Discussions with Ecstasy


Id: Then what is the point of our consciousness, if all we have to do is let go of ourselves and exist only in this moment?

Are we devoid of all control ? 

Brahm: What makes you think you have control over anything ? You are a nucleus of an atom of the tiniest speck in the picture of the entire universe. You do not exist in the eyes of the ones who view the entire universe. 

Id: So, what about we being taught about ambition, about discipline, about goals and success ? 

What about us being repeatedly shamed for losing control for a fraction of a second? Why didn’t god speak up then ?

Brahm : Remember your heart ? remember your heart screaming at you with all its might to act how you felt? To trust your instinct instead of your minuscule wit your ego blew out of proportion?

Remember how you let the darkened hands of society reach in and kill the voice, stuffing it with the red cloth of self doubt ?

You had then silenced the god inside of you. You plan and run behind the things that you think is right but feels wrong in your heart. 

You device, design and decorate giant mansions made of things that they told you to have. 

And by then the red cloth of self doubt had killed the sound of god from within, and that death shook the pillars of your mansion, and in the dying screams of it you hear,

”is this the happiness you truly deserve?”

When you look at yourself you see the ugliness, a corpse among riches, like a dead rat on a garland. A soulless piece of flesh, confused and voiceless, clueless of its destiny. Faceless in front of a screen convincing yourself with whatever sense you have left, that this is it. Only to see another faceless and faceless and faceless faces across the offices, trains and buses convincing their weeping hearts that this lie is the truth, that this void is what you earned.

Watch the lilies on the field, they do not plan and run, they do not design and device, they just exists in that moment and it’s beauty will resonate across the infinite corners of the universe. 

You are not the master of your fate, you are a traveler, sent here with a tool in your hand, and when you simply exist in this moment you are full, you are beautiful, your heart will bring the quill, place the tool in your hand.

And then you’ll hear your god in the joyous melodies of your heart. Your mind will run your hands and your work will be standing along with the beautiful lilies, lighting your path, in which you need to just be.

Empty your cup, you’re not the master of your fate, you are just a fraction of the labor sent to exist in the moment. Stop searching for love, for bonds, for sense, for acceptance. Stop, and just breathe in the air that encircle your soul. Stop, so that God can flow through your tongue, your eyes, your hands and your soul. And what you create in that moment will transcend above time, love will fill your heart, you will become the entire universe for that second. In that moment you will become the present you reside in, where your success will make somebody else stop and listen to the voice of their heart.

 Forget time, forget your shackles, do not force your heart to sing the tunes the world wants you to sing. For that song will not have the sound of God in it, neither will it be the mark of your glory. It will fade and die with other forced songs, forced speeches spewing hatred, forced sorries, darkening the heart of 100’s to follow, forgotten for good.

So let go, breathe, look at the lilies, and let your heart sing the most beautiful song heard across space and time. And there, by just being in that one moment, you have made your fate resonate with the universe. You have felt the touch of God and glory. You have become infinite like the universe and true happiness will nest in your heart like a crown on a king, like a dream in the womb. So, let go, and the fabric of reality will be yours to relish..

No Horn Please

The hardest part of being an artist in the 21st century is the struggle for ideas.

We put words into meanings and what if there is no more meaning to convey?


Now, this begets the question, why don’t I have anything to say unto you,

whilst there is no single moment without conversation within me?

The only answer I could come up with is hopelessness.


Because you see after centuries of saying and listening, planning and executing, fighting and dying,

after all the warmongering and peace treaties, I’m pretty sure you still honk at the traffic signal when you’re late.


We are defined by the structure we chose to put ourselves in,

the all-encompassing conviction that the reality you choose to perceive is the only one.

The curse of selective perception is your life itself,

it defiles your ability to understand people who don’t belong to your system.

Your idea of culture limits itself in this cage.


Everything works here based on the rules of your system, money is dictating experience

Your expensive concert tickets, your fancy holiday in Vegas, your long-awaited Eurotrip

Now when you pay for an experience you mutilate the very nature of true experience.

You pay a bunch of people who pay a bunch of other people to drag them out and tailor a sublime perception

which you choose to gobble up as a life-changing experience. Paid perception, my friends is not experience.

True experience goes hand in hand with anarchy because order eliminates wild probabilities.


Now you can choose to discard these as the words of a failed man who couldn’t play by the rules of the system, pity me but

being a being with zero knowledge about what is the point of his existence, I’ve already opted out of this game.


You can call me a cynic and I won’t deny. Because my cynicism, unlike many others, is a true experience, it makes me miserable without having to pay for it.

My misery is one of the few things I feel for real.

I choose to live in this misery because if my passion drives my efforts and my efforts are measured by my pay grade, I’ve failed my passion in itself.

I’ve quantified a beautiful thing of infinite possibilities with mud stricken paper notes.


You toil away in peace hoping that your legacy lives on, but you see money never dictated legacy.

How many of you remember the richest man of the 17th century? Money dies with the time you lose to gain it.


Inspect the reality that you have so fondly indulged in, search for experience and do not pay for perceptions.

Stop striving to make yourself the superior copy of everyone else, because in the end a copy my friend is always a copy.


Because the only thing that constrains us in reality is time, so disrupt your reality, step out of it and bask in the light of anarchy.

Laugh, cry, fight, intimidate, fall in love, empathize and for once feel the world stripped off  of your convictions

And then maybe you’ll understand, and then maybe you stop honking at the red light.


The Lady with Green Hair

It was on a brisk summers eve he noticed her the first time,

when the sun had almost gone and the bird’s chit-chated about her beauty.

It’s not always that you seek perfection and find it lying around,

her body was one such thing of comprehensive perfection.

Her breasts massive, her valleys deep, rich with life itself,

her blue eyes squinted at the first sight of you, if only she could see the real you.

Life trembled upon itself when you touched her!

She would paint the sky with thunder and clouds when she felt aroused,

when she wanted your plowing hands to run all over her.

She was a magnificent being, to be handled with utmost delicacy,

her green hair and blue eyes demanded such subtlety.

They fell in love, her essence became his water, her body his farms,

her nipples his summit.

It was only when he touched her body, he realized life could be possible.

Life trembled upon itself when you touched her!

They were perfect for each other, she would come out in the mornings smiling and bright-eyed,

Nourish him, feed him, love him with all her heart. At nights she came with her lustful twinkling eyes, a million stars within them, aching for his loving touch.

Until it was all too good for him.

You see happiness when extended comes with an innate quality,


At one such moment man decided that she was not enough, greed made him want more.

They say necessity is the mother of invention, they forgot to mention greed is the father.

The only resource he knew was her, he started by burning her children, cutting them into pieces.

Their green hair which was a testament to their love became canvases for his plans of detest.

His plowing hands no longer touched her, instead, he made machines to drill her from inside, made her bleed.

He built dams around her tears until it turned to black poison, he cut her breasts for his fetishes for easy transit.

He desecrated her beauty, tore her into pieces one by one, marked and sold them.

He and his kin- You

You bored deep into her, you gendered her and hoped she wouldn’t complain.

Her immense power stood defenselessly and watched.

She was just a young girl who fell in love with you, and you split her open.

When her defenses broke ranks and lashed out, you cried and wept, but your mesmerizing quality to feel and forget kept your machines running.

Life trembled upon itself when you touched her!

Her tears are now acid, it hurts her when she cries, her eyes are no longer visible

thanks to the smoke of your haste.

And when someone finally said stop!

You stood there with your pride, you wouldn’t even acknowledge that she’s done.

That she no longer has enough fluids to lubricate your vanity

when it fucked her over and over.

You said “ Well climate change isn’t real, it’s just a hoax”

Life barely trembles when you touch her now!!

Dear pot smoking millennials with an undying fetish for hardbound paper books,

please do not tell me that carcasses of living things dipped in black ink give the most pleasant smell in the world.

You’ve already stuck her deep enough to make your digital aids, is it still fair to kill her children to satiate your olfactic quenches?

It’s the small things that killed her, a small turn of the page, it was just a small thing when you cut the first tree,

it was just a small thing when you mowed the first hill, it was just a small thing when you made the first dynamite.

That’s what we are merchants of small fortunes,

the compound interest collectors of global destruction.

She was just a young girl with green hair who fell in love with you!

And I quote Oberyn Martell’s last words

You raped her, you murdered her, and you killed her children.

Our Little Identities

Slowly this facade will fade.

The person that you became for someone else is no more present here.

Its the naked you. The one you always ran away from , the one you always hid from in the shadows of love .

And now its too late to confront him, the same uneasiness when u meet those friends whom you didn’t want to meet.

Only this time you can’t get away with lies and fake pleasentries. Its you staring into your soulless eyes, trying to make contact with your sad lonely self.

Her smiles are no more here to shield him from you, and yet you wish if it weren’t true, if you actually could fight him back, show him there’s a little soul left in you to not let him come in.

Its the peak of lonliness that reveals who you truly are.

Its there where the tenacity of your fabled masks fail. Its where you’re truly undone.

Beyond this there is nothing , as master Wayne said we fall to pick ourselves up again, except this time you didn’t fall down, you fell into oblivion, there is no more up or down here, there’s only this blinding sadness enveloped in the darkness of screaming lonely souls.

And slowly your cries become one amongst their, rampant, devilish utter nonsense.

Because for this world sad lonely souls are unquantifiable entities rampant, devilish utter nonsense.

The Wrong Son

I’ve deep respect for my mother,

but should I respect her only because I was conceived in her womb and stayed there for  long ?

No, my respect to her has reasons far beyond mere gratification of that time when I was not even a conscious being.

I’ve deep respect for my mother, not because she gave birth to me, but because she showed me the worth of life.

I’ve deep respect for her because I’ve followed the way she lives, with love peace and harmony

I respect her because she was never corrupt, never discarded the poor and ever tolerant,

Never demanded me to stand up with respect every time I heard her name.

So I wonder, is it ungrateful to tell her that the drapes of her sari is not perfect?

Is it disloyalty if I tell her that her hair clip is not clipped straight?

Is it wrong to criticize her on her faults, even if after I get down to my knees to fix her drapes?

Even if I used advanced vectors to achieve a perfect straight line for her hair clip?

Then why is it wrong when I say it to my mother nation?

Why am I branded an ungrateful anti national when I say her drapes are marred with corruption and ignorance?

Why am I wrong when I tell her that the hair clip is not straight due to her troubles to assimilate diversity?

Is it wrong that I get angry at my mother if she kept slipping and falling into the same pit even after me warning her not to take that road a 1000 times?

Oh I get it, I’m wrong because I’m not her only son.

Look closer and see the fine line that divides people who demand reasons to take pride in and people who are sworn to take pride without reason.

What are you asking me to be proud of?

The rich heritage and culture we hold?

Neither Arjuna, Ashoka nor their disciples helped my sister when she screamed on the streets of this womb.

I see no Maharana Pratap or Mahabali helping the poor for a night’s meal

because the hands of the past doesn’t feed the mouths of the present.

But please don’t call me an anti-national/ Pakistani with a communist agenda,

Please don’t ask me to Quit India, because I demanded reasons and questioned and protested.

Because I don’t think my mother would have thrown me into the abyss when I kicked her from inside telling something’s not right here, NO

There are times when I’m proud of this nation, when ISRO launched 104 satellites in one rocket, i felt proud that we still feel many could rise within one entity.

But I’m not proud that I’ve to be scared of my brothers to tell this poem, because I told our mother’s bindi has gone too far right.

I took pride when my brother brought home medals, I took pride every time we showed the world that our diversity is our strength and not just a political tool.

I’ve cried and wept watching the same patriotic movies you did, empathized with the same stories of martyrdom you’ve heard

I’ve stood in the sun as long as you did in school for assemblies, I’ve stared at its heat just to see my flag fly in the wind.

So you don’t have any fucking right to tell me that I don’t love my mother.

I’m sorry mother, sorry that I couldn’t help my brothers and sisters, couldn’t make them understand that we being born here alone does not make this country the greatest.

Couldn’t make them feel entitled to demand reasons.

They in turn turned to these fanatics, one true powerful leader, swastikas blooming into Lotus’s, antisemitism to Casteism, false nationalism.

I’m sorry mother that here what I enjoyed ingesting became a brand of my patriotic infidelity.

I’m sorry that the statures of truth has become mouth pieces to vested interests both foreign and national.

I’m sorry that this nation does not get to its knees anymore to fix your drapes mother.

Only because they are all busy fighting and branding each other. Caught up in this politically orchestrated shitstorm.

And I’m sorry that I have to see you standing there with your imperfect drapes, weeping about the children you lost fighting to set you free,

hoping that they never see what their brothers has thus become.

Jai Hind


When I was a kid, I used to sit upon the terrace of my house,

Look up to the stars in the night sky and get lost.

Star gazer they called me stargazer

What’s there to gaze? It’s just that the world behind you is so chaotic that you just want to get lost in that void.

Just be there in that sublimity

And it was boring as hell, so I needed to get back from that void to reality

Not to this chaotic world, but something much more beautiful, something to hold onto.



I fell in Love, correction

I fell in love with a very angry woman.

There was some sort of homely similarity among the stars I used to get lost in and an angry woman.

They shine, sparkle, they burn but they stay, no matter if the clouds blocks your view they stay, right there

Besides something someone, which I tried to search in that void, but never found.

My girlfriend was no different from those shining stars, and she used to burn too

And when she burned her cosmic energy would destroy things around me.

Like my plates, my glasses, my phone, my little batman figurines, my eyeball socket, my heart.


And as she turned back and left. Carried away by those dark clouds of jealousy, of patriarchy, of society and family.

I didn’t lose my shit.

Because hey, I’m a stargazer, I knew all the constellation by heart, I knew their tick, I knew their tack, I knew where they went when the sun came up.

And if this stupid earth took me around away from her, I knew it would come back to that same spot where I saw her the first time.


I remember how falling in love with her felt like;

Like waking up from one bad hangover to another.

You know the thing about bad hangovers right? The night before was always crazy.


She broke my bed too.


But she never came back,

I couldn’t find her, among those stars I used to walk around like my backyard.

She was gone.

May be because she believes the

Same stuff I believe in.

That our lives doesn’t end here.


Step back a billion light years

And see the larger picture

A grand art of supreme intellect

A broken universe glued up with golden galaxies, stars sparkling

There is a picture we are all missing

Blocked by our overwhelming sense of looking only here.


My dad once told me

We are only living a part of our lives here, in this planet.

That human essence ‘the soul’ transcends dimensions of all sort.

And once you complete your circle of 7 lives around this universe you will become one with the singularity, or god or whatever the hell your life taught it was.


So if I die here without my hands in the arms of my angry lover,

I will not wither; I’ll just float around in this vicious circle

My hands still stretching out for hers.


And I’ll start living in some other world, one after one, just like this one,

I wouldn’t know what my hands are stretched out for.

What they are searching for.


And when I look upon the people there, I will know, they all were born here longing for something, someone they almost had in their life before.

Always searching without knowing, what they are searching for.



I’ll see people diving the depths of oceans to find it,

People trying to go up into the skies to find their way back.

People working their asses off to gather enough paper pieces to buy what they long for,

People waging wars to get back to their eternal longings.

People sitting on their terrace and staring at the stars they once lived before.


Oh wait, am I already there.

Did I just see the person for whom I travelled this eternal universe for?

Living searching dying,

living searching dying

Just walk away from me, with these stargazing eyes.



I was kneeling down near to the confession chamber

Pouring out my sins, and the priest said repent son, repent for you have sinned.

All I did was burst a cracker, a cracker under my math teacher’s chair.

And yet I did repent, said Hail Mary 3 times.


Next day my science teacher say’s “Human error is a genetic condition that can be only rectified through the course of time and evolution.”

We are creatures bred to be like god

All the religions train us to be like gods, help like a god, feel like a god, act like a god, trust in god, eat like a god, sleep like a god, make love like a god, poop like a god ?


And we do try, all of us feel like helping like a god during an event of a global catastrophe, earthquake in Japan, poverty in Sudan, all of the globe unites in this altruistic feeling for 4 weeks.

You see in 500BC this was not possible, the earthquake in Japan did not shake the wine glasses in Greece. The poverty in Sudan, did not stop the fat kid from eating another olive oil pancake.

Evolution is making it possible for us to feel like gods, to help like gods… click and your help will be delivered.


So one day with heavy heart I asked mom,

Mom why do god let all these bad things happen. Mom said, god has a plan for everything.

And what did he plan for granny? Why did he make granny suffer?

I mean granny was altruistic before evolution, she did feel like gods would when I told her, the kid in the neighbourhood was caught smoking weed,

Granny cried and prayed for him,

I used to read out newspapers out loud for her, and she cried better than you do mom after watching those serials, she genuinely felt for all the sufferings in this world, why did god make her suffer?

Well about granny, god must have been so busy with everything else that he might have dozed off a bit.

No God is greater than us, bigger than us, intelligent than us, in every abstract form wider than us; he can’t possibly be sleeping.

Well my son, whose image are you made on? Umm DAD”S?

NO you were made in god’s image. And do you sleep?

Yes… SO god sleeps for a while he wakes up and then solves all the miseries, I’m sure he would treat granny with lot of respect and courteousy up there.


But then I grew up, met people, read about people, read about history. About the wars that were fought by people to find redemption, faith leading the way.

And If I could go back to history and do something I would write this, on top of all religious scriptures

Your Redemption does not lie within your Jihad,

Your redemption does not lie within your crucifix wars,

Your redemption does not lie within you not eating beef.


Your redemption lies in you realizing these simple facts

  1. God is the most intelligent among all intelligences in the universe.
  2. Stephen hawking, albert Einstein, Sheldon cooper had hard time making friends, Nikola Tesla died alone.
  3. God created us in his own image.
  4. In 7th standard god learned the trial and error method and had all the time in the world to do it.

And through the course of billions of years of evolution

this globe would finally produce someone who will help like a god

feel like a god, act like a god, trust in god, eat like a god,

sleep like a god, make love like a god, and poop like a god

And this earth wold slip away into oblivion,

like a piece of math paper after finding the answer.

SO the next time my priest said repent, I said no,

I said Human error is a genetic condition that can be only rectified through the course of time and evolution.

I said all your religious scriptures are written before time, that my sins are not my making by choice.

That creation itself was an act of solitude and not of supremacy.

That we all are trails and errors of God.
#belive #religion