Kasab, Our opportunity

On 31st March the Mumbai special court announced that Ajmal Kasab’s trial was over and the verdict shall be delivered on 3rd May 2010.

Now, let us assume that the court indicts him with the harshest punishment possible under the Indian sun, ie. The death sentence . What ensues further is some sad day again, another similar incident as the 26/11 happens and so it shall happen again and again and so on. Killing a soldier or winning a battle will not end the war as long as the ideology behind it is affected. The ideology of hatred, which motivates these fundamentalists to commit such inhumane acts, has either to be converted or to be uprooted/eliminated. And an ideology of hatred can only be won over with love or defeated by fear.

A death sentence for Kasab shall only be a vindication for all those many present and to-be religious fanatics who are promised the Heavens and eternal glory in afterlife by waging war against infidels. Kasab’s death sentence shall be welcomed with open arms by all the fundamental mullahs in terrorist training camps and hence shall be proudly claimed to be an example to be followed by all those young brainwashed minds desiring eternal glory and heavens in afterlife.
The Indian Govt can well make use of the living Kasab, who is presently their revered hero, to either win over or defeat the ideology of hatred of Islamic terrorism. This can be done in the following 2 ways:

a) The more peaceful, mature and difficult way is to rehabilitate Kasab. The hatred in his mind for the Indian state has to be dissolved and overcome not by force but by patience and love and to be converted into compassion, for the Indian state, its values, its respect for all human life and its umpteen opportunities for the sincere. He has to be shown and made realize, and not just told, how we respect and love people for what they are irrespective of their religion. He has to be shown how in our country, live more people of his own religion with peace and dignity than in his own. He is to be told how muslims like Abdul Kalam, Azim Premji, Zakir Hussain, Shah Rukh Khan, Zaheer Khan, Javed Akhtar, A R Rehman, Sania Mirza and many more have prospered to extreme zeniths of success in their respective fields in a secular India, and how we all love them for what they do instead of fretting about the language of their religious hymn.

He is to be given opportunities by the state to rehabilitate, nurture his useful talents and find opportunities to work, earn, fall in love, marry and settle. Yes I know how absurd it sounds but.. if achieved successfully, it’ll be a boot in the face of all those mullahs on the other side of the border preaching hatred and faking promises of eternal glory after death by killing innocents. Also, he’ll be a role model for all those brainwashed fanatics trying to cross the border to blow themselves into pieces, a rehabilitated Kasab will stand exemplary of the true Indian values, it’ll showcase India as the beautiful, tolerant and inviting El dorado of opportunities they would wish to settle in and if needed fight for instead of fighting against. A happy Kasab will be the Indian ambassador for inhouse and infiltrated muslim fanatics. Such a Kasab shall himself unveil the veilers and speak of the glory and magnanimity of the Indian state to the very same who were and are being trained to hate it.
I repeat, Kasab, their hero, alive, is our opportunity. This opportunity to win this ideology of hatred with love and compassion shall never knock our doors so loudly and brazenly.
Conceded, it requires extreme cooperation from Kasab, and as has been seen throughout his trial, he wishes to live, in case he does not I do have an alternative offering.


b) This idea is simple, we instigate such extreme fear in the minds of the fanatics that no matter what the mullah promises in the afterlife the very thought of an attack on Indian soil makes the fanatic shit in his pants. We don’t kill Kasab, we put him in a small isolation box, obviously with a camera, we soundproof the room, pipe in white noise, turn off the lights, put dark goggles, rubber eardrums, attach cardboard tubing on his hands and arms, and we do it for weeks. We can also, not let him sleep, keep him naked, put rats, cockroaches and lizards in his cell, serve him dead animals at random intervals, throw cold water on him, change the temperature, electroshock the genitals and so on.

With time, we can also give him small doses of the drug Curare to induce paralysis and all the absurd cocktails of drugs we’re yet to test. Left in isolation cell for months, taken out only to have his senses bombarded with barking dogs, strobe lights and endless tape loops of babies crying, music blaring and cats meowing and all the worse our fears can imagine. It’ll be an experiment that’ll put the CIA with all its Guantanamo and Abu Ghraib to shame. We just don’t let the animal die. What this’ll do is it’ll destroy his previous self image, along with his fundamental sense of space of time. What we’ll eventually have is a physically developed creature (named Kasab) who is no more mentally developed than a child.

All this shall be taped and the tapes distributed publicly. The tapes shall show various stages of his degradation; from that of extreme pain and suffering to that of seemingly unending gloom to that of a final lack of everything, the ability to touch, feel, suffer, and even rejoice in any afterlife heaven. The to-be fanatics shall see the same physically sound, militarily trained Kasab, as if born for the Kalashnikovs, the celebrated hero of the past, crawled, cramped and folded in himself like a child in womb, and truly no more than it. The Indian state, through this shall have conveyed its message aptly, if we catch a terrorist alive this is how we treat it. The fear instilled through this, shall force a large number of maniacs to think twice before being lured into waging war against India and shall slowly overcome the ideology of hate.

I repeat again, Kasab, their hero, alive, is our opportunity. Our opportunity, to end the ideology of Muslim terrorism for ever.

I hope the present govt. of India does not comprehensively fail this time.

where I stole

U wore skirts
those folds of innocence and humanity
U wear jeans
these yarns of pride and apathy choke ur soul

What u thought as time
Was me
Stealing parts of u.


U wore glasses
those transparencies of simplicity and naivete
U wear shades
this darkness of doubt and distrust pollutes ur thoughts

What u thought as time
Was me
Stealing parts of u

We attended school
those days of friendship and love
U go to an office
These corporate minutes of networking and reason, define ur existence

What u thought as time
Was me
Stealing parts of u

Parts, I needed for my poems
I thought, with ur parts and my love, I would portray the perfect u
my poetry, failed
accept, take them (ur parts) back

I failed u, u r no more urself

Feel safe
I shall not steal again
I will only look from far away
I liked u, only as u were

Feel safe
I shall not steal again
But only look from far way
Probably appreciate and feel annoyed
Feel satisfied and incomplete
Feel happy and jealous
Feel relieved and wounded
Feel a slight sweet pain

I request again, accept them (ur parts) back

What u r now, is wrong, artificial
ur replacements, misfits, fakes, even unnatural


Come, have them back
I still sit, where I stole
In white shirt, grey trousers and black shoes
With ur parts scattered around

Ur parts, ur bench, 4th in the second row, and I
await u
return to school, in skirt and spectacles
return, to the days of friendship and love

What u thought as time
was me
stealing parts of u
I needed for my poems

I promise
I will not steal again
Never, ever
Have them back, please, I’m probably begging

I still sit, where I stole, waiting

Yes, still here, where I stole,
waiting
amidst ur parts
(though I know, ur office is far from here)

Free time

I have never felt so empowered, and yet so slavish to the inner need and urge for self discipline. I have always known, my temperament howsoever lacking or abundant in work ethic can only do as much harm in times of responsibilities and commitments as is their significance in my life, which may well be viewed as a series of such innumerable, nearing insignificance, commitments. While lack of discipline in free time is worrying not only for its notoriety of introducing the best of tamed minds to the worst of imaginable hungers and thirsts but for the high possibility, of missing this vast potential to discover and redefine oneself, amidst the prevalence of one's free will and anarchic tendencies.

If a man's time were divided into 2 heads, A being the time dedicated to standing upto responsibilities and commitments and B denoting his free time, then It is no wonder to be amazed by the immensely vital yet unrecognized role the latter plays in an average man's life. What we do in our free time, is not only what has emerged out victorious from the ever going struggle for its dominance between our passions, desires, rationalities and capabilities, but also happens to be an attribute something whose role in carving our character can hardly be overemphasized. Our activities in our free time not only help us explore and even identify us for others and ourselves but also constantly influence our overall happiness. Free time, I firmly believe, is the greatest empowering asset one can ever have yet at the same time be the most dreadfully devastating liability too.

Often, I desire

I lie at depths,
Beyond the darkness of gloom
Beyond the cruelty of hope
Beyond the nostalgia of dreams
Yet it is often,
that I desire,
To feel the feeble humanity of her skin
To kiss the purest strands of her silk
To smell the sweet insanity of her cheap perfume
I desire, to claim what is mine

I lie at depths,
Beyond the perversions of injustice
Beyond the absurdities of objectives
Beyond the bankruptcies of words
Yet it is often,
that I desire,
to feel safe in numbers
to create another day, where she’ll exist
to be her slave
I desire, to feed the monster

I lie at depths,
Beyond the will to perish
Beyond the temptation to live
Beyond the meaning of time
Yet it is often,
that I desire,
to be tied to a machine, the kind that’ll make me breathe
to be cured of the lunatic in my head,
to be rearranged till I’m sane
I desire, to save myself

Robbed

Yes, I have been robbed,

Of all those obscure memories,
Of the clarity of your pain,
Of the wisdom I had gained from u,
Of the craving for what was mine
Of the addiction to self afflicted pain
Of wounds to bleed poems,
And Of breaths to waste for..,

By all the liquor I have consumed.

poverty of aspirations

What we achieve is more influenced by our aspirations than our capabilities. Though capabilities play a major role in determining our aspiration, yet it is that of defining limits and not infinitude of our aspirations. This is not only because we always, unfailingly, fail to recognize our capabilities but also because we generally succeed in undermining them and it is more so in times of lows. It is a general weakness, that when we are dejected and dismayed that we pronounce ourselves as absolutely untalented and universally lacking, only to seek comfort in the sheer impossibility of any further decadence of any form in our prevailing condition.

And when we have pronounced ourselves so, absolutely untalented and universally lacking, we cherish plucking every low lying rotten fruit in our journey, for it is all we afford to aspire for. And from that moment onwards, it is not our poverty that makes us poor but the poverty of our aspirations.

Under my palm

Under my palm are my veins
And my veins reach my heart
If u put ur hand in mine
U’ll be able to trace the passages
To the place, where I keep ur memories

U would know,
of the unmentioned and the unsaid,
of unexpressed longings
of hope in my gloom
of chaos amidst my peace
of fear in my silence
and the tears in my laughs

the tears in my laughs
yes, of the tears in my laughs

Hope is cruelty

Life’s a burden and hope’s cruelty

When every tomorrow is yesterday
When movable seems immovable
When dynamic is stagnant
When happening has faded
When the emptiness of present scares away the occurrences of tomorrow
When u kill time and pride,

when you see swarm people jostling around you and you don’t care about being lost, coz you got nowhere to go.

When the world seems too small to be revolving and when u are its centre, something u have been for decades and shall be for centuries. Yes when the world is stagnant around u.

When u are in da middle of a desert and u know da nearby pond is a mirage and da cactus u are chewing is poisonous. yet the pond has remained there in ur eyes for decades, days and even nights, quenching your thirst. When u have more poison than the cactus.

The beautiful life just doesn’t seem to worsen. When the night sky is a moment and so is da day.when u feel to be the air around, the sand beneath, the sky above and the fake God inside.

When the sanctity of peace is inviolabe. When hope and fear have been long dead. When joy and war are greek. when anger and honour have withered.

When u have never been idle nor busy,

when u are neither alive nor dead

when u have had ur last beer

It is then when u need the end to set u free.

May be faded

And when he’s written it all
He wishes he could write

After years of pain, anger, suffering, hatred, agony...
Its vellications of joy and happiness he longs for

After countless stares, its plastic smiles he longs for
After decades of solitude, its delusions of love, he longs for
After centuries of insanity, its imperfection, he longs for
After infinities of silence, its frailty of words, he longs for
After burials of pens, its da resurrection of dat barless prison he longs for
After an era of darkness, its da obstruction of day he longs for
After a lifetime of strength, its human weakness, he longs for

He’s had his share of truths, its fake promises he longs for
No more eternal dreams, its feeble memories he longs for

His canvas, still, plain white,(may be faded),yet, its da darkness of red he longs for

May be another pen

He wants to cry but he can’t. He’s forgotten this art. He wants the warmth of a heart to succumb into. None he finds. He looks for the same in memories. But, none he finds. He’s always been alone, stoic. Even when in love. They loved each other but he always listened. She would provoke him, but his heart would never speak. Since his birth,its been getting heavier. Since her, he’s been writing. his pen has cried his tears, suffered his heavy heart. Every drop of ink on paper is a tear down his heart. His paper wet, pen about to collapse, he looks for a confidant. May be another pen. Will he ever find a human heart. is he afraid or distrusts them all. Its still very heavy, while he’s burying his pen.

Someday, when many pens have cried his heart, when he’s buried them all and when its too heavy to stand by himself. He’ll find a human heart. he’ll succumb to this one. it’ll speak when someone’s listening and may be , it’ll cry. Cry. May be for the last time.

She’ll never know why, yet dares to question

Her silence threatens me,
That expressionless, stern face
What makes her so strong,
Why cant she be weak and weep it off
Why doesn’t she crumble in my arms and beg me to take her away
What drives her to resist the pain and prolong the agony
Time will not heal this
My arms no more soothe her

All she was made of, was me, all they robbed was me
Weak, unlike her, I collapse,
I sob amidst my ruins,
I hear, their laughs, her screams, deafenin
She feels, tattered me.

All they desired, her body,
laid before them, like a sheet of canvas,
bare, just as it once did before me
and all they could paint was white
The pictures, faded
All the love, washed in black
Existent, yet not
Unaffected, yet not


They have strengthened her, they have shattered me
She’s never alone, their memories haunt her, they have gifted me an abyss.
They have given her silence, they’ve robbed my calm.
They have released her, they have captured me.
Her desires.....blown apart, my dreams unaffected.


Neither are they dead, nor alive.
She doesn’t know them, yet they recognize her
She can blame them, yet cannot forgive herself

She’ll never know why, yet dares to question
Why did they rape her

I shall not break free, but the chains


She’s no more the same.
So am I.
I have unlearned to cry and forgotten to laugh,
Indifferent, is how i have become.
Yet lonely
Its not the emptiness dats killing me,
Bu the slow killing dats abandonning me.
I no more even complain,
For I know, that deaf carnal is beautiful.
My screams, confined, My tears, tamed, And My pain, subdued.
I no more dream, i am not scared, but plain helpless.
I have lived my tomorrow,
Yesterday, i know, never existed.
Bereaved is not how i feel,
Its just the birth that I long for.
Nothing shall matter less,
Yet the agony, forces me to breathe.
I shall not break free, but the chains
I shall not rust, but the chains
I can feel her lips move, she still sobs
She knows, this blind carnal of mine is lustful.
The beautiful shall remain free to chase love.
The salacious shall remain destined, to be bound by love.
The ocean of free solitude is what I desired
The desert of bound loneliness is what I got

this vampyric addiction, n your full submission

U were different.
Ur existence was meaningless to u, yet u had an identity.
Ur friends missed u in ur absence.
Yes u even had friends.
Friends who cared for u, despite ur meaningless existence.

U laughed with heart, u cried in sorrow, U even capered in circles singing songs.

Yes u had a heart, just like those children still have one.
Yes, sorrow affected u, & extracted tears.
Believe me, u could sing.
Not only your words but even your voice was much sweeter.


Look at u now.
Ur carnal stinks greed, your eyes speak of the vacuum inside u.
Lies are all u manage to verbalize with this fat mouth.
U maintain an ego far beyond your dignity.
U have become a self sustaining mean machine

U believe , your existence has found meaning.
U want, exactly what those opulent swines want u to want.
U left the calm of your village to keep their Sodom at bay.

U laugh just like them, with your lips.
They made a man out of u, u no more shed tears,
They‘ve taught u to cry with eyes.

They’ve taught u to talk with meaning, & call it being rational.
Forget singing, it never satiated any lust.

They’ve nurtured ur talents & they welcome u to the whorehouse.
They enjoy the comfort of the absence of your identity.
They gave ur existence a meaning, only to rob u of ur identity.
U are a blend of them, just like they are, a blend of many like u.

U are rusted and weathered , barely holding together.
Avarice is u, deceit is ur deliverance, material are your desires.

U too have become like them, a puppet
Playing ur anonymous part in this huge play.
Go on please ur master (I doubt, u even know him).

tyranny of morals

I believe we all agree that social conduct is about finding the right blend morals and wickedness. Latter fulfils our ambitions not in accordance with our talents while morals give breath to our inner conscience. And since human beings have different definitions for desires and ethics we are moral and wicked to different extents. We all have a ready example of utmost wickedness on our tongue be it Hitler, Stalin or even our neighbour. But none of utmost morality. May be because every time we lean towards wickedness, we feel our wickedness vindicated by that example. And we further our march towards insatiable greed. Wickedness brings us the pleasure of joy while morals, the satisfaction of pain.

Yes the tyranny of morals lies atop the mountain of satisfaction and sacrifice.
Men take pride in their morals and claim them as a choice of personal conduct. At times, morals overshadow the man they represent. While the man feels secure in his thorny garden of self esteem and sacrifice, his morals become those barbed wires that squeeze out every drop of material achievement and joy out of him.
Such a man not only succeeds murdering his desires but also unknowingly wounds those, who dream of earthly pleasures with/for him. He loses his rationality and distances himself from worldly reality. He lifts himself to that virtual world of his own, from where he looks down in disgust at real men. He wears his morals as an inseparable code of honour and he worships them as his idols. He even faiths his doubts. Such a man is not ruled by the democracy of his surroundings, nor by the anarchy of his desires, nor the oligarchy of his talents but by the tyranny of his morals.

Deep down we know of the beast inside us all and also of the saint deeper down.
It’s the beast’s existence we shy to approve of & the tyranny of morals we don’t strive for, yet claim.

Just like humans we are imperfect. (enough demon-like to achieve, sufficient angelic to help achieve)

This young carnal and dat old mind

There’s a young man feeling old

Trying to induce that dat dead feeling in his veins

He fights hard to induce something he calls reality

He builds his own prison, trying to immunize himself from the turbulence of this world.

He appreciates an old man’s beard, he eyes the excitement of a stalled life.

He feels he can do all he wants in that small prison of his own.

That prison he builds brick by brick, every brick he lays gives him courage to lay the next one. Every moment of joy he denies that awaits him outside those strong walls, he tastes victory. He wears his own grace in his own eyes. He carefully watches every breath a possible intruder takes beyond those walls, yet not reacts.

He’s dat stranger who can rob all your serenity and gift you all dat undying fervour dat ‘ll force u to serve all his fancies with ur coat of honour off ur stinking carnal.

He believes dat a graveyard is a glimpse of wicked future in your foolish present
He worships it.

He finds solace in graveyard, there he feels enlightened and proud.
Every second he wastes in building, he hastens to his desire Of being old, vacuous, void, simple, immune and close to reality.

He loves his vaccum dare not intrude u might hurt urself, u’ll enter wid grace and will end up gifting him all before leaving.u’ll leave wid memories, he’ll have none.

Ur absence is all he desires, dis is something he won’t ever tell u. He won’t show u da exit but it’ll be there right in front of u everywhere in his prison. U may enter, he won’t stop u, he appreciates human concern (if any), he respects human anxiety but he’ll doubt ur faith.

He scoffs behind ur back, at ur inability to affect him, for he believes u deserve it.
It’s That young man who has written this.
Pray for the young man and forgive him, he’s little too young

It was raining love dat February

It was raining love dat February

February rains are wickedly cold

These cold myopic rains leave u dry

Tears are all da wet u are left with

My life is flooded with famines,

I wanted none more

Dat February I took refuge in dat very same old prison

Dat heart shaped prison

I thought, as a captive,

I had conquered dat heart a long-long time ago,

I expected comfort amidst da familiar arid walls of dat heart,

I thought those arid walls will save me from the cold rains outside

The walls were same, as they were, when I left them

Except for, they had developed cracks,

Many males had stayed there,

Since I left them faminished,

Faminished of love

They all men, stayed here for really short durations,

But in their stay they created these cracks,

Those cracks speak of those men’s efforts to escape that bar-less prison

And those innocuous cracks cry, when it rains outside,

May be this February too, it’ll all be the same,

I’ll be flooded to famine,

I’ll get wet to be left cold & dry,

But this time not alone,

These cracks have stolen her immunity

For da first time, it’ll rain in dat heart,

For da first time she’ll get wet to be left dry

May be dis time I’ll never walk out of dis prison,

May be dis time she’ll enter mine,

May be these rains wouldn’t leave us all dry

why recession in the us economy?

What is recession: is a decline in the Gross Domestic Product (GDP) for two or more consecutive quarters. Though there are many other definitions.

Believe me like my all other blogs this one too vents out , out off desperation.

Though this blog (unlike my other) not being on a girl , but is surely on love. Our inevitable love of markets. to start with, I would plagiarise, by reiterating “lot as happened in the market in the last 4 days.

What are we scared of :the so called “credit crunch”. Credit crunch is (generally) sudden reduction in availability of loans or the sudden increase in the cost of obtaining a loan.

Why this: because a huge amount of debt has already built up over the last 1 and a half decade. And a large amount of that is mortgage loan (which generally takes a lot 10 -30 years to return) since us has a highly developed market for mortgage loans.

So the banks might have to take around 1-2 trillion $ of mortgages back on their balance sheets. That will lead to a severe restraint on lending (by banks), which will feedback into the economy in various ways which I’ll discuss later.

Why such leveraged lending:

a)exports by low cost producers such as India and china over the last decade or so have controlled inflation in the US. Hence interest rates could accordingly be kept low overthere, since no fear of inflation. And low interest rates lead to more inflation.

b)and also countries such as India and china prefer to save than spend. so the money we saved on exports, a small part of that large money went back to US in form of investments. Leading to increase in asset prices in the US, keeping inflation same at the same time. since inflation is decided by a large number of factors.

So now we what a credit crunch is & why such a situation has arrived in the US.

And might come in a few other developed economies too.eg. uk, spain, ireland

Why is this credit crunch affecting stock markets:

a) when people need money and are not getting it from banks , they sell liquid assets like stocks.

b) large amount of financial engineering (somthing I really love).that is. share buy backs being funded by debts.

Buyback: is when a company takes(buyes back) certain amount of its shares from the market. This is generally done in order to increase the cost of shares, and as is evident it is done by companies whose stokes become stagnant. (ie. They are decreasing supply in order to raise prices). Now when this is done by companies which are not making cash as fast as they are buying back, this would lead to leverage buying. And since most buybacks these days are debt funded, it leads to leveraged debts. And also share prices generally stagnate of those companies which are not making huge profits.

And buybacks are investor forced. ie. Generally investors or their representations such as hedge funds or mutual funds (which acquire a huge say in the company by buying huge stakes) pressurize companies to do so.

And as is pretty clear these debt funded buybacks generally take a lot of time to return loans and rarely falter also.

c) And also the profits of many companies are financed (by debts). this is done for a good balance sheet (and most importantly investor confidence).

Now that sounds trouble.

There have been many other factors related to bad debts such as flawed loan rating policies.

Wait for the next one , lot yet to come regardin what the US should do to minimize its effect and how India can parry off this blow

Yes. U’ll be there when I am gone.

Gone with all mine, mine that was all u

U that u never found, U that u always misunderstood

U that misunderstood lust for passion

Lust that u satiated by obsession

Lust that would never even bring pain, pain that always brought pleasure with it

Pleasure that u’ll always long for

Yes. U’ll be there when I am gone.

U’ll be there to find urself sick of ur fantacies

Sick of all u got, but never desired

Desires that will never be fulfilled

For u thought urself to be ur desire

Yes. U’ll be there when I am gone.

Be there to know u are incomplete

Be there 2 know u too are human

2 figure out da shadows of ur losses amidst the brightness of ur victories,

Victories in battles that were never a part of ur war

War dat u never recognized as ur own

U’ll be there searching me, when I am all around u

You’ll be there trying to place me in memories, of which I was never a part

U’ll be there to find urself defeated

U’ll there vindicating urself by blaming me,

Blaming me for not taking initiatives , initiatives that u never saw,

never saw for u didn’t want to see them,

Yes. U’ll be there 2 find urself defeated once again

miles to go for destination, you with me?
will we walk along , or I'll break alone.
will I break before I forever forgive to touch you
touch that carnal , carnal that I still claim to be minet
he one in which your soul resides,
the one in which all that is red is mine
is that red still mine, or u'll claim it back before we reach there
there where the blind men can see
there where the beautful is not free


will we walk there along , or I'll break alone.
will you heal my pain when I'll break alone
pain that I'll relish to suffer
pain that u'll suffer for i'll be relishing it
will I survive the joy of the pain
will u come to gather me from pieces
pieces of u, my pieces of u


will we walk there along , or I'll break alone.
will that carnal be mine ever again
carnal that is pure to my eyes
eyes that fail to see your true colors
true dark colors that hide your ugliness
or will I overlook it all again just to have someone to lay beside me while I walk.

more yesterdays dan today

ooo? just another fine mornin or wow!though common yet so wonderful mornin. different
perspects 4 da same mornin.it matters and she's lot more than matter.I smile for
reasons unknown for joys undiscovered for sorrows around me for the voids beside me
for she's there ,somewhere. away, (yet closer than distances apart),alive, breathin in
(for sumbdy else) breathin out (for helself) yet I relish those cold breaths. I m
happy for there's laughter on dat face , laughter dat gives red 2 my blood, dat gives
white 2 my soul, dat gives blue 2 my rainbows but that yellow laughter also reminds
me of the green dat has crept in wid time, reminds me da black soul dat gives pink 2
her, da soul dat she claims 2 love.dat black masculine soul dat soothes her. she lays
beside dat black soul seeing her white in it.yet i stare in dat orange sun amidst
those grey clouds, singin "well does lyf get any better with more yesterdays than
todays , how I thought da sun wud shine tommorrow , but it fuckin rained".