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Darpan 2007

Well, Darpan 2007 finally happened and this time, I actually took part in Poetry, churning out what I thought was 'not bad'. Only, a whole bunch of people I showed it to later, didn't quite get it. Here it is...

A Live Dream

An arc of flapping wings, consumed by orange,
Becoming part of the tinted sky.
The apron gets some air, a chance to breathe,
From being caressed with a knife for hours.
The children groan, “Just ten minutes more! Please!” –
Immortal time, where mothers are concerned.

But far away does mark our attention.
A giant ash-tray, tucked in a corner.
Rum-flavoured floorboards with a hint of beer.
Tar-coated walls hold mementos of oily heads.
Music, conversation go at each other
And the lights flicker, they’re too old for this.

He lies in a corner, draped over a stool.
Large, pomegranate eyes stare from deep pits
at tobacco-stained fingers, blurred by glass,
Matching thoughts distorted by high spirits.
For those ready to listen, he will talk –
A rusty typewriter, an endless page,
Occasionally admitting the cause –
“The alcohol works, it helps me forget…”
His words turn clouds to a dark shade of grey,
Making you wish you’d brought an umbrella.

He paints a hazy picture, endless fields
Of grain, pouring out from his pockets.
The price of wheat, maize, barley – at fingertips
madly longing for the cold, wet earth
following a heavy spell of sudden rain.
“Either the dream must die, or I!” he wails.
A Dream he’s tried to drown in vices,
A dream, a perpetual hemorrhage

His palette’s comprised of green and more green,
But he works for a man who dresses in black.
Dusting, rearranging and turning out lights…

Stereotype (An Interesting Boy)

Ok, I'm still working on this song, but a recording of however much I've put up here is on my music page www.myspace.com/bharatmirlemusic . I'd thoroughly appreciate feedback. Again, it's a mediocre recording and don't leave Chennai comments like "recording is wrong here"

Verse 1
He’s drawing bloody pictures with an expression of pain,
Battles, broken houses and acid rain.
He often says he wished the Nazis stayed.
He’s a ‘complicated’ boy with a ‘mystery’ for a brain

Pre-chorus

And oh he’s such and interesting boy (no he’s not)

Verse 2
And just to write his name, he buys a lot of red.
Anger and hatred, he forces through his head.
“If it’s alright, then it has to have bled…”
A rack of black t-shirts say ‘god is now dead’

Pre-chorus

Chorus

And when he’s tucked, in bed,
Dreams of pretty flowers fill his head.
And when he’s gripped, by sleep,
He walks a happy world with sunny streets.
And as he drifts away…

He unconsciously prepares for another ‘dark’ day (where he's)

Verses 3 & 4 (yet to be written) jumbled with Pre-chorus and Chorus and Bridge

Reach

I Just figured out Photoshop

Do you think you're ready?

Hollow Promises

This was actually inspired by a real person who was two-timing a friend of mine. Those of you who're familiar with the story won't have any trouble figuring out who 'he' is. A mediocre recording of the song is available at www.myspace.com/bharatmirlemusic the vocals are pitchy in parts, don't complain.

Verse
Says he'll buy you the stars,
And cover them with gold.
That he'll love you forever,
Till long past your old.
Through wrinkles in time,
He'll never leave you.
All empty lines,
To match hollow promises.

Chorus
And Oh he's shedding women like he's changing his clothes,
He's covered in cosmetics till way down to his toes,
And when he takes a walk, everybody knows...his name.

Verse
You Look in his face,
At those pretty black shades.
They're only there,
'Cause he's looking away
He'll tell you, "You're mine...
"And mine you'll remain..."
From his deck of lies,
Which he deals for you to play...

Chorus

Bridge (Instrumental)

Chorus

Old Men In The Park

An Ochre sky, the sun leaves, says goodbye.
The children pout, "It's getting very dark..."
Stapled to a bench, they sit, noisily -
The incessant quivering of dried limbs,
Slug-like words spewed by creaking heads,
Rustling balls of crumpled-up paper,
Like a clump of bamboo in the breeze.
Words creep, grandsons, pensions and inflation.
Sentences run mazes 'round each other -
Hollow, like a dog chasing it's own tail.
"When haircuts cost a Rupee..." is popular.
Mirth, compassion and anger, take equal turns
in this apparent, everyday routine.

But they don't know, 'cause they always forget...

Song

Here's a song I wrote. It won second place at 'Cul-Ah' 2007

Twitching Eye

(Verse)
Bobbing in a sea of music,
A canopy - a colourful web.
Past the drunken dancers,
Past the glowing cigarettes.
It's There I see you, sipping
On a drink that's long been dipping
In a fist of ice to stay alive...
I walk up to the bar, I take a look around -
But I don't get very far, I come crashing to the ground...

(Chorus) x 2
Because of your twitching eye...

(Verse)
My heart begins to race
As I steal glances at your face,
I see you winking away...
Down my back there goes a shiver,
My thoughts go hither-thither,
I contemplate making a move...

(Chorus) x2

(Verse)
I push My drink right over,
Act like I own the place.
"How's it hanging sugar?"
Your fist goes in my face.
I stumble off my chair,
People gather all around,
Everybody stares,
Nobody makes a sound.
I'm embarassed and bewildered,
Questions, "Am I high?"
In a while my thoughts are filtered,
It's then I realize...

(Chorus) x 4