An altered state of mind

Image Copyright © TimFrommeyer

I am as if in the midst of a conundrum.

I can see but I cant watch, hear but 

Really dont want to listen. I move, yet

I am still, but walking on the waters of

The rainy Hyades on the dim sea.

I can hold yet cannot touch, I cry but

Do not weep. The salt dries on the face

And yet I cant feel the residue. I write

And imagine yet I dont think and toil. I

Am just a mirror placed in an angle.

You can see a million me's and I can

See a million yous. But its just me at

The funhouse of mirrors and distortion

Of internal images. In a slumber I am

And when I wake, its on the lap of daze.

Words pass me by, an incommunicado

Sub-conscious doll embraced by cobwebs

And dust at my angles, and a mask on the

Mirror that I know but have never seen. Its

An altered state of mind. A lapse of your reality

But, I am still awake with heavy eyes scanning

Frantically around to find a shudder that will wake

Me up from this state of seemingly eternal bliss. Its

Too good to leave but too hard to stay coz when its

Over you are way below in time and space;

Gathering your conscious pieces and sweeping those

Sub-conscious cellophane bags under your cerebrum

Is as easy as saying goodbye to the last train of eternity-

Inevitable yet painful but, again somewhat ecstatic. A

Thousand screaming headless torsos thrown into the mix.

The trip; the journey into the micro of things but

Looking at it from the macro on top just feels

Like the body is detached from you and you are your

Reflection. As the neurons fire under the influence,

The brain sits still gathering the output like cable tv.

I am what you are and I am what you are not,

I am your reflection and you are mine. But 

Beyond the wakefulness of it all is what I tend

To think about and then I see not me, not you

And not them, but a pulsating electron surging.

Into the funhouse we go and look at the distorted

Mirrors showing our true self and what we can be,

But, once we leave the mirrors still follow to remind

You of a sense of time which has no minutes or hours

But, only me and because of me a different you.

So tell me perception, which is me, what is them and

What is us and ours? Coz all I see is a hollow lane where

You can choose to light the flame or just walk into the

Darkness that keeps crawling like maggots and eating

Our state and time and realizations. Its altered and yet isnt.

The mind over the body, the subconscious over both,

Or just me and a perceived you above all else. Let my

Altered state of mind decipher and decide. For it will

Never be decided and the you and the me will all be 

But one and different in an altered state of mind. 

Every stranger has a name. Me and you...

© Malyaban Lahiri

A Malady

The proverbial all pervading calm and inner peace,

Stability is what we choose to call it- to earn greens,

To eat them, to share it or to control it. So escapable

Yet, always avoided. The veil of contentment ever

So fallible.

Moving from thatched roofs to brick and mortar,

Crawling from unleavened bread to croissant and

From the hard cold ground to the fluffy bed of roses-

We cry, we try, we fall and we die, but then there's 

This small moment of rise.

Unseen, often unfelt, unknown and yet mildly present.

The only pure drop of human essence that is- but a drop;

Yet, if embraced it presents enlightened apes with wings to

Soar beyond the cutlery and the bed and diamonds and

Roofs. Its there but never yet...

Why do I the naive poet type my verses on this machine?

Why does the rickshaw puller not opt to buy a higher 

Mechanism of sustenance? Why do you think of conquering

The space while the same increases in light years between us?

Where is that drop? That essence of intended genetics?

Or maybe intended is what we make of it. Individual freedom

And the consequent 'progress' or digress. A place where graffiti

Almost topples the la politica and, deaths of millions and voices

Of the troubled are channeled like the AM frequency. A drop to

Each one of you dear mortals!

Breathing free sans the fear of someone at the door, sleeping

In peace sans the unrest within, listening to the wind without

A play button to press and walking the muddied path without

The cacophony of horns. Some of the things we inherently want

When the body is born naked.

Then? We grow up and down and up again like a spiral. A 

Careful reduction of the equation that wasnt meant to be a

Circumspect effort. I equals to human so you equal to?

Oh wait! There's a square root on top... Tough luck child.

That drop is there somewhere but we are reduced.

We grow up but never grow back!

 © Malyaban Lahiri

The Final

The hand that holds the pen is disconnected
From the head, the brain that writes the
Thoughts. Its crippled with implosions of the
Fifth kind rendering the body helpless and still.
Paralysed...

It feels like the limbs are falling into slumber
As my brain remains ever awake without any neural
Outlet. The fear of an explosion, of death and of
Destruction is paramount enough to perpetuate this
Neurosis...

Like the non-stop cycle of seasons the head keeps
Churning. But, now there's a difference. The senses
Cant feel it anymore and cannot respond. Only the
Wandering and fearful eyes seem to understand the
Flickers inside my head...

Is this it? Is this the end? Is this what all that we
Felt and hoped have finally come to? I dont know.
All I know is palpitations, heaving breaths and
Breathing eyes... All I know is you are out there,
Maybe I am too... But, is all this mine??

मकसद

क्यों  गए  थे  हम  पाक  हाजी  अली  साहब  के  दरगाह  पर ?

क्या  दी  थी  चुनौती  भगवन  ने  जो  हम  वैष्णो  देवी  चल  परे ?

जलता  रहा  यह  गुलिस्तान  हमारा  मगर  हम  कौमी  काफिले  में  चल  परे । 

भुना  गया  हिन्दू , मुस्लमान , सिख  हमारी  अंधापन  के  तंदूर  में 

क्या  आया  था  भगवन , अल्लाह  या  इसा  इन  जिस्मो  में  जान  बटोरने ?

किताबों  में  लिखा  है  के  देखता  है  वोह , सब्र  करता  है 

और  फिर  दुष्टों  का  विनाश । लेकिन  यहाँ  विनाश  तो  इंसानियत 

का  हो  रहा  है । कोई  नक्सल  है  तो  कोई  कोम्मुनिस्ट , कोई  दे  या 

तो  कोई  बाय । इनमे  इंसान  है  क्या  कोई  जो  लाशों  का  सत्कार  कर  आय ?

सच्चाई  का  बलात्कार  होता  रहा  हमारे  नज़रों  के  सामने ,

चीन  गई  बचपन  और  जवानी  तख्तों  पर  गिरी  और  कटीली 

बहूँ  में  समा  गयी । सोच  की  चिंगारी  और  इंसान  का  इन्क़ुएलब 

निगल  गए  उन  दरिंदों  ने । कुछ  धोतियाँ  और  कुछ  किताबें  हस्ती  रहीं ।

गणतंत्र  का  यह  रावण  जो  कभी  राम  बन्ने  चला  था , आज  किस  दुविधा 

में  परा  है ? दायें  जाय  या  बाएं , या  तो  फिर  नाक्सलो  के  जंगल  में ? 

नहीं  तो  कश्मीर  के  लहू  लिहां  वादियाँ  इंतज़ार  में  है  और  है  उत्तर 

पूर्व  के  जंगल । यहाँ  कौन  राजा  तख़्त  पर  बैठा  है ?

कौन  रजा ?? जो  साला  अपने  जंग  लगे  घुटनों  के  बल  उठता  ही  नहीं ? तलवार ,

कटIर , किरपान , बन्दुक  अन्याय  के  खिलाफ  धरता  ही  नहीं ? कहते  हैं  

बुद्धिजीवी  के  इतना  आसान  नहीं  यह  सब  करना , गन्दगी  पोछना  और  उन  लोम्रियो 

को  मिटाना । अरे  अगर  बुद्धि  होती  तो  तुम  जीते  नहीं , जीना  सिखाते ।

कमीनों, उट्ठो , जागो ! देखो  किस  कश्म्स्कश  में  हमारी  मुक्ति  परी  है ।

सुनो  कैसी  हमारी  आवाज़  गूंगी  बनी  है  और  महसूस  करो  उन  दो  करोर 

डरावनी  सपनों  को , जो  अपनों  को  बहार  जाने  से  रोकती  है । भ्रष्टाचार ? 

राजनीती ? विवेक  तले  पैसों  का  लें  दें ? यह  तो  सदियों  पुराणी  रोग  हैं ।

इनका  इलाज  भी  बरी  ठोस  है । कोई  खद्दर  वाले  नेता  नहीं , कोई  आदर्श  वाले 

वहशी  नहीं , कोई  दल  नहीं , कोई  प्रार्थी  नहीं । आदर्शहीनता  को  चुनो । आदर्श  

खुद  एक  चुनोती  है  जो  हमें  किसी  एक  सोच  का  ग़ुलाम  बनाती  है । बल्कि  एक 

मकसद । एक  मकसद , एक  ही  मौका  और  एक  करार  जवाब । 

अगर  बनाना  ही  है  तो  ऐसा  दल  बनाओ , ऐसा  जन  समूह  जो  ऐसे  बहे  जैसे 

हिमालय  का  बर्फ  तुम्हारी  भावनाओ  से  गलकर  एक  प्रचंड  और  खूंखार  सागर 

बन  गया  हो । ऐसे  बहो  के  कुर्सी , गद्दी , स्वार्थ  और  भय  नेस्तोनाबूद  हो  जाय ।

बस  रहे  तो  सिर्फ  इतना  ही , हमारी  आत्माओं  की  मुक्ति , बुद्धि  की  जय  और  महत्वाकांक्षा 

की  ऊर्जा । 

अगर  कोई  फिर  कहे  तुमसे  के  ज़रुरत  है  एक  झंडे  की , एक  कुर्सी  की  और  किसी 

दल  की । तब  जवाब  देना - के  दो  करोर  मुक्त  आत्माएं   मेरा  झंडा  है , महत्वाकांक्षा 

का  शिखर  मेरी  कुर्सी  और  हमारी  बुध्धि  मेरा  दल । ऐसा  ही  दिन  का  इंतज़ार  है  मुझे ।.

एय  वतन  परस्तों , अब  जाओ ... दल  बनाओ , झंडा  गाड़ो और  नारे  लगाओ । लेकिन  दल  ऐसा 

हो  जो  फिर  कभी  किसी  दल  का  अत्याचार  न  सहे । 

धर्म  के  नाम  पर  दरिंदगी  को  मिटे  और  भूक  से  तरपते  करोरों  को  खिले  और  नंगो 

को  कपडा  दे । तब  मैं  शामिल  हूँगा  तुम्हारे  काफिलों   में  जब  तुम  कहो , यह  दल  नहीं ,

झंडा  नहीं , एक  आवाज़  है । जो  सिर्फ  चिल्लाना  ही  नहीं  करना  भी  जानता  है ! मुस्सोलीनी  को  काटना जानता  है , हिटलर  को  जलाना  जानता  है  और  डायर को  मारना  जानता  है । इन  सब  को  जला  दो , मिटा  दो  इनके  निशाँ ! समाज  को  सामाजिक  बनाओ  और  आदम  को  इंसान । येही  होगा  हमारा  हिन्दोस्तान !

 ©

Evolve

The need for flagellation is intense,

Like the will of death creeping and

At bay... The doc's medicine is working,

Stopping it at the doorstep, a step at a time.

The need for solitude has never been

So fiery but, the fear of it more potent

And effervescent like epsom salt.

Bubbling at every stimulus my brain reads.

Why does it require for a man to fear

Liberation over tyranny of self?Why

Isn't the sea full enough to quench his

Thirst for novelty? Evolution at its best!

The Sapiens should grow a tail and dwell

On foliage while the apes may take the

Scepter and rule with instinct and preach

Instinctual liberation. Or maybe its just me.

Yours Truly...

©