Merry Christmas, Love

Since I am totally broke, my girl asked me to write her a poem as a Christmas gift. This is what I came up with. I'm not used to writing on request and my style usually involves a lot of tributes(read copyright infringement). Inspiration is hard to come by these days but Rabbi Shergill came to my rescue. He is like the Bruce Springsteen of India, and I am like the Quentin Tarantino of Poetry :)


Had I come some other time,
Would we have still met the same way?

Had I been a better thief,
Would the moon have been so full?

Had I known how to lie,
Would the veil have still remained?

O Veiled One.

Who knows? Not me
A different time, a different sea

Would it have been harder? Easier?

Was there a better cure?
We could never be sure

Your touch was warm.

You had built such a high wall
I laid a siege all through the fall

Could I have been more persistent? Or less?

I scrambled up and met my demise
By coarse, yellow hair and sea-green eyes

You had coarse hair.

As you lie beside me now
with your yellow hair on my brow

Splitting the sun. Light? Or Shade?

I close my eyes and try to breathe
For soon it will be time to leave

And I am glad.

I'm glad that this happened
The way it happened
Because it happened

You are in my arms today
And I wouldn't have it any other way.

This coarse hair. This warm touch. I'm glad.

reply to Anu

nu, you will be treated “badly” even if you had a degree from the best school in the world. thats just how the industry works. the ones who are thick -skinned enough to work through it are the ones who survive. as the film industry has a lot of glamour attached to it and lots of people want to join, its like a process the industry has developed to weed out the non-serious people. only the most committed and passionate people survive as a result, and they go on to carve out careers in the industry.
as for the experience, Vijay is talking about going out and living life. I have myself taken a break and decided to travel and learn about cultures and human life because thats the experience you need to be a filmmaker with a voice. a film degree is good but not all people who learn to play the guitar become good musicians. the art has to flow from within you.
directing a film requires a certain level of maturity and an understanding of the human condition which only comes from experience in real life, not by assisting a director or making a short film or going to film school(the three being the same because they only give you technical skill and experience, like learning the notes on a keyboard)
hope this helped

random

i was hungry so i finished two whole pizzas from the fridge last night...and one of them was for my sister! So Mom woke me up in the morning and yelled at me. I burped loudly as she was yelling at me and she left in disgust.... I'm fat, greedy, nocturnal and I live with my parents...sexy, anyone? :)

...oh and I am unemployed as well. There has got to be atleast one superhot woman in this world who likes this combination...

Ode To Salt

Ode To Salt

This salt
in the saltcellar
I once saw in the salt mines.
I know
you won't
believe me,
but
it sings,
salt sings, the skin
of the salt mines
sings
with a mouth smothered
by the earth.
I shivered in those solitudes
when I heard
the voice of
the salt
in the desert.
Near Antofagasta
the nitrous
pampa
resounds:
a broken
voice,
a mournful
song.

In its caves
the salt moans, mountain
of buried light,
translucent cathedral,
crystal of the sea, oblivion
of the waves.

And then on every table
in the world,
salt,
we see your piquant
powder
sprinkling
vital light
upon
our food. Preserver
of the ancient
holds of ships,
discoverer
on
the high seas,
earliest
sailor
of the unknown, shifting
byways of the foam.
Dust of the sea, in you
the tongue receives a kiss
from ocean night:
taste imparts to every seasoned
dish your ocean essence;
the smallest,
miniature
wave from the saltcellar
reveals to us
more than domestic whiteness;
in it, we taste infinitude.

- Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)

All Time Favourite Sonnet

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

From The Master's Pen

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flow'rs in odor and in hue,
Could make me any summer’s story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew.
Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
  Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,
  As with your shadow I with these did play.

-Sonnet XCVIII

The Reason pt. 2

"dig deep" as they would say
examine the flow of emotions

how did you get here?
we need proper investigations

so i become Sherlock,
pipe and hat and coat, all preparations

elementary, my dear Watson!
i say to my pen, after many negotiations

the pen being the only surgeon
to operate on my lunacy.