The Fallen Angel

Dear you,

You are the fallen angel. The sinner who fell wounded on my paper. And thanks for not acting like you’re the embodiment of innocence.

I know hell would be better than this. By the way, Did you know your sin? Your sin was not being real. Being a shadow of sorts; Being silent; Never reaching people on time; Never being simple. You were too complicated for heaven. They threw you out from that height only because you had wings and you can survive. 

You’re not going to be chained to darkness because, you are the brightest light we’ve ever seen.You are going to be chained to my ink. Your scars will become art on my paper. Your blood will be the spectrum for million colours. I don’t want your blood to fill up oases. Oases mostly become mirages. I just want you to reflect.

I know your wings are heavy and I know that broken wings are the heaviest. Hold my hand and learn to walk. You need to go away very soon. But, find the ink stains you left behind and get back to me if you wish. Just telling..

A day will come when I will not be holding your hand. So pick thyself up soon. Stand with me in my worse. I mean Verse.

For I have a destiny created for you. You will be remembered as the Fallen Angel, the sinner, the art I created. You’ll never be human, you’ll never be one among them, because humans don’t do forevers. You’ll stay in the form you fell down. A word. Not a Satan, not a monster, not a comet, but a Word.

Just when you became mine, your sins have become mine. Don’t Worry! I’m used to those confinements. And we’ll be forever. Fuck the muse, she’s lazier than you. I am not writing to her, until she comes. Okayyy! Don’t give me that look, I’ll write to her only having you around. You’ll be my messenger.

But, if this be the day I celebrate you, should I tend your wounds and let you fly?

Will you take me to your world once and for all, if I let you fly? Because, I am cold and I could use Two Wings for a Blanket. I am crying, I could use the headwinds to wipe it off.

– just Barath©

image

Advertisements

The Sunshine Blogger Award

I have been nominated for The Sunshine Blogger Award.

Thanks for the Nomination Padma Sandhya! I cannot ask for better questions than these.

So, my dear readers do visit her blog and I am sure you’ll fall in love with the way she pens it. Click on this link and go there right away. You can read my post later!

The Soulitary Reaper

First things first, I am breaking few rules of this award. I’ll get back to it in a different format soon.

The award-

image

I asked myself so many questions when I was trying to get answers for these questions. Such good questions man! Note that these answers are coming out spontaneously. Because, if I try thinking a lot about this I would get lost and end up sleeping.

1. Do you have a favourite family memorabilia/heirloom? What is it?

I don’t think we have one. But, if I have to start saving such a thing. It is going to be my Mom’s watch. It’s silver in color and works by keying it. Yes! You don’t need a battery!

And I dont want my Dad’s watch because it’s gold in color.

I also wanted to save the big wooden box thing inside which we lock our Television. But, they took it away.

2. If you could go back in your own timeline, what would the ‘present you’ tell the ‘2008 you?’

In 2008 I was in 5th grade, in a Co-ed school which was STRICT. I had nothing in my life other than subject books. I would tell him this:

You can stop caring so much about school books, exams and shit. Befriend a girl, you need to learn to understand women, even your mom or sister. Befriend someone who will be that casual with you when teaching you this growing up together.

Take up the guitar and start reading books. Delve into my own fictional universe where Sherlock, Luna Lovegood are all there solving crimes.

I want to tell so much to my 2008 self, something that will go long as a blog. 

3. Which book character would you like to run away with?

Scout finch from ‘To kill a mockingbird’ will hold my left hand and Sam from ‘The perks of being a wallflower’ the right.

And, and I know Rahel from ‘The God of Small things’ will find me wherever I go!

Rahel! Are you listening?

4. Do you like your job? What’s your dream job?

Yes! I like my job! I am a Part-time Content Producer at a Media Company. It’s just putting myself to high thinking situations and living on music and espresso.

A dream job! I cannot define it with a term. But let me try. I want to travel, take photos, write, make music, direct films, and do Radio Jockeying.

Writing also includes writing my fictions.

5. Which country would you like to travel to?

The Top Country on my Bucketlist as of now is America, in particular the state which is in a LDR with America, Alaska. Well! Its just for the Northern lights. Once, I am done with that, it’s Sri Lanka. I love the sound of Sinhalese. 

And, the list goes on.

6. What do you look forward to when you wake up each day?

Try and finish my longstanding deadlines atleast on this day. I always have pending work.

I have 109 unfinished blog concepts, 1 short film in pre-production, 2 incomplete scripts and, lets not talk about this, I am becoming sad.

7. If you can meet The Creator, what would you tell him?

I’ll ask him, 

“Have we met before?” 

Trust me just this question can answer million questions.

8. What was your favourite show as a kid? (Why did Cartoon Network have to change…)

Tom and Jerry,Scooby doo, Popeye and there is no end to the cartoon series.

WWE too, I was addicted to it!

9. What is the big announcement about your life that you’d like to give right now?

Okay! I thought of not telling this for sometime.

But, This is one perfect answer to this question.

 

I am moving out of Chennai in 2 months

For those who don’t know Chennai, it’s my hometown. The place I was born in and lived in for 2 decades now. I am Excited and nervous. Only few friends know about it and most of my other friends are not going to be reading the blog. So, no problemo.

10. Given a choice, which villain would you like to be?

Oh! I hate and love villains equally. I fall for them when they tell these indepth dialogues with layers and can do the facial expressions well. 

I would like to be The Joker. He is my ideal person kinda.

11. How was your day?

All these days have been a pain in the ass. As I told earlier, my deadlines are getting the better of me. And I don’t want it to control my life. It get’s to me man. This day was not an exception.

If not for good music, I would most definitely turn into a psycho. 
———-

Well, that’s a wrap to the questionnaire!

Thanks for being such a good interviewer and soooo cool Padma. Keep writing. Lots of love! 

And didn’t I tell you I am breaking some rules? I will come up with something different to interact for this question and nomination part.

So long,

just Barath.

A white paper needed ink

 

My words shall be dark
Dark enough to brave shadows.

 

Let the soul that reads find light,
Let the soul of the works light up lives.

For the pen of the writer
Saw nothing but a white paper that needed
a darkness that exudes deeper than black ink.
For the pen of the writer
was filled with tears and not ink.

Let his tears not be seen.
Let his papers never have a word.

For his words could tell the truth about love.
The truth that was little too real.

Let him cry in solitude.
Let him die in between the first few lines.
Let his poetry be the moon on a moonless night
Let it never shine.
Let him be.

For he is walking back his path,
He is looking at traces of his own shoe marks,
For he is cursed with memory for the worst of all things.
For the muses of many greats,
 All Cry, Chant, Sing, Plead, Command,
Beg for him to write a happy word.

But he the man felt absurd.
For he could not write lies.

Sometimes,
The muses of the darkest days prayed,
For him to be blessed with death.

He could write,
but a sad word.
He could confess his love for love.
He could teach some lessons to the writers.
The writers of happy verses,
“Thy words should never stop.
Thy lies runneth the world.
Thy lies keep the sand inside the clocks.
Thy lies in the name of gravity refuse to give man wings.
Thy lies ask a man to believe in Hope.
Thy lies are blessed.
Thy lies keep a person alive.
Thy lies are God?”

He had some other lessons,
He could tell to no one but himself.
Some things.

For he feared death.
Death that would stop a dark soul from writing the truth.
Here, the words,
“My words kill belief,
My words cause dearth,
My words be safest companions to loneliness,
My words maketh immortals and change world order,
My words which are due to the muse
be heard by too many, but understood only by few
Few from the early winter’s dew
My words be me in spite of the cups of tears filled”
He should be dead, Right?

Let the failed heart find some more tears to write.
Let the hope stabbed by him find heaven’s sweetest spot,
Let the writer in him search for more love.
Let his love be mere mortals in the next times.
Not a winged charm.
Let the love he finds not be an impostor of
Persephone, Diana or Aphrodite herself.
And let him find love, after love, after love.

The order of the world needs his love more than he needs it.
And his words need love in some tense.
The balance of the world for him was on Art’s lyre
and flowers that were born to decorate her crown

Let him find water of Styx around every corner,
but let his thirst never quench.

Let truth win.
Let him lie everywhere other than his paper.
Let him lie to escape from reality.
Let him lie as he is a human and then a poet.
Let love let a man live.
Let him have lesser pains in touching wounds.
Let him forgive every second.
Let him listen to the music that keeps secrets.
Let him dwell on every word and world.
Let the world feel sorry for his luck.
Let the world not laugh at his poetry of failed love.
Let the world love cliches.

Oh! Reasons that maketh pieces into puzzles!
Oh! Seasons that change for him!
Let him write one beautiful, smitten elegy
for every day that dies to get him closer to death.

-just Barath

To dusk

It’s hard to stand when the shadows are tired

And the eyes bleed tears.

It’s usual that trees grow old for the season

Giving out fruits just like I do.

 

So, before pushing a rose into your Garden

and completing this Octave,

I need to ask, but don’t answer.

Will a Goodbye get me closer to you?

Will hope save me from lies?

Will the darkness writhing in my words steer away?

Because,

In this darkness,

My feet find its way to you.

 

It will take a lifetime to realize failed love

And the other side

is not the right place to learn this.

 

So, this tree battling

Winds of the dusk,

Losing every last leaf,

Standing in its own shadow, alone,

Can wait.

 

For it has seen all the

Shades of Clouds and People.

Grey and Black,

Wounded and Victorious,

White and wine,

Sober and the kissed.

Waiting for the winter

It could fathom out that,

 

The only problem with love is,

We are humans.

 

– just Barath (C)

To catch up with the entire series kindly visit this link-

Epilogue- An Epilogue to Autumn

Winter is Coming Soon..

 

An Epilogue to Autumn

Hey, Oldsport!

The fall ends here.

I mean the poetry series(READ: Ramblings, musings, rants, poems) I have been working on since 3rd August. This caught me amidst a wave of Happy and smile-filled moments. Just like many people out there, I too started with the hope that I am going to write frequently, whenever I can. Fill my blog with the most beautiful words in the universe. But, it did not happen. Yayy!

So, If you’ve started reading this blog only recently, I’ll let you know what I’ve been working on. I planned on writing a poetry series for the season Autumn. I wanted all works to hold elements that make Autumn, Autumn. I worked up a story’s opening and wanted it to be sad to the core. Yayy!!

To Miss.Autumn was all confessions and everything she knows and what he feels is the reason for her leaving him. It hurts when you know reasons, it hurts equally when you don’t know reasons. Either way, it does hurt. Let it hurt, then let it go. The guy started writing as he felt through writing he could let it go. To my Fall is everything that he wanted to tell her, almost everything. To my St.Martins Summer is self-realization. The hardest part to write down because telling yourself that everything that you banked on was a mistake is not that easy.

We drifted apart before that wave hit our sail.
Such shooting stars we were.

-To My St.Martins Summer

This is when reality got the better of me! I landed somewhere near the Writers Block. After a really long time ‘To Maple printed curtains’ and the one night that he could feel love run their clock of life and stand with them in spite of all the Irregularities. That’s when it hit him hard and locked him down. To Do List is something special because of its Meta-Poetry Nature. It’s in this work you see him along with his mind. I(not the character!) had to write down To Crimson Boulevard because man I was lost and it was so dark. I felt the more I embrace the dark, I’ll stop myself from getting back to reality. I needed to shed it out and bring some light to the words. This is when I thought reading can help me write and I read so much. Crimson Boulevard was a result of the reading. To Universe was the strongest in terms of the concept I had in mind. It still is! I’ll rewrite if someone really wants to know.

And the seven notes of this piece ended and Autumn became dry. There was no wind to move the trees. Did you note that I mixed up the Character with me all along! The character took over sometimes, but it doesn’t mean I went through this in life. I lived this on the inside.

How does an Octave look?     C D E F G A B C.

I’m down by seven and the last note C, the coda of this piece will come in sometime today. Autumn ends for now and its time to get the Salt-Sack ready because

Winter is Coming.

The final piece- To dusk

Did they get together? Why the fuck did she leave him?

Ok! Why do ‘you’ think she left him? Let’s start asking her!

I’ve linked all the poems in this Epilogue kinda post, Do read and let me know anything you feel. Thanks again to everyone who walked with me through this. You are all soooo cool! Words, Strings and White hairs are all I have. I’m giving it away. Wish me luck! And Cheers to the beginning!

Do drop any suggestions or advice or queries in the comments. I’d love to learn from the person who has read such a long post on my blog!

Auf Wiedersehen.

-(C) just Barath

The pen kissed the next paper. 
Its cruel to ask the pen to move on too.
Let the kiss last.

-To Do List

To Universe

Taken to a centre, by the universe
I looked up and down.
The universe was my ledge.
And her name..
Was Universe, the sledge.

I was not taken there to admire the ocean of cressons.
I stood first in line for my falling lessons.

The fall is not a thing to worry about. 
You know the fall never hurts.
Landing causes all the death,
Fall gets blamed when drunk journal blurts.

The centre of the universe is a paradise.
Only dead souls enter.
Living souls walk with the universe
Till, its time to enter.

So,
Love your fall,
Live on the wall
and hope this never ends.

It gives you art
And take this dart.
Hope, it never really mends.

just barath©

To Crimson Boulevard

Hey! I’m lost. Lost with this particular Autumn Series. The idea grew out of nowhere and just got fixated. The name ‘Autumn‘ however came from the character in 500 days of Summer. She hit me straight through the feels.

To feel for each sentence in these verses has been hard. I’m a fresher dude in this type. I never foresaw. Autumn’s been sweet and cruel and I think, might never end in my case. The one part that cries inside me asks for the season to end. The other part that wants to write, embraces the tears. Also, tears apart. And has given me the happiest blog moments ever!*smiles*

(A part of the text, here that was related to the title was deleted by the writer.)

It’s in between. It’s hard to write now, or ramble(Oh! Yeah) now. Bear with me! I’m looking for suggestions and help to get through this. Comments welcome(are much needed).

A writer I once knew
Asked me to write ‘hearts-out’.
The concept was always new.
Just, self-doubt.

I knew I was lost.
I blamed it on the dark.
I should bear the cost.
It was me, who missed the mark.

This is supposed to be 
Poetry of emotional dearth.
Under this tree
Only Shadows sing about mirth.

Heart and darkness undergoing a bout
My words never saw the light of the day.
To liberate ‘Inside Words’ is hearts-out
Rusting, I figured out. Well, that’s the pay!

just barath,

To Maple

We felt fountains of darkness flow on our bodies.
A state of challenging coldness,
Not the brain, but the mind got hypothermic.
It was a moment when love was the Only Light,
Every other second, love was that first apple.

Immortality at grasp, words became pawns.
Infinity for few seconds, all our remaining years were compensated.
Intuition was all lucy’fied.

To cafune.
To caress.
To lock.
To still.
To get out.
To live.. we decided.

It was outside the unity of time.
An A minor and an F.
An Alleregretto was overlooked and stayed away from.

It never marched to the unity of place.
This bed could have been the other side, I promised to meet her, last time.

It did not heed to the unity of action
We don’t believe in anything completely, ever.
All lasted, until the second, her hand hovered over my shoulder.
I believed in the ambiguity she was.

Electric impulses started trotting,
It was by the usual route
But, slower.

And what followed was the world’s most beautiful cliche..

This abyss
stripped us of our doubts.
What I couldn’t tell in light,
I stammered through all night.

We were lying.
We weren’t lying.

The curtains and spreads still hold on to that dark night.
They still howl it to us through the winnowing winds.

just barath

To follow the other poems of the series:
To Miss.Autumn
To my fall
To my St.Martins Summer

To Miss.Autumn

I have always wanted a 3 AM conversation,
A 5 AM Good Night
and A 10 AM Office Check-In.

It happened in the movie that I watched with her favourite coffee,
her second favourite couch
and her memories.

But, then I got into this relationsleep with dreams about strangers!
Did you, for a second think
I would have the pleasure of having
Strangers in my dreams?
It was her, always

Nothing mattered.
To her.
It would have.. But she never told me about that later.

How am I supposed to give her the right surprises
and go ring her doorbell twice, exactly when she needs me?

How can I find out the perfect gift, everytime?

How can I not lose to her when it comes to me showing my romance?

How can I not be the repaired toy?

How can my hyper-metropic eyes talk to hers, when the dumb mouth spoils scenarios everytime?

How can I sing when I hate my own voice? I surely do!

She already has a gift!
A skill that I used to envy
And something I am not supposed to now.

But, she knows things, that people have never heard of.

She knows that I’m the one who is trying to love her!

She knows that Cinema is my Shangri-La

She knows that my voice is that of a goat.

She knows that I have wanted to kiss her behind the neck.

She knows that
I’m not the fancy that poems are made of.
I’m the fancy that makes poems.

She knows that I am never perfect without a heartbreak.

Maybe, she decided that a perfect soul will only be hers to live by..
And that can be the only reason for her to have broken it and look into it
some random day,
by the Decay.
If her heart may
decide to sway
by Memories that lay

-©just barath

The next one-

To my Fall

One, one person

image

“Chai, chai”, the dirty, uninteresting tea vendor was shouting by the Railway Station. But he was interesting to just one person in the entire crowd. One, one person. He checked his purse. Counted the last 2 rupee coin and it summed up to 17 rupees. He looked for the uninteresting tea vendor, who was long gone. Long gone into the crowd filled with many one persons, 17 rupees and black pens.

Little did his supporters realise that 17 rupees and unquenchable dreams are an irremovable part of him and his unique, impractical race.

They tried consoling him with words when only  shoulders and lies can save him. They tried giving him luncheons when only spiral notebooks and Writing softwares can save him and Yes! By law of nature he knows he will consider it stupid in a few days. They tried making him joyous by appreciating every little step he took when only he could see his skill rotting.

He remembers lots of things, even things which he wants to forget. And that gave him Words (Fortunate or Unfortunate, his readers will decide!), and then started a War between his Heart and Mind, a WALK OF SOLITUDE to fucking Neptune.

And still he decided to walk with his 60-year old lean shoes, catching his Branded Low-hip jeans from going down, holding his shoulders high to get hit by every crafted entrances of rooms towards death and also towards his home as he finally bought a cup of coffee from another uninteresting tea vendor with his Ticket Amount. He wanted to write when he reaches home with a pen that he had to shake well in-between 27 words to be precise,,,

-just barath
“©”(This is the funny bone’s work)