A curated cellar of musings.
It’s all a postureBy Kannan BaskarIt’s all a postureNot a languageNot an alphabetNot a soundIt’s all smokeNo heavinessNo sadness, nor joyNot even contemptLies, yes,Empty, shapelessFumes. All a murk, News, manufacturedCustomised To suit; to suit yourEyes, ears and nosesSplendidThy colourless ignoranceYou don’t know my dears that you don’t know.A jolly good stateRemember—It’s all a posture.
Kindly, fade into this world. A vertical year had passed, digitally. With his conflicts—balanced out, purposes—irrelevant, and the audience taken away he was but a brooding mold contained in the mugginess of a nook. Addicts of the right angle were interpreting circles, on the telly; while the room, his abode, smelt of turpentine: new paint. The…
Read More "The paint’s turpentine and a walled-in afternoon"
Stains they are aplentyAiry dark patchesLoom and zoom in at randomCrowding the lit, awkwardly Yet, they equip our brightness Light is not light—without its dark cousinShadows tell light’s secrets—the code in all the glamourLight and Shadow a rhythm like no otherKannan
Squares, they are floating Always in a cozy, crowded group Drifting without a point In a circular sea They’ve no depth, they’re just pieces Bits of flatness Senseless fragments— Their absorptive apparatus, wrecked beyond repair; They yell and bray out shallow nothings, In the language of the visually deaf Kites float in Adorn the air…
Ye hanste huye phool ye mahka hua gulshan ye rang mein aur noor mein dubi huyi raahe ye rang mein aur noor mein dubi huyi raahe ye phoolon ka ras pee ke machalte huye bhanwre ye phulo ka ras pee ke machalte huye bhanwre Mein dhoon bhi to kya dhoon tumhe, e-shokh —nazaro le de…
Disclaimer: My lens aperture got all miotic on me during the old city part of the sojourn. Yet a part of me is sure that a visual encounter with the Qutb-Shahi's city did happen. That dreamy encounter would religiously occupy the contents of another post. A Gentle cauldron of culture Part stone, part water. A…
Stuck in a rathole Crowded, surrounded, strangulated Rats all over Rules are a misstatement Rats crawl, push, prod and exist Am a non-rat Dropped into Ratisthan I will convert... Convert into a Rat But I wait till then Stuck in my alien cubicle.
We occasionally get to know about a person or a deed, which we refer to as “Evil”. These deeds or the people associated with them possess a moral compass, which is in total dissonance with that of ours’s. Though these minorities might be a subset to the society that encompasses them, we often, comfortably, consider…
Lazy Sunday’s idyll—promising yet fragile. A stony path attracts, assures grassy possibilities. The path curves, swerves and entices, repelling the quaint milieu. The unwary drifter meets a dipping stone, The path imbibes him onto the earth. Into an oblivion of reality. Sunday’s gullibility—befittingly exploited. Kannan…
