I am apolitical, are you?
When you are political, what do you mean? By casting votes for one scoundrel or another? Or, you root for what those scoundrels ejaculate all those bullshits off their butts? Or, toeing the line of tails of those bastards?
Yes, scoundrels they are, no ditherings about that. And they are born bastards, to be sure. I repeat when I say from the depth of my skin that they are bastards on the one hand and scoundrels on the other - the two sides of the same coin.
A bastard is he who is shamefully born on the horseback of the parents not married to each other - so, with the stigma of an illegitimate son whose means and beginning mark his vicious character traits. And that is why those bastards should be disowned as social outcasts.
And a scoundrel is he who is morally perverted not caring a whit for any moral principles and those who commit immorality and are wont to unprincipled acts and deeds are criminals of cognizable offence. We treat or rather we should treat offenders of cognizable offence with social stigma and we should disown them as social outcasts.
So, as I say with a much more conviction, all those politicians who you cast your vote for or who you root for rabble-rousing voice are every inch a bastard and and scoundrel down to to the bottom pit. Can anybody vouchsafe that they are not like that and that they are otherwise? They are saviour of the commonwealth? If you can save your grace, then I cannot but say that you are wearing a fool's cap on you head and you are deceiving none but you.
So, is it that deceiving yourself, or for that matter, deceiving your own conscience is your politics? Yes, it is. As because when you are in league with or a party to a bunch of bastards and scoundrels, you are not doing precious anything or singing paeans to the moral rectitude of your innner voice. And you cannot deny that the Socretarian inner voice is the zing thing of human souls. Matter-of-factly speaking, that oracles of inner voice told Socrates to be ready to lay down his life for the cause of moral rectitude and he never felt humbled when he decided to give up on politics.
Actually, Aristotle made all the difference. He told prophetically that man is a political animal homo politicus. Yes, man is a political animal. No doubt about that. And that politics is man's struggle for existence against all odds and with the association of others. This is associative or communal politics of commonwealth. This plurality of politics is what politics is per se. Commonwealth for common people is the summum bonum of Aristotlian politics. At least, this is what is implicitly meant by politics. But Aristiotle had never been a messiah of the people's right to politics.
But your politics is never meant in that direction. Your politics is infra dig to human conscience and is far removed from moral rectitude as you are associated with the whore-mongering business of your politicians. By siding with them, you are colluding with them in their man-hunting skullduggery. Hypocrats as they always are, hypocricy is the main trick of their political legerdemain.
Hypocricy thy name is politics, man.
Hypocricy is the USP of universal politics. All politicians have this USP. They sell it as their merchandise to run this dynastic business and have been doing this from time immemorial. And this way they have set up a behemoth of dynasty.
And it has come to stay that politics remain a dynastic business of a handful of smaller creatures who have big hands to shake you and bear hugs to huddle you into a herd of cattle. Yes, in the field of politics, you are nothing but a herd of cattle as you are docile enough to be led by the nose as if by the hissing whistlings of the Pied Piper of Hamlyn. At least that piedpiper could be relied upon his missionary zeal but your politicians never ever.
Without those politicians, what is your politics? Nothing, whatsoever. With them in tow, you follow their politics and taking you in tow, they become the self-professed commandeers of politics - so, it is mutually conclusive.
And you cannot live without politics.
You cannot be whistle-blowers. You cannot get out of the bounds of the politics of those so-called commandeers.
It is such a vicious circle! It entangles you in a serpentine coil. Even if it bites you, you are not shy.
So, you cannot keep shy of it.
You are political animals through your walks of life.
You cast your votes whenever and as many times you are called in at the festivity of hustings. You are gathered together whenever the whistle blows. The whisle blows time and again and the festivity cmes as ritually as ever. You never get wiser regarding what happens in the long run.
Actually, nothing worthwhile happens.
You know it and you know it not.
The show goes on and on. Only actors and detractors sometimes change their well-veiled masks. Under these masks, evil designs are written all over.
You know it and you know it not.
And Spitzers call the shots all the while.
You are political but its apoltical politics. You are apolitically political.
But I am politically apolitical.
There is difference between these two.
Know the difference and get more and more wiser and only then you could be true-blue political. Otherwise Spitzers will be ruling the roost as ever - once and for all and you will remain the herd of cattle in the sticky field of politics.

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A flirty rose
With a little yellow heart
Guised in crystalline silence
The green petals wobbling
In shy of fluttering fragrance
Overlapping the siren of the wind
Swinging and sighing shyly
In native monotony
Like the stormy petrel
Rousing the piercing thorns
Into the heart of the soil
Virgin and prime
Metaphorically
To deface the soul
Of the little yellow heart

Lovely little birds
The peacock blue wings flapping
Flocking around the shadows
Receding fearsome scarecrows
Guileless as ever
Like the twinkling eyes
Of the storm
Blowing in fickle desires
To console the flirty little rose

The flirty little rose
Not knowing the thorns
To despise the angst
Of fickle desires
The little yellow heart swears
In temptation of its last will
To dethrone the knighthood
Out of the hound of the forbidden
And the little yellow heart rejoices
At the fall of a few dew drops
Upon the spreading green petals
Of the flirty little rose at bay
In the vase of desire and dreams.

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Life is all and everything
What is there if there is no sky
Nor a drop of rain to walk along the ocean
Life meets life in eternal joy and glory
When soul kisses soul in oneness of beauty.

Hunger perishes us
Hunger diminishes us in disgraced soliloquy
Yet life spreads its wings in fluttering winds
Life fights life in breathing fire
When all songs are forbidden
At the fall of a nestling sparrow
All streams stop praying for freedom.

Sing songs for the fighting souls
Who have gone to win battles of freedom
Never to return home after the gusty war
Life will enhance their lives someday
Someday they will defeat their evils.

We will pray for life
We will worship life like thousand suns
Brighter days will rise on the horizon
We will do water ablution one and all
We will worship life in sacred water
To hold aloft the beauty of pains and cheers
Oneday life will come together to life.

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I do not know the name of the sky
I only know myself as the burden of my breath
What if truth bears no resemblance to who I am
What I am is what I am not I say
Who is there to measure the silence of death
As death enhances my world of horizon
As if I am the life unto death
Where the world spreads my burden of breath all around.
Am I the life of my self?
Am I the I propagating life into the life
And death into the death in an endless voyage to eternity?
Or, Am I the horizon of the overcast sky
Upholding the truths and beauty of my days and nights?
It is all along the line of dwarfing shadows
It is all along the coastal line of life I see the harbour
Where light is born into light spreading darkness aside
I long for the twilight when I ask the twinkling images
The twinkling images ask me who I am and what I am for
It is the twilight of death sowing the seeds of nothingness
Still I smell the beauty of my sacred silence
The beuty that leaves no marks of footsteps
The beauty that says nothing of my wilderness
I am the limelight of those withering times
I am the earthly desire of my worldly weal and woes
What if I do not know the colours of disappearing days and nights
Still I feel like holier-than-thou in circle of circumstances
As there is no one to break the waves of the ocean
As virtues die in essences of vices
As if I am caught inside the blue breeze of impermanence
Drowning me in a whirlpool of web of life.

I listened to the herkening oracles of the ages
I deconstruct the images of long known fairy tales
When my life goes up in flames of sudden cataclysm
I rise from the ashes like in a circle of circumstances
If God asks me to pray for salvation
I bow to the grace of immortalisation
And when I know I am not what I am
It is only the burden of my breath that liberates me
From the burden of eternal imancipation.

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When I think about you
Memory recedes into something nothing
Images wobble in psychedelic lapses
As if you have left your footprints
On the footsteps of shortening shadows.

The dead drop of silence has beaten a hasty retreat
You have died in many more colours
You have pulled the last string of the bow
To close your eyes into the mystic veil
As you never listen to the sermon of the blue angel.

When you follow your eyes close to your heels
I stumble upon the wildstones of jerking sapphire
To hearken the lost voice in my drumming ear
And you gradually melt into the million lightyears
As if I kissed the dust to think about you never ever.

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No way to go
No way to go further
Further from the isle of breath
No way to fumble
A few steps more in vain
To go dancing in the rain
Or in the lengthening sunshine
Around the few chuckles in mystic eyes
No way to go smiling all alone
Within the basking dewdrops way side
On the blushing pleasures
Off the tulip delights of the rose-bowl
The withering rays of the candle light
Huffing and puffing to cry no more
No more to cross the lines
Of dreams and desire
To kiss the face of the terra-cotta images
To miss the murals of the touchstone
In sober sense of escaping dignity
No way to escape further
From the lifelines of days and nights

No way to go, no way to go

No way to dare
No way to share your lungs
No way to bare your heart
To sing love to God
To wink your eyes at ease
No time to suck the honey-comb
No time to shoot the arrow in fire
Off the bow at your funeral pyre
To boost the hell of your seasons of desire
Across the sovereign reign
Of fleeting images
And dreams

No way to swallow the basal fruits
No more time to expire your rights
No more time to say goodbye to all
No way to defend your rights at all

You have no rights! You have no rights!

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