Unnamed avenues

Take a minute off of whatever you are doing and look back. Look back at everything you left behind. If everything that you carry on your back is hiding your vision and disquieting, in both positive and negative ways, then this writing is just for you. Lend all your senses to this rant.

I am just a traveller. I travel from one heart to another. I do not stay anywhere and I know with more effort, a little luck.. I might find a heart that comes close to giving me a feeling of ‘home‘. There I would stay. I could have missed it or I could be missing it right now. Leave that to me. I am a walker, never a runner. When I am inside your heart, there’s a possibility of me either walking slowly to stay a little longer or me strolling around unnamed avenues and wondering about the mystery that you are.

“The unnamed avenues of the heart are the places where people fall in love and fall in hurt, in no particular order. The unnamed avenues are the roads that your parents asked you to stay away from when you were a kid. They are the crimson boulevards that look beautiful during the autumn to everyone and during the winters only to a few who are okay with nurturing it when it has no leaves. They are the streets that smell of champagne and whiskey. You know who begins with the champagne and who ends up with a whiskey. They are the roads that have broken window panes. Window panes broken because of the crumpled papers thrown at them Not a stone, not a fist, a crumpled paper with an unfinished rant. Don’t tell me you were lucky to find the crumpled papers that belonged to a duffer!”

Do you think I can find a way through all these? Have I been a good guide? Let me know. Because it is with this blind hope against hope I am inside you now. Trying to walk through! I am not listening to your directions, I am listening to your songs. I am not waiting for your promises, I am waiting for your stories that are going to keep me awake. Why do I want to be awake? Because I am not time-bound inside your heart. There’s no night and day. It’s thought-bound. I exist when you think about me and die when you don’t. And that’s one more reason a traveller like me believes that death is never the end and a million stabs can wound you but, never ground you.

I would like to make a toast to all the people, who might not be reading this now.

“All the ways I took lead me out of your heart. Do you still think I was lost? And does that qualify as a reason for everything?

…”

Thanks for lending me your senses, fellow travellers!
Auf Wiedersehen.
(Signed)
just barath.

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Shooting Stars

What did the shooting stars do to deserve a moment of glitz

in the Infinity of time and sky?

A moment nothing more than

A spectator sport.

A crowded theatre.

A symphony short of the conductor.

 

Was it because of the burns that make it beautiful to the by-stander so far away?

Was it the friction?

Or was it the never ending falling out of love it symbolized?

 

I couldn’t really write or tell.

 

Even after being such shooting stars in the past,

Sharing the same core with her.

After all the burns that left me with only love and little common sense.

After all the black holes we believed we surpassed.

After all the scars,

A numbness for all but the pain of longing

A burn that is giving me a crushing pain that I’ll get used to.

 

A burn that will glow for the world,

Make no noise,

Meddle with sanity.

 

For it is

A spectator sport.

A crowded theatre.

A two-piece symphony short of the conductor.

A person who writes #3

For those who don’t know!

‘A person who writes’ is a series that I write when I am crazily angry, sad, tired or in combinations of these. It starts randomly and gets posted without any editing(little editing). This is little too real. And these posts will also help me as indicators of my journey. I laugh going back to the posts in this series all the time

It’s frikkin 3 AM here! Remember the scene in ‘The Social Network’ where the Zuckerburg character types something called a blog after he’s dumped by the Erica Albrecht character?

“Erica Albrecht is such a bitch”

This is something like that. It doesn’t really matter if it ever happened in his life. That’s just a really good film from Fincher! I’m not going to call on anyone. I just mean that, for a better understanding of all my blogs, all you have to do is read these posts. These posts do not get shared with my friends or gets posted on any other Social Media Networks. So, if you are reading this now. You are a really good soul reading it on the WP Reader or coming straight to my blog(You’re so cool).

I am seriously fucked by this thing called the writers block. I am looking for inspiration. But, nothing’s inspiring. Should I just wait for the word to come out or cut open the layers and get it out?  Should I look out for something that’s inspiring or just cry out loud to the Goddess of Wisdom?

After finishing this one poetry series called “Autumn”, life was a very crazy ride and one really high moment got me write this poem called “A white paper needed ink” and after that I could not write any more poetry. I mean ‘whatever I was writing before that’. Then, I thought it was because of the structure and wrote rants. I mean one rant. It was good. But, then that is gone too. I have two really good concepts to write, but getting really stuck somewhere. You, the person reading this line is a really important person, so if you come across this line of a rant that is just there, I would value your suggestion a lot. So, comment it right away! I need to write. It’s a necessity now. These few months ahead of me is going to be setting things up for many years of my journey. The words that I bleed now will fill me up with experience and love(I am not good with medical words).

Also, note that I am going to be self-hosting soon and going for a different theme. But, the canvas is not as important as the painting is one thing I believe in totally. My plans are just big-ass. Butt, it just ends there.

I am too confused to handle this shit and also life is really complicated and slow moving. If you totally understand the confusion in this post, stick around. Because that’s exactly how my mind is now. There are rays of Sunshine now and then, that’s how I am surviving. Hope to get a little clarity among this confusion. I don’t want this to totally clear out and have a dream run suddenly.

And, everytime I leave behind some movie at the end of these posts, this time it is “SING STREET“.

Cheers to an imperfectly beautiful life!

 

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©

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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,