Gulzaman's son

fragrances driftin in the air..
leavin traces behind..
a momentary lapse of reason , they cud be..
a shot of vodka wud ve justified this better..
deprived of which..
I Give u sumthn thats close to my heart..

Gulzaman's Son
Climbing his tortuous way from Kanzalwan, GuIzaman leaves the river, buckwheat harvests and slopes dark with conifers. His breath comes in a half-choked whistle, the air uncertain whether to burst through the lungs or whoosh out of the mouth.
He doesn't remain with his people now, among the sheepfolds and high-pasture huts. They rag him, 'GuIzaman, where is the son? Can we help?' 'Here comes the randiest ram in the valley!' They're not funny, these jibes at his virility. So each sundown he leaves for the river to sleep in a stone-breaker'spine-hut, till at dawn the sheep call him.
GuIzaman strains up the last hundred feet to reach the fold. Expectant ewes seek shelter from the wind under the lee of limestone walls. He sees his kinsmen, bearded and gaunt and broad-boned as himself, brooding over a dead kid. Rain starts hissing. There has been such heavy sleet the week past that in the sheepfolds new-borns have been dying. With the mothers wind-weakened and fed on wet grass, the lambs are still-born, floppinginert on the earth. Ewes don't even lick them and probe for hidden embers of life with their raking tongues. Broken, they turn on their sides like sacks of crushed ice.
The turf is sodden but his own fold is a small den made snug by bales of hay.His ewe snuggles up to him and bleats recognition, a thin tremolo of love blanketed by gutturals of pain. Relations crowd, darkening the doorway,as with heavily-greased arms GuIzaman examines her. Yes, the lamb is on its way! An hour later it is there, quavery-legged and wet and uncertain about its rickety, four-pronged hold on the earth. Shortly it pees. Allah be praised, now it will live. It cannot die of a chill in the stomach. Either the doorway has been cleared, or cloudshave been parted for an instant by the sun. GuIzaman picks the dun-coloured lamb and holds it to his chest. 'This', he says, 'this is my son.'
BY KEKI N DARUWALA

another question??

there s a dark feeling..less than hatred..more than loathing..

that ugly meen feel for handsome men..

its unreasonable and unjustifeid...but its always there..

hiding in the long shadow thrown by envy..

it creeps out..into the light of ur eyes..

wen u r falling in love with a beautiful woman..

SHANTARAM

wat if one no longer feels this way???

Economics thats bothering me...

heres the case..

one gold flake king size cig s 5 rs

one pack 44rs

i buy a pack n think of returnin two to shopkeeper for 8rs

my loss: .80rs

shop key s gain: 2 rs

wat if i get 10rs for d 2 fags that i return??

my gain: 1.20 rs

shop keys loss: .80rs r 0rs???

Butterfly Effect

this turns out to be completely asynchronous with my last post.

I ve always had a theory..

THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

(Ever observed a butterfly singin around a flower)

It gives immense happiness n undefined pleasure to me to jus watch the butterfly hoverin around flowers to draw nectar..They are so beautiful..It gives an immense peace of mind..a feel gud factor..

But one should never commit the mistake of catching them..

A free butterfly is thousand times more graceful than the one trapped between ur fingers..

First of all...

she has given me two important things..

One..A Key to unlock my addiction

Two..A way to reality n bliss..A way of life..A pilgrimage..The conscience..

She has given me the books to by..

The music to remember her..

Food for thought..

A new lease of lyf..

N memories immortal..

The adobe of bliss..

Elixir..

Happines can seriously never b described in her presence..

A feeling a bond which even eludes her senses..

She fills the minds eye with colour n virtue..

Each frame dominated by her..

i ve jus taken the liberty to memorise every strand of her hair wavings in the getle breeze from the sides..

every blink of her eyes in excitement..

most of all..images of her sweat from labour..those blotches of her burnt energy..

shes a laborious person n i haven seen her wastin her joules for free..

thats wat makes the scent of her labour captivating both visually n its simply so damn personal..

materially bound..she s my temple..my goddess..my faith in humanity n my interest in lyf..

wen i sync with her she ll b my breath my vision my all senses conjugated in one..

i ll surely kneel down in front of her wen am devoid of all tat i ve amassed so far..

n all thats left with me is the full grown wings(its premature in all aspects now)

n fly in the eternal bliss n wen i can actually develop my sense of her(the seventh sense dedicated to her omnipresence)

Till then i watch the butterfly filling my mind with all the peace that seems to have evaporated from my self..

the beauty here lies in developin the wings af the butterfly by watchin it fly rather than caging ourselves by trapping the tender membranes of the wonderful creature, chainin ourselves forever n ever...

Irrelevant musings

Its been quite sometym....
on a high seems sumthin of the past...
vision is hazy..
evertythin is kind of dizzy dizzy...
with no literary feed for quite sometym now...

there was a time, not so long ago..
when the creative pitches were hit for a Home Run..
runnin seems to ve been laid to rest..RIP..

a blockage..blockade n a choke...
roadblock in front of milestones...
the moonlite fadin away ..
cos the sun is carbonisin..

there seems to b a valley below the lake...
the reflections encapsulated in a matrix..
bitter tastin strawberries paintin the ocean red...

sheets of ice afloat..
mercury risin n risin..
meltin d ice station zebra....
vanishin without leavin traces any...

myriad of colors remind me of the bow..
my triads not finding the deltas of change...
hope is a quintessential of feelings all...
for love has flown out the window...
a remoreseless widow in black..

wat am i writin..i know not..
dots i ve made..but connect them not...
words i ve stolen...
but mean them not...

thrillin is a ride which pumps more adrenaline..
keepers of the secret..reveal them not..

mysteries misunderstood..make them not..
substantial sequences evade me not....

bored is the reader .. reach here not..
for i wish to try..try me not...

there is a beautiful bank by the rivers flowin with eternal bliss..
such is the serenity, to make one gape in awe..
beautiful birds singing by..
alone is the boy with the load of pebbles..
he wishes to engage in some arm strainin...
throwin pebbles which hop on d river makin microsec impressions to be lost forever..
such is the river which banishes things on its way slowly erodin them
in a playful banter..
the sky above is a hazy blue...romantic rainbows kissed by the rain..
a beautiful deer finds her way next to the boy..
givin him company with deep beautiful eyes...
sedated the boy throws the pebbles down..
enchanted captivated..
the deer leads him to the jungle..
there is a lush cover of trees..
sun rays trickle down to give greenish yellow haze...
the leaves twinkle with the rainy dew..

happy is the boy..all wet on the face..
wakin up to find hish eyelashes bathed in saline n so..
wipes his eyes n hops outta bed..
it is evenin with a dream left incomplete..
puzzled is the expn..
he feels gud bcos of the dream but cannot explain the tears on him..
bewildered is he...so am I!!