Friday, February 16, 2018

Remixed in a Remix

I have always hated remixes. Because the original is the original. That’s what it was meant to be from the beginning. Pure, honest, real. 

Remixes are like post-truth. They lack real substance. They are manipulated figments of manufactured imagination. You could change it to suit you, without rhyme or reason, just on a whim. Be it a song, or a story, or even an experience. But what’s a remixed experience?

Sometimes when you are with someone, you recreate moments that make you feel like how you felt when you were with someone else. This hasn’t happened to me, perhaps at a subconscious level.

But try as I may (to borrow a verse from Ronan Keating’s When You Say Nothing at All) it’s never going to be the same. It might be versions of the same, but never the original. Like a remix. I hate remixes.

I can’t think of a remixed song or an experience that I have truly enjoyed or cherished--even if it’s with the same person. Remixes can never be special. They can never be a part of a moment. They can never be a moment.

Why mix something when it’s perfect as it is? As it should be. It’s like watering a beautiful flower with so much force that it withers and dies. Losing all its original beauty.

They'd probably tell you times have changed. This is what people like now. Really? What has happened to people? Are they this tone deaf or have they been blessed with immense tolerance that somehow seems to have escaped me.

What happened to the thrill of creating something that you actually 'created' from scratch? Would you want to be known as someone who remixed songs, adapted a story or borrowed an experience? 

Wouldn't you want your name to stand for originality, for creating something that never existed? A new song, a new melody, a new emotion. A new story, a new character, a new life. A new experience, a new moment, a different you.

Sadly, remixes are becoming, what I firmly believe, a lazy, insult-to-your-intelligence, pretentious trend. Every movie opens with a familiar yet disturbingly different song. They change the lyrics though, which make it sound even more terrible. Where are the good writers? Where’s the melody? Where’s the romance? Where’s the soul?

Where are the stories? The moments? 

Remixed in a remix.

Tuesday, October 24, 2017

No More Butterflies

Farcical, this crazy, strange love.
All it takes is a gentle shove.

To rise or fall, in its tempting arms.
To accede or repel its many charms.

But there comes a time in your dream-run,
When autumn leaves dry in the burning sun.

Spring’s over, tall, naked trees loom.
Flowers aren’t much, they bud, they bloom.

When songs lose meaning, they make noise.
The melody’s ripped, from your soulful voice.

I look for what’s lost, I sift and I sieve.
When I know truly well, it’s all make-believe.

Longing no longer gives me the thrill,
Of seeing, of touching, of needing you still.

It matters no more, love’s desire long gone.
No more butterflies, this heart’s moved on.

As much as I detest, I must say for it’s true,
As much as I loved, now I’ve weaned off you.

But why, you ask me, and it leaves me reeling.
Is this what happens when you stop feeling?

Saturday, September 30, 2017

Silent Rain

Like snowflakes descend on lonesome mountains,
Like flowers wither when winter calls,
Like tall stories play in a charade,
It’s in that hush the silent rain falls.

Like a stifled cry of a forlorn heart,
Like the suppressed screams of a lingering brawl,
Like the brimming quiet in the depth of an ocean,
It’s in that hush the silent rain falls.

Like rewound tapes of forgotten memories,
Like the spirited hope to mend broken walls,
Like the edgy first stir of a revolution,
It’s in that hush the silent rain falls.

Like glittering pearls form in dark oyster shells,
Like the last glow of the setting sun enthralls,
Like the mute protest of a rebellious bard,
It’s in that hush the silent rain falls.

Like the impatience of a ticking clock,
Like injustice thrives in sparring court halls,
Like the slow chug of a train at a hopeful station,
It’s in that hush the silent rain falls.

Thursday, August 10, 2017

Fleeting Moments

Passes swerve, a shadow up a mountain.
Snow valleys litter.
Like strewn blobs of paper,
a writer's infinite attempts at free verse.

A mountain trail here
and an eager stream there,
the recluse makes an appearance.

Closeted in hearty laughter of a jocund company,
hidden in mindless banter.
Not anymore.
The mountains engulf. They fill a void. 

But like lonely caves in a forgotten civilization's past,
they create another.
Hollow, but deep.

Rivers move on, like a clock's hands.
They ebb and flow as they please.
Upon meandering paths, up mighty peaks,
down crooked crevasses. 

Tales weave themselves in and out of a distant mind.
Lost, bipolar and ecstatic.
A puppet, stringed in nature's game.

Fleeting moments, like a lightning's streak,
flash and fade. They flow with a river's song,
they rise like a mountain's pride
and fall like a stream's humility.

And then, out there, in the real world,
plains gather dust. Concrete jungles tempt a living.
They are on their own trip.

But that fleeting moment,
is it really over when it ends?


Star Gazer

In their millions, they shine, 
Some gleeful, some whine 

She sits, cross legged, soaking them in. 
The noises in her head, a loud din

Then a shooting star lights up the night.
Those troubled noises fleet, put up a vain fight.

She smiles to herself, wishing upon a star. 
The star smiles back, so near yet so far.

They weave a blanket and sing a sweet song. 
That only she can hear, all night long. 

Why wonder what shapes shimmering stars make?
Why trace back time, for whose sake?

You're a mere speck, in a mammoth universe.
You're an accident, a result of a Big Bang, for better or for worse.

The stars shine today, as they did yesterday,
They will shine on, here, there or away.

She looks down, her neck sprained.
Stars call her back, desires restrained. 

She looks up one last time, she tells them, she misses him. 
The stars shine on: He can see us too, don't be grim.

She smiles, a lonely star gazer.
As twinkling stars chide and chase her.

Friday, March 31, 2017

Fear of the Known

Tread on a road less taken,
On lands long forsaken.

Swerving hairpin bends,
A shady alley that never ends.

Steep, rocky, a warmer clime,
Far-removed from man and time.

Down dark, unforgiving lanes.
Mirages fool, like sparkling panes.

But it’s all as new as a sun-kissed day.
Trials or quests, call it what you may.

Care not for the familiar.
How long can you hold it dear?

Where the same river flows,
Where the same star glows.

Dancing to the same tune.
Same desert, same dune.

Like going in circles, round and round.
Chained in dreary shackles that bound.

Break free, fly away, be a mystery.
Conquer a mountain, flag victory.

The unseen, the unheard, the unknown.
Undo the fear of the known.

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Doubling Up

That noise in the silence 
A stillness that moves.
Calming, this violence
Warring peace ensues.

A longing soars humbly,
In its shallow depth.
That feeling so numbly
Alive in its death. 

Those brittle words stay,
Carving broken promises.
Making a stubborn heart sway,
A blink the mind misses.

Oblivious to the obvious,
Reckless clues, careless signs.
An innocence that's devious
A brimming feeling resigns.

Pushing, shoving, I give it my all.
Double up, hope, and stay true.
In all honesty, In no manner small,
That's really the best I can do. 

Remixed in a Remix

I have always hated remixes. Because the original is the original. That’s what it was meant to be from the beginning. Pure, honest, real. ...