Cerebral Fallacies

Past five we die we huddle at a gurgling tea pot and hover around for signs of life none, someone says and we sip in unison crib crib and crib some more the yolk of the dress, the tale of the male the bitch in retort and her new consort, more sips of the soup when we emerge from the coup none is wiser still yet the huddle is more like a cuddle in a cup! past five

I judge you not for those typical words spoken- nor would I bear on you the truth-be-tolds; shall not commiserate on thy commonplace sighs, nor finger your misshapen trust- neither negate nor nuke those ridiculous love pangs, for such are the ways of love, that seemingly entire oceans of love can wash over yet not beguile the heathen, while mere drops of the early spray can completely drench and moisten the love bandits!

A genuine piece of boredom I gift to you a yen for inspiration an elsewhere, a has-been moment of guiles and of potential lies scattered in droopy eyelids that nursed a dream just a few sleeps back a genuine piece of boredom I gift to you it catch you with a net, slowly enveloping your senses, marauding, it suffuses you with a pink light and sharp shooting caffeine hungover mornings are better dealt with a sip of nonchalance a grip loosing itself to reality a truth dawning on known unknown faces its an interesting moment to be in a bubble that should not crack until awakening returns you to the folds of this life-induced pill LA

chaikalaals मन कि भडास मांगे चाय, दिल का हाल मांगे चाय, कोई धमाल मांगे चाय, इस गैंग हर लाल मांगे चाय.... रातों के हम रास्ते है चाय हमारे वास्ते है एक हमराही, जो मनचाही आवाज़ ओ ढाले चाय हम है अमदावाद के मैल्कलाल लोगों हमें तुम बोलो चैकालाल हमें अपने चाय से है प्यार, कितली के काका के हम यार यह दोस्ताना रहेगा सदा याद महीनों के बाद, सालों के बाद चाय कि जब हम लेंगे चुस्की याद आएगी हर उसकी जो इस गैंग के हैं चैकेलाल.... लक्ष्मी अजय Yeah thats truly us....

Nothing stirred me as magical words that define the process of an entire day or explain in a lilt the larger than life concepts in a nutshell. Imagine that a few vowels and words strung together hinge the entire history of human evolution to the species we are today. I read voraciously. Still do, strange books that are flung into a little dark corner on libraries and reading rooms have a special place in my heart. Also far flung stories that revolve orbit around the nonsensical, prose catches me. I wrote some. And some more! I wrote when it suited me. When something ached in me to scream in letters and phrases. I did write then. I made an education of it and then a profession of it. I wrote spuriously and with real connect. I wrote for an audience that moved. I replicated theories and introspections with calm affability. Only to find my writer languishing somewhere. The reverse osmosis had already begin. Rot and decay incessant. Word after word repetitive, hardly stimulating. For all I...

An unfilled page is like a festering wound. It drives you mad with a constant itch, a nag, a personal goal but a social pain. Some love to itch and colour it with blood in riotous reds, some let it get yellow, fecund in yellow rebellion while some make it go white with tubes and antiseptics and make it a clinical chore. Nevertheless the page will be named first. Labelling as the society's best pastime admits to itself here. Later the self-same words will then arrange themselves into organisations and rallies and clubs. No countries of servitude here and no sermons of religion to adhere to. They fall with military precisions with dots and tucks and zits and zig -zags into broad lines. Seems like they do not have any problem aligning their forces with their neighbours as word after word contain the selfsame alphabets. Zealous labourers, they work for their keep in a fastidious way that makes their management weightier with idioms, phrases, nouns and verbs guarding them religiously. T...