Another insipid attempt at rhyme. Decided to try my hand at generating song-type lyrics. Not the stuff legends are made of, quite obviously.
Spiderman
As dawn breaks through the mist, a golden glow lights up the sky
A fresh-dew fragrance in the air, as earth and wind ally
The whole world seems just so right, a moment frozen in time
Fear and agony grip a man, the irony sublime…
A room on an attic dark-lit, the curtains drawn close to hide
A solitary ray breaks through a slit, falls on broken pride
Tormented he lies in a corner, the messianic red mask on his side
A hundred feet scurry on the wall, labyrinthine cobwebs preside
When Spiderman had Arachnophobia
Haunts him his greatest strength, shivers run through the spine
The boon turned to morbid bane, as years of pain combine
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, the predator dwells within
Poisoned is the mind and blood, every breath becomes a sin
When Spiderman had Arachnophobia
They will all know the savior strong, not the man inside
They will still wait for him to come, be not by his side
Yes, when Spiderman had Arachnophobia
Hopes and dreams will slowly fade away, to demons turn servile
Life itself will cease to be, graveyards of golden memories compile
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Friday, November 24, 2006
Memoir of a distressed birthday boy
I celebrated the completion of my 23rd year on the planet day before yesterday. My friends, however, managed to celebrate it a whole lot better than me. Seven rounds of butt-walloping is about as much entertainment as anyone can aspire to get out of somebody else’s birthday.
It is widely believed that the number of kicks on your arse is directly proportional to your popularity in the vicinity. If that is anything to go by, I most certainly, am one of the most sought after. Everything comes at a price, they say. This, is a heavy price to pay.
The genesis of the concept of birthday bumps continues to befuddle me entirely. Beyond the fact that it is good exercise for the perpetrators’ lower limbs and restricts the freedom of movement of the perpetrated, it does not seem to serve any useful purpose. After much deliberation, I have hit upon, what I consider to be the most acceptable explanation, if one exists, to this heartless ritual
When a newborn first makes an appearance in this world, there ensues, what doctors consider as an elementary testing of the baby’s various faculties. Apparently, even with all the progress medical science is purported to have made through the years, slapping the unsuspecting little characters, quite mercilessly, on the butt is the most efficient method of doing so. The ear-shattering wail that follows establishes the child’s sense of ‘feel’ and vocal competence.
Perhaps, bumps are fallouts of this ingenious human device, an attempt to simulate, as closely as possible, the immediate ambience of those first few moments. And perhaps, also to run a recheck on our continued possession of the faculties mentioned above.
In any event, after having being beaten black and blue, literally, and having absolutely no chances of vendetta anytime in the near future, I found my recourse in rhyme. It is reproduced here for everyone’s benefit. Any comments on the crassness of it shall not be entertained!
A thousand kicks on the butt
Two mountains on the verge of ‘merge’
The aperture that leads out, all but shut
How painfully comes the surge!
It is widely believed that the number of kicks on your arse is directly proportional to your popularity in the vicinity. If that is anything to go by, I most certainly, am one of the most sought after. Everything comes at a price, they say. This, is a heavy price to pay.
The genesis of the concept of birthday bumps continues to befuddle me entirely. Beyond the fact that it is good exercise for the perpetrators’ lower limbs and restricts the freedom of movement of the perpetrated, it does not seem to serve any useful purpose. After much deliberation, I have hit upon, what I consider to be the most acceptable explanation, if one exists, to this heartless ritual
When a newborn first makes an appearance in this world, there ensues, what doctors consider as an elementary testing of the baby’s various faculties. Apparently, even with all the progress medical science is purported to have made through the years, slapping the unsuspecting little characters, quite mercilessly, on the butt is the most efficient method of doing so. The ear-shattering wail that follows establishes the child’s sense of ‘feel’ and vocal competence.
Perhaps, bumps are fallouts of this ingenious human device, an attempt to simulate, as closely as possible, the immediate ambience of those first few moments. And perhaps, also to run a recheck on our continued possession of the faculties mentioned above.
In any event, after having being beaten black and blue, literally, and having absolutely no chances of vendetta anytime in the near future, I found my recourse in rhyme. It is reproduced here for everyone’s benefit. Any comments on the crassness of it shall not be entertained!
A thousand kicks on the butt
Two mountains on the verge of ‘merge’
The aperture that leads out, all but shut
How painfully comes the surge!
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Back...after a while
Been gone for a while. Reasons to be explained in the not-too-distant future. What follows, can best be described as half baked. Its pretty amateur-ish in most parts, but then, something's better than nothing!
The meadows of bliss, the prairies of sunshine
The sweet smell of desires unfulfilled
Yearnings out of reach, hopelessly mine
In them, my Dreams life filled
Beyond the clutches of Wakefulness
Where the Earthy and the Ethereal reconcile
Life’s despairs into joy harness
The gentle might of Fantasy’s guile
With open arms, I embrace
The ecstasy of that surreal world beyond
Saviors all, have another face
To sanity loses sanity – that which I owned
Caresses that breathe lust into the Soul
Pierce like glacial rain
Every tryst pushes its addiction nigher ‘whole’
Into nothingness recedes the mind; just the embers remain
The meadows of bliss, the prairies of sunshine
The sweet smell of desires unfulfilled
Yearnings out of reach, hopelessly mine
In them, my Dreams life filled
Beyond the clutches of Wakefulness
Where the Earthy and the Ethereal reconcile
Life’s despairs into joy harness
The gentle might of Fantasy’s guile
With open arms, I embrace
The ecstasy of that surreal world beyond
Saviors all, have another face
To sanity loses sanity – that which I owned
Caresses that breathe lust into the Soul
Pierce like glacial rain
Every tryst pushes its addiction nigher ‘whole’
Into nothingness recedes the mind; just the embers remain
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