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Last Nail On The Painter's Coffin Thursday. 1.29.09 3:48 pm Refused waywardly Like a waylaid wallflower In a harem of damsels The opiated image Its puckered face Charred and choked By the termites Of relapsing moments The torso hanging loose In compromising positions As if by the painter’s noose Cubic silence in chiaroscuro Of shadows in gothic blues Spreading strange aloneness And leitmotif of splendours Of the hangman in absentia All at once The wallflower Leapt into the melting sky To become only one With the opiated image And to kiss the dusts Of the painter’s brush strokes With a flash of gothic blues And it spiked the last nail On his lifeless coffin To hang the canvas In agnostic suspense On the hearse carrying him To the lone gravedigger Digging his body for the soul To bury him in his treasure-trove. Comment! (0) | Recommend! | Categories: Poetry [t] My Nirvana Thursday. 1.29.09 11:42 am Here I am With a lotus Deep in my heart There I was With a dagger Piercing into my soul Which one you do want To save your grace From the fear From the vulture's gazing eyes Which one you want to have To grace your vain glory In prophesies of my wisdom Here I keep My heartless soul There I kept my soulless heart In a bowl of my last wisdom For you, only fror you Now you save me From the fear of disgrace Of a wayfairing wanderer, alone In quest of a nirvana From you, only from you. Comment! (0) | Recommend! | Categories: Poetry [t] You Are The Fascist! Wednesday. 1.28.09 11:45 pm You don’t know what you know You don't know to love yourself, you know how to hate others You molest the chastity of faith and belief of others Like trampling over the grass not knowing the greenoppers Even when wisdom of truth sticks to the limit of the sky But your lust for conquering the whole empire Has crossed all frontiers of one colony after the other You muzzle the voices of conscience like strangulating Love with long drawn daggers of hating others You are the satanic vest You are the violence on the crest You are the terminator of the God’s creed You are the conspirator of your own greed You are the end unto yourself You are the false nuggets of your power and pelf You are not the dream of a futurist You are the Fascist! You are the Fuehrer Fascist! Comment! (0) | Recommend! | Categories: Poetry [t] Kurosawa's IKIRU Wednesday. 1.28.09 1:05 pm Kurosawa's IKIRU is a lesser known film but never lacking in his strong commitment to handling human issues with immaculate perception. The story is very simple. A simple as it could be, there is not much gimmick many twists and turns. Even then it is really a treat to watch and worth sitting through to the end. Tao is is the Unit Head of a public works department. He was left alone by his parents at an early age. His wife too died leaving behind his only son Tong. He himself brought him up with all too parental care sacrificing his personal happiness and joy. He served his office for 30 years at stretch never his leaving his job undone lived his life among piles of files which seem to be his home and hearth. But the corruption of bureaucracy and red-tapism has tormented him and alienated him from the fellow employees. He only knew how to dispense with his duties. The fellow workers named him 'mummy' and ridiculed him behind his back. Not only that, to add insult to the injury, his son Tong and his wife too neglected him shamelessly. There only concern was to get money from him. Tao's life was such a tragically woven life that he got liver cancer which he never disclosed to anybody. Only a fellow cancer patient knew about this. He stopped attending his office which led many of his office workers and neighbours to resorting dirty gossips about him among themselves. He started visiting hotel, restaurants, bars with that cancer patients to get over the predicaments. Oneday, a young seductive girl came to visit him and he started loving her company. But that seductive girl too eschewed him. At their last meeting in a restaurnt, Tao asked her about what boosted her energy made her so frolicsome and jovial. That girl presented him a limping toy rabbit. Seeing that toy limping, Tao at last realised the true meaning of life which was to live life to one's full content. He regained his lost energy of sorts. He wanted to enjoy life like others but without forsaking his commitment to dedication. Next day he stared attending his office. Overriding all bureaucratic obstacles he built a public park which was a legitimate and long time demand of the local citizens. In the end, hesuccumbed to cancer singing "Life is short" while swinging on the cradle of the park all alone. But his mission mission had not gone abegging. All his fellow workers and his son acknowledged his honesty and integrity. The tragedy ends here but with a message. And the 'mummy' came to lfe and he was, as it were, resurrected after his tragic death. It never ended in smoke. Kurosawas used a lot of flashbacks to portray the contradictions Tao's life with the decadent world which has tormented his soul in no uncertain terms. The soulfulness is poignantly displayed in all those flashbacks. Without those flashbacks the contradictins could not be revealed in such a distinctive denouement. Toshiro Miffun has once more proved his mettle here with his wonderful performance. Comment! (0) | Recommend! | Categories: Opinion [t] A Montage of Misgivings Wednesday. 1.28.09 8:21 am The old woman Old enough to live by In years to count her days Or in the number of her hairs Graying in hiding With the ticking of clock In grazing moments of eternity A few lapses Of footsteps away From the rushing autobahn She was standing alone With a big burden Of a sackful of dead woods On her weary round head Bending her well wrinkled body Closely like a dizzying bow Almost down to the grounded ruins Of her sashaying burden In winds of a stormy petrel It was as if she had everything In waiting there To lose at that high noon As no Godot was coming by To stand once by her To carry home another Burden of daily foodstocks For a day’s meandering voyage In a montage of misgivings Of that false high noon. Comment! (0) | Recommend! | Categories: Poetry [t] How To Kill America Monday. 1.12.09 11:30 pm And the war goes on and on On all fronts from the north world To the south verily decimating the peace And harmonica in mayhem Of flying ashes and dusts in the dead end of the thick sky Fires of flashing darkness maiming the sweating bodies Of the poor souls from the god-forsaken land And the mothers of the wrinkly thinner children Swearing and cursing the deflowered wombs of America With a mask of Nazi face in disguise of a philander in Columbus land Where the daily sun sets in thundering roars of violence Upon the safe havens of the south world toiling and moiling For a mere begging bowl of rice for the holy grail of life Gilt-edged knives on the sly burn the little fingers Of the god's small children playing and surfing in the lily pond When the mangled bodies in flesh and blood of corpses Littering sparsely all over the divergent places in a whirlwind From hungry and thirsty Africa to the latifundia of Latin America From the gory sky to the landless flora and fauna From the deserts of Iraq to the mountainous jungles of Afghanistan Staring at those roaring ack-ack guns with deadbeat of hearts In shock and awe of ever more hunger and beating thumbs of faminine Who are those people from ancien regime Who are those people from the dynastic colonial empire Spewing Agent Orange to defoliate the leaves of the green sky Manicuring the virgin soil of the wayfaring nature defrosted and denuded As their own ancestral concubines in their honeycomb of bombs? Who are these people? Who are those generalissimos in fatigues Of unfaithful democracy selling at three trillion dollars at stake In the gravy market of perishing flesh and blood of laissez-faire Brandishing the ill-gotten laissez-passer to burn and slash in killing spree And cooking up the puking conspiracy in a tug of war around the world In streamlining the flood flow of green bucks of filthy lucres Under the seatbelt of twin-tower crumbling down in daydreaming In their thousand nights' harem foiling the spectres of sanctity? Who are their castrated kulaks selling their libido in pentachords To appease master killer’s machismo of the surge to kill and overkill In appealing fornication in the killing fields of democracy From the streaming Euphrates to the sacred land of the sages In the squalid water of the Ganges days in and days out? It is from the darkness of the wombs of America The winds of nuclear winter have set in fireball motion It is the juggernaut of skullduggery that rolls head-on Raising the bogey of terrorism to hoodwink the blinding eyes Of gullible souls to stand by the eunuchs to save their arse-holes To wage the war of evils conquering the wooden world Of all of its moral axioms in ruthless capital punishments In sleight of hands of theological proximo and ultimo to wage war Like a raging bull trampling the last bastion Of semblance of goodness of fraternity Of fulfilling peace, harmony and humanity Kill America! Echoed the hibakushas From the warmth of their heart During the nuclear winter Kill the gigolos of America, kill Cry the children lesser than nothing Chewing their twittering little fingers Sucking their mothers' breasts In the blessed home of their world of womb Kill America! Kill! Kill! To save the world From white fangs of the evil axis From the bondage of capital In exponential algebra of bulging belly Save! Save the world From the hypocrisy of democracy Of one world and one dream Of lies, lust and lustre of littleness Kill America to warn of its shamness! Kill, Kill America, the most wanted killer Of everything beautiful in this world Kill, kill, kill for the killing! Comment! (0) | Recommend! | Categories: Poetry [t] |
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