Mis-taken-anthrope

My disappointment with my own life stems from thwarted expectations and excess optimism, both, by the virtue of their existence should render me a misanthrope. However, I must admit, although painfully, that I am not a misanthrope at all. It would both be selfish and pleasurable to be one; to easily escape reality and the wounds it serves now and then, but I cannot be human in my endeavors. I detest mediocrity and therefore I must resist it all costs. Social interaction is a powerful tool, both of failure and of success, the path you choose or rather the path which chooses you depends on the sort of people you meet in life. People make all the difference in the world, they mold your identity as you mold theirs, they influence you as you influence them. It is this symbiotic relationship among two individuals that creates social extensions. However with the advent of technology, these extensions have become extremely complex. The individual is no longer isolated, the gaze of technology is constantly upon him. From facebook to cellphones, people are constantly connected with each other, therefore human emotions and relations have now taken a turn for the worse.

My personal problem with the whole rise of social and technology matrices is that they have almost destroyed the scope for personal interaction. Even genuine personal interaction between two people has remnants of previous aforementioned matrices. The cell phone is the one to blame. An emoticon has substituted real life smiles, a message has replaced words and 'likes' have done away with hugs of appreciation. Wherever the latter exist, they exist with semblances of the past. I, for one, have lost the ability to love or hate completely. I am possibly stuck in a limbo of mixed emotions, of anger and passion, and of love and indifference. These dichotomies are further fueled by the sort of people I meet. Hollow souls and empty minds make one poisonous cocktail and I seem to be surrounded by them. Perhaps I am at fault here, maybe I am asking for too much from this indifferent world of ours but even as I write this, I know I am lying. The world is a beautiful place, full of gentle and intelligent beings; perhaps I've been looking in the wrong places.

The most painful aspect of my life is to see mediocrity effectively mimic greatness. If I could address the face of all the whining,pathetically mediocre people of this world who are dependent upon the producers to sustain themselves; I would say what Carl Panzram said years back, "I wish all mankind had one neck so I could choke it!". Of course the only difference between me and him is that I am after the vultures. Does it not bother them to feed upon others, to wriggle like worms, to suck blood like leeches, to ask and beg, to play with the emotions of the sympathizer and finally move on to other sources of prey. I vehemently refuse to be abused, misused and finally deemed foolish by my own eyes. There will be no "Sanction Of The Victim" when it comes to me, no sacrificial lambs to offer you all. Evil is impotent, it seeks its erection from the rape of the 'good'. I refuse to be your whore, This particular piece of my furious writing stems from anger, I am angry at the fact that 'evil' made me doubt my own self, made me crave for misanthropy in moments of despair and seek shelter from those who are themselves leeches.

As I ask today what was once asked from me; "You have been scorned for all those qualities of character which are your highest pride. You have been called selfish for the courage of acting on your own judgment and bearing sole responsibility for your own life. You have been called arrogant for your independent mind. You have been called cruel for your unyielding integrity. You have been called anti-social for the vision that made you venture upon undiscovered roads. You have been called ruthless for the strength and self-discipline of your drive to your purpose. You have been called greedy for the magnificence of your power to create wealth... Have you stopped to ask them: by what right? - by what code? - by what standard?", I still have no answer, however, I am yet to give up on this world or my own world.

When the Moon Beckons....

I am lost inside the labyrinth of your heart,
Inside the perilous twinge of your smoky eyes,
Those kohl lid pools of your heart's reflection
Draw me towards your web of hushed passions.
It is in these dark woods of your silky tresses
That I sink in tender drowsiness of desire
Where I utter your name in a frenzied chant,
My fingers crushed by your desperate lips
Till moments of sweet ecstasy take us over,
A pleasure hitherto unknown in aching limbs,
In crushed petals and delightful tinges.
As we lay after our midnight excursions,
You look at me with a quiet ease
For within our hearts we both know
That the river is finally with its ocean.

Past Lives

The words on dust riddled pages,
Emanate a curious shadow,
Beneath flickering lamps.
Written by hands
Now wrinkled with time.

Great Expectations

It is in moments of rare realizations,
Floating sensations of a half awaken dream,
That our torrid love affair takes semblance of form
Evading and teasing reality with its dark lashes,
And making me fall in love with you yet again.
These hallucinations come and go,
Where we sit by sunset filled barns,
Reading poetry and making love
With as natural an ease as nature herself.
It is in this state of cosmic indifference
That all that is beautiful blossoms within me,
And you and I become hopelessly entangled.
But we must tread softly upon such fragile paths,
Learning and exploring the gentle brooks of desire,
So you and I are together for ever.

Ceilings For Company

Mosaic ceilings give me company

Reminding me of your love,

An urge to move my fingers

And clasp your slender wrist.

My frozen contours melting

By the warmth of your bedside.

Like an incandescent god

You arrived and took me away

Away from life and death.

 

It was not my intention

And perhaps not yours

To uproot all that was mine.

Evil and decadent

But nevertheless mine.

Now I am a shadow to your affections

Nothing less nor even more.

My identity in flux of your emotions,

In limbo of your desires

And pittance to your wishes.

 

The shrub that grows by your window

Has not faith more than mine,

Nor will another ever match me

When the wants of your words

Will steer towards affection and love.

All you will find in the end

Will be me standing by your side,

One tear at a time.

Dots On A Lover

All i want to do

Is count the moles on your body,

The ones you hide and

The ones you show.

Trace them all with my finger,

A path of my love.

I want you as my lover

As a slave to my desires,

As I am to yours.

I want you with violence,

My nails deep in you.

The drop of your blood

Licked by my finger.

I want to hear the scream

Of your aching limbs,

Tired from the night gone by.

I want to find your tongue,

With mine.

And I want to do things

That I've only read in books.

I want to explore every

Nook and corner,

Of your body as

I want you to explore mine.

I want you as you want me.

No less but perhaps more.

For all I want is to count those moles on your body....

Sea Of Love

When you leave me, I'll join the sea.
Not as a martyr of your affections
But a tribute to your memory.
A grain of salt in the already salty sea,
The taste of which lingered in your kiss,
And now lingers in mine.
I want the sea to envelop me forever,
Remind me of your love.
In the weightlessness of my senses,
To float and sink by steps
My lips entangled in your hair
Your hand on my heart and
Whispering,"Deeper and deeper"
Till neither your flesh remains
Nor mine. A silent prayer
will always be heard in the ruins
Of our sea.
The Sea of love and longing,
A certainty of your belonging,
Till words finally fall
And all that remains are
My lips entangled in your hair.

A Promising Husband

There will be days when I will love my wife,

And days when I will hate her.

There will be days when I will make love to my wife,

And days when I will loathe her.

There will be days when I will make her smile

And days when I make her cry.

But you can call me when you need me

And I'll be there by your side.

Florentino Ariza

You have no right over my tears
The ones that flow often and freely
Like rivers of perennial sorrow
Eternal in my suffering.
Why expect me to forget
Moments of love and loss?
I will live and die each moment
Willingly without remorse,
Over the past that was ours
And the future that wasn't.

Bed Of Sorrows

As she walked down the empty path, oblivious to the drizzle around her, lost in thoughts made up of myriad moments, all revolving around him, causing painful emotional convulsions and pale mirages; she suddenly remembered that tomorrow would be his birthday. A mere six months back this would be a cause of silent happiness, silent because she could never let him how she felt, even though she knew it was a lame attempt because he already knew.Theirs was a relationship of ironies, paradoxes and contradictions. It went beyond love and was nurtured in silences. Silence bound them together, since neither would speak while the other could listen. It was only in corners of a heavy heart that such feelings found utterance. Pain and love go hand in hand, destined to be apart and forever to be enveloped in mists of tragedy; this is what she truly believed. She wanted him to go away forever, from her memories, her tears and from that emptiness she felt when she tried to sleep each night. She had finally expressed her love for him but with an act of betrayal so pure that only love could match it. With each harsh word that she had spoken, it was love that was expressed. A wounded dear's helplessness in its inability to live life, a woman's tears reflecting her own helplessness to love, freely and fearlessly. What made it all the more unbearable was the knowledge that he wasn't fooled, in fact couldn't be fooled. She had to forget him for the sake of her sanity, pluck him apart as coldly as humanly possible. Burn every memory doused with his love. Refute those advances of long past moments draped in illusions and possibilities. She often thought of moments spent together, with loving glances and unsaid words. He had awakened the woman in her and for the first time in her life, she had felt alive. She could feel love and happiness pulsate silently, forcefully in her veins, strengthening her heart, melting the icy contours that had always surrounded it in fear of getting hurt. But she had hurt him, intentionally with the clear purpose of an assassin who knows its mark and feels no remorse for its actions. She had finally killed the love inside him or so she desperately tried to believe.
She walked on, haltingly, chewing her lower lip, occasionally biting her nails, an act of intimacy he shared with her. In the looming shadows of the wet streets, a neon light shone brightly, almost in an obscene way, challenging the very stillness of the street. She looked up and saw TATA SONS written brightly, the light behind SONS was dim and TATA stood out majestically. Only if Birla was written next to it, wouldn't it complete the beauty of their goodbyes? It was a private ritual of sorts, cryptic to the world around them but a purity which made sense only to them. They shared quirks as motifs of passion, dissolving beautifully into their words and gestures, almost like a private language of love too intimate too be understood by the world. Her limbs ached as she walked on but she welcomed such aches, she liked to believe that she was being punished and her sins were being atoned. The worse ache was the one she felt in her heart, a song of lament, whenever she heard his name. He was hers and even his very name uttered by someone else was sacrilege. Each night brought back heady memories of past and a curious emotion welled up inside her. It was an amalgam of pain and love, an unfulfilled orgasmic tragedy that failed to find utterance each time it sought to. She had hidden secrets from him, letting him live in his castles of illusions but she did not know that he knew about her past as well as he knew about her future. He saw through her completely, those large dear-like eyes filled with sadness and sorrow. He knew, she never wanted to believe it but he did know everything about her. Such was his love, it took in everything, patiently and gently, almost like her father who was her pillar of strength. He too was special but she had to do what she did, she had to let him go, she had to make him let go of her. There was nothing noble about her love. Such was the illusions she made up to sustain her sanity.This was her love, pure cowardice fused with betrayal, projected as grandeur of surrender and sacrifice, something she had never truly understood.
As she walked back home, her bed of sorrows awaiting her, she realized that loneliness is a faithful companion.