Leave Me Alone

Corrs song. Darker than what I actually feel. This was written in a much lighter vein for a change and was basically brought about by a long-winded soliloquy by a professor. Never thought I'd be doing this kind of shit in MBA.

Bewilderment is a familiar state of mind now. I'm getting increasingly lost in the glorified groves of acadame and want out as soon as possible. There are only so many monotonous soliloquies that a guy can take. Given a choice between this and the army I'd probably opt for the classroom only, but not before a grim inner struggle. I'm a firm believer in creature comforts and long wavy hair, but at least the latter wouldn't turn the contents of my cranium into mush.

I anyway was a bad listener to start with. My mind will latch on to the flimsiest of excuses to wander atrociously off the track. There've been times when I've written haikus in maths classes. And that is a subject I actually like. Boring classes inspire me towards higher metaphysical musings and I end up writing reams upon reams of inane balderdash such as this. People call me creative but the fact is that I'd probably pop a vein if I didn't have this outlet for my excess energy.

I hate sitting still in one place for more than ten minutes, unless it's a plush cushioned armchair accompanied by a 70 mm screen and popcorn. I can't even stand still and start pacing hither and thither in random places like bus stops and hostel rooms. And the oligarchs that run this joint expect me to sit still through an entire ninety minute class? My feet haven't stopped tapping for the last twenty minutes. The only saving grace is the leg room.

I'm a free man. When would people realize that? Why does the cosmos conspire to fetter me with these useless notion of competition and public acceptance? I'm an ambitious guy. I know what I want in life and am going to do my darndest to achieve it. I don't need anyone to tell me that. Just because I look like the sky fell on my head doesn't mean it did. So move on. The show is over. Find someone else to be your pet monkey.

That's not to say that I hate profs. They are well-meaning eccentric little chaps who are doing a great deal towards furthering the interests of this nation. The fault lies with me. My auditory canal rusted shut a long time back. The poor dears try their best but it's just water down the drain now. I've accepted it now. I'm a bard not a scholar. Might as well start leveraging my competency, as they say in the industry. Guess I picked up something in class after all.

War Pigs

For some reason my poems turn out either lyrical or dark. Probably both themes let me explore the depth of whatever emotion inspiring me at that moment. This one is the latter kind and talks about the futility of war, just like this song by Black Sabbath. I think it came out well in the end.

Blood-stained helms lie strewn across the smoking field,
Ravens feast in droves upon the bountiful carrion,
Sky tinged crimson by the departing light,
As the night descends on this gruesome sight.

Wives, mothers, children, their wails rend the silence,
Hopes, dreams, love, crushed in a single fell stroke,
They beat chests, cradle heads, implore the heavens,
But they remain as they always were, mute witnesses.

The oligarchs still prosper, tyranny is only perpetuated,
Then why did man have to turn on man?
The lofty ideals that fired the fresh-faced youth,
Do they lie rotting too among their carcasses?

Days will come and nights will go,
The nation will continue as it did before,
Hypocrisy would erect new graves and monuments,
That's fade into obscurity, just like the ones before.

The circle of life is not for us to dictate,
Fate can't be subject to human foibles,
For we are the unclean, the heathen, blind even,
Cynics, apathetic, shackled by our own mortality.

Was it a mere illusion, this notion of evolution?
We still lust for blood, still want to kill,
The trappings of society can't fool me anymore,
There's a beast within, will be forever more.

Life Is A Long Song

This Jethro Tull song is meant to be comforting. It says that whatever troubles you might be facing you have plenty of time to work them out. Life is long and you'd see better times. However, it ends by saying that "The tune ends too soon for us all". So a discordant note in the end and I want to pick up the thread

All that is must end. We are but flickers in the dark that light up the environs for the briefest of instants before fading into oblivion. The universe barely registers our presence. It lives and breathes on a far larger scale beyond the bounds of human comprehension. There's no point in trying to do that anyway. You'd probably go insane as you realize your utter significance in the grand scheme of things.

We humans are inherently arrogant. All of us to one degree or the other have this feeling that we are important to the cosmos. We might cloak it with words like fate and destiny but these concepts by definition assume that a higher power is taking interest in our existence. God is here, there, everywhere; each individual is a part of the Parmatman, the universal sentience. Why should that be true? We've been here for barely a million years. The universe by all accounts has existed for well-nigh fifteen billion years. Mere numbers can't reflect the yawning gap that implies. And to believe that this colossal stage was prepared just for the advent of humankind is to take arrogance to the height of ludicrity.

I'm just offering a different perspective. I might very well turn out to be grossly wrong. But the devil's advocate is required at times, just to calm down emotions and bring back the discussion to a sane and rational level. I'd definitely like to believe in the infinitely comforting notion that my part has been written in the stars by some divine playwright. This notion appeals to the artist in me, but it's just too hard to digest. I'm not precluding the existence of a supra-natural consciousness, but I really don't think that my being might even register on it. I'm but the minutest of motes in the ether. The stream won't be affected whether I'm there or not.

This is not an excuse to stop striving, to give up on all that I desire from my life. It's a clarion call instead, a much needed realignment of perspectives. It heralds urgency. No benevolent presence is watching over me. I'm on my own, what I make of my sojourn on this planet is solely my prerogative. All I have is this one shot to make an impact, however ephemeral. The responsibility devolves solely on me and the constellations are just that, distant clusters of stars that are convenient excuses for incompetence.

I sometimes wonder about death. What'd happen to my sentience? Will it become a part of some greater whole or will it be cruelly wiped off the cosmic slate? The latter thought is particularly horrifying. The idea that my being - thoughts, feelings, emotions - could vanish in such an abrupt and final manner just can't be right. Existence can't be this futile. Probably that's why we seek solace in the first notion. The perpetuation of our consciousness - whatever form it might be in - is what in the end we all desire. It's, however, too convenient for me to swallow. This question is probably best left unanswered.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Not a song that a guy like me would typically listen to. But I am a gaming junkie and I'd a copy of Guitar Hero III. Thus I got to hear this Pat Benatar song. It's not exactly in keeping with the spirit of the following piece but the title appeals a lot to me. So what the heck, let's get on with it.

I'm a geek. There. I said it. I was never a stud. The odds of someone actually mistaking me for one are pretty astronomical. I'm not the epitome of flowering youth. Not for me is supping with buxom blondes whose visages make grown men drool. I'd be lucky to be even within sighting distance of them. And that's the way it should be. Evolution is geared towards survival of the species, and it'd be much better for all and sundry if there is no interaction between said well-endowed beauties and yours truly. The frequency mismatch is just too big to overcome. I know jack about colour coordination, while knockouts are generally lacking in their awareness of Middle Earth. Destructive interference would be inevitable and the gene pool would certainly go for a toss. So I have no choice but to accept my lot in life, however tortured my gonads might be.

That's not to say that I came empty-handed into this mortal realm. I'm blessed with quite a decent amount of grey matter and this is what I leverage to get ahead in life. I might not be in danger of winning any beauty contests, but if we are to go by cinematic precedents it's generally the intelligent guy in the posse who makes it to the climax with minimal dismemberment. Bimbos are good for the morale and add a lot of aesthetic value, but they are also liable to get you killed in a whole lot of dramatic and totally gruesome ways. My focus, hence, is to utilize my talents for the benefit of humanity.

How do I go about doing that, you ask? Well first and foremost is ensuring a very opulent existence for myself. Only when I'm sated with the finest wines and sumptuous foods will I be able to turn my thoughts to greater philosophical dilemmas. Some of my biggest breakthroughs have come in said fashion. The Law of Infinite Transitivity is one that comes to mind. It basically says that A is never equal to B, instead A=C=D=...Z=1=2=...ad infinitum till it finally equals B. Such incisive thinking and I'm all of twenty years. Brilliance is not constrained by mere age.

Coming back to the point, after I'm comfortably ensconced in some cushioned seat surrounded by blooming flowers and tweeting birds I'll muse on the ills of this world of ours. Most people would shun a burden like this, but I will grab the opportunity with both hands. I'm one of the chosen few. I'm not an air-headed lily who is there for the ornamental value. I'm a shaper of men's fortunes, a wise sage under whose benevolent care this world will prosper. Humanity doesn't know how lucky it is to have a demi-god like me in its midst. I'll take our kind to new heights without even leaving the comforts of my cushioned chair.

People say I'm an egomaniac. So what if I am? Greatness is not to be ashamed of. It needs all the spotlights it can get. Attention only serves to enhance it, like the blushing bud that opens under the caring gaze of the morning sun. So continue worshiping me. Adore me, hate me, lambast me, criticize me. I don't really get affected by what you say. As long as I'm in the forefront of your puny minds I'm more than satisfied. The ocean is filled by little rain drops. An egomaniac needs all the sustenance he or she can get. So grab onto those bouquets/brickbats and let 'er rip!

Low

Song by Cracker. One of my all time favourites. I'm in a god-awful bad mood right now and there are not many signs of it abating. Good thing though is that it does get the creative juices flowing. So here is the output of my current phase of grumpiness and plain misery.

Darkness swirls 'neath the storm-laden skies,
Lightning flashes, shreds the ebony cloak,
The earth screams in pure agony,
As its core rebels and tears it from the inside,
Armageddon is nigh, repent ye sinners,The magi thus proclaim, their hour finally come.

Rivulets of blood run down the streets,
Cities burn as man turns animal,
Knives, swords, guns and bombs,
Nature once again red in tooth and claw,
Children weep, women beg, men are ripped to shreds,
Anarchy is the rule, raw primal and feral.

Kith, kin, creed, none hold a draw anymore,
Every man for himself, as it was intended,
Why society, why be shackled by affiliations?
What good has that ever done, what of the wrong instead?
Why prostrate yourself on the altars of false gods,
Their preaching, their ideals, all they brought was pain.

Gaia is awake now, she can't take it anymore,
We're a blight, a pestilience that must be erased,
A million years on this planet yet what'd be our legacy?
Ruins, garbage bins and blood-stained homes?
Is it our lot to merge gracefully with the sunset,
Or even that dignity is to be denied to us?
Something new for once. I actually penned down two poems in one period. I guess the credit should go to the Cost Accounting teacher for boring me long enough to actually accomplish this feat.

Why does everyone put me down?
Why do I need to be defined by what others say?
I'm my own man, a free spirit roaming this realm,
Destiny is what I make, so leave what is mine!
Rejections, humiliations, rank indifference,
Is that the reason for my being?
Dreams, ambitions, love, recognition,
Am I not meant to rejoice in these?
I try to reassert, believe in my true worth,
But the heartaches only increase, and the will weakens.
The citadel has been breached, the fragile core exposed,
Joy is evanescent, pain is the new continuum.

The flame is flickering, soon it'd be no more,
The night'll then claim me, peace thereafter.