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Sound I

I envy them, for they wander.They live in deserts and woods,
And they wander.

Sound II

I’m scared!
I’m lost in the midst of these dramas,I search someone, but never near.
Sound III

Who the hell am I?
Where the hell do I live?
In those certificates or On those online accounts or online avatars?
Sound V

I need to know the secrets- Of life, of love; of events and of 'That'...
Sound IV

I want to sing Tagore, Shelly; Byron, Keats; Browning and Frost, 
Sound VI

I am a man full of life and soul, They need a professional and specialized body. I'm marketized in the matrimonial columns, ..
Sound VIII

We fools live in hopes and future!
But I know not what they’re,
And I also live in hopes!...
Sound IX

O, my spirited soul,
Take me to the zenith of thy 'spiritedness',
No drugs, no flesh; no smokes, no drinks;..
Sound X: I’ll tell you the story of your soul

I’ll tell you the story of your soul,
Mysterious, tantalized by the beauty and love of life....
Sound XI: “My life is so much more interesting inside my head.”

I feel peace,
But I feel my peace is compromised
And that makes me arrogant, sometimes rough...
The Book of Job

job never escapes the asylum of irrational and absurdified world of possible impossibilities which I have made years ago. He still haunts me with the myth he carries along and...

Like a sailor seeing the shore disappears, Job watches the past recede, reduced to the ashes of memory.
Job lives in the memory of classic London,..

Job was watching girls, gazing and measuring the body of boys passing them by and the costumes of other girls passing them by, because he just likes them...

Living and celebrating his life Job creates his legend.
As a man of 24, the question of self, individuality and the result of self-examination never visited his mind until he was asked all these questions in his maiden interview for a lecturer post in a college. He hasn’t ever thought about his capacity to influence others and the description of Job as an individual....

It’s after a long time Job writes something, events carved out from the living memories of his buried hopes. Buried, because hopes are mere agents for the fools who dream hopes and he believes the prestructured system which consists of events, figures, etc. So he doesn’t believe in miracles, things just happen in order. ..
Wisdom of Mortal

“Vanity, vanity, all is vanity…” Job was confused to realize the dreams and reality. He had dreams which he tried to combine with the physical world where he and we live....
Ecclesiastes: God particle

{3:1} for everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven;
{3:2} A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;...
Review : Haram
സിനിമ എന്നത് എഡിറ്റിംഗ് റൂമില്‍ നടക്കുന്ന മാജിക് ആണ്.

നോട്ട്: ഈ റിവ്യൂ സിനിമയില്‍ കഥ എങ്ങനെ പറഞ്ഞോ അതുപോലെ ബ്രേയ്കും, ബ്ലോക്കും ഇട്ടു,ഇടയ്ക്കു കേറി എഴുതിയും, ലീനിആരിടിയെ കട്ട് ചെയ്തും ആണ് എഴുതിയിട്ടുള്ളത്. നല്ല എഡിറ്റിങ്ങിന്‍റെ അഭാവം പ്രതീക്ഷിക്കാം.

“ഹരം” മെട്രോ സെക്ഷ്വല്‍കോര്‍പറേറ്റു ജീവികളുടെ കഥയാണ് പറയാനുധേശിക്കുന്നത്. പറഞ്ഞോട്ടെ,കുഴപ്പമില്ല. പക്ഷേ, എന്തിനാണ് കഥയുടെ പ്ലോട്ട് , ലീനിആരിടി, എന്നിവയെ ബ്ലോക്ക് ചെയ്തുകൊണ്ട് എഡിറ്റിംഗ് നടത്തുന്നത്?

പ്ലോടിനെ ബ്ലോക്ക് ചെയ്തോളു, കുഴപ്പമില്ല. ലീനിആരിടി ബ്രേക്ക്‌ ചെയ്തോളു അതും കുഴപ്പമില്ല - ഇതൊക്കെ നന്നായിട്ട് എഡിറ്റിംഗ് നടത്താനറിയാമെങ്കില്‍ മാത്രം. അതിനു സംവിധായകന് താന്‍ എന്താണ് പറയാനുധേഷിക്കുന്നതെന്ന് ആദ്യം ബോധം വേണം. അത് എഡിറ്റര്‍ക്ക് പറഞ്ഞു കൊടുക്കണം.
ഞാന്‍ (കവി) പറയാനുധേശിക്കുന്നത് മറ്റൊന്നുമല്ല, ഒരൊറ്റ കാര്യം. കുറച്ചു ബോബ് മാര്‍ലിയെയും, കുറച്ചു ലാറ്റിന്‍ അമേരിക്കന്‍ - സ്പാനിഷ്‌ ലിട്ടെറച്ചറും, പിന്നെ കുറച്ചു ഇംഗ്ലീഷും, പിന്നെ കുറച്ചു കൊച്ചിയും,അതുപോലെ ഷോര്‍ട്ട്സും,...

Anatomy of an Epicurean Solitude: VI Ulysses
We are the gatherers of fate collecting the leeches of life and the unpredictability of the motionless emoticons of masked fertilities shuffling on the beaches of lucid dreams of nocturnal glory. I want to sing, I want to dance, and I want to cry aloud like a mad man. 

Give me the wine, I shall dance the world around the undependability of human consciousness....
Review : Iyobinte Pusthakam
ച്ചെ, നല്ല മാസില്‍ വന്ന കിടു പടമായിരുന്നു ഇയ്യോബിന്‍റെ പുസ്തകം. സത്യം പറഞ്ഞാല്‍ നല്ല ഹെവി ടോപ്പിക്ക് തന്നെയായിരുന്നു. ചരിത്രം, കീഴാള മേലാള രാഷ്ട്രീയം, ഭൂമി, കായേനും ആബേലും, പിതാവ്, പെണ്ണ്, അങ്ങനെ തൊടുന്നതെല്ലാം ഡിസ്കോസ് ആക്കിയ ഒരു പടം തന്നെയാണത്. പക്ഷേ, ആലോഷിയുടെ റീഎന്‍ട്രിയോടെ (അതായത് കഥയുടെ ട്രാകിലേക്ക് ആലോഷിയെ വീണ്ടും വലിച്ചു കയറ്റുന്നതോടെ) ഇയോബിന്‍റെ പുസ്തകം വായനക്കാരനു വായിക്കാന്‍ പറ്റാത്ത രീതിയില്‍ താളുകള്‍ ......
As the 'cocaine sniffed Buddhist' floating on the...

The eminence of parallel existence and phenomenal synchronization or encountering of my subliminal doppelganger with the cognizance of my ubiquitous existence elevates me unto a state of crazy hyperactivity. The penumbra of my clone is mostly like a phantasmagoria, almost completely foreign to my interests and tastes. I think, I’ve manipulated the possible readings of yin and yang. Hahaha!!!

 P.S.:  Yeah! I'm laughing out loud like a 'cocaine sniffed Buddhist' floating on the air under the blue moon! 

You left me incapable to do so!

"How many did you love after me?'
"None. You left me incapable to do so. The insatiable hunger and desire i once had for you, there is only one thing i demand now with the same intensity; Death"...

Egyptian queen

mascara defines the rays of her eyes. She's kohl eyed, and is exotic like an Egyptian queen. magnificent and mystic.

Resettlement of disoriented desires collided in the vacuum of gravity while disentanglement of captive thoughts debarked on the horizon of unknown universe. Self-estranged propinquity of my being ‘reveried’ a life of immortal lives. 

#Notorious Wisdom
The notorious wisdom murdered the innocent love in its deception. 

#Arbitrarily Poetic
Discrepancy of the story I narrate depends upon the seasons of my mind. Sometimes, it’s even harder for me to decipher the meanings of my own language! I wanted to read books, I love them, but I hardly live in their stories. I wanted to write, but I lack experience. I wandered for life’s experiences; where else I would get them other than within my life itself. I am a poet arbitrarily who would go around the imaginations upon the flames of revoked desires. Excuse my indifference!
As I dive from the sky...

The ecstatic soul dancing with pertinacious impeccability, of itself and myself, orchestrates my subtle congruence with parenthetically parallel existence. Reserved Epicureanism contends with the extroversive but strange figures drags me towards the unconditioned and enigmatic spheres. Intellectual monomania adorned with the determinism of the universe and the randomness of human intellect injects crazy thoughts into my cognitive hemisphere. The Lone Rider and the Alpha badge I wear upon signal the impertinent tenacity of my absurdist. The way words originate and behave, things occur and enact....
On the 'altar of "Frailty"'

Incineration of soul with antagonism often credits the incredible insufficiency of my material sociability. Sometimes, it’s really hard to survive the inessentiality of a stupid “mob” especially when you know incongruous codes of their guises and play.  They are all self-trained thespians of a floating opera; a masquerade enacted for material gratifications. Their lineaments are of folly and their masks are of self-declaring clowns of self-mockery.  Polluted smiles from their hollow façade crucify my existential credos on the 'altar of "Frailty"', what 'he' once called.  It is true that a dead fly causes the ointment of the apothecary to send forth a stinking smell.
What is my ontology?

I found a space between foundationalism and anti-foundationalism. Here I stand!
There's ontology on the one side and epistemology on the other. Me, the new born baby, wonder on their alien outfits.
Here they come. Ontology asked first: "What’s out there to know?”
Well, not in a micro-nano-micro seconds my receptors passed the waves of the utterance to the brain, epistemology appeared and asked: “What and how can we know about it?”

PS.1. Reality is largely light bouncing off particles and into your eye.
PS.2. How does dream occur to a 'born blind' person?
Sound of Voices V

Will you remember me?’
I said:
‘I will.’
She asked:
‘But How...? Oh my god! How would you remember me! You haven’t ever seen me. How will you remember me?’
‘Your sign is there everywhere around the globe!’
She asked with pain:
‘Around the globe? … Why are you flattering me?’
I said:
‘I’m not flattering you.’

“Your sign is there everywhere around the globe.” I looked at her again and again. Each time I look....
Sound of Voices IV
Apart from the structural and dual or multiple paradigms of existential life, of theories and definitions, of meanings and of beings I fall in love. I am a little Keats singing the songs of love. A conscious undertake from the self to keep the equilibrium of life and imaginations. My love for her incinerates the credibility of human comprehension over the archetypal images and experiences of love. I’ll never get exhausted writing about her and the unusual affair of love ever told.  She’s beautiful without knowing it. And possesses charm that she’s not even aware of. she’s like a...

Sound of Voices III

The realm of my feasibility struggled itself for a stationed equilibrium of  responsibility and existential credos. The inconsistency of romance often withdrew into her absence of silence. Pastness of the present and presentness of the past along with the absurdity of the future, but the certainty of death made things more vivid, though with a thin frame of perplexities. The universalized-self triumphed over the perceived meanings and languages of humanity. Time was captured within the gargantuan vacuum of absolute nothingness. Sound was trapped, light was trapped, and momentum of the entire vicious cycle was trapped within that monstrous non being of nothingness. Theoretician of mine demanded the theoretical frameworks and critical edges of every existing being and non being, the imagination weaved a ...
Sound of Voices II
Yes, I am a narcissist, but not selfish. I celebrate myself, I love myself and I love my life, what else I can be other than a narcissist? I have prayer now as Gibran prayed, “Keep me away from the wisdom which does not cry, the philosophy which does not laugh and the greatness which does not bow before children.”
‘Who am I?’ was the next question I had to answer. An age-old and worn out thought extinguished within itself was worthless to answer, but I had to; everyone has to. I didn’t...
Sound of Voices I

I stopped searching for the parochial extensions of my existence. Like every youth, burning inside and blinded by definitions or interpretations I fought well like Don Quixote raging a war towards the shadows of existence and vanity. A paradox disembarked on the shores of my constructive paradigms and horizons of freethinking. Like a free bird, soaring in the endless azure sky, I trumpeted shadows of thoughts, which were repressed, subsided, othered, and muted by the elite, socialized, civilized, classed reverberations..
"Let's Dance!"
“I figured I shouldn't talk to you, but I don't see how that's gonna make any difference. Can I pretend you're not in love so that it’s easier for me to talk to you?” she said.
Of course, she has the right to remain silent. After all, what’s the difference that gonna make? For years, she was silent and that was in her silence he loved her. She is to him what oil is to fire, the infinite raging of the flame will never be quenched even in the infinite vacuum of silence or thoughts....
Voicing the Marginalized: An Assessment of Baraka’s Dutchman and The Slave

During the 1960s and 1970s, the notion of American identity as performative was becoming increasingly evident in the works of African-American playwrights who were often presenting race as a series of roles based on cultural expectation rather than as an essential and stable core of being. The performative identity of the both black and white Americans weren’t just restricted to the discourse of self or the individual, but the identity which entertained the notion of race enjoyed the freedom of African-American playwrights; they brought forth the issue of race beyond the cultural expectations making the voice heard of the marginalized...
Resettlement of myth in the African literature

The resettlement of the myth is one of the major characteristics of the post-colonial literatures. The configuration of myth found in the narratives of the state is to encode the resistance to the hegemonic drives. It also emphasizes the evidence of precolonial cultures and methods of organizing.

Myth is the belief of a particular culture in relation with its practices and existence. The myth of a particular culture emphasizes its deep rooted beliefs and practices which establishes the culture itself an entity.

Red Wine

For everything, there's a reason, as such, a time for birth and death. I just wonder what makes my life so different. I lovely fail before love. Love for life, what art thy shall remain until the last breath of my life! Romantically I would like to be killed by the love I love, but I am not stupid enough to bury my precious life for the love unloved. I drink wine and I have tasted almost all the precious of them. I drink and I love, I love and I live, I live and I am loving it. I love the mystic charms of life, the way it behaves, woos, and ravishes, what a piece of romance. ...
'cause everything I possess, I own.

I move like wind,
Lush like heavens,
Talk like silence,
See like sun;
For, everything I possess
I own.
‘How’ is everything,
Life is 'life' everywhere no matter what it takes,
But matters how it takes.
‘How’ is everything...
Some Brain, SomeOne, Some Paradigm, and My Me

My Brain: "Once I used the left one, but later I found that the life is much beautiful than I thought of. When I was occupied by the left one, I saw nothing but the equations, structured paradigms, and classified intelligence.  And I joined for Mechanics. Somewhere in between, I missed the beauty of life. I was mechanical due to the course I selected 'cause I was much fond of machines. Then, I don't know, somewhere else, I fell in love with my life. I started to live my life like never. "

Paradigmatic Shift: "Once I found myself in a hole, I stopped digging. I am a 'Mechanic- drop out'! Of course, I am! I said, somewhere I inclined to the beauty of life, art, colors and I became a poet. I had a chance to opt my way or destiny, and I chose my way. Of course, I had to either live a life of calculations or of poetry. First, I opted the life of calculations 'cause of my love for machines. Once, in my school days, I was the little scientist boy who amazed my friends and teachers with crazy innovative ideas and prototypes. Physics was my favorite and I was blessed with the mysteries of universe that always kept me thinking.....

At the hour of Last breath

(A poem by Rafeeque Ahammad. Translated by Anand for his Dewdrop)
Stay with me at the hour of my last breath,
Amassing the burning veracities of life,
My Fingers are dead,
Let them get ease by caressing you.
Last molecules of my breath may cart thy fragrance.
My love, let thy face plunge
In the eyes of mine, never to be opened.
                  Ears, no longer be opened for sounds,
               Be sealed with thy mellifluousness.
Mind, burning with thoughtd and memories,
         Be filled with thy evergreen memories
Kisses-made scars....
are they real?
are they fate, destiny or
anything that i wonder to know about?
whatever it could be,
i read it
i am haunted!
the crazy utopian
i wonder, now,
could she be an utopian or
a myth of my dreams that


പ്രണയം! ആത്മാവും ആത്മാവും തമ്മിലുള്ള ആകര്‍ഷണം. അതിന്‍റെ ലയം, അതല്ലേ പ്രണയം?
ആത്മീയമായ ഏകാന്തതയുടെ ദുഃഖം മറക്കാനാണ് സ്നേഹിക്കുന്നത്. "അതെ, ആത്മീയമായ ഏകാന്തത. അതിന്‍റെ ദുഃഖം, അതു സഹിക്കുവാന്‍ വേണ്ടിയാണു സ്നേഹിക്കുന്നത്. അതു സഹിക്കുവാന്‍ വേണ്ടിയാണു ജീവിതത്തില്‍ എന്തും മനുഷന്..
This & That

It is the mysterious ‘that’ which is overwhelmed in this entire universe (Nature). That is the ‘fact’. That is the soul. That is you.
            The underlined doctrine of all the ‘established religions’ construct the notion of human creation and the existence originated from the ‘Divinity of sanctum sanctorum’. 
‘That’ is Yahweh, says Jew. Yahweh is omnipotent; only the one and he judges on the last judgment day. ..

Pollock (2000)

"To whom shall I hire myself out?
 What beast must I adore?
What holy image is attacked?
 What hearts must I break?
 What lie must I maintain? In what blood tread?"
 Part of Rimbaud's Season in Hell.
The classicality of this film rests in the poetic and aesthetic quality of ‘artistic abnormality’ which takes us to the ‘Other’ of Pollock.

'She' I

It was an unanticipated beautiful accident, after all…

Yet i nourished its future

Though i could go ahead with all its beauties...i knew it would end

In the season of autumn...

My dog has died

My dog has died.
Furry and lazy, he prayed And dreamed with me.
Lonely days altered to busy and engaged
‘cause he made me disturbed with his barking and onomatopoeia,
All days I have studied and translated his language in to mine,
I thought he was smarter than me in learning the language of mine.
He was intelligent and smarter than me.
He wanted to date with my neighbor’s modest doggy!

I'm a bit of every man

Why do I fall in love with every woman I see who show me the least bit of attention?
 ...I'm a bit of every man who see nothing but blank pages, anticipating the the formless and disordered impossible dreams of every sleep and day dreams, never may come to its fullest....
Let's not Grow

Let's celebrate our weakness, stupidity, mistakes; let's realize the fact of being wrong, being idiot, being kid and everything that we try to hide. Let's not...
'She' VI

On the nameless shores of endless desires,
Stretching out unto the endless skies,
Congregating the fragments of memories
For the zenith of the story named life,..
'She' VIII

            “She makes the best of mine, of romance, of love, of craziness, and possibly every sanity and insanity of mine! If my memory cheats me, it is only in the thoughts of Her. And I love the game of my memory, which makes me a prey of memories.”

My Me

who am I ?

I miss myself often,
not in the ecstasy of the soul,..

i don't want to write poetry,
but a piece of my voice.
i'm not much fond of the sound of my own voice, but still i'm haunted by the voices of my undefined ego. if i have a defined ego i wanna kill it and i will replace it with my undefined ego which is not the captive of my body and cultural and conceptual ideologies.

Lonely in the midst of plenty

We feel lonely in the midst of plenty. Nature gives us such precious moments to know our Self and loneliness is extremely beautiful.

The transcendental self can communicate to the Soul there by it can transform in in any form. Experiencing loneliness is highly metaphysical and transcendental, i.e., it is only this time the undefined ego communicates with the soul which is captured in the body.

Love beholded

a moment of divine...
a moment God witness and guards the time.
he embraced her inflamed by the highly inflammable inclination of the moment- resurrection of a soul , 
a moment of divine,from the great dungeon of tragedy
or death and meets its pair  
on the boughs of 
My Spirituality

I celebrate my life spiritually. My spirituality is even hard for me to define the way I have conceived...
You and Me...
It is fate,
that  the fulfillment of my dream
costs the value of your entire freedom...

Just Things...

things, they are nothing but merely things only.
waiting, nothing but waiting, since life itself is a long waiting for the uncertainties of the anticipated certainties life, just athing. we make things out of life and the things beget again and again.
love, romatically beautified thing.
i just write things i just can't get through and imagine that i never meet. what if we never have our absurdities, life would be apile of mess of mere things. and i started to love my absurdities and make it beautiful.....
Celebration of the Self and Soul!

"I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you....
Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,

What if there is no 'what', 'why', 'when' and 'how'?

What is there to ponder on the uncertainties of 'certain' life that we all will die someday?
What makes us unsatisfied?..
Sailing unto the land of eternity,

Man will begin to speak the languages unknown to him,
See things beyond his vision,
Hear the sounds beyond his calibre...
Men With in 'Me'

far from the land of eternity,
i see the departed me of other.
my several men inside me...
"Who Am I ?"

The question itself is dubious the very statement of the question! can anyone actually define himself or herself?
"I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you,
And you must not be abased to the other."(whitman)
i strongly believe in the celebration...
when we leave...

We all leave something behind for an unknown reason and cause,

Undefined Ego

am Alexander,

The Great.

"I came and saw

And I conquered."

I am the man !

I fight and win.

Seven seas and

Seven worlds , they Obey me.

War, she is the art Of mine,

My libido!

I fight with swords

And power,

With death;

Finally he

Surrendered before me and opened

Before me another World, another Kingdom.

I lived somewhere,

Sometime and died

Somehow !

Symphony of my restless night

I love the symphony of my restless night, the air is calm, but the sound of drums...