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.

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...

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...

Its been so long

So, so long

What happened?

Got neglected

All the birds were neglected

And their nests as well

Life is an Un-ending song

Song of pain

Never breaking thread

Of sorrow

And despair

I am so disappointed in Poetry

Of sorrow

Sorrow of the birds

And sorrow of human beings

Did I say human beings?

Human are beasts and beasts are human now

To call for human beings

One has to shout, "hey, beasts."

And they will answer

They will recognize their Identity

Pure and brutal and Criminal and murderer

My poor birds

The flying creatures got involved with the so called,"Humans."

And got violated, abused, brutalized and injured

 To be Injured,

Anywhere...

That's the tragedy of immense consequences

Who will forgive you for being so weak?

Be strong, very strong especially as a stranger

You can't be hurt

Can't be wounded

Can't be hit

Can't be abused

Be away from the beast

The beasts do evil to the other beasts called human

An insult to the creator

I wonder why did he create the little Infant

 And than did nothing to him when he became

a beast?

My birds have been waiting

Hungry

Thirsty

Lonely

Very lonely

In a narrow room full of dust

Full of dirty clothes

Full of ugly pots and pans

Wondering who the hell lives here ?

And why?

 Doesn't the one who lives here not throw

The shit out?

Shit will stay when all beasts will be dead

But they still don't want it to be thrown away 

They like the smell of it

They came from shit and rolled around in shit

And then died in shit

Poor birds

Flew from so far away for the shitty adventure

Give them a break

Get them out of the dark cage

Send them back

Where?

Home

They lost their home

Send them back some where

But out of here...

Here they will choke to death

Suffocate

Die of sorrow

Over the demise of the man who once loved birds

and their songs

And eventually allowed them

To rot in a modern city

Full of glamour and lights

But no light for them

No glamour for them

Just a dark

Lonely

Narrow

Dusty

Airless room

What did they do to you to deserve this?

Did they hurt you ?

Cursed you?

Beat you up?

Why did you take revenge of your life's failure on birds?

The precious birds

The delicate birds

The colorful birds

The chirping birds

The melodious birds

The happy birds

The singing birds...

FAILURE, FAILURE, FAILURE

Failure why don't you just go away?

Bothering me so much every day

I never heard your name before i arrived here

How come you didn't accompany me before?

I was born without you and your influence

How come you accompanied me across the sea?

I need to be alone, I am a loner, why don't you understand?

Need no company of any one especially you

There was a time when i used to miss people, 

friends, companions, relatives

But instead you sneaked in

and you sneaked in...

Wasn't looking for you...

Never.

But you were waiting for me at the end of the boat ride

But I didn't take a boat after all

I arrived by a plane like a successful traveller

and you heard about the arrival and ran from the docks to the airport

to receive me the  very first day...

and you have never left me since then...

You and you alone have been the most constant companion 

Like a bad marriage 

bothering me, critical and un-approving

of whatever I try to accomplish...

" failure, failure. failure.

" you whisper in my exhausted ears

all day and all night

even in my sleep

you wake me up so many times

Need a thousand sleeping pills

Why were you waiting for me at the airport?

In this city no one waits for any one

No one waits for any one anywhere now...

Don't you have anything else to do?

Why don't you go after the high achievers and go getters?

Wouldn't  you look better being attached to some glittery monument?

I want to be alone

How many times I have begged you to understand that

I am happy to be alone with myself...

I don't need you to tell me what you repeat every second

Now I am capable of telling myself a thing or two...

So why don't you just go away

Go back to the airport

International arrival

Idiots arrive every day

Go whisper in their ears your precious, ominous words

I didn't take you seriously first

But you were so persistent

See What persistence can do...

Perhaps I should learn something from you

Your persistence...

"Persistence of failure."

Should be the title of my new poem...

I see the flickering smiles of satisfaction and happiness

on the faces of my so called, "Friends."

My,"friends." always wanted me to fail

They were perhaps your relatives

At least you made them happy...

Now they can go ahead, get ahead, and,"make it"

But good luck to you and all your relatives...

But if you now leave me

I promise I will keep your memory alive

And will always write poems of, "Failure."

I am not American

I don't have to have ,"positive attitude." 24 hours of the day...

I came from ancient lands where people tell each other

stories of war and ruin and starvation and oppression and occupation

They all sit together in a circle around the fire out doors in a bombed out court yard

wrapped in Pashmina Shawls which the occupier wants to steal.

Occupier is always from the colder lands

Needs Pashmina for sure to keep him warm in his snowy country...

But those people surrounded by the ruins of their lands

smoking hooka pipes never mentioned the word, "Failure."

I notice that now...

No mention of failure at all.

I wonder why not ?

They are the ones who have failed miserably....

But the, word, "FAILURE." I only heard in the successful lands...

Success was everywhere in the civilized, rich, democratic lands...

 but the failure kept whispering in my ears...

,'Failure..."fail...ure"...fa..il..ur..e."

DISAPPOINTMENT

Again?

Yes

Again?

Yes.

Why?

Because it's the same thing of the weak will and lack of determination

But its been better lately

A little bit better

So?

So what?

Why disappointment?

Time is running out

Time has been wasted

The dread

Of What ?

Dread of dread

That's an old story

Old stories keep repeating itself

Not good

Do the work

And?

The dread will go away

The dread will never go away

Don't say that

You are up

And?

Up and about

About what?

Whatever you want it to be

I don't know

Satisfaction is not the key

Key to what?

Your poetry

Who is a poet?

The one who writes poems

Do I write poems?

I don't know...I don't know you

You are always giving me advice though

Strangers can give advice too

How would they know what advice to give?

They know

How do they know?

They know...You are notorious

Oh! good

You like that?

Yes, i always wanted to be notorious

Notorious is not bad

It's bad enough

You should be very bad to be really bad

What do I have to do?

Be hated

Hated?

Yes,

By whom ?

The world...the whole wide world

That's disappointing

You should be thrilled

Why?

That's when you are important

When?

When the world hate you

I don't know the world that well,

 Get hated...

Get used to it

And what about disappointment?

Give another word to it...Call it,"Dissatisfaction." 

All the geniuses were dissatisfied

that's why they created so much..

.Dissatisfaction is the key to creativity not disappointment...

Disappointment sounds depressing and depressing thoughts are un-fashionable.

..Creativity has a step sister and that is called, 

The muse of being never satisfied in a good, poetic way."

WHAT A MOMENT?

And I saw it

The un-balanced behavior

One more time

It raised its head like a snake

One more time

I debated

Whether to leave or to stay

The same moment of indecision

And the fear of an un-known politeness

To tolerate the un-controlled

But why is that ?

That had been dissected, analysed, searched

Too much grace...

That's it...

It's that moment of grace for your own self

Which keeps you cemented in the same spot

Instead of making a scene

But maybe now the time has come to make a scene

And then walk away...

Time in itself has been giving you a chance

But you don't take it

Keep the grace only for your own self

For the rest please be un-graceful just for a moment

Just for one brief moment only

And then none of those moments will repeat itself

not with the same person at least

Be guarded to quickly leave that un-pleasant moment 

Without creating any scene

That's the true test of grace

But leave you will

The moment and the one who created it

Behind you.