Sublime Sentiments/ Postmodernist Prattle/ Nonsense Notes

(choose a title after you are done reading or feel free to substitute with one of your own)

I know most of you do not know most things about me. I am generally okay with it. But still, I was pained to discover the other day that a lot of you have never heard or even heard of my non-prose literary efforts. While I was thinking of fishing out some of them from old notebooks and putting them here, a golden opportunity/random happenstance came my way.

Krishnamoorthy, a classmate from B-school and a good friend, sent me a poem (I use the term quite loosely, as you will figure out shortly). Since I was completely jobless, I wrote back. Thus started a long chain of emails that went on for about 5 hours during which we created the monumental (ahem!) work that I am now going to present here.  The ones on the right are mine.

The longest response time (between emails – the time taken to ‘compose’) was about 25 minutes and the shortest was 10. Stream-of-consciousness for you!!

Disclaimers: No explanatory notes shall be provided. Use the postmodernist, preferably non-structuralist approaches to make any sense. Feel free to write what you think. We reserve the right to make ‘poems’ out of comments and throw them back at you.

A scoop of vanilla ice cream

Sitting pretty on a cone

Melts and drips and drips

With no one around to taste

On a bright Saturday afternoon

I cycle eight beautiful kilometers

Only to discover that

The ice candy man was long dead

a dollop of dull yellow poop

floating leisurely under the dome

twists, turns,rots and stinks

with no one around to flush it down

On a boring Sunday morning

I scrub the entire house

only to discover that

the stink comes from elsewhere

Standing on a depressingly clean balcony

I remembered with a strange fondness

The pigeon droppings in various degrees of decay

A bit worried, I wondered

If I was in the right house

Only to discover that

It was just another way of

Seeing the same old shit

 In the face of cleanlinesssee

the shit underneath

under the familiar shit

lies an unknown ugly world

when not working becomes

a way of working harder

when the pain is self-inflicted

why even think about pleasure?

To have come thus far

To have climbed many a ladder

And reach a point

Where

Not working becomes a way of working harder.

If this is not progress then what is?

Time for a pay hike!

progress regress digress

climb up down run away

begin end busy idle

work leisure pleasure pain

think do oppress impress

enlighten kill humiliate

love like hate ignore

destroy create color mold

anger jealousy pity piety

god dog devil woman

high flat low dim

bright dark stupid trim

chop the ladders

break the steps

bomb the world

kill yourself

When you can bomb the world

And kill yourself

Why wait for the lights to go down

And angels to come and wish you bye?

Now is the time

Now is the time.

But wait..

What about that report submission?

Ain’t there a deadline for Monday

Go ahead

Complete that one last one

And die in peace

After all dying can wait!

what does peace matter

when life does not;

or should it?

if dying can wait

and life is waiting

what matters time?

Piecemeal dying

Seems to be in fashion these days

Bit by bit

Bit by bit

Live life to the maximum they say!

Over the giant wheel

On the very top

Sits a young girl

Gripping the safety bar tight

And when the giant wheel spins

The poor girl screams in fright

Or may be fun

Who knows?

if she knew it was fun or fright

in precise detail

and analysed and understood,

will she ever get on the wheel again?

creeping inch by inch to death –

that is politely called life

push on for now

the time to try claw your way back

will come soon enough.

Creeping inch by inch to death

Politely called life?

Is this frustration or

A plain oversupply of a certain currency called time?

looking beyond the facade?

how lovely!

do you wish to dig and tunnel

in to no man’s land?

in to sinew, heart and mind?

how noble!

any truth in there?

one or many, right or wrong

am I gay or straight?

sound, picture or the thought

build it up or break it apart?

is it my over anxious mother?

or is it simply about power?

Got no doubts now whatsoever;

It is time, time and loads of more free time

That manifests itself into these lines

May the jobless be blessed and their tribe grow!

It might be  of interest to know that

The overanxious mother is waiting outside

With a jar of pickles

One to tease each of your tease buds

butler botler derrida

eagleton eco fish

you had your pick!

there was conrad

forster pound and proust

if old was your gold

in a different vintage

we offered keats peacock

emerson pater and wilde

alas! you choose camus

esslin beckett and pinter

or is it simply all pitter patter?

In the three hours that I stood in the bus stand

Several buses came and left

I got in one that caught my fancy

Not a clue where the bus goes

But I am told

The driver is a  sane person

there is a train

i want to get on

I know where its headed

where it starts

and how long it takes

the number of coaches

I counted

and the width of seats, measured

I need to hurry

to talk to the driver

bye bye for the day.

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