trash cans

... the trash can welcomes it.








The trash can is never lonely. That’s the advantage of being receptive, of being non judgmental, of acceptance. Organic, synthetic, living, dead, it’s a party out there, simply join in, and be. But of course there are rules, those on top risk being scrounged by scavengers, those below, by bacteria. If only all the trash cans of the world decided to stop taking rubbish.

Sidelined

...the words have come down from a screen, from blood-smeared faces distorted with pain, from laughing, made-up faces, with lips pumped up beforehand just for the make-up or from others, who gave the right answer to a question in a quiz, or born mothers, women, who have nothing for and nothing against, who stood up and took off a jacket to point their freshly hardened breasts, which were once steeled and belonged to men, at the camera. In addition any amount of throats, out of which singing comes like bad breath, only louder. That is what could be seen on the way, if one were still on it. One goes out of the way of the way. Perhaps one sees it from a distance, where one remains alone, and how gladly, because one wants to see the way, but not walk it. Did this path make a noise just now? Does it want to draw attention to itself with noises now and not just with lights, loud people, loud lights? Is the way, which one cannot walk, afraid of not being walked at all, when so many sins are being constantly committed after all, torture, outrages, theft, threatening behaviour, necessary threat in the manufacture of significant world fates? It makes no difference to the way. It bears everything, firmly, even if groundlessly. Without ground. On lost ground...

Elfriede Jelinek – Nobel Lecture

jurm

ham paravarish-e-lauh-o-qalam karate rahenge

jo dil pe guzaratii hai raqam karate rahenge

ek tarz-e-taGaaful hai so vo un ko mubaarak

ek arz-e-tamannaa hai so ham karate rahenge

- Faiz

suna hai log dosti pe sawaal uttha rahe hain, chalo acchi baat hai. neend tootna zaroori hai, chahe woh koyal ki koonk se ho, chale murge ki baang se. ilzam lag rahe hain. accha hai! kam se kam kisi ne socha to, soch ki main is qabil hoon.

tehwaar hai aaj, par main khush nahin. yeh mera qasoor hai. yaqinan bahut sangin jurm hai, aakhir jab poore mohalle mein rang baras rahe hon, to ek do sar phiron ko kya haq ki woh khud ko us se mehfooz rakhen?

main gunahgaar hoon. iqraar bhi karta hoon.

saza dene walon se koi gila nahin. aakhir unhe poora inkhtiyar hai. main unki khushi mein shamil nahin, to naarazgi zahir hai.

is dua ke saath ki woh khush rahen, hamesha, zindagi mein aise hi rang maujood rahen.

resist

The lamp, light, stuck up in vacuum a lonely filament, a filament resisting, unyielding. That’s what causes illumination, unyielding resistance. And then one day it snaps, it simply snaps. Enough. The trash can welcomes it.

lun, luna, lunatic

And so one fine morning the goat ran away. For those who know the goat, I need not offer an explanation. For those who don’t, there is hope. Goats, unlike sheep, have a habit. Sheep, unlike goats, don’t have one. The Shepard normally tends to both. She was a Shepard, he was a goat, and the sheep watch as the goat ran away!

the key

The key, trapped in its chain yearns to be let loose. Imagine, a key, chained and locked! Huh, so much for being a key, you still get locked. They have been telling us that they’ll give us the keys, the key to wealth, the key to health, the key to happiness, the key to paradise. The poor key has its own notions, perhaps. Damn the key.

for faiz

Janaab Faiz Sahib,

Aadab!

I have a friend, Faiz Saab. A young girl. A young poet. She is mad. She writes poetry in the most unpoetic situations. Correction. She write good poetry in bad times. A restless soul, a tiny restless soul. A creature who lives by her whims, unaffected, yet moved.

What does one do with such maddness? If gone unchecked she might just cause a revolt, and yet may never realize it.

It's a shame that she never got to meet you.

With regards,