Wednesday, December 30, 2009

"DEATH OF A PLAY"

THE HEADACHE
AND INSOMNIA

THE HEADACHE
AND INSOMNIA AGAIN

THE HEADACHE
AND INSOMNIA

AND BAD ACTORS
AND VERY BAD ACTORS

THE HEADACHE
AND INSOMNIA
AGAIN
AND AGAIN

THE PLAY WAS NEVER HEARD
THE PLAY WAS NEVER FELT
THE PLAY WAS NEVER UNDERSTOOD

THE HEADACHE
AND INSOMNIA
AT NIGHT

THE NOISE
THE NOISE
THE NOISE

THEY MADE A LOT OF NOISE
THE ACTORS
I REMEMBER THAT
THE NOISE

THAT NOISE CAME INTO THE HOUSE
THAT NOISE CAME INTO THE BEDROOM
THAT NOISE CAUSED THE HEADACHE
THAT NOISE CAUSED THE INSOMNIA

NOTHING WAS HEARD
BUT NOISE
NOTHING WAS FELT
BUT NOISE
NOTHING WAS UNDERSTOOD BUT NOISE

NO LINE FROM THE PLAY WAS MEMORABLE
NO FEELING FROM THE PLAY WAS FELT
NO REFLECTION UPON THE SUBJECT MATTER STIRRED ANYTHING

NOTHING WAS FELT
NO LINE MADE US SAD
NO LINE MADE US HAPPY
NO LINE MADE US EXCITED
NO LINE CAME OFF AS FUNNY
NO LINE WAS REMEMBERED AFTER THE SHOW

NOTHING WAS FELT
HEADACHE?
YES
A SEVERE HEADACHE
AND INSOMNIA?
YES
PERMANENT INSOMNIA THROUGHOUT

NO URGENCY IN THE DELIVERY
NO EFFECTIVE CADENCE
NO EFFECTIVE SPEED
NO EFFECTIVE EMOTIONAL LEVELS
NO EMOTIONAL LEVEL AT ALL
JUST NOISE
A LOT OF NOISE
NOT EVEN SHOUTING
JUST NOISE
A LOT OF NOISE

THAN IT WAS OVER
NO FEELING OF THE WORDS
THE ACTORS DIDN'T UNDERSTAND WHAT THEY WERE SAYING
THE ACTORS DID NOT KNOW WHAT THEY WERE SAYING
THEY WERE JUST SAYING SOMETHING
BUT THEY DID NOT KNOW WHAT THEY WERE SAYING

NOISE
JUST NOISE
A LOT OF NOISE
AND THEN IT WAS OVER

BUT WHY THE HEADACHE
AND INSOMNIA?
WHY DID THAT LAST FOR SO LONG?
WHY THE HEADACHE, THE NAUSEA, THE PAIN
KEPT BURNING IN MY BRAIN?

BECAUSE I FELT FOR THE MUTILATION OF THE WORDS
BECAUSE I FELT THE MURDER OF THE WORDS
BECAUSE I FELT THE DEMISE OF THE WRITTEN WORD
MADE INTO A DEMISE BY THE BAD SPEAKER CALLED, "AN ACTOR"

SHAME ON THE ACTOR
SHAME ON THE ACTOR
SHAME ON THE ACTOR

WHO MURDERED WORDS
WHO MADE THE WORD BLEED
WHO STABBED THE WORDS

THE WORDS BEGGED TO BE HEARD
THE WORDS BEGGED AND BEGGED AND BEGGED

BUT THE ACTOR SUFFOCATED IT
THE ACTOR SWALLOWED IT UP
THE ACTOR CHOKED ON IT
THE ACTOR SPIT IT OUT
THE ACTOR WAS NOT REALLY AN ACTOR

AND THE WRITER OF THOSE WORDS?
THE WRITER OF THOSE WORDS WAS A POET
THE SORROW OF THE DEATH OF HIS WORDS KILLED THE AUTHOR

THE AUTHOR IS NOW DEAD
HIS WORDS ARE STILL NOT BEING HEARD
THE POET IS NOT NEEDED

ITS A MARKET OF NOISE
NOISE AND NOISE AND NOISE
THEN YOU GO TO A NOISY RESTAURANT
AND EAT AND EAT AND EAT
WITH THE MONEY YOU STOLE FROM THE POET
THE POET WHO DIED OF SORROW

HIS WORDS WERE TOO PRECIOUS FOR AN ORDINARY EAR
AND THERE WERE ONE BILLION ORDINARY EARS
HIS WORDS WERE TOO PRECIOUS FOR ORDINARY MOUTHS
AND THERE WERE BILLIONS OF ORDINARY MOUTHS UTTERING THOSE PRECIOUS WORDS.

THE POET NEVER HEARD HIS WORDS SPOKEN 
WITH A RIGHT KIND OF FEELING
OR WITH ANY KIND OF FEELING
WORDS HAD NO MEANING  FOR THE ACTOR
THE ACTOR WAS NOT A POET
AND HE WAS A BAD ACTOR
SO HE COULDN'T BECOME A POET
NOT EVEN FOR A SHORT WHILE
NOT EVEN FOR A SHORT WHILE ON STAGE
HE WAS NEVER A POET IN HIS REAL LIFE
HE DIDN'T UNDERSTAND POETRY
AND HE WAS SUPPOSED TO RECITE POETRY

THAT WAS A MISTAKE
A BIG MISTAKE ON THE PART 
OF WHOEVER HIRED HIM
IT WAS NOT HIS FAULT
HE WAS NEITHER A POET
NOR AN ACTOR

HE WAS HIRED FOR BOTH
THE ROLE OF THE ACTOR
AND THE ROLE OF THE POET

THE CASTING DIRECTOR SHOULD BE FIRED
THE DIRECTOR SHOULD BE FIRED
ACTOR SHOULD BE FIRED
PRODUCER SHOULD BE FIRED
FOR NOT PAYING
THUS FORCING THE POET TO HIRE NON POETS
THEY ALL SHOULD BE BANNED FROM  THE STAGE
THEY ALL SHOULD BE BANNED FROM RECITING POETRY
BANNED FOR LIFE

THE POET DIED OF THE SORROW
SORROW OF WATCHING THE DEATH OF HIS PLAY
DEATH OF HIS PLAY AND ITS POETRY
AND THAT'S ALL HE HAD
JUST THE POETRY
HE DIDN'T HAVE A SET
HE DIDN'T HAVE SPECIAL EFFECTS
HE DIDN'T HAVE MUSIC,
MUSIC WAS IN HIS POETRY
HIS POETRY WAS KILLED

THAN THE POET DIED
THE POET DIED OF SORROW...
HIS WORDS WERE NEVER HEARD...



Saturday, December 26, 2009

SHE, A FRIEND?

She wants to hinder her friend's success
She didn't want the critic to come
She brings flowers and dine her out when she get rotton notices
It gives her,"FEAR" some kind of satisfaction
Because she doesn't want her friend to get ahead.
Deep down she must compete with her

The writer shouldn't tell anyone anything
Don't write anything to anyone
Don't have time for anyone
She should be with herself instead of waiting for someone
That someone is not going to do it for her
Because that someone doesn't like her
Or is competing with her

Be shrewed
Be fearless

'Are you serious?"
All the time
This sentence is being uttered by everyone
Of course she is serious
She is serious now
It annoys her to limits
This fake and Simplistic sentence

Sense of importance
By themselves
Have a lot of sense of Importance
A sense of an acknowledgement from the world is important
But the sense of importance about themselves  should be of utmost importance
Desperate for the payoff of contemporary age
Not going to happen
Fuel your drive
Fuel your determination
Because the writer's life in NY has been difficult
In many ways
In lots of ways
Friends?
Where are they?
It's just the vicious competition between so called, "friends."

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

WHITE SNOW OF EUROPE

Sounds so romantic
Doesn't it?
But the birds have disappeared
Where did they go?
In hiding perhaps
And took their songs with them

Who is going to listen to them?
It's too cold and chaotic...
But Chaos can't be romantic
And the birds and their songs are pretty romantic

The birds are always searching for other songs and other birds
And the snow keeps them away from each other
The snow turns into something called, "slush."
Have you ever heard of it?
And the sleet?
And the motorist's stuck in traffic for days
"Holiday traffic." it's called

Its un-believable how much tension and disturbances
The good things bring...
People stuck in tunnels for twenty four hours...
Without food, water and air...
The claustrophobia and the terror
Of others all stuck together...Strangers, children. old people...

People should never leave their homes
Especially near holidays
People are not birds
That they can just fly away...
And be free...
Singing happy and sad songs of love and separation

No they are not birds...
They are human
And the human beings are stuck...
Stuck and stuck...
Stuck in traffic, stuck in snow, stuck in the tunnel...
Stuck in life...

Humans are stuck with their choices, good and bad...
Just to have fun on a holiday, they can end up in a tunnel...
Can some one be blamed for it?
God? Weather? Rain? Snow? Mud? Or the might leaders?
Holidays perhaps
Yes, we should all blame the holidays
And our search for fun...

Just the anticipation of the fun one was going to have on holidays...
For the sake of fun, just for the sake of fun...
Now we sing sad songs of remorse and unhappiness...
We wish we never made those choices, the choices to have fun...
We would all be sitting in our own homes next to the fire drinking coco...
Well some of us...Perhaps...some of us who had fire places and left them for the white snow
of Europe...

Sunday, December 20, 2009

THE SNOW IS FALLING

The snow is falling
And falling again
All things are white and beautiful
Wait till it melts
Than all will be sleet and slush
And ugly

All beautiful things turn into ugliness
Snow is like that
Pure, fluffy, white, cold,
And will turn into ugliness soon
So lets enjoy it till its gorgeous
And worry about the falling and slipping and breaking bones later

Only in the West
Only in the West
The snow falls
And people break their bones

In the East
Not the snow
But people from the West
Come to the East
And break their bones.
Under the pretension of democracy
I would rather have the snow falling...

Democracy can wait
I won't mind if my bones are broken
 In the snow which is falling
And falling again
The snow is falling again...

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

MAZDOORI/SUFFERING 

Mazdoori would be fine
If it came with lifting of bricks or heavy metal
But mazdoori has come with lifting the burdens with the utmost boredom
I mean boredom of every day, day by day, every minute, minute by minute

Wasn't this supposed to be an exciting adventure?
You can go to the theater and make it exciting
Change the formate of mazdoori(burdens)
Make it exciting, stimulating with the buzz of ooh and ahhhhhhhhh
Who is preventing you?

Go stand outside BAM and ask for a ticket to see Cate Blanchett
You can pay $2000
Not much to see Cate
That's exciting
That's not mazdoori

Now if you had that kind of cash you won't be talking about mazdoori(burdens) and boredom
You would be getting dressed, wearing your heels...
Heels?
Do I have heels?
Yes, I do
In the closet
I saved them for Cate...

To see Cate Blanchett You have to wear heels
Call a cab and go to BAM and offer two thousand dollars for a ticket to see
Blanchett ...

You will instantly become Important and some one extremely theatrical
and successful.
'She is the one who paid $2000 to see Cate"
People will point at you admiringly
"Who? Who? Who?"
"She...She...She"
The all others, other unimportant people who only paid $80 will disappear
Vanish in thin air...
That day won't be the day of burden for you...
It would be a marvelous day
To see Cate Blanchett loosing her mind in, "Street car named desire."
and you loosing your money
But its not a loss
It is to sustain life in a healthy, lovely, exciting way

Than the burden of Mazdoori in a cold, rainy, foggy, foreign land
Will turn into a life well lived with Glamour and theater and Cate...

You can't come here and not have those dollars to see Cate
And still expect to live a life like the others who live in this town...

Otherwise to be here is nothing but gloom and doom and boredom and Mazdoori
Oh! heavens lift this Mazdoori off of my shoulders and let me get a ticket to see
Cate suffer on stage for three hours like Tennessee Suffered for twenty years
when all the mighty god's of theater cursed him and shunned him and reduced him to
a crying puppy...Accusing him of loosing all his power and poetry...
Wasn't he the author of the play in which Cate is suffering on stage?
and people are willing to pay $2000?

Yes, he was the author, Tennessee Williams...
Who died with the expectation of getting one more "Rave Review."
From the mighty critic but died with grief and sorrow of rejection in later years
He must be turning in his grave... suddenly amazed...
"Oh! I am the author of this damaged pain and poetry, Oh! I am the one."

Yes, he is the one... recognize his words and him...
I have a photograph of him and myself together... swear I do...
People don't believe me
But I met him
Not only met him
But I have a photo taken sitting next to him
With my arm around his shoulder...
"How could she? People gossip
"How could she? This one, this woman of color, a foreigner..."
Yes, this foreigner, the woman of color have a
 Photograph with the mighty Tennessee Williams
The poet above all poets.

But I can't go and see Cate at BAM because 
I don't have the dollars and that's my
Mazdoori(Burden of the day and of every day) I'ts the dollar silly, 
The dollar...

Will free you from anxiety, boredom, loneliness and of nothingness...
And will take you to Cate when she loses her mind
But that's just fiction...
I have mazdoori every day
I am also a poet
I learned all the poetry from Tennessee Williams.
That's my reward
God is fair afterall.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

THE BLIND LEADING THE BLIND

Blind leading the blind is better than
the idiot giving you ideas and advice
But why do you need any ideas anyway
Your own head is so crowded with so many un-finished and brand
new ideas ...
Its like a construction site
Bricks, cement, paint, fiber glass, sheet rock, wood, nails
All dangerous stuff lying around

Throw them out

Throw out what?

All that rubbish in your head

Its not rubbish, its ideas
All success is based on those ideas lying around

Not your success honey...
You threw out the idea of success long time ago
And kept the rubbish safe in your head crowding
All other clean ideas
Those are not clean ideas
Those are wasted ideas resting in the corners of the mind which
Was once a great mind
Mind wasted and now asking for help from the other wasted minds

What are you seeking?
Why are you seeking?

Who said that I am seeking?
I am blind in the head and in the eyes
The blind don't seek ideas
They seek someone's hand to guide them
But you are blind seeking the hand of another blind person

Because I don't have any one with eyes...
That's a tragedy
Yes
But its your own tragedy
You can't be so calm about it

So what should I do ?

Cry

What will that do?

It will make people know that you have no one

What will people do?

Nothing

Why should I cry then?

You have a point there
Let the blind lead you
At least you have some one holding your hand.

Friday, December 11, 2009

AND

And he said, 

"Where were you yesterday?
 And where are you going today?"

And he was a total stranger 
And she has never met him before

She fell in love with him
And he asked her every day

"Where are you going?"
"What are you doing?"

"Why are you doing this?"
"Why are you not doing that?"

"Why?"
"Why?"
"Why?"

"Where?"
"Where?"
"Where?"

Became her life.

She loved it

Because she was looking for a control freak

And he was the one

They lived happily ever after...

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

AND NOW WHAT MORE IS COMING?

I thought there will be a break from the hell of November
The most disturbing and dreary month

Exhaustion and depressions and crashes and loss
And what will be accomplished with this new endeavor?

Nothing
Nothing will be accomplished

That's what I am after

My songs, my birds are of nothing
They are nothing, they sing of nothingness

They need to escape
They need to run away
Away from you and me
They have been trapped

We have the lock
We have the key
We are so cruel
And cruel is us

How come?
How come we became the monsters?
 and we put the birds in prison ?
The birds are in prison because we need company

Because we are so angry that we can't escape from being monsters
Monster human beings we think, 
It's a compliment
Monster

God created us, the stupid human being, the angry human being
The miserable human being

And we created the monster
We incorporated the monster in us

Now we are so proud and our
Songs are our prisoners for life...