Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

The Awakening: Mumbai What can you say to a world gone wrong? What do you do when you're alive, but the corners of your soul are bruised and pained, and you feel guilty for every breath that's yours, but not someone else's. What should you do when you can't sleep at night? When a maddening, insane fear of blood and mortality keeps you awake, and imaginary screams fill your ears... You drink and shop, pretending that life is for living, and mourning only for the dead. Who do you blame, when there's God himself, setting the seeds for war and hate? It has always happened, hasn't it, battles fought because we want to prove our Gods are betters than those of others. And these men in armchairs, old, weak kneed cowards, running a country of the young and the restless, Who will clean fresh blood, who will pray for forgiveness, who for peace, who for forgetting? There is no Judgement Day, ants die every day, who will save the souls of spray welding and shoe throwing pur

Image: The False Mirror, Rene Magritte "Why hast thou forsaken me, oh why hast thou shown me a corner, where there naught any sun?" "So that I can test you, so that you can heal and be strong, in the shade when the sun is harsh." "I don't know why I suffer so, I must have done something wrong. I think you must detest me, I think I can't go on." "There are many more who suffer, son. I ask you to be strong, I ask you to count your blessings, the food, the wine, your home..." "It's all right I guess, this too shall pass, I will still pray, I'll plough my fields, I'll bake my corn, I'll look for the signs you give me, I'll wait for the day to come." "Have faith, thy kingdom come, thy shall be done." "What man, why are you always so vague, don't you ever get tired, of playing your funny games? I don't think you ever answer, I don't think you ever listen, you're detached from reality,

It could be heaven for the disillusioned, the walled fortress in all its might, where coloured rivers flow, and flying is easy over the limited sky. It could be that heaven, where nothing happens, where feelings are bottled in a green cask, with secret messages and thrown out into the sea, hoping a wayward stranger will find them. Centuries may pass for the gates to open, but the disillusioned will wait, till immortality, for that perfect speck of gold beyond the darkened moon. It's easy to think you're in heaven, if you live like mortals, grasping every truth for a dream, knowing you have very little time. These are the people who surrender and change, knowing not what heaven means. That's not what the disillusioned want. The disillusioned live immortal and proud, not beckoning, not craving, they wait for the stars they know they'll find, beyond the walls someday, when they break without promises, without bulldozers in sight. That's all it'll take, a single mom

The Last Time I Saw Richard The last time I saw Richard was Detroit in ’68, And he told me all romantics meet the same fate someday Cynical and drunk and boring someone in some dark cafe You laugh, he said you think you’re immune, go look at your eyes They’re full of moon You like roses and kisses and pretty men to tell you All those pretty lies, pretty lies When you gonna realise they’re only pretty lies Only pretty lies, just pretty lies He put a quarter in the Wurlitzer, and he pushed Three buttons and the thing began to whirr And a bar maid came by in fishnet stockings and a bow tie And she said "drink up now it’s gettin’ on time to close." "Richard, you haven’t really changed," I said It’s just that now you’re romanticizing some pain that’s in your head You got tombs in your eyes, but the songs You punched are dreaming Listen, they sing of love so sweet, love so sweet When you gonna get yourself back on your feet? Oh and love can be so sweet, love so sweet Ri

What a fun weekend this has been. On Friday night, at 11.30 after finishing work, me and Baby Spice decided to go have a drink. "Teach me how to hit on guys," she said. I agreed. Unfortunately for us, Pop Tate's had none of them. So at 12 in the night, we made an impulsive decision. To try our luck at Bling, the disc at Leela's. I have to add, I was wearing a torn skirt with a sailor's top and love handles popping out and hair tied in a bun. She looked like the frat girl that she is, with grease all over her sleeves, received from keeping her arm on an oiled gate. When we reached there, our jaws dropped. There was a long queue outside Bling, with a bevy of beauties, as if they had just been dropped from a chopper coming straight from LA. High heeled shoes, sexy hot pants and perfumed bodies. The guys looked good too. Me and Baby Spice stand in a corner, looking ashamed of our middle class bearings. We were too embarassed to ask the cover charge for entering. So sh

Alone is a mighty mountain It calls the clouds to its peak And then lets the rivers trickle down and join the far away endless sea.

In the middle of his dream, Stone Bones wakes up to smoke, gone are the days of Mary Jane and gold, he forgets where he left the girl in the snow. Sometimes still, he hears her cry, 'Don't go, please, don't go' If he could remember her neck, where he found his sleep, he would remember that dream that he once shared alone. 'Stack me up, in this souless world, of poison and class, and slavery and mould.' He goes to the window, every image he sees becomes his shadow, every word a burden a prologue for a story he never told. The glass whirls into his desk, web of confusion, a desire for nihilism. In the day, some ideals; in the night the cold. "Did I lose my essence, did I find the vaccum, why did they lie about happiness? why did they create the need for nothingness? What do I fight for, the downtrodden or the dead, who do I live for, the future or the present? What should I aspire to be, who should I extinguish, who should I see, who should I tear, what shoul