled, where I could meditate,
and there wouldn't be any bug,
or even a beautiful butterfly,
feeding on the sack of fungus,
rich and ripe.
Then again,
I was just a kid from some corner,
with mismatched gloves,
noone would ever try...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Where it never snows...
There goes the carrion cries, ever elegant...
And thence the vulture,
the monster scavenging upon the passed...
And there goes the wild albatross,
flying over the horizon,
and the seagulls' crying,
bidding a warm farewell to the sun,
who leaves, having finished his day's work...
The peacock is flaunting its hue,
and the owl waking up...
All in their place,
but a young flightless penguin...
In the rocks of tropics rejected,
searches hopelessly for snow,
and the warmth of its cold...
Little does he know,
tropics are empty,
and he is there,
flightless,
where it never snows...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
And thence the vulture,
the monster scavenging upon the passed...
And there goes the wild albatross,
flying over the horizon,
and the seagulls' crying,
bidding a warm farewell to the sun,
who leaves, having finished his day's work...
The peacock is flaunting its hue,
and the owl waking up...
All in their place,
but a young flightless penguin...
In the rocks of tropics rejected,
searches hopelessly for snow,
and the warmth of its cold...
Little does he know,
tropics are empty,
and he is there,
flightless,
where it never snows...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Sunday, 19 June 2011
Another Beginning...
And this is yet another start,
another beginning.
Everyone say wait,
everyone warn and advice patience.
And I start eyes wide open, and catch the bait.
But this is YET another start,
just a beginning.
Nothing to lose, nothing to regret,
just a shoved set of memories,
and a new tread ahead.
Since this is yet ANOTHER start,
again a beginning,
excited, though nervous and with doubt,
nevertheless knowing that, all never goes waste,
everything reaches some place, just the same.
Great anticipation, and yet not,
without a little facet dark,
I venture to begin the beginning of the Start.
CopyRight - Karthik Adithya Singaraju
another beginning.
Everyone say wait,
everyone warn and advice patience.
And I start eyes wide open, and catch the bait.
But this is YET another start,
just a beginning.
Nothing to lose, nothing to regret,
just a shoved set of memories,
and a new tread ahead.
Since this is yet ANOTHER start,
again a beginning,
excited, though nervous and with doubt,
nevertheless knowing that, all never goes waste,
everything reaches some place, just the same.
Great anticipation, and yet not,
without a little facet dark,
I venture to begin the beginning of the Start.
CopyRight - Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Thursday, 2 June 2011
I wish, I wish...
If the smiles meant all,
and the little shiver,
a nervous trepidation,
a little shudder, and the
yanking of shoulders, all
reminiscent of a silent appeal...
Then Yes, I wish the same, but
wait, pause, listen to the
silent song...
Too late? Too late?
I wonder if I do not mistake...
Too late? Is that what everyone says?
Where does it take you from here,
where does it take me from nowhere?
What happens to those years spent,
where nurtured was the trust, and
now wrongly spent?
Where do you place,
which is the closet?
What is the hideout,
where you place your self?
Nay, the tears tore through the flesh of my ego,
and the sorrow tore through this stone...
I did wait, I did wish,
I did pray to make things better,
and leave scorn and disdain...
But then is it in our hands?
Have the things left our grasp?
Have they gone so into the grasps of
the few, for whom, this is naught save
some gossip and a little news or some sort of game?
I thought it was different,
I thought it wasn't just the same,
I thought it mattered,
what happened, and what led that
fragile bond to lie in such shame...
I wish, I wish,
I wish I didn't see your tears,
and I wish again,
all said and all passed,
we remain all the same...
That after that dreadful season past,
we get back to where we rightfully remain...
I wish, I wish,
there were more rains of laughter,
and not of such pain...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
and the little shiver,
a nervous trepidation,
a little shudder, and the
yanking of shoulders, all
reminiscent of a silent appeal...
Then Yes, I wish the same, but
wait, pause, listen to the
silent song...
Too late? Too late?
I wonder if I do not mistake...
Too late? Is that what everyone says?
Where does it take you from here,
where does it take me from nowhere?
What happens to those years spent,
where nurtured was the trust, and
now wrongly spent?
Where do you place,
which is the closet?
What is the hideout,
where you place your self?
Nay, the tears tore through the flesh of my ego,
and the sorrow tore through this stone...
I did wait, I did wish,
I did pray to make things better,
and leave scorn and disdain...
But then is it in our hands?
Have the things left our grasp?
Have they gone so into the grasps of
the few, for whom, this is naught save
some gossip and a little news or some sort of game?
I thought it was different,
I thought it wasn't just the same,
I thought it mattered,
what happened, and what led that
fragile bond to lie in such shame...
I wish, I wish,
I wish I didn't see your tears,
and I wish again,
all said and all passed,
we remain all the same...
That after that dreadful season past,
we get back to where we rightfully remain...
I wish, I wish,
there were more rains of laughter,
and not of such pain...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
What really matters...
Forever running, panting, gasping,
struggling to keep on the feet,
wobbling limbs, tired of the race,
with all but a mirage called goal,
where the eyes set, even though
it seems to flow in the vision, like the smoke
clouding the reason of its non-existence...
Long long run, a marathon, an endurance trip,
around the long winding paths, taking so many
hours out of life chasing that mirage or the dream...
While running, once I paused,
rather someone stopped me,
asked me to stop panting,
catch a breath, have a drink,
and look around, and there,
in that instant, I saw, what eluded me,
due to my chase...
Around me, before me, behind me,
beside me, above me, below me,
I saw, there was such abundance,
abundance of love and abundance of
friendship, abundance of beauty, and
of harmony.. Tranquil, reposing onlooking
audience,which suddenly felt more dear,
more important than the petty goal...
Goal diminished, it became more of a mirage now,
than it had ever been...
I had their sympathies,
and I had their love,
but then again came a doubt,
would it have existed, if I were
not in this chase, and then I realised,
there is a long long way to go...
So I got up, smiled,
and started running again,
but this time around, taking note of what
I have and what is around me,
lest goal never attained,
the race seem worthless,
I realised,
there is the journey,
and journey is what matters...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
struggling to keep on the feet,
wobbling limbs, tired of the race,
with all but a mirage called goal,
where the eyes set, even though
it seems to flow in the vision, like the smoke
clouding the reason of its non-existence...
Long long run, a marathon, an endurance trip,
around the long winding paths, taking so many
hours out of life chasing that mirage or the dream...
While running, once I paused,
rather someone stopped me,
asked me to stop panting,
catch a breath, have a drink,
and look around, and there,
in that instant, I saw, what eluded me,
due to my chase...
Around me, before me, behind me,
beside me, above me, below me,
I saw, there was such abundance,
abundance of love and abundance of
friendship, abundance of beauty, and
of harmony.. Tranquil, reposing onlooking
audience,which suddenly felt more dear,
more important than the petty goal...
Goal diminished, it became more of a mirage now,
than it had ever been...
I had their sympathies,
and I had their love,
but then again came a doubt,
would it have existed, if I were
not in this chase, and then I realised,
there is a long long way to go...
So I got up, smiled,
and started running again,
but this time around, taking note of what
I have and what is around me,
lest goal never attained,
the race seem worthless,
I realised,
there is the journey,
and journey is what matters...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Tuesday, 31 May 2011
I see...
With patience I see,
I have answers to come,
with virtue of pain,
it seems comes happiness,
with the conception of hurt,
comes greater things to rejoice...
To demand things,
which haven't yet conceived,
tomfoolery at it best,
and to ask for things to rush in,
plain ignorance of the ways...
This known, I rest,
this known, I feel all that happens,
happens for the best...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
I have answers to come,
with virtue of pain,
it seems comes happiness,
with the conception of hurt,
comes greater things to rejoice...
To demand things,
which haven't yet conceived,
tomfoolery at it best,
and to ask for things to rush in,
plain ignorance of the ways...
This known, I rest,
this known, I feel all that happens,
happens for the best...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Monday, 30 May 2011
Never Ending Chase...
And I trotted, swiftly,
again and again, and again,
in circles, in a continuous motion,
I trotted away,
again and again, and again, in circles...
Then I stopped, and you trotted away,
away, and more farther, all I could say was,
you trotted away, far away...
I tried to follow, pursue,
caught up, but then couldn't reach just as yet,
as I again followed,
ran this time around,
but it was all like a
Beaver in a bowl,
round and round and round...
I gnashed against the wheels,
sick of the movement,
yet never reaching,
I got sick of all the energy,
spent in earnest, and I sat down,
tired, and frustrated with the never ending chase...
Too tired, I didn't look up,
I didn't want to see,because
I knew, I knew what lay in front...
I knew, it was a silhouette ever diminishing
before me, so I refused to look up,
I said nay,leave me be...
But then again, I ventured, later,
as a minute passed into the scene,
I looked up,
and I still wonder what is it that I see...?
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
again and again, and again,
in circles, in a continuous motion,
I trotted away,
again and again, and again, in circles...
Then I stopped, and you trotted away,
away, and more farther, all I could say was,
you trotted away, far away...
I tried to follow, pursue,
caught up, but then couldn't reach just as yet,
as I again followed,
ran this time around,
but it was all like a
Beaver in a bowl,
round and round and round...
I gnashed against the wheels,
sick of the movement,
yet never reaching,
I got sick of all the energy,
spent in earnest, and I sat down,
tired, and frustrated with the never ending chase...
Too tired, I didn't look up,
I didn't want to see,because
I knew, I knew what lay in front...
I knew, it was a silhouette ever diminishing
before me, so I refused to look up,
I said nay,leave me be...
But then again, I ventured, later,
as a minute passed into the scene,
I looked up,
and I still wonder what is it that I see...?
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Friday, 27 May 2011
Path of Doom...
The gaunt pallor in the reeking mess,
the haunted spirit and the spirited fest...
On those deathless eyes, one can see,
watch the screaming bloodshot cries...
The flesh and bone of life,
all eaten away by the forces,
all left but ruined mass of dust...
The smoke rising from the veils
adorned by the ghostly presence,
the light burning in the wakeful watch,
and the ghastly drifting of a soulless mass...
In the darkness of hellish pits,
where the fires of dead passions lie,
untold and unseen, this spirit drifts...
Prodded as in life and so in death,
by the stabs of the unfair wrath,
ever on the path of doom,
the wraith walks its path...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
the haunted spirit and the spirited fest...
On those deathless eyes, one can see,
watch the screaming bloodshot cries...
The flesh and bone of life,
all eaten away by the forces,
all left but ruined mass of dust...
The smoke rising from the veils
adorned by the ghostly presence,
the light burning in the wakeful watch,
and the ghastly drifting of a soulless mass...
In the darkness of hellish pits,
where the fires of dead passions lie,
untold and unseen, this spirit drifts...
Prodded as in life and so in death,
by the stabs of the unfair wrath,
ever on the path of doom,
the wraith walks its path...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Silence at the Sea...
Things have changed,
times have passed,
once all low and blue,
now calm and new....
The vociferous cries have muffled,
buckled under their own weight,
while the calmer balm of respite
applies itself over the wound...
Now mind rests, silent, without,
within its own little shack of thoughts...
Heart seems to be at ease,
nay, just tired, no longer in pain,
as the little fluttering has taken its toll...
Now everything remains calm,
restful repose...
Calm?
Wait calm is good,
and good is not present,
so calm indeed might not be
the word you see...
Aye, now I see,
it is the silence that I mistook
for calmness you see...
Honest mistake,
disgruntled turbulence is lost,
and such abundance is seen,
such silence like a ship
marooned at the sea...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
times have passed,
once all low and blue,
now calm and new....
The vociferous cries have muffled,
buckled under their own weight,
while the calmer balm of respite
applies itself over the wound...
Now mind rests, silent, without,
within its own little shack of thoughts...
Heart seems to be at ease,
nay, just tired, no longer in pain,
as the little fluttering has taken its toll...
Now everything remains calm,
restful repose...
Calm?
Wait calm is good,
and good is not present,
so calm indeed might not be
the word you see...
Aye, now I see,
it is the silence that I mistook
for calmness you see...
Honest mistake,
disgruntled turbulence is lost,
and such abundance is seen,
such silence like a ship
marooned at the sea...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Monday, 23 May 2011
Sonnet to The Eyelid...
It waited hidden while its friend sees the world,
dancing, flickering, turning here and thence...
It waits folded, alone,
invisible to else,
while its friend shows off,
the beautiful self...
It shields its friend from harsh biting light,
it shields its friend from the dirt and smite...
It helps its friend cope with the chilly winds,
it nests its friend and
becomes a blanket when it sleeps...
To the eye which sees the world,
it is but the ugly eyelid,
ever present but never seen...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
dancing, flickering, turning here and thence...
It waits folded, alone,
invisible to else,
while its friend shows off,
the beautiful self...
It shields its friend from harsh biting light,
it shields its friend from the dirt and smite...
It helps its friend cope with the chilly winds,
it nests its friend and
becomes a blanket when it sleeps...
To the eye which sees the world,
it is but the ugly eyelid,
ever present but never seen...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Friday, 20 May 2011
"Yes, I understand and I know..."
Things are clearer,
I can see them like radium,
glowing,sinister in the darkness...
All the hard matter has withered,
ashes, ashes, ashes,
blackened brush of Almighty art...
The bristles, dark reminders of
the prickling pain, inconceivable...
The paint,
soot burnt away in the fires,
in the passions untold, and the emotions
unexpressed..
Wettened by the untold feeling of loss...
And all that He could whip up
in his aesthetic hand for me,
was just a little blotch,
and I just had to make peace with Him,
the one who can't be mistaken,
I just had to say,
"Yes, I understand and I know..."
***************
And the moment when that was said,
something inside died, something tender,
something timid enough to last out till the last,
waiting, hoping I would look at it once again,
but for Him I agreed to slay,
kill the 'me' - bereft of hope,
inside me...
Always forgotten, and now dead...
And no matter how hard I try,
something tells me,
it will never come back,
and turning back one last time,
He says, "Yes, I understand and I know..."
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
I can see them like radium,
glowing,sinister in the darkness...
All the hard matter has withered,
ashes, ashes, ashes,
blackened brush of Almighty art...
The bristles, dark reminders of
the prickling pain, inconceivable...
The paint,
soot burnt away in the fires,
in the passions untold, and the emotions
unexpressed..
Wettened by the untold feeling of loss...
And all that He could whip up
in his aesthetic hand for me,
was just a little blotch,
and I just had to make peace with Him,
the one who can't be mistaken,
I just had to say,
"Yes, I understand and I know..."
***************
And the moment when that was said,
something inside died, something tender,
something timid enough to last out till the last,
waiting, hoping I would look at it once again,
but for Him I agreed to slay,
kill the 'me' - bereft of hope,
inside me...
Always forgotten, and now dead...
And no matter how hard I try,
something tells me,
it will never come back,
and turning back one last time,
He says, "Yes, I understand and I know..."
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Thursday, 19 May 2011
Hiatus of My Disconcerted Brain...
There is a pain in the voice,
and there is a little hitch and an ache...
But words seem to flow away...
There is a voice restrained,
which bursts on my wake,
and the hole seems to gap...
What's written, and what is tried,
what is known and what is lied,
its all there hidden deep inside...
And when I try to simply let it go,
and all I yearn to is find pain no more,
it always comes back ever more so...
The many days, the many times,
we had shared that moment's light,
and all that I wished was never to say
good bye...
But it points out glaring all the same,
the hiatus of my disconcerted brain...
That I miss the feeling I had found,
all I see is missing void and sounds...
Talk to me,
tell me why,
all that remains with me is a memory deep inside,
that I wish...never to let go...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
and there is a little hitch and an ache...
But words seem to flow away...
There is a voice restrained,
which bursts on my wake,
and the hole seems to gap...
What's written, and what is tried,
what is known and what is lied,
its all there hidden deep inside...
And when I try to simply let it go,
and all I yearn to is find pain no more,
it always comes back ever more so...
The many days, the many times,
we had shared that moment's light,
and all that I wished was never to say
good bye...
But it points out glaring all the same,
the hiatus of my disconcerted brain...
That I miss the feeling I had found,
all I see is missing void and sounds...
Talk to me,
tell me why,
all that remains with me is a memory deep inside,
that I wish...never to let go...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Tuesday, 17 May 2011
The Kid who never grew...
The weight of what I do...
I walk a path of shards,
of pointed bleeding pieces,
piercing through the pale
flesh, bloodless and haunted
of thought, of that fearful memory...
The weight of what I do...
Its a sharp arrow, I seek,
the glistening metal pointing-
threatening to tear apart what
little clothe covers, dusky and
rendered porous by the target practice...
The weight of what I do....
It stays there, laughing,
and I standing there, weak,
knobbly at the knees, smile,
a little weak flutter of fear,
and of hope, and what else is
there...
The weight of what I do, and
the left-overs of the kid who never grew...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
I walk a path of shards,
of pointed bleeding pieces,
piercing through the pale
flesh, bloodless and haunted
of thought, of that fearful memory...
The weight of what I do...
Its a sharp arrow, I seek,
the glistening metal pointing-
threatening to tear apart what
little clothe covers, dusky and
rendered porous by the target practice...
The weight of what I do....
It stays there, laughing,
and I standing there, weak,
knobbly at the knees, smile,
a little weak flutter of fear,
and of hope, and what else is
there...
The weight of what I do, and
the left-overs of the kid who never grew...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Tuesday, 10 May 2011
Wet Feet - An Ode to A New Journey...
Leaving, the shores that pleasantly waved goodbye...
Sickness, grief and a tumult of fear,
wilderness, the undergrowth, which was left unchecked...
I did perceive competence,
and now remark, review the damage of misconception...
Waves have hit the shore,
sands wettened, but stay put,
though all thats engraved,is erased...
A little photograph,
a little memory,
a sand castle,
and a few wet feet...
Now castle is gone, sand remains,
empty and bereft of the shape,
which moulding hands had so patiently made...
Now the feet are dry,
and the beach clean,
with no little blister, on its surface to be seen...
Beach was clean, neat,
waves washing it everyday,
a pleasant sight indeed,
but I have left,
no longer in love with the scene...
No longer are my feet wet,
though I am at the sea...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Sickness, grief and a tumult of fear,
wilderness, the undergrowth, which was left unchecked...
I did perceive competence,
and now remark, review the damage of misconception...
Waves have hit the shore,
sands wettened, but stay put,
though all thats engraved,is erased...
A little photograph,
a little memory,
a sand castle,
and a few wet feet...
Now castle is gone, sand remains,
empty and bereft of the shape,
which moulding hands had so patiently made...
Now the feet are dry,
and the beach clean,
with no little blister, on its surface to be seen...
Beach was clean, neat,
waves washing it everyday,
a pleasant sight indeed,
but I have left,
no longer in love with the scene...
No longer are my feet wet,
though I am at the sea...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Sunday, 8 May 2011
Impending Fall...
There is a lone tree,
half its roots coming out of the loose soil in the promontory...
Well it seems to be a powerful one,
a girth as wide and majestic, as would proclaim a kingly feel...
The tree, it is visible,
very close, but a little ahead,
a little beyond the reach,
slowly ebbing away...
The whole dusk, in which it is visible,
a pale shadow, of past and present,
and a pale hue of future...
Smoke rises, it has been doing so,
ever since those very many quakes shook the little place...
The silent stream of water,
now a swamp, then a river,
silent, ghastly silence...
Something terrible has happened,
because though overtly strong and imposing,
it seems there is an overwhelming sea of deathly presence,
a foreboding phenomenon surrounding the tree...
Smoke is not rising,
but it floats sideways...
it doesn't seem to be from a fire,
as fire is life,
and life is an absentee...
I move closer, to get a better look...
The fog, the blanket token of death,
the smoke, rising here and there,
and carried into the east,
where still, lies darkness pervading the whole expanse...
The little stream slithers across the ground,
silently,
water is flowing, ever so slowly,
as though it is still,
and the only crests are my canoe's doing...
Down the upstream course, I travel,
to look at this tree, from which it looks as though
smoke flows into the east...
Now I am near,
and see that veiled monstrous stream,
it ever so gradually pulls down the once mighty roots,
the arteries of the dying tree...
Fog has cleared,
as I have neared the tree,
and what I see is withering leaves,
in the Crimson horizon,
flowing away silently to their fall,
floating away with the Eastern breeze,
and all the majesty seems lost,
rocked by the recent quakes...
All that remains is a dying tree,
with roots in mire,
and leaves taking the darkness' call,
and a sole living witness,
watching the tree take slowly,
the impending fall...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
half its roots coming out of the loose soil in the promontory...
Well it seems to be a powerful one,
a girth as wide and majestic, as would proclaim a kingly feel...
The tree, it is visible,
very close, but a little ahead,
a little beyond the reach,
slowly ebbing away...
The whole dusk, in which it is visible,
a pale shadow, of past and present,
and a pale hue of future...
Smoke rises, it has been doing so,
ever since those very many quakes shook the little place...
The silent stream of water,
now a swamp, then a river,
silent, ghastly silence...
Something terrible has happened,
because though overtly strong and imposing,
it seems there is an overwhelming sea of deathly presence,
a foreboding phenomenon surrounding the tree...
Smoke is not rising,
but it floats sideways...
it doesn't seem to be from a fire,
as fire is life,
and life is an absentee...
I move closer, to get a better look...
The fog, the blanket token of death,
the smoke, rising here and there,
and carried into the east,
where still, lies darkness pervading the whole expanse...
The little stream slithers across the ground,
silently,
water is flowing, ever so slowly,
as though it is still,
and the only crests are my canoe's doing...
Down the upstream course, I travel,
to look at this tree, from which it looks as though
smoke flows into the east...
Now I am near,
and see that veiled monstrous stream,
it ever so gradually pulls down the once mighty roots,
the arteries of the dying tree...
Fog has cleared,
as I have neared the tree,
and what I see is withering leaves,
in the Crimson horizon,
flowing away silently to their fall,
floating away with the Eastern breeze,
and all the majesty seems lost,
rocked by the recent quakes...
All that remains is a dying tree,
with roots in mire,
and leaves taking the darkness' call,
and a sole living witness,
watching the tree take slowly,
the impending fall...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Friday, 6 May 2011
Lust for Life...
Be that beast,
be that vicious predator...
Savour, drink,
quench the never-ending thirst...
Greed, its Right!
Want, desire and lust,
the overwhelming want,
the very carnal of your feelings...
Get to their centre,
go to the core,
explore, dig deep,
to find that hidden thirst...
Be that Blood-sucking vampire,
be the Death Angel,
give life The Kiss,
the sensual overwhelming Kiss,
where you teach life,
that it is not the Master,
but you Are.
All your sensuality,
let it dance in the
midst of the unending greed
to suck the life, hidden, out of your time!
Let it roll,
do not wait for those
who keep you waiting for long...
Do not heed those who impede your impulses,
with unappealing conformity...
Be a greedy, thirsty, vicious vampire,
even in the darkest of the hours,
go out, into the darkness,
because you know there,somewhere out there,
lingers the crafty little life...
Waiting to be found,
waiting to be preyed upon...
Be the nasty predator,
who can say,
Yes, I devoured on that stealthy prey
with such greed, that now after all
that is said and done
with my time done,
my hunger is satiated,
and no little piece of grumble
no little amount of thirst,
is left, unfinished...
At your end,
let yourself say,
I was the greediest of all,
thirstiest too,
and I made the best out of my lust for life!
Leaving nothing unfinished...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
be that vicious predator...
Savour, drink,
quench the never-ending thirst...
Greed, its Right!
Want, desire and lust,
the overwhelming want,
the very carnal of your feelings...
Get to their centre,
go to the core,
explore, dig deep,
to find that hidden thirst...
Be that Blood-sucking vampire,
be the Death Angel,
give life The Kiss,
the sensual overwhelming Kiss,
where you teach life,
that it is not the Master,
but you Are.
All your sensuality,
let it dance in the
midst of the unending greed
to suck the life, hidden, out of your time!
Let it roll,
do not wait for those
who keep you waiting for long...
Do not heed those who impede your impulses,
with unappealing conformity...
Be a greedy, thirsty, vicious vampire,
even in the darkest of the hours,
go out, into the darkness,
because you know there,somewhere out there,
lingers the crafty little life...
Waiting to be found,
waiting to be preyed upon...
Be the nasty predator,
who can say,
Yes, I devoured on that stealthy prey
with such greed, that now after all
that is said and done
with my time done,
my hunger is satiated,
and no little piece of grumble
no little amount of thirst,
is left, unfinished...
At your end,
let yourself say,
I was the greediest of all,
thirstiest too,
and I made the best out of my lust for life!
Leaving nothing unfinished...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Tuesday, 12 April 2011
On The Plant's Death...
One after another, one after another,
the leaves of the little plant,
I had planted in my garden,
seem to wither...
The little green flesh turns away,
away from where I stand,
it seems the little plant is dying slowly in contempt,
and it pains,
oh yes, it pains very deep...
I have waited long for this plant to grow,
I watered it, but then some said, water is not good,
pour less, I poured lesser,
leaves withered...
Some said, you're pouring less, pour more,
and so did I,
and leaves did not grow at all,this time...
I knew not what to do,
once water was more,
and so was once the fodder, the plant fed upon...
Now, I try to put it back together,
but withered leaves are but withered leaves,
they do not stick back...
I do not know if new leaves will grow again,
I do not know if the plant is going to survive,
a helpless state, I just stand,
looking at it dying,
dying in contempt, crying out,
'you never got it right,
you never did understand!'
I shiver, I shiver at that thought,
at the thought that I was foolish,
foolish enough to love it, but not know how...
The long winter plight has just passed,
and yes, it seems I survived the cold deathly winds,
and the freezing nights of black blankets,
but through the fierce ghastly winds,
my plant half died...
Now, after all this time,
I stand here looking at the plant,
which has decided to look away from me,
even yesterday, yet another leaf fell,
and all I could do was,
wipe a small trickle on my face...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
the leaves of the little plant,
I had planted in my garden,
seem to wither...
The little green flesh turns away,
away from where I stand,
it seems the little plant is dying slowly in contempt,
and it pains,
oh yes, it pains very deep...
I have waited long for this plant to grow,
I watered it, but then some said, water is not good,
pour less, I poured lesser,
leaves withered...
Some said, you're pouring less, pour more,
and so did I,
and leaves did not grow at all,this time...
I knew not what to do,
once water was more,
and so was once the fodder, the plant fed upon...
Now, I try to put it back together,
but withered leaves are but withered leaves,
they do not stick back...
I do not know if new leaves will grow again,
I do not know if the plant is going to survive,
a helpless state, I just stand,
looking at it dying,
dying in contempt, crying out,
'you never got it right,
you never did understand!'
I shiver, I shiver at that thought,
at the thought that I was foolish,
foolish enough to love it, but not know how...
The long winter plight has just passed,
and yes, it seems I survived the cold deathly winds,
and the freezing nights of black blankets,
but through the fierce ghastly winds,
my plant half died...
Now, after all this time,
I stand here looking at the plant,
which has decided to look away from me,
even yesterday, yet another leaf fell,
and all I could do was,
wipe a small trickle on my face...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Thursday, 7 April 2011
Song for the cantering alleys and the urchins' glee...
Amidst the cantering alleys,
throttled ahead by a desperate need...
The boweys and the chambers, ready,
the ballroom, ahead, rolled carpet,
red as a mystic flame and,
burning interest on the evening's affairs...
Mammoth riches loaded for the moment,
and music or dance, daylight's own fruition...
All chatters and mutters, pitched higher in the
seasonal bloom, while horses neighed at the sight...
And in all the parading urchins,
a widening glee, until the tempest
did rise high from the sea...
Valour sung, knights on the sword's oath,
did spread the carpet, and
hence stopped the froth flow...
Amidst all the cantering alleys,
in the end,
glee prevailed on the urchin faces...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
throttled ahead by a desperate need...
The boweys and the chambers, ready,
the ballroom, ahead, rolled carpet,
red as a mystic flame and,
burning interest on the evening's affairs...
Mammoth riches loaded for the moment,
and music or dance, daylight's own fruition...
All chatters and mutters, pitched higher in the
seasonal bloom, while horses neighed at the sight...
And in all the parading urchins,
a widening glee, until the tempest
did rise high from the sea...
Valour sung, knights on the sword's oath,
did spread the carpet, and
hence stopped the froth flow...
Amidst all the cantering alleys,
in the end,
glee prevailed on the urchin faces...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
Prisoner of Rehabilitation...
His navel bruises weren't hurting much,
the scalp and his limbs neither...
His ulcers were all healed,
and the swollen up face was,
getting back to normal...
The purple tinge was fading,
colour coming back to the injured skin...
Mended - those broken down shacks,
rebuilt - all the devastated villages...
All plundered rucksacks - now refilled...
No more epidemic,
no more war,
all bullets drained of the fire,
and all fire of its flame...
Air was still again, and birds were again heard after ages...
And amidst all this,still
in the resurrected society,
in this community of healed individuals,
still there hung an air - scarred...
Scarred where no physical symptoms showed...
Scarred where no reason was left untold...
To that place where it survived, we gave the name heart,
and it still lingers, no matter how time had mitigated,
and still in that place, where it was fed with hurt and loss,
outlived all the medicines and herbs, the scar of hatred...
And out there, lingered the shadow,
which never healed, ready to strike,
at a moment's call...
Somewhere it has remained, untold...
Necessarily needed to heal,
more than the purple bruises on face,
it needed to heal... But still lingered on...
And all that I can do is wonder,
has it healed yet?
Or are we brewing another storm...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Monday, 4 April 2011
The Smokey Tavern...
Inside that smokey tavern,
a little off the road, there sat,
a little dwarf with a beard longer
than his limbs, and arms sturdier
than the horns of the meadow's strongest ox...
Here in that tavern, he sat with a mug of ale,
wiping droplets off his long mane,
and beside him a dark man, with
wrinkled pallor and twisted gaze,
smoked on his pipe, casting circles of
poison into that misty haze...
There in the smokey tavern,
where coming and going of all sorts,
took place under the oily lamps and
under the dusty floor, amidst the four hounds' snorts...
Hark! Hark! Ho, behold, there came a
band of colourful lads, wearing merriment upon their face...
Suddenly the tavern turned crimson sprayed,
as the bearded dwarf and the twisted man,
turned their axe and knife upon the band's jugular veins...
All drunken else, spared a minute to watch digressed,
then went back to their ale and the old game of mistrust...
Next morning, the tavern Lord's servant buried those
dead colourful faces, and by evening,again all was smokey,
and the tavern half hidden in that ominous haze...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
a little off the road, there sat,
a little dwarf with a beard longer
than his limbs, and arms sturdier
than the horns of the meadow's strongest ox...
Here in that tavern, he sat with a mug of ale,
wiping droplets off his long mane,
and beside him a dark man, with
wrinkled pallor and twisted gaze,
smoked on his pipe, casting circles of
poison into that misty haze...
There in the smokey tavern,
where coming and going of all sorts,
took place under the oily lamps and
under the dusty floor, amidst the four hounds' snorts...
Hark! Hark! Ho, behold, there came a
band of colourful lads, wearing merriment upon their face...
Suddenly the tavern turned crimson sprayed,
as the bearded dwarf and the twisted man,
turned their axe and knife upon the band's jugular veins...
All drunken else, spared a minute to watch digressed,
then went back to their ale and the old game of mistrust...
Next morning, the tavern Lord's servant buried those
dead colourful faces, and by evening,again all was smokey,
and the tavern half hidden in that ominous haze...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Thursday, 17 March 2011
Sonnet to Hatred...
There is much hate,
yes,there is much hate...
You would like to believe,
have faith, trust your brothers...
You would like to know,
understand the love yonder...
Amongst the stoney heartless souls,
there does lie tender love and faith,or so I hope...
There in the darkness of starry nights,
here in the smokey caverns of burning desire,
you would love to know, there is,
much more than what is concretely shown...
But then again, I find myself alone,
and in daylight,I find, there is much hate...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
yes,there is much hate...
You would like to believe,
have faith, trust your brothers...
You would like to know,
understand the love yonder...
Amongst the stoney heartless souls,
there does lie tender love and faith,or so I hope...
There in the darkness of starry nights,
here in the smokey caverns of burning desire,
you would love to know, there is,
much more than what is concretely shown...
But then again, I find myself alone,
and in daylight,I find, there is much hate...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Thursday, 10 March 2011
Cocoon Coffins...
All everything existent is empty and meaningless,
and we just sit, seeking explanation,
to the countless questions we want to ask,
but can't seem to just let out...
Alone, huddled into a corner,
a snowball of cold empty frozen tears...
Unheard and never sought,
all in a while we end up losing touch...
You know your tears,
you stop knowing what is the reason?
Reason no longer seems reasonable...
Things have moved ahead,
far beyond our reach,and yet we are still there...
Still there, in that small cocoon,
a silken thread of tender feelings in which,
huddled is that small child,
whom we have kept, forcibly away from prying eyes,
trying to put up a brave-face...
Fiercely smiling, marching ahead,
trying in earnest to strike balance...
After all, easiest way out
is as a butterfly out of that cocoon,
a butterfly of many shapes,
sizes, colours, and styles,
each beautiful to its own beholder,
yet yet, for some butterflies,
things don't or haven't gone smooth,
sometimes cocoons get too tough,
and somehow that small little beauty dies,
forgotten inside, killed by its own impositions...
And all thats out,left to be judged by the facets of mystery,
all that can be sung of in Psalms of Life,
are just blackened mounds of coffins,
and the epitaphs of pain...
All that is left in this morning world is,
dead little butterflies and moving mounds of lifeless mirth...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
and we just sit, seeking explanation,
to the countless questions we want to ask,
but can't seem to just let out...
Alone, huddled into a corner,
a snowball of cold empty frozen tears...
Unheard and never sought,
all in a while we end up losing touch...
You know your tears,
you stop knowing what is the reason?
Reason no longer seems reasonable...
Things have moved ahead,
far beyond our reach,and yet we are still there...
Still there, in that small cocoon,
a silken thread of tender feelings in which,
huddled is that small child,
whom we have kept, forcibly away from prying eyes,
trying to put up a brave-face...
Fiercely smiling, marching ahead,
trying in earnest to strike balance...
After all, easiest way out
is as a butterfly out of that cocoon,
a butterfly of many shapes,
sizes, colours, and styles,
each beautiful to its own beholder,
yet yet, for some butterflies,
things don't or haven't gone smooth,
sometimes cocoons get too tough,
and somehow that small little beauty dies,
forgotten inside, killed by its own impositions...
And all thats out,left to be judged by the facets of mystery,
all that can be sung of in Psalms of Life,
are just blackened mounds of coffins,
and the epitaphs of pain...
All that is left in this morning world is,
dead little butterflies and moving mounds of lifeless mirth...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Saturday, 5 March 2011
Sonnet to the Remnant Soot...
And in the wisps of the remnant soot,
the vapourised dew of hopeful wings,
silence and a calm cool breeze,
thoughtless levitating mind, lingering on,
in the dark cloudy velvet above...
Darkness and a calm cool breeze,
and you walk on deserted streets,
shivering slightly out of the lonely cold...
And all that remain are questions,
doubts and quite desperation born
of such fateful concoction brewed in life
and its meandering streets of confusion...
Sounds like, the midnight's dream has taken over,
and all that thoughts possess are phantoms of remnant soot...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
the vapourised dew of hopeful wings,
silence and a calm cool breeze,
thoughtless levitating mind, lingering on,
in the dark cloudy velvet above...
Darkness and a calm cool breeze,
and you walk on deserted streets,
shivering slightly out of the lonely cold...
And all that remain are questions,
doubts and quite desperation born
of such fateful concoction brewed in life
and its meandering streets of confusion...
Sounds like, the midnight's dream has taken over,
and all that thoughts possess are phantoms of remnant soot...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Thursday, 3 March 2011
Alchemical Ritual...
Master's alchemy, and mistress' spirited speech.
Upon the altar, a sacrificial lamb,
metal, fire and unending greed...
Blood spurting into shadowy scripts,
illuminated by watery puddle of blue light.
Cloaks are stained and torn, after the hateful tug;
A single glistening sheet of platinum,
turns crimson an instant hence...
All eyes curve, some in horror,
some in awe,some else as well, in ambition.
And suddenly altar's crimson puddle is struck,
a thunder of blinding light, burns
smoke, white as an ocean of milk...
Traces thence, even of ashes are lost,
in the fateful alchemical ritual.
After all, final truth is what was sought...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Upon the altar, a sacrificial lamb,
metal, fire and unending greed...
Blood spurting into shadowy scripts,
illuminated by watery puddle of blue light.
Cloaks are stained and torn, after the hateful tug;
A single glistening sheet of platinum,
turns crimson an instant hence...
All eyes curve, some in horror,
some in awe,some else as well, in ambition.
And suddenly altar's crimson puddle is struck,
a thunder of blinding light, burns
smoke, white as an ocean of milk...
Traces thence, even of ashes are lost,
in the fateful alchemical ritual.
After all, final truth is what was sought...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Monday, 28 February 2011
Dream Narrative One...
So many times, across the ocean,
I have flied and I have freed...
So many times, across the mountains,
I have ran and I have reached...
But this is the time,
this is the moment,
this is the day,
I hadn't seen...
But this is the trial, of the darkness,
this is the ordeal from which we flee...
Through the time, and the oceans,
with shackles bolted to our feet...
This is the time,
this is the moment,
this is the day,
this is the street, that I had in my dream...
This is the street, and the waters
flow from those leaking creaks...
This is the land, under the ocean,
that had haunted all my sleep...
So many times, in the sleepless
nights, I have heard you scream...
So many times, in the restless
moments have I felt you breath...
But darkness comes, likes the waves of an ocean,
and plants my heart in a dreaded reef...
I stretch to land my hands on reason
I seek out absent, respite and peace...
So many times, I have tried to say this,
so many times, I have but screamed...
But now in slight moaning motion,
I penned down,what happened in that dream...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
I have flied and I have freed...
So many times, across the mountains,
I have ran and I have reached...
But this is the time,
this is the moment,
this is the day,
I hadn't seen...
But this is the trial, of the darkness,
this is the ordeal from which we flee...
Through the time, and the oceans,
with shackles bolted to our feet...
This is the time,
this is the moment,
this is the day,
this is the street, that I had in my dream...
This is the street, and the waters
flow from those leaking creaks...
This is the land, under the ocean,
that had haunted all my sleep...
So many times, in the sleepless
nights, I have heard you scream...
So many times, in the restless
moments have I felt you breath...
But darkness comes, likes the waves of an ocean,
and plants my heart in a dreaded reef...
I stretch to land my hands on reason
I seek out absent, respite and peace...
So many times, I have tried to say this,
so many times, I have but screamed...
But now in slight moaning motion,
I penned down,what happened in that dream...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Thursday, 24 February 2011
Sonnet of Apocalypse...
Wuthering chasms of unending change,
incensed smoke and unseen flame,
with all those meteors burning in shame,
walks, rather flows, infinitely in strangest of chains...
I lie, cowering, hidden in the rocks,
mute from the fear and choked from the soot...
Slowly, that warmth crept near the boulder,
a slithering snake of death, flowing resolute...
Now, the rocks had grown hotter,
and the very ground melted soft...
'ere me with blisters and burns all over,
turned around ever so oft...
It was then that I looked up,
tearful towards the reddened sky,
sudden thunder broke,
and a chariot took me by...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
incensed smoke and unseen flame,
with all those meteors burning in shame,
walks, rather flows, infinitely in strangest of chains...
I lie, cowering, hidden in the rocks,
mute from the fear and choked from the soot...
Slowly, that warmth crept near the boulder,
a slithering snake of death, flowing resolute...
Now, the rocks had grown hotter,
and the very ground melted soft...
'ere me with blisters and burns all over,
turned around ever so oft...
It was then that I looked up,
tearful towards the reddened sky,
sudden thunder broke,
and a chariot took me by...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Sunday, 20 February 2011
Sextet no.1
Shadows lie unawakened in the limitless light,
the only shadow visible - past,
the only light blinding - future,
the only presence in the void - present...
The self and the uncounted waves of -
The shadows,the slumbers, and quiet respite...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
the only shadow visible - past,
the only light blinding - future,
the only presence in the void - present...
The self and the uncounted waves of -
The shadows,the slumbers, and quiet respite...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Tuesday, 15 February 2011
Sonnet to the Crystal Wind...
Breeze flows through those curtains of doubt,
fluttering into the waves of trepidations, the fine cloth,
and the goosebumps on the unsuspecting arms...
Purpose, meaning and yes, joy,
a tiny shiver right from the fine hair behind the neck,
to the lost multitudes of forgotten thoughts...
Small shock, knocking a sound asleep child,
jerking awake the forgotten smiles, and with that,
surfacing loss, and the value amidst what is gained...
Shock subsides, shiver gives way to warmth,
and curled in the warm woolen shawl,asleep,
smiles the boy, gone and back from past...
After all, it was that breeze, the crystal wind,
which brings tidings from rain and the sweet mist of fall...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
fluttering into the waves of trepidations, the fine cloth,
and the goosebumps on the unsuspecting arms...
Purpose, meaning and yes, joy,
a tiny shiver right from the fine hair behind the neck,
to the lost multitudes of forgotten thoughts...
Small shock, knocking a sound asleep child,
jerking awake the forgotten smiles, and with that,
surfacing loss, and the value amidst what is gained...
Shock subsides, shiver gives way to warmth,
and curled in the warm woolen shawl,asleep,
smiles the boy, gone and back from past...
After all, it was that breeze, the crystal wind,
which brings tidings from rain and the sweet mist of fall...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Friday, 28 January 2011
On The Silhouette's Loss...
It is so beautiful to imagine,IF...
But then,there is life next door...
You can't always escape it....
IF is just fantasy,
one can't live in it forever....
You can dream,
but you can't make dreams your master,
as rightly said by some old master...
You can love,
but you can't make love your subject...
You can believe in past's presence,
but you can't deny
the presence of something more near...
None is away,
as is proclaimed by nature,
for,forever those who love dwell inside,
and such few can be seen when you shut out the reality...
Shutting the conception of absence,
evokes the presence,which was but a part of you...
This here,within the verses,
might be her,
whom you sought,
whom you miss...
Who might as well be in me?
Helping you hear her...
Yes,my friend,do not see in this,
words which spoken are, through my tongue,
but know through this,
it is her soul,which yearns for you to smile...
For else,it would not be possible,
for me to write here...
Maybe,I take liberty,
aye,it has been my perennial fault,
but here,it means something...
Embrace life, as one who mourns
the departed for far too long,
keeps them from peace...
Peace,must they have...
And for that,you must allow them to move ahead...
Do not stagnate,and do not allow those who passed
to mourn those who haven't
and not let them stagnate either,
for when it shall be time,
you shall meet again...
Now,let her sleep,
and you smile, as you know,
but after a long working day called life,
in the night everyone just
sleeps in their loved one's embrace...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
But then,there is life next door...
You can't always escape it....
IF is just fantasy,
one can't live in it forever....
You can dream,
but you can't make dreams your master,
as rightly said by some old master...
You can love,
but you can't make love your subject...
You can believe in past's presence,
but you can't deny
the presence of something more near...
None is away,
as is proclaimed by nature,
for,forever those who love dwell inside,
and such few can be seen when you shut out the reality...
Shutting the conception of absence,
evokes the presence,which was but a part of you...
This here,within the verses,
might be her,
whom you sought,
whom you miss...
Who might as well be in me?
Helping you hear her...
Yes,my friend,do not see in this,
words which spoken are, through my tongue,
but know through this,
it is her soul,which yearns for you to smile...
For else,it would not be possible,
for me to write here...
Maybe,I take liberty,
aye,it has been my perennial fault,
but here,it means something...
Embrace life, as one who mourns
the departed for far too long,
keeps them from peace...
Peace,must they have...
And for that,you must allow them to move ahead...
Do not stagnate,and do not allow those who passed
to mourn those who haven't
and not let them stagnate either,
for when it shall be time,
you shall meet again...
Now,let her sleep,
and you smile, as you know,
but after a long working day called life,
in the night everyone just
sleeps in their loved one's embrace...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Sunday, 23 January 2011
So The World Sleeps...
And so the world sleeps...
Cradled in the arms of the silent night,
in these hours of mute submersion,
so the world sleeps...
Vacant thoughts,
like the desolate roads in the nocturnal hours...
A thought,barking incoherence,
like that stray dog,
while chilly wind flows,
reminiscent of the heated day...
And while walking along,
in fear and alert dread,
me perceives,
so the world sleeps...
World is asleep,
yes, in this darkness,
blankets engulfing the body,
and thoughts ceasing to take a meaning,
just dreams, incoherent to sane comprehension,
just visions of some things,which we rarely see..
And thats how, I see,
in this empty thoughtless night,
thats how I see,
in this wakeful sleeping sight...
Thats how I see,
with a deep,yet incomprehensible fright,
thats how,me thinks,
the world sleeps...
Devoid of any presence,
and immersed in one's own trepidations,
subdued wants and desires,
dreamt on, in these hours,
and I think, after all,
this is the way...
This is the only way...
So,the world sleeps...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Cradled in the arms of the silent night,
in these hours of mute submersion,
so the world sleeps...
Vacant thoughts,
like the desolate roads in the nocturnal hours...
A thought,barking incoherence,
like that stray dog,
while chilly wind flows,
reminiscent of the heated day...
And while walking along,
in fear and alert dread,
me perceives,
so the world sleeps...
World is asleep,
yes, in this darkness,
blankets engulfing the body,
and thoughts ceasing to take a meaning,
just dreams, incoherent to sane comprehension,
just visions of some things,which we rarely see..
And thats how, I see,
in this empty thoughtless night,
thats how I see,
in this wakeful sleeping sight...
Thats how I see,
with a deep,yet incomprehensible fright,
thats how,me thinks,
the world sleeps...
Devoid of any presence,
and immersed in one's own trepidations,
subdued wants and desires,
dreamt on, in these hours,
and I think, after all,
this is the way...
This is the only way...
So,the world sleeps...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Wednesday, 19 January 2011
History has taken it away...
History has taken away,
the stories are all thats left,
myriads of thoughts,
Myrmids all rot...
Azure, the winds blow,
like mighty Zephyr,and salmons
drifting down those streams...
History has sung its song...
Roots of nature, further down a few furlongs...
Stories, griots' laments,
and the long gone saga,
all that remain imprinted strong...
History has taken it away,
the chance to sing a new song...
With its smokes and wars,
with its lust and ambition,
sinewed in its tales,too long...
History bereaves,
nay,it but sings of us
bereaving the loss...
All that we could, we didn't,
all that we can, we aren't,
all that we might, we won't...
And yes, we are right,
History has taken it away,
history is long gone,
rolling dust remains,
leftovers of the strange tales,
inhuman yet, of us, selfish and oblong...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
the stories are all thats left,
myriads of thoughts,
Myrmids all rot...
Azure, the winds blow,
like mighty Zephyr,and salmons
drifting down those streams...
History has sung its song...
Roots of nature, further down a few furlongs...
Stories, griots' laments,
and the long gone saga,
all that remain imprinted strong...
History has taken it away,
the chance to sing a new song...
With its smokes and wars,
with its lust and ambition,
sinewed in its tales,too long...
History bereaves,
nay,it but sings of us
bereaving the loss...
All that we could, we didn't,
all that we can, we aren't,
all that we might, we won't...
And yes, we are right,
History has taken it away,
history is long gone,
rolling dust remains,
leftovers of the strange tales,
inhuman yet, of us, selfish and oblong...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Tuesday, 11 January 2011
The corner bench thoughts...
In the corners of mind,
when I ponder, wondering
what is it that I am missing...
Corner bench, aloneness,
and some painful seconds,
when others, all else are smiles,
and laughter...
I, in my corner,
hunched up with songs and
a vacant tearful mind..
There is a pigeon,
sitting there perched up,
a tail wing up, and a rich fluorescent hue...
The turning head,
looking this direction and then that...
Everyone, now, is walking away,
gotten up, with smiles and happy thoughts...
And my sole companion has taken flight,
flown away, as so rightly described or
talked of,unique in a way called freedom and bliss,
and the flight, away, into the limitless skies..
I sit there still,
in the corner bench, alone,
and painful seconds pass with a sigh,
still, nothing really happens...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
when I ponder, wondering
what is it that I am missing...
Corner bench, aloneness,
and some painful seconds,
when others, all else are smiles,
and laughter...
I, in my corner,
hunched up with songs and
a vacant tearful mind..
There is a pigeon,
sitting there perched up,
a tail wing up, and a rich fluorescent hue...
The turning head,
looking this direction and then that...
Everyone, now, is walking away,
gotten up, with smiles and happy thoughts...
And my sole companion has taken flight,
flown away, as so rightly described or
talked of,unique in a way called freedom and bliss,
and the flight, away, into the limitless skies..
I sit there still,
in the corner bench, alone,
and painful seconds pass with a sigh,
still, nothing really happens...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Thursday, 6 January 2011
'What else,but poetry?'
I sit down, my fingers typing away again...
This time around,I wish I can create more than poetry...
Something more,
something different,
something that can say far more of the things I talk of than what my verses have done so far...
I know my thoughts...
For my thoughts are me...
I know my thoughts,
I know those colours,
I know those smiles
and I know those curves which are made into calligraphic symbols of truth....
Yes,I know all that I have made...
I know that I have done so far what poetry has helped me do,
for it has been my voice,
voice I have long lost in my real world...
But again, I venture,
I wonder, I ask...
What was my real me,
what is my real me?
What else, I wonder, as words are flowing away,
I wonder what else have I got to do?
How different should I be,to be me?
For others to reach me...
I want to do something different..
Yes,enough,yes,so long for the soul searching verses...
Yes,it is satiating,what verses have sung,
now its time to venture into something beyond poetry...
Yes,I wish to do something more,something different...
So,I set myself to muse on all the beauty,from which I can inspire myself to script something which is beyond poetry...
I notice the blades of grass,after rain,as if the hair of the maiden called Earth,fresh out of a pond of glistening water,bathed and cleansed of mirth...
dew on the blades making little planets of themselves...
I see, I see through the colours on the canvas,
through the tunes of the flutes,
through the keys of pianoforte,
through the strings of violins and guitars...
I see the sculptures,
I see the mountains...
I listen to the voice, and the nature's own breeze...
I listen to it,
I watch that,
I wonder at last...
Aye,I wonder at last,
when there is my muse,
creeping through the shadows of the canopy,
into the dell where moonlight of thoughts is shining,
in those vacant lit spaces of the mind
my muse enters,
smiles down and says,
'what else,but poetry?'
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
This time around,I wish I can create more than poetry...
Something more,
something different,
something that can say far more of the things I talk of than what my verses have done so far...
I know my thoughts...
For my thoughts are me...
I know my thoughts,
I know those colours,
I know those smiles
and I know those curves which are made into calligraphic symbols of truth....
Yes,I know all that I have made...
I know that I have done so far what poetry has helped me do,
for it has been my voice,
voice I have long lost in my real world...
But again, I venture,
I wonder, I ask...
What was my real me,
what is my real me?
What else, I wonder, as words are flowing away,
I wonder what else have I got to do?
How different should I be,to be me?
For others to reach me...
I want to do something different..
Yes,enough,yes,so long for the soul searching verses...
Yes,it is satiating,what verses have sung,
now its time to venture into something beyond poetry...
Yes,I wish to do something more,something different...
So,I set myself to muse on all the beauty,from which I can inspire myself to script something which is beyond poetry...
I notice the blades of grass,after rain,as if the hair of the maiden called Earth,fresh out of a pond of glistening water,bathed and cleansed of mirth...
dew on the blades making little planets of themselves...
I see, I see through the colours on the canvas,
through the tunes of the flutes,
through the keys of pianoforte,
through the strings of violins and guitars...
I see the sculptures,
I see the mountains...
I listen to the voice, and the nature's own breeze...
I listen to it,
I watch that,
I wonder at last...
Aye,I wonder at last,
when there is my muse,
creeping through the shadows of the canopy,
into the dell where moonlight of thoughts is shining,
in those vacant lit spaces of the mind
my muse enters,
smiles down and says,
'what else,but poetry?'
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
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