16 May 2015

Disguised Recommendations

The mind skims the surface of the scribbles scrawled on the paper or sprawled on the screen in front of your eyes. It then, takes a deep breath and plunges deeper into the depth of memories stored because of and in spite of your will, hoping to find a crumpled relevance to pull out with roots back to the surface, the turbulent surface where one exists and thinks but mostly survives.

At times, when what floats to the surface of consciousness is the inexplicable feeling of having all your taut muscles and thoughts ironed out into a strange kind of peace, or the equally strange experience of a breath that comes in, passes through, and goes out too easily to make you notice what exists on the flip side of worries, or the keen urgency of passion - of love, of lust - that boils through your skin as it pushes against his, or the excruciating silence and the crushing emptiness which is many times more severe than the words used to describe it.

The mind digs up sights and sounds and smells that all rout your attention to the underlying feeling. You might or might not like what that is but over time, you accept it as a part of you, together with the tears and smiles that it brings.

It is good to fall heart-first on the blunt edges of words to realize that you cannot bleed anymore and in spite of it all, you are okay. What better a feeling to rise up every morning, in the blistering heat of May and look at the groggy reflection staring back with bag-ridden eyes, and smile. I suspect a general conspiracy in the fact that in spite of the eternal churning of trivialities around me, I am untouched. But, as they say, it takes time to build and break a habit.

As a writer, more specifically a poet, I bare my all in my words. I have always sensed a kind of beauty is such brutal honesty of artists (if indeed, I can call myself one) because at the end of it, there is nothing left to hide. The deepest plunge we can take into the depths of our being, and every little strand of us that we bring up and weave into another poem or song or story, at once belongs to the world, to every eye that stops by to wander through our inside stories without us having any inkling of the meanings and interpretations and unexpressed exclamations of love or hate that we sub-consciously provoke.

Three names come to my mind.

Hozier: The lyrics of the song maintain an ingenious balance between the abstract and the real world. On a personal level, I find the lyrics to be blunt, honest and irresistible. 

Don't take this the wrong way
You knew who I was with every step that ran to you
Only blue or black days
Electing strange perfection in any stranger I choose

Would things be easier if there was a right way
Honey, there is no right way

So I fall in love just a little oh little bit every day with someone new

As I read somewhere, not many artists of today can sustain metaphors so well for so long in a given song.

Babe, there's something tragic about you
Something so magic about you
Don't you agree?

Babe, there's something lonesome about you
Something so wholesome about you
Get closer to me

No tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony
No 'who cares', no vacant stares, no time for me

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword
Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

Ed Sheeran: In his lyrics, mundane 'everyday' objects of 'everyday' life turn poetic. There is hope, at its irrational best; there is longing, that echoes the ones you try to hide and deny; there is happiness, frozen in an eternal moment; and there is sass, that pulls up the critics and haters by their collars. There is no feeling left untouched and there is no broken heart that bled in music and lyrics so often and so well.

I paid all my dues
And she wanted to know
That I’d never leave her
Now I’m ready to go
And strange as it seems
She’s endless to me
She’s just like paperwork
But harder to read

When I read through you
You weren't translated
So I looked up love in the Yellow Pages
So I’d be free from it

Tell me your secrets
Give me a friend
Let all the good times flood in
Do I love you?
Do I hate you?
I can’t make up my mind
So let’s freefall
See where we land

Charles Bukowski: I will let you decide.

the flesh covers the bone 
and they put a mind 
in there and 
sometimes a soul, 
and the women break 
vases against the walls 
and the men drink too 
and nobody finds the 
but keep 
crawling in and out 
of beds. 
flesh covers 
the bone and the 
flesh searches 
for more than 

there's no chance 
at all: 
we are all trapped 
by a singular 

nobody ever finds 
the one. 

the city dumps fill 
the junkyards fill 
the madhouses fill 
the hospitals fill 
the graveyards fill 

nothing else 



  1. Quite creative!
    love the recommendations!

  2. you're absolutely correct about this.

    All these years, I think I've been too much about the music, it has taught me too much, to grow as a person.

    The recent thing I wrote about also comes from a song, 'do you love me enough to let me go'. I think its one of the reasons I'm alive too, it gave me strength to pick myself back up.
    Ed Sheeran stole my heart with his music, starting from a class list, it was too much about me.

    These recommendations, I've noted down.

    Enigma, what you wrote in my blog today, made my day. This is more than just a thankyou.

    you're a beautiful writer, and there aren't enough words to express it.

    1. I'm transitioning between genres. Earlier, I had barely skimemd the surface of music, with your basic top 10 pop/rap/rock. Now, more often than not, I find myself going back to western classical music and Linkin Park, including them with Ed Sheeran and Hozier in my playlist. For me, words matter as much as the tune and unless I find the words to be a perfect fit, I cannot enjoy the song. Rather, the song cannot penetrate me further beyond my ears.

      Music is a great healer. Ed's songs specifically have always scratched open all the nostalgia I've been constantly trying to store away. But the same songs have somehow, made me look back at the past with a sense of detachment - accepting the bygones as a real but temporary part of my life.

      Thank you leaving such a wonder comment here, Purple (May I call you that?). To have others read stray bits of their lives into my words is nothing short of an achievement. I'm pouring forth a lot of mental clutter here, trying to clear a backlog of writing. There are many more recommendations to come. :)

      From one writer to another, keep writing!

    2. awaiting to read more from you.

      keep writing :)

  3. Music gets to me in a way that nothing else can. I'm helplessly in love with Lana right now.




Unless my thoughts fickle turned your brain into pickle, I'd love to hear if my words found your funny bone to tickle.

Or sparked a chain of thoughts. Even if they did not, do stop by and say "Hi!". That would mean a lot.