Tasenda

 All calls ,from and to, Kashmir are monitored for "quality purposes" Hello!  Hello! Hello! I have called out for you So many times, on my empty phone lines You trespasser on my conversations You holder of my secrets  You unwilling, unwitting witness to my destruction  Tell them all,  what I said,  when I cried  And how I screamed into the void You professional sabteour,  You secret nazi swine,  You precious pervert  Tell them all,  Leak out my secrets, my inner fears  And my weak attempts at humour Hello!!! Hello!!! Do not pretend you do not hear me,  You who archives my life,  You who measures my conversations, You who polices my twitter Do not be an false god, unhearing, unsympathetic, unbiased You who chronicles my misery in kafkaesque detail,  You who stoically stabs paper with my name written all over it Release all my conversations,  Torture my rage,  Dismiss my existence Hello!  Hello! Hell...

If only Life was resolved In small moments of Celluloid Clarity, Where breakfasts and brunches and sad little lunches Had small interludes, where we lived our lives Where we were caricatures or men and women of certain types All our flaws, all our smiles, all our little hopeless dreams Would be resolved in time for dinner, with space left for small snacks If only Life was resolved In tiny trespasses along Alliterating allusions, Where time and pain and all those little hurts Would pass in a montage, set to silent soundtracks Where ghost-quiet nights were woven together into magical quilts Held together by the threads that were unknotted from latticed shrines When the invisible returned from shadows of memories, to be whole again If only Life was resolved In small moments of Empathic epiphanies, Where prayers and amulets and objects of unverified provenances Had the power, to turn fireflies into starry nights Where our messy little truths, no longer colli...

Have you considered the Wolfsbane flower ?? And it's Terrible beauty, and it's Bewitching power to hold you in its thrall While it slowly kills you inside Without you knowing Have you considered the Wolfsbane flower? And it's God complex, and its messed up Messiah complex that holds you Captive but unchained within the Labyrinths of a broken heart Have you considered the Wolfsbane flower? And its silent dysfunctional relationship With the world around it, Slowing adding a sepia tone to old memories, To make the truth palatable Have you considered the wolfsbane flower? Have you considered love? -- Tz

There, In Srinagar, In bylane behind a bylane, Surrounded by empty darkness  And plastered in sound-muffling mud Is an old workshop,  that was once a home Where they break little boys and old men to make them sing Miraculous little white lies  before sending them off To be sold in small bottles in the weekly bazar Next to silken wounds  woven in absurdities -- Our tangled, unkempt memories, Lie strewn around the floor like discarded histories of former lovers and a single, solitary question scribbled by broken fingernails across ugly walls, barely visible under hurriedly whitewashed walls, Am I dead yet? --