Not Beautiful Enough

The phone rang, her first call
She said hello
and you knew you were falling
Her voice
The sound of her laughter
Her sleepy good morning wishes

That you had never
Seen her, touched her, felt her
It never mattered
For, you had felt her soul, her being
She was perfect

What a farce!
A heartbreak so pure
She came, in person
But what did you see?
Dark like the tribal women they’re afraid of
Hair with no shine
Not the most beautiful smile either
A little fat maybe?

Disappointed, disillusioned
Poor little you
Fooled by a lady
Not so beautiful too
Beauty as society understands it
Beauty as you understand it
She wasn’t beautiful enough for you.

Her intelligence, her words
always baffling you
The kindest, most humane
Serene, the tranquility of her self almost unbelievable
But did it mean anything at all?
After all, she wasn’t beautiful enough for you.

You broke to shreds, she healed you
You raged like a violent ocean, she calmed you
You laughed like a child, she laughed along
You were lost, yet never alone
All ceased to matter now
For you wanted beauty, but she wasn’t beautiful enough.

You in all your fair glory,
much wiser now
A frantic search for tranquility
only leads you to chaos
You keep looking, waiting
Your desire to find something real
Only met by pretence

You think of her,
the only thing true
You hope, but you know
she has risen, flying on
Busy painting the world
with the fire within her;

Such an air of nonchalance,
that you could never see
She wasn’t beautiful
She was a fuckin’ masterpiece.

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The Last Book

O_death

The night was hot, and so was my seat. I had been sitting in the same position for quite some time now, reading a book under the faint light the lamp over my head had to offer. The seat opposite to mine was empty, and had been so since I got on the train. I looked at the seat, and wished I had bothered to look at the reservation list and catch the name of the person who was to occupy this seat. It could be a woman. Who knows, we might strike a conversation or two, and then exchange meaningless stares throughout the night. She might pretend to be a lonely woman, waiting for the right man. And I, I might speak with the arrogance of someone who doesn’t care about love, but is secretly hiding a case of heart-break. Who knows, right? Anything can happen, until it has actually happened.  The woman might just have missed the train, and I might have been destined to marry her, but we will never actually meet. Every passing minute, every passing second could change a lot for me, without me even realizing it. I could suffocate, or get robbed, or I might even find a treasure, all in the next few moments. Anything’s possible. Then how do I have any control over the course of my life. I can fight the suffocation, or kill the robber, or discard the treasure, but what if that too was supposed to happen. Is it all just a set of pre placed dominos? I got back to my book, but it did not interest me anymore, I was still stuck on figuring out how I would introduce myself to the woman who might occupy this seat. Just then, a suitcase rolled from my rear and entered the space between the two seats. Closely following this suitcase was a man, an old man who smelled of whiskey and stale food. He was dressed in a black overcoat that looked too good for someone of his demeanour. His hair was jet black, and was cleanly combed back. A sharp triangle rightly fitted itself over his neck. It carried on it a pair of thin, dark lips and a sharp, plunging nose. It also fit in a pair of eyes that seemed to change colour. If I were a man who did not play by logic, I could have sworn they were completely black for a moment. The man took the seat opposite mine and slid the suitcase underneath it. He looked straight at me, as if he could see through me. I don’t know why but I felt naked. A prepossessing guilt rose within me. I avoided his stare and got back to my book. I tried to focus my eyes on the text, but they would constantly try and record if any movement took place behind the book. I gave up on it, and finally questioned the man.

“Excuse me, why are you staring at me?”

“I am not staring. I’m merely looking.”

“Can you please look somewhere else?”

“I can, but I’d rather continue to look at you.” He replied even before I could complete my sentence.

I sighed in irritation and pushed my face back into the book. Here I was, expecting a woman, and all I got was a creepy old guy instead. The book was tough to read, mostly because I had lost touch over my mother tongue. The translation did help, but I seldom used it. How can a writer convert text from one language to another, without affecting the meaning of the former? I had my doubts, and so I struggled to find my own interpretations of the text. I was trying my best to concentrate, but the idea of an old man staring at me would not let me. There was movement in the background, and I raised my head to see that the old man had now come closer to me. He was bending his body, in an attempt to look closely at me. I threw my book on the seat and faced him, this time with intent to fight.

“What do you want?” I inquired.

“Just a look at the book you read, sir.”

“I’m reading it right now. And because I’m not carrying any other reading material with me now, I can not lend this book to you.”

“Oh no, sir. I do not need to loan it. I already know the story in it, rather too well I’d say. I only need a look. Just one.” He replied with a straight face.

I now noticed how coarse his voice was, as if something had been forced down his throat. It made me pity him, maybe he suffered of some illness. I contemplated his request, and decided to let him have a look.

“Okay, you can have a look. But you promise not to bother me anymore.”

“I do not see how I bother you, young sir. But if you allow me a look at your book, and agree to answer a question, I promise to leave this seat and find myself another one.”

“But all you said was a look at the book.” I replied annoyingly.

“I like to take actions in phases, sir. Do you accept my terms?”

I saw no harm, and hence I nodded in agreement. I passed him the book. He opened it to the last page, smiled at what he read, and returned the book.

“Now for the question.” He said. He paused, as if taking his time to think upon the question. After a moment of silence, he leaned towards me, and asked

“Do you regret killing your father?”

“What! How dare you. What gives you the right, you lonely old fuck.” I shouted at him.

“It is merely a question, my friend. I only need a simple yes or no.”

I ignored him. I did not need to answer a stranger, and especially not someone who accused me of killing my father.

The old man got up from his seat and pushed his face into mine. “Do you blame yourself, for not being at home the one night he wanted you to be?”

I pushed him aside, and threw him back at his seat. He got up, almost mechanically, and then ran his hand through his hair, trying to get them back to how they were. The colour in his eyes flickered. They were completely black for a moment there. I was sure of it this time.

He smiled at me and said. “Do you think he would have survived had you come home early that night?”

I did not pay any attention to his question and picked up my bag. I decided to change my seat with someone. If this man does not intend to leave me alone even then, I will call the authorities on him. As I turned to leave, he caught me by my hand.

“The time has come. The time to pay retribution. It shall happen tomorrow, as you complete your journey, both physically and spiritually.”

And now, I lay here on the floor, constantly replaying this incident in my mind. It is cooler than it was last night. This morning, as I got off the train, I slipped and cracked my skull open. I’m surrounded by people, but more than that I’m surrounded by blood. Somewhere in the crowd, I see a familiar place. It is an old man, with slick black hair, and dressed in an expensive black coat. He raised his hand to show me the book in his hand. It was the same book I was reading last night, but somehow I could not remember its name. As I once again remember the events of last night, I wonder, was I just following a pre-written story all along?

Praise The Lord And Pass The Ammunition.

henry-david-thoreau-author-the-law-will-never-make-a-man-free-it-is

Political and religious ideologies propagate in a similar fashion. Most people believe in a government or priesthood because they are brought up in a social structure that favors having similar beliefs. Whether they are rational and moral or not is irrelevant. Others believe in them because they believe it is the only option they have. No matter what form of governmentalist you are – democratic, monarchical, aristocrat or any other, the basic premise is the same – faith in an authoritarian figure or institution. President, Zeus, State or the Church. Some argue that humans are not capable of living without some form of authority to look over them. So they form a government loosely based on votes of same non reliable mass.

Other governmentalists argue, “If anarchy is so great why isn’t there any anarchist nation?” I see this as a half ass-ed version of “You cannot prove there is no god, hence there is one”. Actually there are many examples of successful free societies, in recent history; Paris in the late 19th century, Spain and Greece. But ask yourself, can they last? Can powerful militant empires have examples of a better alternatives when they threaten their existence. (They were all destroyed by major military operations and coups).

And government fanatics like these are the very reason why there are no anarchist societies. For the same reason, India is still not a secular nation even in this age of rationality. These people are scared of responsibility and reality. They themselves help create the  complex economic, political and social structures that suck every drop of life from their existence. They submit to god, to government.

Essentially they are same people who cheered for Chancellor Hitler as he ordered mass killing of Jews, who supported wars in Vietnam and Iraq, who let thousands of species go extinct, who want bombs in there backyards because of their never ending irrational fears. They support it just by not opposing it. You can only be for war or against it, there is no middle ground. “You cannot be neutral in a moving train” (Howard Zinn)

Worst part of this whole deal is that these people are not satisfied by being suppressed alone, they want their neighbors and everyone else to be ruled over as well, unreasonably taxed by their rituals like elections. It’s a taboo to talk ill of elections no matter how screwed up it is. No matter who gets majority of the votes the winner is always the ruling class and the business class. Try as hard you can to make yourself believe that these classes have interests of masses at heart. But I know you know better.

If you like and want to be ruled over, kept in sight, spied, inspected, directed, numbered, enrolled, indoctrinated, preached at, controlled, estimated, valued, censured and turned slave in body and mind… please do so. But for the sake of your god, the government should leave the people who don’t wanna be part of it alone. People who want to live their life on their own, mind their own business, exercise their own talents, pursue their own dreams, try to be what they believe they should be. I, myself, will not resign my conscience to some holy book, the legislature or the constitution, why then everyone has a conscience?

 —————-

I often hear, ‘anarchy’ and ‘chaos’ being used as synonyms. The people who do so either have no knowledge about the field or they do it willingly to misrepresent it. In many cases they are individuals with some form of authority or at least someone to whom people listen to.  I admit there have been incidences where someone calling themselves an anarchist has engaged in some form of violence against his fellow human. (Cases where anarchists use violence against cops or military forces has always been for self defense. And in all cases they have had no fatally harmful weapons. And damaging a McDonalds or Nike store cannot be considered violence against any human or nature). That being said, there are always people who think that violence can be justified in some weird way, be that a Hindu terrorist, Muslim terrorist , Maoist, Fascist, State army or police. But no one can come close to the amount of atrocity committed by the state – wars, state sponsored terrorist acts and so on. If your notion is that when a government kills, it is justifiable, then you are a fanatic.

I have never come across a single case of an anarchist killing an innocent civilian. There are cases where they have targeted businessmen or politicians but those cases don’t even reach in double digits. So if you are looking for synonym for “chaos”, “state” will be a better option.

It might be a good time to talk about few other misconceptions regarding anarchism. We don’t make bombs. We organize workers unions, support their struggles, 8 hour work days, anarchists fought for it, paid sick days, anarchists fought for it. Equal rights for women, blacks, immigrants, minority indigenous people, Against wars, Against nukes, Against fascism, Against structural adjustment policies of IMF. We are also not a bunch of school dropout uneducated people. Kropotkin (Geologist, Evolutionary biologist) Proudhon (Economist), David Graeber (anthropologist), Noam Chomsky (Linguists), Howard Zinn (Historian), just to name a few.

But this doesn’t mean they are/were superior individuals (Well they are in some fields though!), but what is and will always remain important is what anarchism stands for:

Fight on the side of the oppressed in every domain of life, from family, to culture, to state, to economy, to the now very visible international arena of “globalization,” and to do so in creative and courageous ways – Michael Albert