Lady Lazarus

My favoritestestest poem in the whole wide world! :D

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

Mother, my child?

She came to me every morning,
asking, if I would still remain her mother.
I kissed her forehead and promised - forever.

Her mistakes; so many, so innocent.
Why had my child learnt so much?

Her goodness taking away the poison in my life;
Why had my child grown so much?

Sad. Happy. And sad; my child saw right through me.
Why did she, my child, cry so much?

She dreamed, hoping that when she opened her eyes they would all magically come true.
Why had my child believed in life so much?

I knew my baby would play and never stop even time too had to ask.
I knew my baby would fall in love and learn to hate things in life.
I knew my baby would be wise someday.
I knew that I was giving the world my baby,
just to watch them kill her in front of me.
Why had my child become immortal?

Yet, I let them cut the cord that attached her to me.
-"Your child, Miss Anne was born dead!" (-yet free)

Converse with myself - I

Me~ : Its about the great DR Rajendra Prasad?
Myself: Yeah, he had soup. Vegetable soup. Not the furniture one.
Me~ : Wasn't he ashamed of being given birth to? Didn't he say he'd rather be adopted by two cats?
Myself: I think he was into ships.
Me~ : Maybe he saw the trailer of that new movie.
Myself: Who was she anyway?
Me~ : Lambs are in peace with sheep, now.
Me~ : She was a nice girl. Very religious.
Me~ : Her mother was married. She had two first names.
Myself: Now that we've finished talking about important matters, shall we just have some fun? Like laze around. Gossip and such.
Me~ : Sure. So you pray?
Myself: Yeah. I have to. We don't trust politicians.
Me~: We? You and the Irish Navy?
Myself: No. The politicians themselves.
Me~: Oh, they want cats to adopt them too?
Myself: Don't make this about yourself.
Me~: When is Harry coming back?
Myself: When Madonna comes out with a new single.
Me~: He's a very strong man.
Myself: He's trying to be long too. Like that ad, " If you want to be long, you gotta be strong"
Me~: But..
Myself: Yeah, he'll call you.
Me~: Denial mode?
Myself: I'm busy right now. I'll talk to you later. Ok? Good. Bye.
Me~: Ah, this tea tastes good.
Me~: I saw this dream where I was selling wooden bras. It was crazy.
Me~: Don't cows need mascara?
Me~: Music is over rated. They should rate trees. They'll start growing and we won't have to worry about shortage of the same in about 20 years later.
Me~: I have dandruff. And a mother.
Me~: Its about finding your deepest emotions.
Me~: Hey, I'm a bit busy now. Is it okay if I call you later? Around 6? Ok?
Me~: Bye.

Randoomm

I'm just a cow!

Have you noticed, how there are no advertisments on any matchbox comapnies?

Why don't they ever make a vegetable-extract soap? Like tapioca or carrots?

I'm gonna flush my third child down the toilet so he can meet his twin brother in Cambodia.

Can I pray on a 11-hour flight?

If you're still reading this, you must be really dumb. But there's a reward too!

And how come we don't see any ads on doormats or tools?

Tee hee~

Advertisments are more fun to watch than anything else on TV, lately.

I reply to all my emails.

Do yourself a favor and shave your face.

Brubru is a nice nickname for Mic Jagger.

Oat condoms? Like, they absorb cholestrol, right? Maybe. . sperms too?

My gate! Vote for my gate! There's no difference anyway.

These pest exterminating people are a real rip off. Why kill something that might be a delicacy in some other country? Just import them. *awaits the arrival of Mickey Mouse*

Now, what's really funny is that China hopes for a spot on the space station. Khee khee. And they don't even have pimples or black-heads. Tee hee~

Your surprise is - a water heater!

Lazarus - Porcupine tree

As the cheerless towns pass my window
I can see a washed out moon through the fog
And then a voice inside my head, breaks the analogue
And says

"Follow me down to the valley below You know
Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul"

I survived against the will of my twisted folk
But in the deafness of my world the silence broke
And said

"Follow me down to the valley below You know
Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul"

"My David don't you worry
This cold world is not for you
So rest your head upon me
I have strength to carry you"

"Follow me down to the valley below You know
Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul
Come to us, Lazarus
It's time for you to go"

The documentary of a Whore?

She walked up and down the streets,
Dressed in her shiny top and ass-tight denim jeans.
The craft of this extraordinary whore ,
Once, twice, thrice; men and women came back for more.

Unceasingly she offered men their righteous honor,
On her and then to pay her offer.
Thirty six - twenty four - thirty six,
A classic bawd unlike TV chicks.
She looked in the mirror and felt no pain,
No pain; that in this all she has no sensual gain.
But she'd still guise and adorn herself,
Awaiting the arrival of her nocturnal patron of wealth.

High-five basketball playah and his grill,
Rap-shot Nigger and his bling,
White-collared and his Lincoln bill,
Miss harlot has no personal choices,
She just swung her hips and threw her dices,
Threw her prices,
And that night, one lucky bastard got to explore her sensuous sizes.

And time was soon gone before she was done,
There came the arrival of that certain one;
The rise of the sun; her biggest foe,
And now in bright daylight she walks, masking the skin of a whore.

My Hallucination theory

Lonely nights have taken it away,
Nothing to stop you astray.
Have borrowed everything you can see,
A sorrow you can no longer feel.

The darkest shadows of the time’s light
Giving rise to an alternative side.
A rule to the theory,
To fall in a place reality will never let you be,
A demand by the postulate,
Forget the rest and emancipate.

Now, that you’ve pushed it aside
Come in to a place where fears and tears of the other side
Gradually begin to subside.
After the transition with the spin, with the swirl.
Pierced to glimpse a brand new beautiful world.

Less you know the more you see.
Shallowest spaces of the fictional humanity
Be the only rudiments emblazoning this visuality.
The sub-conscience this realm’s stringer,
Allowing you to be anything, to grow farther.
Rule to number: three,
Dare to dream for free.
Color your way, no God to pray,
Burn here and never see it die away.
A freedom to contentedly illusion
Places not been, games not meant for you to win
Here in, you be the game and the unexplored territory.
Making it useless to return to the sick body.

And as all good things;
Must end this.
Curtains are drawn,
Shows over, time to be gone.
Off to the other side; back to being alone.
Exhibit fake cos true self can never be shown.
To know you’ll be back here again …Pushes you to flee with fact to believe;
There are no rules when you’re a part of your own hallucination theory.

The return of my stranger...

The sun is in my eye, but I can’t stop dreaming,

In this moment I’ll always feel patient & young .

And I’m talking to that image I want to see,

Hoping it’ll come soon, so I can touch it, turn priceless and be set free.

A line to right the wrong,

pieces in me closing in strong.

I win and still feel broken, but to lose to you and feel every emotion,

Is better than the holy painting of passion.

Now ages been by, together again we're back in time,

In seventh heaven to know what it is to be wild and to chide;

Together to feel every emotion the world had to define,

Showing people how to live and leave a sign.

You touch me and parade our crazy dimension,

Making me suffer that heavenly sensation .

Old lovers' ghost you once again conjure ,

Careless if He was to like Our rapport or called it impure

Together we'll describe to Him something He never knew.

And change the direction in which the wind blew.

In your eye.. you say it'll be fine,

Even when I'm out of patience, even at the end of time.

Then, hand in hand, we'll run to a brighter corner

and celebrate the return of my beautiful stranger.

My Ghost.

A vision created by my Grey; I can feel it near me.

Suddenly the two of us have parted and formed a separate entity

An apparition of mine,

Standing by me just to run shivers down my spine.

Each time I laugh like a child,

Near me the one reminisces my actions and smiles,

The specter behind my shoulder mimes;

My guilty pleasures,

My unfaithful, ungrateful years.

Not an ordinary ghoul to be gone on the turn of light

I feel it strong; laughing, as I by the second grow in fright.

It stands a distance so less from me and smirks,

From place to place with me that horrible image lurks.

Never to end, no way out to come along,

A life given birth to by my choice of wrong

This horror filling me up by passing time,

And a kill to know the ghost is the very own conscience of mine.

Ode to my best friend: Lu

Lu watches me go by from dusk to dawn.
Lu observes me as I dress up for work.
Lu is always the first to wish me every birthday.
Lu reminds me that sometimes we forget to love the ones that protect.
Lu helps me find solace in my misery.
Lu is always constant.
Lu smokes.
Lu is fixed to her God.
Lu is a good listener.
Lu is my fellow conspirator.
Lu makes me drink my milk.
Lu knows all of my cloak-and-dagger activities.
Lu conceals my illicit purposes.
Lu is a friend.
Lu is the blue wall in my room.

Another sad day in my life. =\

The ba*t*rds who thought of making a subject called "history"... SUCK!!....They are bloody motherf**kers... I would have personally de-boned and deep fried 'em if I ever found out who these wh*res were! Its beacause of these homosexual mermaids that we've got a subject called history ! First, what impotent men and transexual women do for our country. What next? "Their sex life?" Besides that we have a teacher who feels funny in his pants all the time. Horny bitch!
Then we have Geography...Who wants to know where and why the rivers flow towards a certain direction? Or why the pressure belts are so? Who cares as long as at the end of the day you can smell your freaking fart!? If i ever came across that Surveyor General of India, I'll gang rape him, make juice out of his gall bladder and cut his tongue and burn it !!!

Basically, Social studies are for horny ppl who cant find a sex mate!
These subjects should be banned from the daylights of mankind!!!

And no! I am not going through PMS! I just have issues with all famous people.=\