Woke up this morning..

You woke up this morning
Got yourself a gun,
Mama always said you'd be
The Chosen One. 
She said: You're one in a million
You've got to burn to shine,
But you were born under a bad sign,
With a blue moon in your eyes.

You woke up this morning
All the love has gone,
Your Papa never told you
About right and wrong. 
But you're looking good, baby,
I believe you're feeling fine,
Born under a bad sign
With a blue moon in your eyes. 

You woke up this morning
The world turned upside down,
Thing's ain't been the same
Since the Blues walked into town. 
But you're one in a million
You've got that shotgun shine.
Born under a bad sign,
With a blue moon in your eyes

When you woke up this morning,
You got yourself a gun.

Ironic..

People are strange.
Morrisson sang about it, and we all have raised our hands in exasperation at the utter irrationality and inherent contradiction in someone's behaviour at one point of time or another.
I was stumped by the vastly different standards that a certain person employed towards themselves, others and me. And the bizzare manifestation of said standards in everyday behaviour.
Till it hit me.. I'm the one who's unusual here.. 'Do unto others....' is not a universally accepted way of life for most people.
Morrisson was right..

People are strange, when you're a stranger..

A Walk on Mars..

This very day, Great Mars,
I traverse thy desolate plains.
and wander lonely as a cloud,
bereft of darkened rains.

How many weary steps
upon rusted soil o'ergone.
How far the travels
from Man's first dawn.

If sight could sing,
o what composeth the eyes,
both rejoice the splendor
whence songs arise.

Great Mars, what majestic secrets
unrevealed still,
What mysteries doth
thou shroud yonder hill?

O spark of life that
struggles to be free,
on Earth fertile cresent,
why should this a desert be?

Eclipse

All that you touch
All that you see
All that you taste
All you feel.
All that you love
All that you hate
All you distrust
All you save.
All that you give
All that you deal
All that you buy
Beg borrow or steal.
All you create
All you destroy
All that you do
All that you say.
All that you eat
And everyone you meet
All that you slight
And everyone you fight.
All that is now
All that is gone
All that's to come
And everything under the sun is in tune
But the sun is eclipsed by the moon.

Decision time..

I'm usually pretty sure of my decisions. I understand that every decision in life has its share of regrets attached to it. Every road not taken will have some sights along the way that you will miss out in life's lil' journey.

Apparently its not the same for everybody.

Also, how do you decide when to cut your losses and just get the hell out? "I cant take it anymore!" is rather subjective and momentary; how do you know for sure that its time to abandon ship?

Nuggets..

Following are little bits of verse that I've written, often while texting friends.. I wonder why it annoys them.
Sleep Deprivation's a Bitch.
Oh KM, my KM.
I've been up since six a.m.
and hours of sleep numbered five.
I'm devoid of power.
on the same page for hours
In short I am barely alive.

The words they seem blurry
and sometimes I worry
I'll gouge my eye out with this pen
If you can take a break
help me stay awake
and the Lord will repay you for ten.

Sundays are Mondays for Lovers
My rhymes start to bug,
I guess that makes sense
As is with most Sundays,
My baby is tense

My fate like most lovers'
is to pine and sigh.
Crawl under the covers
and curl up and die.

The Frog's Unrequited Love
Alas, it seems, she
can't love me in turn.
Oh how long would it be
till I finally learn.

That the fairytale princess
Does not pick the frog.
I'll grieve now, I guess,
and howl like a dog.


Wishlist..
My words they seem empty
Like some idle rhyme
She mocks my intentions
we laugh all the time

If only she'd see things
From my sad brown eyes
She'll see past the jesting
And laughter and lies

And maybe, just maybe
She might really see..
All that i am
And all we could be..

Midnight Blues..
Alas, tis' mighty woeful
My baby wont reply
I sit in wait and grow full
of Whens and Whats and Whys
Im sure she isnt heartless
Perhaps just occupied
She said we wouldnt part,Yes
Im sure she hasn't lied
I'll wait,although im weary
She'll be along anon
this night alone is scary
She'll bring with her the dawn

The Vicious Cabaret

They say that there's a broken light for every heart on Broadway.
They say that life's a game, then they take the board away.
They give you masks and costumes and an outline of the story
Then leave you all to improvise their vicious cabaret...

In no-longer-pretty cities there are fingers in kitties.
There are warrants, forms, and chitties and a jackboot on the stair.
Sex and death and human grime, in monochrome for one thin dime,
But at least the trains all run on time but they don't go anywhere.
Facing their Responsibilities either on their backs or on their knees
There are ladies who just simply freeze and dare not turn away
And the widows who refuse to cry will be dressed in garter and bow-tie
And be taught to kick their legs up high in this vicious cabaret.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The ballet on the burning stage.
The documentary seen
Upon the fractured screen
The dreadful poem scrwled upon the crumpled page...

There's a policeman with an honest soul that has seen whose head is on the pole
And he grunts and fills his briar bowl with a feeling of unease.
But he briskly frisks the torn remains for a fingerprint or crimson stains
And endevours to ignore the chins that he walks in to his knees.
while his master in the dark nearby inspects the hands, with a brutal eye,
That have never brushed a lover's thigh but have squeezed a nation's threat.
But he hungers in his secret dreams for the harsh embrace of cruel machines
But his lover is not what she seems and she will not leave a note.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The Situation Tragedy
Grand Opera slick with soap
Cliffhangers with no hope
The water-colour in the flooded gallery...

There's a girl who'll push but not shove and is desperate for her father's love
She believes the hand beneath the glove maybe one she needs to hold.
Though she doubts her hosts moralities she decides she is more at ease
In the Land Of Doing What You Please than outside in the cold.
But the backdrop's peel and the sets give way and the cast gets eaten by the play
There's a murderer at the Matinee, there are dead men in the aisles
And the patrons and actors too are uncertain if the show is through
And with side-long looks await their cue but the frozen mask just smiles.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The torch-song no one ever sings
The curfew chorus line
The comedy divine
The bulging eyes of puppets strangled by their strings

There's thrills and chills and girls galore, sing-songs and surprises
There's something hear for everyone, (reserve your seat today)
There's mischief and malarkies but no queers or yids or darkies
Within this bastard's carnival, this vicious cabaret