On the strangeness of weirdness

“That new girl seemed quite pleasant from afar,
But dude, she spends Friday nights at home reading,
That’s just so bizarre!”

“All the fashion sense in the world seems to have vanished,
Neon tops on faded ripped denims?
Now that’s just positively outlandish!”

“The entire world’s approach to partying is flawed,
Jumping up and down in smoky stuffy room?
That’s not fun, that’s simply odd!”

“Oh! The things that I hear,
They keep snails as pets instead of dogs!
Their culture is just queer!”

“Never have I met people so frivolous,
They pay for other people to entertain them,
Do you believe a thing so ridiculous!

“Of the Holy GIOSGOOP they don’t know a word,
These Earthling species we’ve discovered?
I’m telling you, they’re absurd!”

“They just sit all eternity in the nucleus, resting,
We electrons shift energy levels all the time,
But ugh protons are so perplexing!


All around, all the time
Every infinitesimality exclaims,
Everything is weird, save I.

 

Tldr: there isn’t one sort of weirdness, weirdness is inevitable and it isn’t such a bad thing. Embrace your weirdness, people of the world!

Waves have nothing to do but crash

Waves have nothing to do but crash.
Pound the shore eternally

Jagged rocks wait at the margins
The waves always come crashing for them

Even in the deep dark night
The waves have never stopped their crashing

Light lazily vanquishes the dark
No thing can restrain the waves from crashing

A city wakes up, groggy
The waves can only crash intently, intensely

Some skip breakfast, some skip hugs
The waves haven’t skipped a single crash

People rush about, going places
The waves are there where they have to be, crashing

We work dance work play
The waves crash crash crash crash

Emotions run mad through the city
The waves come crashing steady and sane

Today, someone lived their dream
Their heartbeat fluttered along with the crashing waves

Today, a dream shattered
The frustration of a heart saw itself in the crashing waves

An aching longing came crashing today
The pain was soothed by the passage of time and waves

Someone, dulled with drudgery
Dramatically ignited under the influence of the thunderous crashing

So many different people
The waves crash, the waves crash the same

The waves have nothing to do but crash
I wish the waves never find anything else to do.

Note: This was inspired at Marine Drive, Mumbai (Future literature teachers, note that down (Chill, I’m kidding)). I do realize that this is a very whimsical piece of writing in that this has absolutely no structure or form or conventionality whatsoever. I think that this (whatever this is) does not even meet the qualification criteria for free verse. The reason I did write this though (and although the non-cheesy part of me refuses to admit this), I have come to find the sea irresistibly beautiful. And if I could express even a tiny part of that beauty, then booyah!

Switch It Off and Switch It On Again

Earth has had a shortage of many things,
But never a shortage of mysteries,
We have inconsistencies, littered
All over our histories

Mysteries like to taunt human curiosity,
And drive anyone mad with suspense.
How? What? Why? Reveals no answer
Within the realms of common sense.

Yet the determined human prods,
Pokes and picks and pries and probes,
Uses logic and fancy Latin words,
Confers with people in fancy robes.

Voila! The human solves it all!
Every problem known to humankind.
And Earth explodes in a fury of progress,
Struggling to keep up with this human’s mind.

Everything makes sense to the human!
This human knows Pi like an old pal
Higgs boson calls this human its secret keeper,
So do antimatter, duct tape, quarks et al.

Well, almost everything makes sense.
One peculiar phenomenon
can’t fit into this human’s head.
Scientific name: Switch-it-off-and-switch-it-on-again

It is a rather marvellous effect,
Proof that science is magic,
It enchantingly revives situations,
That would have otherwise turned tragic.

Picture a troublesome electronic,
A device that’s in no mood to run,
Just switch it off and on again,
And it’ll do all the work under the sun.

Phones, computers, laptops, tubelights
All must obey this dictate.
It is now a universal requirement,
Every gadget must have this trait.

Techie people have term for it,
They suavely call it “reboot”
But when you ask them why it works,
Far, far away they scoot.

This isn’t just an electronics thing,
(It’s wrong to be elitist that way.)
This curious conundrum
Applies to people too, everyday!

Human head not working?
Oh, Sleep over it.
Eight hours of switch off and
Suddenly, you’ve never been so fit.

This is the most spectacular gift of God
But it makes our smart human sigh.
Cause benefits and all are okay,
But the human needs to know WHY
 
How does turning off a kaput device
Make it work again???
Our poor human is stumped.
Where’s the logic, the sense?

The gritty human still tries,
Reads several million books,
But there is just failure waiting
Everywhere that the human looks.

Then one day, the human hears
That Himalayas are the place to be
“Go talk to The Great Mountain Spirit,
And enlightenment will come for free!”

Our brave human sets out at once,
Trudging through the bitter cold,
The human meditates for twenty years,
Eating only herbs with the taste of mould.

After an eternity of austere living,
When our human is literally in tears,
The sky thunders and shudders, and
The Great Mountain Spirit appears.

The Great Mountain Spirit is wise
Nothing can hide from its icy soul
Our human chatters out the question,
Shivering, but so close to the goal.

The Great Mountain Spirit ponders,
Thinks with the air of a savant,
Then says, after like forever,
In a manner most nonchalant:

“Don’t ask too many questions,
Don’t break this bubble,
If switch-it-off-and-switch-it-on stops working,
You’ll be in trouble.”

Rusted

Its been some time,
Since I’ve practiced rhyme,
But now that verse tempts me again,
Not returning might just be a crime,

The exuberance that I had earlier seems to have faded,
My style appears to be a little dated.
Yet in sudden fit of determination akin to that of dogs,*
I am taking up a quest to clean up the mental cogs!

I shall polish the grey cells and exercise the hand,
Even if my words don’t have lustre to reach the fabled Good Poetry Land.

Rust is corrosive, a narcissistic abomination,
It suppresses capability within its encrustation.

Yet rust is that honest villain that reminds me of when I worked not,
And with some laborious scraping, it can be disposed of.

*I honestly don’t know if dogs have sudden fits of determination. They must have some determination though, they’ve lived so long. I mean, Darwin can’t be wrong, so apply weird extension of logic.