The nature of desire

In the house
where the 'bou bou' lives
there is a tree
with golden flowers.

Baby doesn't like 'bou bou'
yet love flowers.
When bou bou went outside
we collected those flowers.

Baby looked for 'bou bou'
and threw the flowers away

If there is no 'bou bou'
who needs those golden flowers?

Between Blinks

On this blank screen
between two blinks
opens a rabbit hole.
I searched but missed
and got guillotined
by the cursor blade.

Memories beyond mineral water bottles.

Some memories have taste of tear
that by filters we may clear
but can never be concealed
in bottles sterile and sealed

They mushroom the seas and melt into rain
quenching the thirst of brooks in the brain..

Man In Painting Fades away....

Was it an 'april to april' thing?like flu,it appeared and vanished quickly.But the iatrogenic complications lasted for almost one full season.On the very first attempt the impossibility and futility of 'seeing' was revealed.The desire itself was an error,an abberation.It soon died down, but the ripples lasted for almost one year.Most of the time it was a dictionary of errors.(even though at times errors may act as lost keys of the rented mansions in which we all consciously or unconsciously live).It was supposed to be against 'thought'.but most of the 'ripples'it created, generated new ones.It was disheartening to see 'thoughts creating more thoughts'....
Thus Man in Painting fades away,like that occasional flu....

an igloo wish of a traveller lost

when winter winds freeze my blood
i remember the colour red.
to search and reach my igloo lane
let red words rain in my sleepy brain

'Thou shall never Kill'

during calm hours,
before a twister,
an exodus of ants
try to cross
a hissing proboscis..

sad,real and tragic.
poetic possibilities.
surreal soup for souls...
but
i switched off the vaccum cleaner and waited till they cross.

boring and non rhyming,
this poem is declared dead.

family reach anthill
'thou shall never kill'.

Secret of Happiness.

Baby see a butterfly
and is happy.
Baby see no butterfly
and is happy.
to be happy
no need of butterfly.

Rear-view mirrors

Objects are closer than they appear
we never see the world before it disappear
world through words have errors
and words are rear-view mirrors.

!&i

i see the world

float over the sky.

baby crawls to me

and poke my nose.

sky start to float

over the world again !

Milk Teeth Tattoo.

Milk teeth 
teach me
life
a smile

by tattoo knife.

Drops of time.

like eyedrops

time blinds

my view

and opens

million new

Tale of a Virus who died of Insomnia.

A virus won a jackpot .
'a trip to budha's brain'!
But after some days
a crystal coffin returned.
the last words of the virus
were found in its travel diary.
" I died of insomnia.
How can I sleep
when there is always light?

(Wish you all a happy new year!
love you all )

Foreign Influence

A new word was born.
Old words were skeptical.
One murmured to another .
"I doubt foreign influence".

Lives of Synonyms

Like  blunt edges  of surgeon's knives
during siesta hours of eventful days
with expressions neither wry nor cry
synonyms live their seasonal lives.

Gossiping about God.

Me:Boss, why do we kill each other?
Boss: Because you all have forgotten the purpose of life.
Me : Will we ever remember it again?
Boss:Only when you all stop gossipping about me.

Twins

Boss,each time you flash light upon me why that stupid thunder?
Child, like meanings and words,truths and lies,they too are twins.

CLICK!

"God!how do jokes click?"
"Can you handle the secret?"
"Boss!I can handle anything"
"Wow!kid,that just clicked!"

It is raining in the city of Pompei

There are many nights inside a rainy day. I woke up into one of them with the remains of an unfinished dream pooled in the grooves of my rugged consciousness. Sounds rained first and the translucent liquid flowing along with it was forgotten at once. All the other senses were silenced by this ruthless attack and within no time all the lesser sounds other that the sounds of rain were callously swallowed. Everything around was getting mutated. I felt like lying alone in a vertical chamber dug in the middle of a roaring stadium and was slowly been pulled up just to get slaughtered by bloodthirsty gladiators. I cupped and opened my ears continuously and could hear the flapping sounds of two enormous wings. I tried to open my eyes and ‘see’ things. But my eyes couldn’t remember how it was seeing things before. The calendar on the wall with red-circled working days, red holidays and black normal days, the ringed transparent well made out of the bottom of a plastic bottle which I used as a pencil stand , my rusty table fan with dark green leaves and the silver snout always ready to get replaced as the propellor of any fighter craft, the pink waste basket surrounded by crumbled peices of paper in the right corner of the room reminding me of lost trajectories and failed ‘baskets’...Everything eyes could see was instantaneously killed by the brutal invasion of this avalanche of sounds and my room remained there like the city of Pompei .I opened the windows and saw hundreds of enormous silver legged stilt walkers running across the garden towards me.....

In Company of God.

"What is your job?
after being stranded inside
I ask the lift operator.
He smiles,then replies
"To give you company
till the power returns "

IF YOU LOVE MAGIC...

Like inverted cards ,
there are many nights
in a rainy day.
If you love magic
never ask the magician
to reveal holy secrets!

Going to moon

All are talking about 'going to moon'.It is good to go to the moon.But more important is the thought of going to the moon.Why do people want to go to the moon?Is it because going to moon is a challenge?Is it because as somebody said "we will cross our own limits".By going to moon what are the "limits" that we are crossing?.Are we doing it for satisfaction? Others say"Going to moon will make some parts of our brain very strong.Those parts which are good in calculations.Those parts which say"because we see smoke ,there is fire"". Brain is a strange organ.Though it is the centre of intelligence , as an organ it does not have any intelligence.Is satisfaction a sort of "emotional balance"?an absence of ripples in a lake full of gut fluids?Are we sending man to moon for this sense of emotional harmony called satisfaction?Or for the rise and fall of hormonal tsunamis inside all of us. We may build a staircase from this part of the world to that part of the moon.But it is also true that we do it for the satisfaction of a temporary mechanism called "mind" primarily designed to get rid of the fear of non existence.

Man In Painting Is Not Seeing The World

It is always difficult to see the world as it is."Seeing the world" demands techniques.A name is a technique.Without using words can we ever see the world?Without understanding concepts can we ever watch the world?It is becoming more and more difficult.Understanding something is often like playing with the dice.Who can predict what our brain brings next?But we are happy with that "feeling"called "understanding".Is "understanding something" a sort of feeling?Is it like "satisfaction"?
There is always great joy in watching things without any desire to know.But it is impossible to do that with a mind which is old and full of techniques.Playing with words is easy.But making them watch the world is not easy.Writing is always a "thing of past".Is there anything called "present tense"?We always write about things which are already gone.Writing is another technique to add spice to "that convincing story" called "me".Communication starts with the learning of techniques of story telling.Writing is the most comfortable way of re-arranging that story of "me"Me, as they say is always a "story i found to tell others"
It is always easy to tell stories and make non-sense poems but very very difficult to "see the world"
Man In Painting is not seeing the world....

... am posting this without any editing without looking back without re reading ..
loving you all.....

Chew the world when it is still a rhizome.

Mouse boy : I am frustrated.
Master : with what?
Mouse boy : with everything.
Master : so?
Mouseboy : i want to end the world.
Master : Then do it.
Mouse boy : I don't know how to.
Master : Neither do I
Mouse boy : ? ? ?
Master : There is a way to enjoy the world without ending it.
Mouse boy : how?
Master : Chew the world when it is still a rhizome.

CRIES AND WORDS

Cries from the wild
after becoming words,
are destined to search for
their own meaningful deaths
like innocent sniff dogs.

When stories of betrayal
make me cry loudly,
words remember their history
and start howling
along with me....

There is only life!

There are bad days.
There are good days.

After typing ,I looked out of the window and saw a flower.
That flower without a name taught me the following lines

There are no days,
sun makes us think so
There is only life,
undivided by days and nights.

Winning a Genie

After winning the genie
by breaking a bottle
it became my habit
to break and search.
Words ,hearts,moments
everything was broken
in search of another genie.
After becoming a failure
I found the broken bottle
and read the contest rule.
"winners should never compete again"

Smoked Brain !

To thaw my brain
I soaked it in spirit
and lighted a cigar.
I lost everything
because of that fire.
Now I have to live
selling smoked brain.
Never play with fire
near inflammables.

'RAG'GING TO RICHES SHOWS ! !

DEMO'CRAZY' !

Click the image to enlarge

KNOWING 'NO'ING

click to enlarge the image.

The King Is Naked!

Once again'reality',like an unseeded heavyweight boxer knocked out all other lightweight perceptions and left a tattoo in my brain which read'I am the king'.
I love to remain as his majesty's loyal subject.But each time the king is caught in the mesh of my rods and cons,after flip-rotations, welcomed by the' guard of honour parade of educated neurons' , and the ceremonial salute by the grey gestapo,just before the beginning of fireworks and coronation ,one small innocent yet to be educated impulse of unknown origin will peep and yell out "the king is naked".Pardon me....

Tale Of Two Neurons

Two neurons, right and left
after death went to heaven
had to stay in a single formalin jar
demanded separate accomodation
due to solid ideological reasons
"Both come from the same brain"
was the lab assistant's comment!

Mystery On A Wax Plateau

A tadpole balancing on head
teaches 'sheershasana'posture
a slave girl starts dancing
in the courtyard of bandits
thirsty lips, before the kiss
sets trap for another prey
a spearhead cleaves darkness
and probe the wound for secrets
after this night what will remain?
anthills of wax and mysteries...

Secret truths and lies

When i remember secrets
truths come out instantly
like money from an ATM
too many in one jerk!

*i call this" form" a Viewmaster.
Change the first part..and keep on playing with it!

Whenever we quarelled
lies came out instantly
like money from an ATM
too many in one jerk!

Immunisation day

To make her immune
we agreed to deceive,
but the needles of guilt
keep hurting our hearts!

short circuit!

I connected wrong wires
and created darkness
Always be careful
while connecting neurons!

Bartered for bliss

When grief returned
and reclaimed the nest,
i told her it was 'bartered
for bliss' to someone who
uses a 'nest cradle for rest'
MIP

WINDOWS

Frames,panes,grills and curtains
anything can be made with words.
But till morning light could be heard
and evening sounds are tasted
don't claim to the world
that we have made windows!

A GIFT

Jo has the unique gift of making people happy.The ultimate aim of all creation is to spread a sense of bliss among others..She does it incessantly through her creative wisdom...


Best Wishes to you Jo!


Several days ago she kindly gave me the "Arte y Pico" award .
This award was created for bloggers who inspire others with their creativity and their talents, also for contributing to the blogging world in whatever medium.
When you receive this award it is considered a "special honor". Once you have received this award, you are to pass it on to 5 others.
This time it seems there are rules on how to pass it along:1. Pick 5 blogs that you would like to award this honor to.2. Each award has to have the name of the author and a blog link to be visited by everyone.3. Each award winner has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that gave them the award.4. Award-winner and the one who has given the prize have to show the link of "Arte y Pico" blog, so everyone will know the origin of this award.
I send this award on to:

1.manorath
2.aria
3. Shruti
4. Sashu
5.deepsat
i would like to add two more.
6.Rajesh
7.ani
Best wishes to all!
MIP

THE KISS AND THE LIE

Before the kiss,
I was a frog
who boasted “it rained
because I croaked”

During those frog days,
one reptile told me
“Frogs croak for different reasons”
and predicted "you will marry a mammal”

Me, a confused ambhibian
Never knew it was a joke
But believed him and asked
“Can they both live together?

With a reptilian smile he answered
“Possible, if only you can fool her
with the ‘three word secret lie’
Though all the three words are true
together they form the greatest lie!
If you can solve this puzzle
You can win her heart too”


I leaped out of the well
And started my quixotic trip.

Reptiles didn’t eat me
because I was a ‘living joke’

Water birds adviced their young ones
“An ambhibian in love causes diarrhoea”

So I survived and continued my search
to reach an estuary filled with white water lillies

No more a prey to snakes and birds,
I faced the vault of the sky
and saw the most beautiful face
I had ever seen in my life.

Before I could croak the reptilian lie
she kissed me and whispered “shut up”

I forgot the ‘three word lie’.
Its head and tail were gone
What remained was the heart
And the word remained was ‘love’

BABIES AND MIRRORS

I found my new zen guru,
she is three months old .

She guides and teaches,
‘a crash course on realism’ .

Guru edits all my writings,
checks whether ‘real or not’.

Yesterday I wrote something
and submitted for approval .

“Mirrors and babies are alike
both return ‘smile for a smile’”

She didn’t smile but just yawned,
it was nothing but cold rejection .

Fed up with ‘realism’
I said, “Real is shit”.

Suddenly she smiled ,then giggled
my hands felt the ‘ real zen lesson’.

While washing,
I corrected myself .

Babies and mirrors are alike
both can invert anything!

THE TAIL OF A TRAIN

"To see the tail of a train
we should always wait for the curves."
Father told me this when i was a child.
But my mother never allowed me to do so.
She said "whenever the curves come,
close your eyes and pray"
So i never had the courage
to peep at the tail of a train.
When i started travelling alone
i could only think about bogies and tickets.

And now,
whenever a train takes the curve
i am old enough to know it.
Because i am grown enough
I stopped praying and start peeping.
i tried a million times or more
And wondered why it was not seen.

Three months back i became a father
And was enlightened by three truths.

Truth .1
I was never in the engine room
As i always dreamed and believed

Truth.2
My parents always knew my coach number
But never told me because of the love that only parents can sense.


Truth 3.
Because of the bogie in which i am sitting
I will never be able to see the tail of the train !!

THE MAN IN PAINTING

On the polar whiteness of a canvas,
like skeletons, some sketches surfaced.
Seasons began to bleed,green and then grey on it.
People called it " the man in painting".
No painting have ever learned
the fine art of seeing itself.
Man In Painting too beleived
what people say was always true.
Till the colour and contour fade
Till the great ice age return
Watch, watch ,watch and watch
what else can this painting do?

Because I am not living I cannot teach anybody anything.

Why should a painting reveal itself through words?A painting should talk to the world through sketches, strokes and colours.Why should it carve words?May be, Man In Painting is an exception.He might have got this unique gift of expressing his feelings through words rather than through colours.A painting is trapped inside the two dimensions of space.May be we can add one more dimension and call it a three dimensional picture.But for the painting both are the same.The main concern of a painting is time, rather than space . Each day Man In Painting sees hundreds of people , trapped either in space or time.All of them are, in one or other way, Men/Women In Paintings.One day they might also realise the paintings in which they all are living .Man In Painting have almost forgotten about the painting in which he is living.Is it so important?Or is the moving world out side more important?Each day is a 24 hour movie.60 moving frames in a minute.Have you ever thought that all the paintings watch this world as non-stop entertaining movies ?That is the truth.All the meditating trees around you,painted to the lower end of the vast blue sky is watching this moving world silently.They are having more fun than the moving world who had to stop and watch things.Man In Painting want to tell the whole world about what he see in this world without labels and divisions.Often people come in front of me , watch closely and comment according to their education.So each day, i study something about me from them.And that is a very good thing to learn.Because i am not living, i cannot teach anybody anything.That is the greatest virtue every painting has got.Being a non teacher is important.Man In Painting quickly realises this and remains silent.That is why all his talks ends suddenly without conclusions.He understands that his duty is to watch,watch and watch till the painting fades and cannot be seen anymore.

WRITINGS ON AN ABANDONED WALL-"Hide and Seek"

It is something
that i should never tell you,
even my last breath
hangs from the blade of life.

I knew it
during our morning walks
on a road
carpetted with nebulas of bird shit.


In and out
a bamboo stem
we dip and float
with butterflystrokes
splitting time and making tones
never ending
our hide and seek.

Things without names....

That big tree full of golden yellow flowers in front of the old house near the right bent of the road is yet to be ‘known’. It is better not to become a ‘known’ thing. Is ‘knowing’ just process of associating with some name? Let the tree remain free from all names. A name is often like a cage. Like the frame of a painting it ends all the other possibilities that big tree have got. MIP try to see that ‘ fascinating beauty’ seen in distance, in front of the old house near the right bent of the road without the help of any name.

Early birds catch nothing

It might be the last hours of night for us humans, but for birds it is the starting of a day. The clattering voices tell me that they are all waking up. Tomorrow, there is some meeting in this hall. People were working here till late night. Some of them are still working. The lights are still on. I am waiting for the sound of milkman’s cycle bell. There is a house near that old big tree. When the milkman comes and rings the bell a lady with sleepy eyes will open the door. After collecting milk, she will wait there for a second or two, as if to let the remnants of yesterday’s dreams flutter off her eyes. Then she will close the door. Light will come out of a single window from that house. That window will remain open till late night. That is the kitchen window. Each morning through that window I see her. How can somebody work like that? Like Man in Painting, she also is trapped. Trapped in an image she herself had painted. (Or by other genius craftsmen?). Then the newspaper boy will come and boomerang the dispatch. The only art he might learn in his whole life…
(Man In Painting stops here, because he is getting emotional. He should obey the ‘Rule of the Frame’)
Man In Painting waits for all the early birds to wake him up to the present and save him from the past and future

BEING A PAINTING IS NEVER BORING

No one comes to meet me now.There were days when pleople would l wait for hours to get an appointment.When they stopped seeing me i started seeing them.It is like watching a 24 hour movie. Scenes keep on changing.I just see the world through the windows in front of me.Though i am immovable,i could feel the world moving around me.All the paintings see the world as movies.Being a painting is never boring.

HOW WE SURVIVED

We lived together
yet separate,
like yolk and white.

BRIGHT APRIL IS BACK BUT WHERE ARE ALL THE ANTS?

Yesterday was more of a dream than real.It was dark, wet and gloomy. 'Man in painting ' spent a lot of time thinking about ants.Ants lost their homes in the unexpected rains.Exiles,they became in their own earth.All the ant-houses were gone. Like paper caroll lights, they were hanging from all the branches till yesterday evening.Now they are all gone.MIP can see the big mango tree through the second window.Usually by this time, a great pilgrimage could be seen on that main tree trunk.But today,MIP cannot find not even a single ant.Bright april is back but all the ants are gone.