Ashksymphony

22nd March 1999 When you are my age,  the best way to have an adventure  is to travel down the memory lane  And I was feeling quite adventurous today, So I decided go up to the attic  It was quite a climb by the way  12 steps on a rickety DIY wooden steps fun fact : the attic used to be my Man Den  everything there was fashioned by me  right from the hidden pool table to the bar counter There was even a hidden stash of condoms though I don't remember ever making love with anyone in my den  for there were always rules right that you don't break  I still have my doubts though on Samir  It was during the summer of 88 when he had come over to live at my place with his fiance for a month The attic now seemed to me like a warehouse of memories Those stacked piles of DC comics and the coverings on the wall to make it sound proof I was a peculiar case. I loved to watch all creations from Mar...

The sun looked at me today, with it’s orange hue and a tinge of grey romantic and blue.. But that’s not important, What is, is that it stared right in my eyes with eagerness and resolve like an intense lover And for the first time I could sense jealousy, desire and longing all as a single emotion, Now I don’t have a word for that so let me go with ‘what if…’ And then I wondered where were you when you were in your full glory during the day did you share a wine with sunshine or did you stroll in Central Park basking in the warmth. And then I could sense regret, too late, homie ! My mistress’ perfume, I smell already I still would have loved you but the moon is rising and I feel I’m home     Come back again tomorrow, and maybe we will talk. The night belongs to my mistress But come morning, I know I would wait for your song.. - Ashk

Moments of reality strike in patterns,  When expressions run low & expectations look beyond... Silence has its own way of speaking The rhythm with which the rains fall Parched souls & overjoyed hearts, all alike The last drag of the joint the hippie inhales In the forest of his desires While his senses meander.. Searching  For the fruits of freedom From his fears in the prison of his making,  Or From his acquired faith in the garden if his memories Moments of reality are like  The last spark of a bonfire  Oblivious of its burnt glory Raging on as the rain drops touch them First in spurts, then pounding its spirits The stars in the sky have seen all for a night.. Sky becomes a canvas where the storm clouds Create patterns if reality  The songs of a hippie start... -Ashk

She used to ask me often, 'You are a poet, an author. Why don't you ever describe my love? Not me.. But the way I love. Not the way we make love.. But the feeling that my love is.. Why don't you tell me if I am a storm or the gentle patter of the rains? No actually.. Not me, my love.. What's it's character to you? Does it remind you of the constantly restless, unsettled desires & inquisitiveness of the Renaissance? Or is it like the after shower of dust post an air-raid in World War II? Or is it the rage, despair and audacity of the World War itself? Why don't you ever write about the anchoring emotion of my love's personality? Is it like a wild fire, or does it incite in you the feel of touching the surface of the lake? Is it grounded as a serene meadow besides a stream or as flamboyant as a thunderstorm? Does it smell like a crowded city night, or like the sultry afternoon on a sea shore? What taste of fear does it have? Like...

Creaking Chair Part VI 24 June 1999 It was one of those days which was tiring.. Not physically of course..that’s the usual story every day at my age It was exhausting mentally.. and I somehow feel just as drained as in the year 1967 And I am glad some things in life never change Like standing under the cold water shower for a long time As Manu used to say, ‘as the drops run through your head to toe, it drains away your thoughts’ I still remember that day I took the plunge.. One of the hottest Summer we had seen was ending in June And my father was fuming with rage watching me pack my bags My mother was equally troubled … but with emotions much more mellow than my father’s His was rage filled with concern … hers was concern filled with a sinking sorrow And there was I, in my late 20’s … as rebellious as my grand-daughter today is in her early 20’s.. That’s what they call Generation Gap I guess Did you feel a sudden edge in my tone there? At least I thoug...

It was one of those evenings when the twilight is in love with itself... Like a mistress on prol.. Inconspicuous... So sure of herself...Like flees falling in the web of mystique... That passion which eludes... Twilight was having a romantic time with herself...  The moon felt ashamed to be full today... For it dare share the beauty of the evening with the twilight in passion... The sky gave away its allegiance.. As it refused to turn dark... The orange mist across the horizon spread.. Like a smile spreading long after the waft of her scent had passed...  And there lie the book she was reading....the same page... 57 times turned over...as if in a trance.. Music to her soul...the words danced in her mind... For they were incoherent... There was too much to comprehend for the eyes... And senses alike... For her mind to register the subtleties in between the lines... As the last bird lost from the flock flew close to the unturned page of the book... Searching for her home... O...

Fear, an emotion; I have never felt striking me with such a strong force before. Like the air gushing out of my systems without my will...like the sound of the unknown shrieking in my ears...like a consistent itch...Like I want it to stop..NOW...like i want to be absolved of the guilt that has been gnawing at my consciousness...paralysed by the fear of the act... I speak for equality...I speak against the acts of horror against women...I speak for a community of men who do not speak on the idea of equal human rights... But I fear...for I am a Man...a Man who fears the ire of the feminist brigade...a Man who fears the rejection from the community of brother hood....a Man who would be questioned on his orientation if he goes too far to support the cause of the "Pink" revolution...someone who would be looked at with queer eyes and questioning intentions...Courage is always the second step to change...the first is the acceptance within oneself, of and from the community...