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rohan narula

rohan narula

rohan narula


Industry Manor, 2nd Floor, A. Marathe Marg, Prabhadevi, Mumbai 400 025.

First Printing 2005 All rights reserved. Copyright 2005 by Rohan Narula. e-mail: Cover Credits: Deepa Shah No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by means of electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publishers in writing. Price: Rs. 175/ISBN: 81-87111-71-2 Published by Bimal A. Mehta for Vakils, Feffer and Simons Pvt. Ltd., Industry Manor, 2nd Floor, A. Marathe Marg, Prabhadevi, Mumbai 400 025. Printed by Arun K. Mehta at Vakil & Sons Pvt. Ltd., Industry Manor, 2nd Floor, A. Marathe Marg, Prabhadevi, Mumbai 400 025.

Humanum est erarare

For the Old Dog at the tavern The mugs of frothy beer And the endless elds of hay Hier bin ich, schlielich

Foreword Authors Note x xi 3 4 5 6 7 8 11 14 17 24 27 30 33 35 36 38 41 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 53

The Bunbury Poems

i. ii. iii. iv. v. Cranberry The Lovebug The Death of a Lovebug Nuttlebury Blueberry In The Wild

The Theory of Forever Mode

i. ii. iii. iv. v. Chaos The Legend of Olov Fagerstrom Verve Lengni Rage

i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. ix. x. Eternity The Stars Fall Down Life Dominus Vobiscum The Kings Revenge In The Old Mill The Philosopher Happiness August Rise Soaring

Annotations Acknowledgments


It has been a pleasure and a privilege to be asked to introduce to literary circles a young writer of verses that, in my opinion, promises much. I am privileged to have been among the rst to read this collection and to have taught the young man and observed him at close quarters for a full two years of junior college life. The acute sensitivity of his nature and his ambition to travel to the stars is apparent. What has impressed me is his wide reading and inuences I detected strains of Yeats and Eliot in Verve and Dominus Vobiscum; the many differing rhythms and verse patterns he has employed and rare turns of phrase like liquid life in Blueberry In The Wild and the facility with which he writes lines like Confined to the infinity of my mind, I have created universes from a speck of dust, and crushed entire worlds between my fingers There is obviously a struggle within to nd the true meaning of life and death. A chaos that I hope he will resolve within his mind. He has time! When I read this collection my mind went back to the time when he so adeptly wrote a parody on The Tempest by Shakespeare, which was staged by his class. I knew then the talent was there. All the best, Rohan, and good wishes from all at Laidlaw. I wish I had had the further privilege of sitting and discussing with you some of the poems in this collection. I too wish you all the very best.
W.R. Gardner Principal The Laidlaw Memorial School and Junior College

Authors Note
I am possessed by a wrathful ghoul, a spirit against which I believe I am defenseless, because in its primeval manifestation it is a specter; and the words I write, are ways of banishing this beast. I embarked on my literary career at the age of 14 when I rst wrote The Philosopher. Although most of my poetic works then were amateurish to begin with, and crammed with the emblematic bits and pieces of romance most teenagers write about, I gradually discovered ways in which I could distance my mind from reality and nauseating schmaltziness and allow it to traverse across the universe of my ethereal imagination. In July, a year later, I went to Laidlaw School. The cold weather, misty hills and placid lakes of the Ketti Valley in the Nilgiris sparked the creative fuels in my cranium and induced new thought processes. My mind was subjected to an atmosphere of extreme volatility; and I saw, heard and felt things I had never before even dreamed of. Clearly, this place was destined to have a powerful impact on my life. As a part of my routine at school, I was required to run cross-country, something I detested, but later saw as a means to divert from the growing dissatisfaction in my mind. I had several adventures, each of which left memories imprinted in my head that I knew would remain with me forever. One day, while bunking out of school to Santoor, a nearby village, with a friend named Nishant Sunny, I came across a dilapidated old shed in the middle of a eld. I often visited it secretly thereafter, for it gave me great peace of mind. I used to visit the meadows around school, and the sight of the fat old cows scuttling about amused me immensely. This hilarity, however, had a completely different meaning for me I used to affectionately call my friend, Sharon, cow!


Sometime during my nal year of school, while dozing in an Economics class, I had the strange notion of an old, swirling mill. Perhaps the environment in which this subject was taught generated such a conception. Mr. Madthivanan, our Economics professor, had this uncanny ability to cause an owl to snooze at night! A mania for literature dominated my life during those years. The works of legendary erudite scholars such as T.S. Eliot, James Joyce and Thomas Hardy left an everlasting impression on my juvenile intellect. The craving for equivalence alongside prodigies like Eliot became an obsession for me. Such fervor is irrational; but who can argue with a writer determined to prove a point. I was convinced, at that stage, of the sublimity of the human mind. Many of my poems like Nuttlebury; Verve; Chaos; Lengni; and The Legend of Olov Fagerstrom clearly illustrate this. I began to believe that my mind was like a tomb, that had a deeper hidden pulsing life in its depths. I developed the concept of forever mode, which I rst portrayed in Nuttlebury. (I have provided a complete explanation on this theory later in the book). Rohan Narula


From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity Edvard Munch

The Bunbury Poems

he Bunbury Poems portray a fusion of dreams, sadness and eternal love. They radiate happiness when times are good, and infuse hope when times are dreary. Bunbury is a hilly region somewhere in the crannies of my mind. It is a remarkable place where anything is possible. In Bunbury, it is perfectly normal for a person to leap into hyperspace, do a quadruple tumble, turn into a wild Snorkel-Blasted Ramboosta, and (after changing back into their original form) glide unperturbedly back to the ground while smoking a cigar. However, for the sake of your insanity and mine, I have restricted our experience of Bunbury to just the romantic bits. For a complete package into the misty hills of Bunbury you will need to ll in the Bunburyists Brochure (which costs approximately b199.95), get in touch with your banker and transfer only half the funds in your account to my name (the minimum amount roughly being the expenditure incurred while buying out Harrods) and voil, youve got yourself the best deal thats impossible! However, for the rest of all you miserable paupers, there is a simpler way to get to Bunbury without having to pay the paltry sum of money I charge. You can simply visit me in person, pledge that you shall adhere to the rules and regulations of the greatest religion of all time RoHaNiSm and then I shall grant you the necessary permission to visit Bunbury free!

In vitam eternam

Let the dead bury the dead

Votre esprit et sacrifice laisseront leur trace sur moi aussi clair que la forme des collines The night had come by these little ways, And falling to the dusty ground, Was not the love I had longed for days, But the pain I had sadly found. And lost in my heart was the dream, Of the fondness I always wished to see, When your eyes would silently gleam, And tremble at the sight of me. And though for me life has little care, But for a few quiet showers, Yet will I travel more than I dare, By rough paths to the stars. And then gazing down from miles away, I will shield you from all the lies, And then will I smile as I see your life, Blossom before mine eyes.

The Bunbury Poems

The cold pulses of the stars are beating

The Lovebug
Ich trume von einem geheimen Platz, in dem ich Sie schlielich finde Stumbling through the purple mist, And fading into the dying rain, There is a touch I cannot resist, Of happiness and of pain. And scurrying over the desolate hills, I look for the glowing light, That will lead me past the turning mills, And safely through the night. Theres the little spark that gleams, And gives me chance to dare, To cross the path of pulsing dreams, And love so pure and rare. I scamper across the dust and grime, With the hope that you will see, That home have I come all sublime, To share your love with me.

The Bunbury Poems


The Death of a Lovebug

Je marche lourdement vers le haut de ces collines isoles dans votre seul intret de sorte que vous puissiez ne jamais dire encore que je vous ai trahi

The spark in my mind ickered and died, And as I stumbled through the purple rain, I thought of the times of endless pride, And the days you caused me pain. And although times were hard to bear, I fought like a gallant knight, For in the end I had nothing to lose, But the faith that I was right. I pattered through the corridors of time, And remembered with tearful eyes, The days when I came home all sublime, And the nights I endured with sighs. At last I fell to my crumbling knees, And I saw that my heart had torn; A lifetime I had spent to ll it with love, And in a moment it was gone.

The Bunbury Poems

Rustling ferns and blueberries, Blossom by a winding stream, In the deep woods of ashen trees, Under stars that silently gleam. And lost am I in the woods, With no sign to point the way, Down the path that will lead me to, My home in the hills away. And as I begin to despair and weep, I suddenly remember the time, When once I had lost all faith and hope, And then turned to my mind sublime. I snicker inwardly to myself, And laugh at the conspiring night, That thinks it has me in its clutches, And has clouded my homebound sight. And now when I unleash the power, The full potential of my mind, I will erupt towards the hills afar, And leave the woods behind.

The Bunbury Poems

Pulcra sunt quae visa placent

Blueberry In The Wild

There are nights in my liquid life, Of broken dreams and barren ways, Where the glowing souls pass me by, And tell no more of enchanted days. I stop at the paths along the way, Those that turn to the taverns nigh, And then I crawl into the forest ahead, With a tremble and a sigh. I hope the stars that glimmer forever, Deep in the twilight skies, Will give me strength to carry on, And see the joy in your eyes. As I trudge up the distant hills, And disappear into the silent rain, I wonder if this night shall end, And lead me home again.

The Bunbury Poems

Every now and then two numbers meet, link, and become forever binary ...

The Theory of Forever Mode

The Theory of Forever Mode was conceived in the mind of a sublime prodigy on a gloomy rainy day in August, as he swept the dust off his clothes in an attempt to look uncontaminated. Dark clouds that were forming in his mind parted slightly, and permitted him a glimpse into a forgotten region. He froze, unable at first to comprehend the hallucination he had just experienced. The clouds regrouped and enshrouded their secrets once again. He shook his head disbelievingly as he gazed out at the hills in the distance. The eternal truth had been revealed, and that it should have happened so suddenly seemed strange to him. Nevertheless, he proceeded to formulate what would soon become the Theory of Everything, or the Theory of Forever Mode. orever mode permits access to unimaginable regions of the universe, but only if every person manages to learn how to integrate it into their minds. As a theory, it is not very difcult to comprehend. It is devised in such a way, that even human beings are able to understand it Forever mode comprises a series of complex hyperfunctions of the mind in which alien neuronal vectors from parallel universes are transmitted through telepathy. These vectors are decoded into logical local terminology and the relevant data required by the host is extracted and absorbed for further processing. The information obtained is verified at hypersonic velocities for instances of protocol non-compliance, neurolysins, logic bombs and other malignant viruses. Internal supercomputing cells then scan the encephalon of the host for irrelevant hyperbolized


material that may have been deposited in the course of some random hyperspatial event. After the brain is configured to accept the alien neurons, the supercomputers match the requirements of the host with the information provided by the vectors. The probability of an agreeable result (assuming all necessary conditions are fulfilled) is extremely high an approximate success rate of 99.974126 percent! The host opts for the most viable solution and uses it to assume full authority over the given situation. This can be illustrated by way of an example: Imagine a situation where two armies A and B are on the verge of a full-fledged war. Army A comprises of 10,000 troops whereas Army B comprises only 3,000 troops. In this scenario, Army A has a comparative advantage over Army B and the probability of winning the battle is definitely in favour of Army A. The demoralized commander of Army B knows that without external help he is sure to lose the war. Therefore, what he simply does is transmit a data packet containing the details of the present situation to some remote universe where it can be received by an alien intelligence. Assuming the data sent is sufficient, the commander in turn receives a set of neuronal vectors containing the necessary information that will probably help him win the battle. His brain processes this information and decides on the most agreeable course of action. Once he makes his decision, he can direct his army into battle without the fear of losing. Of course, it can be argued that an entirely different situation could have taken place had the commander of Army A also sent out a data packet into hyperspace. However, forever mode happens to fuse the functions of a precognitive entity and a supreme law-making body, and acts as some sort of omnipotent governing force. It would verify the validity of the data sent, and unless there was an element of genuine need on the side of the commander of Army A, there was no way he would have received a positive set of instructions. Even if he sent out falsified data, forever mode would ensure that it would be received at the other end as a corrupt file. This would probably annoy our counterparts in the other universes and the commander would be worse off than before.


The Theory of Forever Mode

An incident very much like this one took place long ago when Paris abducted Helen, the wife of Menelaus. The enraged Greeks sent out a massive army to the shores of Troy. The war raged on for years, victory fluctuating wildly within reach of either side; but it was when the Greeks were on the verge of losing that Ulysses unwittingly sent out a data packet to another universe. The incoming vectors sparked off a brainwave gift the Trojans a giant wooden horse that would have soldiers from the Greek army hidden within it. Once the horse entered Troy, the Greek soldiers could then throw open the gates at night and launch a massive assault on the Trojans. This concept did work, and the Trojans were destroyed forever. Forever mode grants an individual invincibility it allows a person to do impossible, mind-boggling, prodigious, awe-inspiring, enthralling, staggering and I-am-thegreatest-and-most-incredible-entity kinds of things. It gives a person God-like status. It is only natural, therefore, that I invented it.

The Theory of Forever Mode


Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis

Corpus Domini nostri

I Glittering walk through blazing stars, Shamble should I across the skies? Delusion is it of the wandering mind? Broken is my fragile spine. Faltering am I, and with trembling hands, Touch the darkness of the soul, Bleeding endlessly in ery temples, and Drowning in the crevices of the earth. Glowing are the lonesome hearts, That traverse across boundless space, And conquer the secrets of a sublime mind. Night is the time to awaken, For it is then that the doors are open. They appear through the mist, and Have deluded me for years. Is it wise; is it safe? Conned to the innity of my mind, I have created universes from a speck of dust, and Crushed entire worlds between my ngers.


The Theory of Forever Mode

II Mr. Filago lives on the oor above me. The dear old man believes he is a prodigy; But I am afraid that if he inates himself any more, He may increase the distance between us, And I really couldnt possibly live without him. And even dearer Ms. Petunia, (She lives below me, bless her!) Often boasts of her white daisy-like complexion, Though I must disagree with her She denitely reminds me of a Linaria Vulgaris. And I live on the second oor, Cramped between psychosis and inanity; But I must admit that it is entertaining Watching Ms. Petunia try and smash A vase on Mr. Filagos head, as he rambles on About the intricacies of his brain. All this I shall miss dearly, But I must embark upon my perilous journey, Through the endless lands of Chaos.

The Theory of Forever Mode


III One way or another I nd myself, Craving for the regenerated dust, and Coalescing with the shadows from the dark. The cold pulses of the stars are beating, And my mind threatens to annihilate, As a billion emotions surge simultaneously Through me. I am now confronted by a second Betrayal - it has always been my nature to be cruel; But is this the time, I wonder? Too long Have I remained silent, and too Long have I bowed before tolerance. This is now my dominion, my grimy dust land, Where the tranquil rivers turn into squalid Marshes, and the desiccated hay smolders, Proliferating the intense hatred in my heart.

IV Tespri aic aqu, totm sap que, Even as the glow of day dies away, And the raindrops of pain splash about, Fabricating the growing chasm around me. A divine life once stood there, its energy Radiating through a dense universe. Fading with the dying stars, Crumble should I into the dust, In the midst of grunge and decay?


The Theory of Forever Mode

The Legend of Olov Fagerstrom

A memento mori

Beginning It was not the iron creeds of little villages; But a death-wish on an old autumnal night, That caused a gleaming dream in some secret place, To come alive with a tiny spark, And arise from the dying lands of dust. The tired drooping eyes, and the Quiet murmurs through the dark, were noticed By none except the silent stars, that gazed Coldly down upon the small bundle Of helplessness that lay upon the grimy earth.

The Theory of Forever Mode


Domine, dirige nos


Heliotrope sparks radiated from the Rotten carcass of a man lying in the midst Of the ravaged land. Vultures screamed In a distant village; and primeval priests Stumbled across the wastes, away from the fetid Decayed esh. The broken cranium of the Cadaver coalesced; and cerulean blood owed In its veins once again. The energy of an Improbable universe penetrated its skull; and Violent streaks of electricity galvanized the man Deep within the crimson miasma. He shuddered, His face distorting in an expression of terror, As he retched into the muck around him. Rage blazed in his eyes, and he surveyed The gladius in his hand. Murmuring softly, He caressed the black blade - Brodenml. Levitating from the grunge and lth, He howled in anger. The time had come. Olov Fagerstrom had nally risen.


The Theory of Forever Mode

In tanto discrimine


The knights rode out on different paths, Butchering the creatures that came along The way. They crossed the streams Of Ofsnian and reached the wooden doors of Solelh-clc at dawn. They entered the black Citadel, and drove their swords through the Skulls of the old monks that dared to resist them. In the distance, they glimpsed a hollow broken cross Lying splintered in a eld of hay. Rage lled Their spiteful hearts as they galloped towards it At terminal velocities, determined to snuff out Its very last breath. The smoldering ashes of Years faded into the twilight skies, and They rumbled past the desiccated cactus of the Wasteland, once again, on their mammoth warhorses.

The Theory of Forever Mode


Ten plangeris

Old Fogies

The three hags screeched hideously, for they Thought they had annihilated the fate of a lonely Shabby man, on the crest of the broken hills. They Fabricated a silvery liquid from the sinews of a Strange beast, the heart of a mandrill, and the blood Of a toad frozen for eternity on a nebulous world, Indicating their passion to end his insignicant life. They cackled like mad geese being booted about By a blundering farmer in a greasy shed Przszaa, cried the rst hag, mirth enveloping Her nonsensical brain. Buhzahraa, mumbled the Second hag, drunkenly. The last hag spewed out a sound Like a shooting star and Goliath colliding. The grubby man, being understandably annoyed Came scampering across the hills, clanged their Silly heads together, and guffawed loudly.


The Theory of Forever Mode

Soi de retorn


Rising from the ashes, he clad himself in a Shimmering armour and mounted a black mearh. Snorting, the steed galloped across the bogs And quagmires of Solelh-clc, until it reached The thermaa. His grey eyes gleamed, and the Magnitude of his rage shrouded the trembling Knights in the distance. Dark energy emanated From inside his cranium as he exploded towards Them, purple lightning crackling down the Length of his sword. The frosty air was stained With blood as he purged them of iniquity, and Forever ended their worthless lives.

The Theory of Forever Mode


Ne beo ge nateshwon deade


The old tramp shufed slothfully through the Drizzle and sludge, his long overcoat apping About him. He climbed over a wooden stile and Shambled towards a dilapidated shed in the heart Of a meadow. He lit up a pipe and watched the Spirals of smoke drift away into the twilight skies. Ai comprs, he garbled, shifting his gaze to A glittering star in some far away universe. He reached into a tattered pocket and dug out an Ancient pendulum from its depths. He surveyed Its oscillations for a while, and then smiling to himself, Mumbled - Sabi que sabi. The Lord has arrived.


The Theory of Forever Mode

The Theory of Forever Mode


Quis hic locus, quae regio, quae mundi plaga?

I Somewhere in the dust land There is a beast with the body Of a lion and the head of a man, Whose cold, pitiless gaze sweeps across The inty region it has dominated For centuries in stony silence. Vultures screaming in the distance Enrage the creature, and it slowly Begins to move its limbs.


The Theory of Forever Mode

II In an old broken tavern, three Aged hags huddle together In a corner, guzzling down warm Brandy, their low words rasping In the frosty air around them. Two men are involved in a drunken Brawl in another spot: one of them Breaks a agon over the others head. The barman scuttles across to try and Calm things down; he is promptly Dealt with, and his limp body is Flung upon a donkeys back, and made A spectacle of in the barren streets.

III Oblivion was endemic in his life; Hed spent most of his time Gurgling stale rum in his throat And nibbling on wild cranberries. The little laughter was lost to him, and The quiet whispers drew away as Far as the distant stars of the night. Another soul raised a goblet of pale, Crimson wine to his lips, and declared A toast to this pulsating planet. The vanished lands are rubble, The divine causes are silent, and The insipid skies are once again Intimidating to human life.

The Theory of Forever Mode


IV The warm fetid droplets of rain Dampen the mossy ruins that Traverse across the burning land. The beast glares at the impending Storm, and through the haze and Dust sees the mirage of an ancient Unicorn galloping towards it. Blinded with rage, it roars and hurtles Down the brackish land kicking up the Grime and grunge of years. Everything Ceases to exist for the moment, and The eyes of the creature gleam red, And its fury radiates for miles around Before the melody expands and Fuses the crannies of the desolate land, Before the requiem reverberates And shatters the cranium of the verve.


The Theory of Forever Mode

Et ignotas animum dimmit in artes

A little man crawled across an unknown world That glowed a radiant blue. The air around him Was frosty and he shivered as he came upon a Desolate, old inn. He pushed open the swinging Doors and entered. The inn was dimly lit and he Saw a table in front of him, with an ancient, dust-covered Book lying face open on it. He ran his ngers over The strange symbols, and then noticed his name Appear in one corner of a page, in a language Known to him. The Book Of Life, he murmured.

The Theory of Forever Mode


A mysterious dark hooded creature glided into The inn. The little man turned around. Deascua, he breathed. Yes, said the creature, hoarsely. Concluder of lives. Concluder? asked the little man. Yes, hissed the creature. Every day I turn a new page. Today I have turned yours. Ah, smiled the little man. Going to crush a little soul, are you? Turn another page then, my friend. You cannot destroy me. And why not, little man? sneered the Beast. Because, said the little man, his eyes gleaming, I have kept a little secret from you. And what is that? inquired the Beast. A little game I play, replied the little man. Game? questioned Death. It goes like this, responded the little man, and closed his eyes. Nothing happened for a while, and Death laughed. What game can save you from me, you fool? murmured Death.


The Theory of Forever Mode

The little man slowly opened his eyes, that Radiated a strange rage as he glared at Death. Forever mode, whispered the little man. Death stared at him with a contorted Expression of mingled surprise and fury. You are a human! You cannot be in , Death sputtered. And now, retorted the little man, I shall play. Nooo! screamed Death, as the little man Closed his eyes once again. The stars glowed in the distance as Death erupted from the old, barren inn. When the little man thought about it later, For some time he did not know how it Had happened, how he had escaped from The clammy hands of Death. He thought Of an old song he loved When my arms wrap round you, I press My heart upon the loveliness That has long faded from the world. And he remembered the beauty he had Forgotten; and then, for that, he praised The greater glory of God.

The Theory of Forever Mode


As I rose from the eternal depths, the last drops of frozen, cerulean blood made its way through my veins. The sky turned hazy; and then streaky with wisps of violet and azure, in sharp contrast to the dismal, desolate eld that lay before me. And as the stars faded away into the night, and as the old mill swirled forever in the distance, and as the daisies uttered against the hollow reedy wind, I charged across that vast expanse of dust, a burning spirit; for it is time to sleep, it is time to sleep, and it is time to reap the harvest


The Theory of Forever Mode

The surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that it has never tried to contact us Bill Watterson

Life is a form of perpetual existence at a macro level. We, the inhabitants of a diminutive world called Earth, are an insignificant part of a much larger heliosphere that contains, what we call, the Solar System; which in turn is an infinitesimal part of an extragalactic nebula called the Milky Way; which is one of the billions of galaxies in the Universe. Since we are so unimportant and small, one often wonders if there is a purpose for our existence. Are we part of something large and consequential? Or are we a bunch of forgotten toys in Gods playground? ife seems to be governed by a certain set of protocols. Protocols that dictate the way in which we live. They are more or less uncomplicated; but human beings have historically proven that they cannot survive without making things as difcult as possible for themselves. I have noticed this phenomenon more often than not and it amazes me how people can be so stupid. In fact, you still see some fools set out in the quest for the solution to the Ultimate Question of all existence What is the purpose of Life? No one bothers to think it is remotely possible that the answer to this question is in the human mind itself. The meaning of life can be obtained if we manage to devise a way in which everything on this planet that has the ability to think is connected to one another. Every passing day has brought about a change in the way life exists on Earth. From the Eolithic Age, when the rst signs of human culture appeared, to the present day


and age of technological marvels, human beings have emerged as a rapidly evolving species. Every generation spews out scientic miracles by the dozen, and the credit for ensuring the social, ethnic and technological advancement of man goes solely to a tiny bit of grey matter. If there really is a God, He is probably sitting smugly on a rocking chair in some far away utopian universe, basking in the glory of His greatest creation the human mind.



For a martyr, dead and forgotten I crossed and lost friendly smiles, And no tavern did I see along the way, Along the way for miles and miles, For me to end this weary day. I stopped at last at an empty shed In a desolate, ash-covered eld, Where the faded lives of men long dead And their courage lay congealed. As I lay amongst those valiant heroes, And gazed at the twilight skies, I saw a gleaming star streak past Before I nally closed my eyes.



The Stars Fall Down

I Forgetting myself I stand alone in the Quiet of the desert, and In the midst of the cactus Bruised and broken. Though it is futile, yet I strive to find relief To subdue the immensity Of pain that threatens To crush and end My very existence. What escape is there? Can I hope to No, I cannot hope to Turn again, because I Have galloped away into The meadows, where the Flowers no longer grow, And where the grey rivers flow. Is all this necessary? Should I No, I should not, for my Creed is to go on forever. I should very much Like to fulfill and restore Through a bright cloud of tears, The years in the higher dream.




Here I am, on a wooden, Tattered raft, that in a Moment will break away, Leaving me to drown under Millions of fading stars. My mind is blank, perpetually Groping and desperately trying To find its way through A dull, void hyperspace. The darkness and endlessness Of the ocean frightens me; and Now I see in your eyes, the Glitter and hardness of pearls, In the icy depths of the ocean, Filled with a cold silent fury Intent upon destroying my life.



I Life In a silent little hamlet Not a soul to tell Of all thats worthwhile. A dying creed, Hopes lost forever, Sorrowful, sad world. Understand Life is very long. Cold and lifeless It all seems, Like the stars Fading into the night, The grey rivers Flowing forever. Remember Lost daring knights, Those who crossed Forbidden frontiers. Violently suffering, Whispering and dreaming, Of the Kingdom. Rays on a broken cross No longer appear. Dark and gloomy, Crawling all alone On interwoven paths Under stars that No longer sparkle Only fade, fade away.



II Hope Sing for life I wish my wish Comes true tonight. The emotion Of all creation, The emptiness, worthlessness Of hungry barbarians, Undeserving and pitiless, The Unied Response Life is very long Understand The world ends Tearfully, mournfully, Whimpering in a corner. What is to be done? Existence is paralyzed, Enveloped by shadows. Wretched creatures weep For shattered lives, For merciful Judgment Lord of our spirits, our bodies, our minds, we pray that Thou fulfill Thy Holy Promise that forever binds us and holds us in good stead, thereby granting true life, courage, love, wisdom, from the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, for Thine is the Kingdom forever and ever. If not we shall fade away into Death, into the desolate, void world, Of Satan. Amen.
Odyssey 39

III Death Silent, icy, shivering The world still remains And will always remain For times to come. Damned mortals Roam the face of Earth Like crippled predators Of old times: Stalking by night, Sleeping by day. All is lost; and now There is nothing more To hope for, to dream of. Humanity is losing An already lost battle Betrayed long ago, Sold like cheap wine In the marketplace. Death alone prevails In a silent little hamlet Judgment has been passed, Damnation has arrived, Forever and ever, The stars go out. Darkness. Death nite. I am Satan Everlasting.



Dominus Vobiscum
Gere curam mei finis? August is a brutal month, where Dreams and other long lost old times Are fused. Remembering promises Made, with promises to last Forever, it is not pleasing To the raging mind That threatens to destroy. How can he stop it? Quo modo? Reason demands an Explanation for his folly; For the eternal old question Thou bravely once put forth, Put forth in the lives of friends, Put forth in the Kingdom of Dominus Quis separabit? He was prepared for all things, For anything this twisting rock Threatened us with; but not this, Old friend. He is damned To live in his own tower of Gloom As a consequence of his folly. The will of Dominus and Ecclesiam Suam Be done. After all, everything Happens for the good of humanity. (Does it not?) Gaudeamus igiture; Between us, I would fain be glad Of another life, just as another death. He was right as always Delenda est Spikus!



It was inevitable; but poor lost soul, He does visit me sometimes, and not Once has he not asked of his old friends. Dei gratia he is dead. He seems Better off that way. At least I think so. Only that has been done Quod erat faciendum. I say this in good faith, For I shall transport the fragments of His broken spirit along the Grey rivers, where they shall remain Unless his human mistakes are Forgiven. I have no more to say; only His last words to me being . And to thee, Quo animo? Ave, old friend. Morituri te salutamus! Melius feurat non scribere.



The Kings Revenge

From the days of Prospero and Ariel There was a time when I was king, King of a mighty land, Blessed with everlasting hope And blessed with the Eternal Hand. I ruled as a true king would rule For many a passing day; But then came a betrayal from my mates And in a ash was I whisked away. But now the time has nally come For me to realize That carefully must I plot and plan To take them by surprise. It may seem rather hollow of me; But one must understand That all the love and pride of years Lies buried beneath that land. And once I regain my freedom I shall conjure the sparkling lights, That will set them eeing far away, And into the blinding nights. Sitting here I can well imagine The fear that will build in their eyes As I charge towards them, a burning spirit, When I nally arise.



Lines written in the memory of my Laidlaw mates, who stood by me in spite of all my mistakes, remained my best friends, and helped me through some of the most difcult times of my life ...

In The Old Mill

Lying on a haystack in an old mill That twists and creaks through the night While everything else is silent and still I wonder if all I did was right; And tossing and turning on a hill I remember the good times with old friends, And dream and dream as here I lie Of how I live and yet I die. And when I think of all the moments My friends spent with wicked old me, I pray and pray to the Lord To touch my soul and set me free. And from far above the lonely earth Ill hope that they will see That I was loyal even in death And then have the heart to forgive me.



The Philosopher
While the world sleeps forty winks Questions explode deep inside An easy mans simple soul In whose mind there is one dream Free of darkness, free of chaos. A dream where neither pathos Nor pride ever exists. As he walks down lifes lonely paths And tries to solve the complexities He thinks to himself sorrowfully, How this world has come to a stage Where the only thing left behind is Rage. And even now as the worlds asleep The mysteries continue to run so deep.



Happiness is nothing but the Life Of the Unseen Man, Far beyond the realms of mortality, Past the raging res of the present, Past the maximum bounds of thought, Only dreamt of in some unknown place, And not in a world forever twisting. It is just a fading belief, A broken souls warped faith. Questions asked, unanswered Chimera or reality? Conrmed by reality and logic, Nowadays the truth is Happiness is non-existent, Forced out of life by unholy war. Void of peace, love, and friendship, This world turns, dying



August Rise
August rise Its no surprise That the years Have passed in tears. For what can I, A human being, Do but try And laugh and sing? So I think Ill sleep a time, And dream and dream Of a happy rhyme Until the lonely, cheerless day Passes by and oats away; And once thats done I hope I can Say Ive won And become a man. And though at times I may Have lost myself awhile, No one can have the heart to say That I didnt run the mile.



Soaring high Through mist and rain, I sadly dream of All the pain, Of all the years That have past, And of all the promises That never last. And then I think Of the happy time, When I was strong And sublime; And when I do I know for sure, That all the pride And love of yore, Will strike you In good time, And if my love is true, You will be mine.



Dedication a. Hier bin ich, schlielich: Here I am, nally (German)

The Bunbury Poems


a. In vitam eternam: To everlasting life (Latin) b. Let the dead bury the dead: Luke 9:60 (Bible) c.  Votre esprit et sacrifice laisseront leur trace sur moi aussi clair que la forme des collines: Your spirit and sacrice will leave their trace upon me as clear as the shape of the hills (French) d.  But for a few quite showers : From the congregational hymn Showers of Blessings
The Lovebug

a.  Ich trume von einem geheimen Platz, in dem ich Sie schlielich finde: I dream of a secret place, where I shall nd you at last (German)


The Death of a Lovebug

a. 1/0: Innity; a little something between Laisha and me. b.  Je marche lourdement vers le haut de ces collines isoles dans votre seul intret de sorte que vous puissiez ne jamais dire encore que je vous ai trahi: I trudge up these lonely hills for your sake alone ... so that you may never say again that I have betrayed you (French)
Blueberry In The Wild

a.  Pulcra sunt quae visa placent: We call that beautiful which pleases the sight (Latin) The Theory of Forever Mode

a.  Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis: Circumstances change and we change in them (Latin) b. Corpus domini nostri: The Body of our Lord (Latin) c.  Tespri aic aqu, totm sap que: Ill wait for you here, everyone knows that (Occitan)
The Legend of Olov Fagerstrom

a. b. c. d. e. f. g.

A memento mori: Remember that you too have to die (Latin) Domine, dirige nos: Master, guide us (Latin) Gladius: Sword (Latin) Brodenml: Sword of the Damned (Old English) In tanto discrimine: In such a great crisis (Latin) Ofsnian: Slaughter (Old English) Solelh-clc: Sunset (Occitan)


h. i. j. k. l. m. n.

Ten plangeris: Youd regret it (Occitan) Fogies: Hags Soi de retorn: I am back (Occitan) Ne beo ge nateshwon deade: You will not die at all (Old English) Estela: Star (Occitan) Ai comprs: I have understood (Occitan) Sabi que sabi: I know what I know (Occitan)

a.  Quis hic locus, quae regio, quae mundi plaga? : What place is this, what region, what part of the world? (Latin) From Marina by T.S. Eliot b. Melody: By The Time I Get To Phoenix (Instrumental)

a. Lengni: The genius; the mind (Occitan) b.  Et ignotas animum dimmit in artes: And he applies his mind to unknown arts (Latin) c. Deascua: Spirit of Death (Latin) d.  When my arms wrap round you, I press my heart upon the loveliness, that has long faded from the world: From W.B. Yeats The Wind Among The Reeds Odyssey

a.  I wish my wish comes true tonight: Adapted from the popular childrens rhyme
Dominus Vobiscum

a. Dominus Vobiscum: May the Lord be with you (Latin)


b.  Gere curam mei finis: Do thou have care over my ending? (Latin) Adapted from Dies Irae, which means Day of Wrath, and is a hymn attributed to Thomas of Celano (c. 1200-1255) c. Quo modo? : In what way? (Latin) d. Dominus: The Lord (Latin) e. Quis separabit? : Who shall separate us? (Latin) f. Ecclesiam Suam: His Church (Latin) g. Gaudeamus igiture: Let us therefore be joyful (Latin) h. Delenda est Spikus! : Spikus must be destroyed (Latin) i. Dei gratia: Thank God (Latin) j. Quod erat faciendum: What has to be done (Latin) k.  : I want to die (Greek) (Petronius, Satyricon, XLVIII) The Sibyl, while requesting longevity from Apollo, had forgotten to ask for perpetual youth and had therefore shriveled with age l. Quo animo?: With what spirit or intention? (Latin) m. Ave: Farewell (Roman) n.  Morituri te salutamus! : We, who are about to die, salute thee! (Latin) o.  Melius feurat non scribere: It would have been better not to write it (Latin). From Thomas Hardys Tess of the dUrbervilles



would like to thank the following people who form an integral part of my life, and with whom I share some of my fondest memories

My parents and brothers for their unconditional love and support that has helped me realize my dream of writing and publishing a book. Mr. W. R. Gardner, my principal at Laidlaw School in Ketti Valley, who taught me how to appreciate poetry and believe in myself even when times were bad. Mrs. Gardner, for all the lovely coffee and Kraft cheese sandwiches. My friends at Laidlaw School Nishant Sunny, for being the greatest wolf there ever was and howling at the cows on the way to Santoor; Joel Timothy, who ran away from the wild boars with me; Joseph Skinner, who encouraged me to bowl more legspinners; Rushabh Zaveri, who helped me concoct the gallons of toothpaste and shoepolish sludge which we used to paste everyone on the last day of school; Puran Narwani, for his theories of rocket science; Andrew Lnel, for all the crazy times; Tracy Coreld, who made sure she hit me with at least three chairs a week; Ganga Madappa, whom I eventually beat at accountancy; Vishnu P. C., who taught me how to catwalk; Kaushik Kona, for the great Caliban adventures; Saera Sait, who still has to nish the jersey scene with me on the basketball courts; Sharon Vardon, for being there no matter what;


Meera Vijayan, for the Su maxim that forever changed my life; Aditya Kurian, who without a doubt deserves an Oscar for his role as my best friend; Nomitha Chrysostom, to whom I give a standing ovation for being the ultimate supporting best friend; Mihir Shedde, for his incredible gift of gossiping behind peoples backs; Vinay Kumar, who would always ensure that we slid around on the buttery slime he left about; Sarah Moraes, for her sympathy and understanding; Ricardo Brass, for all the faith; and to all the others without whom sanity would denitely have prevailed in our school. My classmates Sonali, Nazneen, Priyanka, Natasha, Mohita, Sunny, Hormazd, Vishal, Hector, Nihal, Sara, Akshay, Sandeep, Rahul, Kunal and all the others who provide me with amusement I am eternally grateful to all of you for being the best friends I have ever had. Laisha Cooper, for 1/0 and all the wonderful secrets. Mrs. Sangeeta Bhansali, and my publishers, Vakils, Feffer and Simons, for giving me the opportunity to publish my works. Deepa Shah, for designing the cover of this book so beautifully. I dedicate these nal lines to all those mentioned above I dream of a day when I shall find A world that is almost kind And I can cunningly use my mind Now I see the light


Vakils, Feffer & Simons Pvt. Ltd.