Black Stone Heart
Black stone heart
Feel so trapped
With a black stone heart
Unmoving, unfeeling-
Painfully revealing
All the things I did wrong
While I was hoping to belong
Black stone heart
Broken cold and empty
Replays happier times to me
Builds fruitless fantasies
Rising up from the ground
Hoping to be found
It mingles with the wind
It’s lost again
Tied up with chains inside
So its pieces may not fall
Tied up inside
It lives within a wall
Black stone heart
My enemy
Black stone heart
No warmth within me
Black stone heart
I want you to die
Take me with you
No more can I cry
I can’t fix you
Can’t mend you
Can’t make it all right
Black stone heart
How long can we fight?
You are me
And I am you
We’re so different
But stuck with glue
Let’s give it up now
No one will see
Break it up now
And let each other be
This is for us
My black stone heart
This is just
To break us apart
You will beat no more
I will no longer be
The chains around you will fall
Finally freed
Blackness to embrace
Black stone heart
An identity to erase
Death does us part.
Pushpanjali Banerji
Nov'07
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Glittering hands.
Spiraling. Downwards. Moments of peace torn by the past, moments of insanity, insecurities biting into happiness that is rarely found. Questions destroying dreams, like sandcastles lovingly built are washed away by the sea currents.
I’m there again.
I had closed my eyes. And it was a beautiful dream. I was out of the four walls. There was a waterfall, a sunset, brilliant green blades of grass and beautiful music echoing through the air. I was overwhelmed; it was difficult to believe I was here. Yet, when I gazed into the lake I saw my reflection. When I screamed, I heard my shout. It was real.
I saw those hands. Many colours glittered on his every finger and I reached out to touch.
We were lying on the grass, I wasn’t alone at last.
Did I want eternity? Did I crave security? Those promises were made to me before. I had learnt they meant nothing. They led you to a cliff and begged you to fall, shatter into a million bloody pieces, strewn all over the paradise of your mind.
I had stared at my torn corpse for too long. The blood had not yet dried, and I saw, painfully- that even in the absurd way my head was twisted, my eyes still appeared to be dreaming. So I was breathing again.
The hands were everywhere, holding me and caressing me. I wanted to feel, without the pain of yesterday, as if I were still alive. And I saw myself twist away. My mind was fighting, but my body wouldn’t obey, it wouldn’t allow me to feel cherished, it began to tremble and shake, making me feel like a freak, like I had lost all control.
The loving hands moved away. The eyes blinked and it felt like he was gone. My eyes were open wide. It was lost; I searched amongst the tall concrete walls that had sprung around me again. The window of hope, the golden ray of sunshine…
It’s black again.
I settle myself into the corner, where I’ve sat for so long. Picking up a piece of stone I sketch on the walls- the waterfalls, the sun, the stars....
and the glittering hands.
-Pushpanjali Banerji
dec’07
I’m there again.
I had closed my eyes. And it was a beautiful dream. I was out of the four walls. There was a waterfall, a sunset, brilliant green blades of grass and beautiful music echoing through the air. I was overwhelmed; it was difficult to believe I was here. Yet, when I gazed into the lake I saw my reflection. When I screamed, I heard my shout. It was real.
I saw those hands. Many colours glittered on his every finger and I reached out to touch.
We were lying on the grass, I wasn’t alone at last.
Did I want eternity? Did I crave security? Those promises were made to me before. I had learnt they meant nothing. They led you to a cliff and begged you to fall, shatter into a million bloody pieces, strewn all over the paradise of your mind.
I had stared at my torn corpse for too long. The blood had not yet dried, and I saw, painfully- that even in the absurd way my head was twisted, my eyes still appeared to be dreaming. So I was breathing again.
The hands were everywhere, holding me and caressing me. I wanted to feel, without the pain of yesterday, as if I were still alive. And I saw myself twist away. My mind was fighting, but my body wouldn’t obey, it wouldn’t allow me to feel cherished, it began to tremble and shake, making me feel like a freak, like I had lost all control.
The loving hands moved away. The eyes blinked and it felt like he was gone. My eyes were open wide. It was lost; I searched amongst the tall concrete walls that had sprung around me again. The window of hope, the golden ray of sunshine…
It’s black again.
I settle myself into the corner, where I’ve sat for so long. Picking up a piece of stone I sketch on the walls- the waterfalls, the sun, the stars....
and the glittering hands.
-Pushpanjali Banerji
dec’07
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
The day of complete fulfillment
The day of complete fulfillment
Well… Today isn’t it.
It was few days ago. Green painted nails. Standing next to ma, having gol-gappas. Buying cheap clothes. I didn’t let go of her hand for a second that day. It felt so good to be next to her after so long…she said she’d drive me anywhere I want.
I kept telling her how happy I was. I had no idea I missed her so much.
I kept embarrassing her, leaning in and kissing her cheeks, and hugging her unexpectedly.
I love that kind of warmth. It feels like anything- even if the world was falling apart-my mom would utter one word, and everything would go back in its place, almost apologetically.
From giving dirty looks to men who stare at me shamelessly to buying me anything she lays her eyes on-she’s protected me, loved me and spoilt me.
Even though she doesn’t understand my dress sense anymore- she had just grasped the idea of my super low waists when I began demanding a fringe. Now she’s tired of sweeping my hair off my forehead.
She’s forced herself to let me be. She wants to stand back and see what will happen. She won’t push me into learning classical or lower the volume when I play lamb of god at full volume. She gives me space- I suspect she may like metal if I make her hear it often enough!
Like any mother daughter, we look forward to quiet and fun filled afternoons in the mall, shopping for colourful hairpins and bags. And shoes! Latest obsession. I’ve gotten ma hooked to Carlton!
She’ll feel the contours of the patent leather shoes with me, share my passion. Give the shoe its due respect- hold it lovingly and contemplate the price tag. Work out a bargaining strategy.
She’d watch lovingly as I’d draw smiley’s in my cappuccino with demirara sugar. She wave to all the babies when I’d tell her about all the man problems in my life, and then hear my lecture about not listening! :p
Mom, I love you. I’m still biting on the toast you’ve lovingly made for me. With a little bit of honey in it, just the way I like it. I love your simplicity, your purity, your attempts at generalizing anything under the sun, even if that gets to me, come to think of it- its almost adorable. Don’t get too happy, I said ‘almost’. ;p
I love the way you learn from me, buy yourself eye-shadows and turn to me to help you. I love the way you say cuss words with immense reluctance! I love your hazel eyes which remind me of honey and the sweetness they possess.
I cant picture how you put up with me. my over critical nature, my difficult personality, my million points of view, my million excuses as to why my clothes are always strewn on the floor, or why the toothpaste never has a cap on it.
I love the way you gently push me towards my goals by not saying anything at all.
I love the way I feel around you-my heart feels like a little child- hunched over a fresh new piece of paper with a lime colored crayon in her hand, who wants her life to seem directionless, but the jagged lines make sense in the end.
Pushpanjali Banerji
Well… Today isn’t it.
It was few days ago. Green painted nails. Standing next to ma, having gol-gappas. Buying cheap clothes. I didn’t let go of her hand for a second that day. It felt so good to be next to her after so long…she said she’d drive me anywhere I want.
I kept telling her how happy I was. I had no idea I missed her so much.
I kept embarrassing her, leaning in and kissing her cheeks, and hugging her unexpectedly.
I love that kind of warmth. It feels like anything- even if the world was falling apart-my mom would utter one word, and everything would go back in its place, almost apologetically.
From giving dirty looks to men who stare at me shamelessly to buying me anything she lays her eyes on-she’s protected me, loved me and spoilt me.
Even though she doesn’t understand my dress sense anymore- she had just grasped the idea of my super low waists when I began demanding a fringe. Now she’s tired of sweeping my hair off my forehead.
She’s forced herself to let me be. She wants to stand back and see what will happen. She won’t push me into learning classical or lower the volume when I play lamb of god at full volume. She gives me space- I suspect she may like metal if I make her hear it often enough!
Like any mother daughter, we look forward to quiet and fun filled afternoons in the mall, shopping for colourful hairpins and bags. And shoes! Latest obsession. I’ve gotten ma hooked to Carlton!
She’ll feel the contours of the patent leather shoes with me, share my passion. Give the shoe its due respect- hold it lovingly and contemplate the price tag. Work out a bargaining strategy.
She’d watch lovingly as I’d draw smiley’s in my cappuccino with demirara sugar. She wave to all the babies when I’d tell her about all the man problems in my life, and then hear my lecture about not listening! :p
Mom, I love you. I’m still biting on the toast you’ve lovingly made for me. With a little bit of honey in it, just the way I like it. I love your simplicity, your purity, your attempts at generalizing anything under the sun, even if that gets to me, come to think of it- its almost adorable. Don’t get too happy, I said ‘almost’. ;p
I love the way you learn from me, buy yourself eye-shadows and turn to me to help you. I love the way you say cuss words with immense reluctance! I love your hazel eyes which remind me of honey and the sweetness they possess.
I cant picture how you put up with me. my over critical nature, my difficult personality, my million points of view, my million excuses as to why my clothes are always strewn on the floor, or why the toothpaste never has a cap on it.
I love the way you gently push me towards my goals by not saying anything at all.
I love the way I feel around you-my heart feels like a little child- hunched over a fresh new piece of paper with a lime colored crayon in her hand, who wants her life to seem directionless, but the jagged lines make sense in the end.
Pushpanjali Banerji
My loneliness
Standing beside me
Following me around
Always there for me
Waiting around
Should I embrace you
Or should I turn away
Holding my hand
Drawing in the sand
Teary eyed
Tangled inside
Should I erase you
Or should you stay
Loyal, so loyal are you
You've never left me since...
Oh you've always been true
Come to me
My loneliness
My arms are open wide
Embrace me
My loneliness
Together we have survived
Half woven dreams
Shattered by reality
Crystal love
Shattered for eternity
Don't follow me
Like a shadow
Hide within me
I'm so hollow
Holding my hand
Drawing in the sand
Teary eyed
Tangled inside
Embrace me
My loneliness
It’s just you and me
My loneliness
Pushpanjali Banerji
Nov'07
Following me around
Always there for me
Waiting around
Should I embrace you
Or should I turn away
Holding my hand
Drawing in the sand
Teary eyed
Tangled inside
Should I erase you
Or should you stay
Loyal, so loyal are you
You've never left me since...
Oh you've always been true
Come to me
My loneliness
My arms are open wide
Embrace me
My loneliness
Together we have survived
Half woven dreams
Shattered by reality
Crystal love
Shattered for eternity
Don't follow me
Like a shadow
Hide within me
I'm so hollow
Holding my hand
Drawing in the sand
Teary eyed
Tangled inside
Embrace me
My loneliness
It’s just you and me
My loneliness
Pushpanjali Banerji
Nov'07
Poor little baby
Poor little baby
Look at you
Grasping the earth
Suffocating at birth
Poor little baby
Look at you
Dreaming their dreams
Becoming their means
Fucked up baby
Fucked up crazy
Eat it, eat it
What you get your hands on
Breathe it, feed it
What you get your mouth on
Will you survive?
Will you always be deprived?
Will you live twice?
Will you be wise?
Poor little baby
Look at you
Pain that’s untold
Growing so old
Poor little baby
Look at you
Creating so much more
Than you could deal with before
Die
Poor little baby
Cry
Poor little baby
Die.
Pushpanjali Banerji
Look at you
Grasping the earth
Suffocating at birth
Poor little baby
Look at you
Dreaming their dreams
Becoming their means
Fucked up baby
Fucked up crazy
Eat it, eat it
What you get your hands on
Breathe it, feed it
What you get your mouth on
Will you survive?
Will you always be deprived?
Will you live twice?
Will you be wise?
Poor little baby
Look at you
Pain that’s untold
Growing so old
Poor little baby
Look at you
Creating so much more
Than you could deal with before
Die
Poor little baby
Cry
Poor little baby
Die.
Pushpanjali Banerji
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
"It Sucked"
It sucked.
One month of utter chaos. Cleaning up the mess. Making sense of pert charts, of designs, graphics and politics. Lugging a camera crew while burning up with fever. Headaches I wouldn’t allow myself to respond to.
Keep going, keep going. Tie up the loose ends and have faith. Faith that everyone will do their bit and its okay if I do mine and a lot extra.
Sleep and nourishment were non existent. I was flying between cities running from the airport to college to give my exams. Bloodshot eyes and looking like shit.
The events had problems no one could anticipate. After 8 re-runs, that happened smoothly, the DVD player conked out for a humiliating 45 seconds in the final show. Screaming into the clear comm, I could feel my head burst, and my blood freezing.
I was so tired. The lights guy couldn’t understand English or Hindi, same with the sound person. As the model took a turn center stage- the music conked out because “fade out” really didn’t mean anything besides ‘cut the music’ to the nodding moron that I was left to hopelessly scream at.
They asked me why I wasn’t dolled up. They think you can walk into your own event after spending five hours in a luxurious parlour. I mean, come on, you’re the CEO’s daughter what else should we expect?
My attendance was short. And is short. Letters and applications to college…my hands are tired of writing.
But wait. Don’t think this blog post is me cribbing. I took on this responsibility and I will not just sit back and complain about it.
This blog is about the “it sucked” people I met.
The media was good and bad to us. That’s how the media is supposed to be in any case. I am in that line. I understand that. If you don’t give unlimited booze to the media-well they go ahead and write unlimited shit about you, while munching on your snacks, sitting around and littering your venue.
But the ‘friends’ and relatives, your team members and people who didn’t quite do their bit well, turn around and tell you that it sucked, well they’re the ones I want to disown. Its then when I feel lonely, long for the strong support system you get when your younger and people respect you even though you haven’t done a damn.
Not a shred of support. Someone said to me recently, (while adding pointers about how and what was wrong with the event) “it takes a second to chop down a tree that’s taken ages to grow”
Don’t I know what went wrong? Don’t I know that about my own event?
Stop giving me advice that you’ve never followed. Talking about problems you’ve never faced. Shut up about your better catering services or which party you went to when and what and why it was better. Take a damned hint.
Doll up with your Chanel bags and get photographed in a planted news story growing in every page3. Talk about feng-shui, shopping and bed hopping.
Talk about the time you saw that beautiful show in Australia and that amazing dress in Singapore. Brag about your cousin’s friend who has now turned homosexual but doesn’t know it yet, but its okay because he’s so rich and now days its so stylish to be gay!
Just don’t talk to me. I want to hide behind the buttons and dials of the console, feeling like a sailor marooned aboard a ship in a stormy sea. Let me put on my clear comm. And watch the fuck up happen all over again. The people who didn’t do their jobs, the people who don’t put in their all.
Let me explain a thing or two about budgets to freeloaders and socialites. Let me tell them a thing or two about market research and strategies. About cutting costs, about working hard.
I may be twenty, but that doesn’t mean you talk to me like a child. Treat me with some respect, even though I may not have the time to put on my Armani shades and mascara my eyes.
I may not have a boy toy clinging to my waist and a D&G glittering in my hand. But one thing- and get it straight- I work harder than you.
And I respect hard work enough to not disrespect someone’s efforts. Not to be a bitchy bystander.
If something goes wrong, I’m going to be there. Tell you to be strong. Tell you it was great and there were, indeed, a lot of great things about what you did. That you’re learning, and there are people who criticize Mona Lisa, Shakespeare and Sigmund Freud! For god sake- there are people who criticize metal!
It in life’s testing moments like these, that I get a look at my real friends. I’d like to believe that all two hundred of them (believe me I have that many friends!) would be still there in that moment of truth, but I see just one or two.
Thank god for those two!
I’m not disappointed. I’m used to being left in times of miseries. I know most people are fair-weather friends. But I’m hoping they’ll change. I’m hoping again. Because when they’re in my situation- or something even close to it- they’ll realize that t wasn’t the event but they who sucked.
No consolation scraps please, your time has passed.
One month of utter chaos. Cleaning up the mess. Making sense of pert charts, of designs, graphics and politics. Lugging a camera crew while burning up with fever. Headaches I wouldn’t allow myself to respond to.
Keep going, keep going. Tie up the loose ends and have faith. Faith that everyone will do their bit and its okay if I do mine and a lot extra.
Sleep and nourishment were non existent. I was flying between cities running from the airport to college to give my exams. Bloodshot eyes and looking like shit.
The events had problems no one could anticipate. After 8 re-runs, that happened smoothly, the DVD player conked out for a humiliating 45 seconds in the final show. Screaming into the clear comm, I could feel my head burst, and my blood freezing.
I was so tired. The lights guy couldn’t understand English or Hindi, same with the sound person. As the model took a turn center stage- the music conked out because “fade out” really didn’t mean anything besides ‘cut the music’ to the nodding moron that I was left to hopelessly scream at.
They asked me why I wasn’t dolled up. They think you can walk into your own event after spending five hours in a luxurious parlour. I mean, come on, you’re the CEO’s daughter what else should we expect?
My attendance was short. And is short. Letters and applications to college…my hands are tired of writing.
But wait. Don’t think this blog post is me cribbing. I took on this responsibility and I will not just sit back and complain about it.
This blog is about the “it sucked” people I met.
The media was good and bad to us. That’s how the media is supposed to be in any case. I am in that line. I understand that. If you don’t give unlimited booze to the media-well they go ahead and write unlimited shit about you, while munching on your snacks, sitting around and littering your venue.
But the ‘friends’ and relatives, your team members and people who didn’t quite do their bit well, turn around and tell you that it sucked, well they’re the ones I want to disown. Its then when I feel lonely, long for the strong support system you get when your younger and people respect you even though you haven’t done a damn.
Not a shred of support. Someone said to me recently, (while adding pointers about how and what was wrong with the event) “it takes a second to chop down a tree that’s taken ages to grow”
Don’t I know what went wrong? Don’t I know that about my own event?
Stop giving me advice that you’ve never followed. Talking about problems you’ve never faced. Shut up about your better catering services or which party you went to when and what and why it was better. Take a damned hint.
Doll up with your Chanel bags and get photographed in a planted news story growing in every page3. Talk about feng-shui, shopping and bed hopping.
Talk about the time you saw that beautiful show in Australia and that amazing dress in Singapore. Brag about your cousin’s friend who has now turned homosexual but doesn’t know it yet, but its okay because he’s so rich and now days its so stylish to be gay!
Just don’t talk to me. I want to hide behind the buttons and dials of the console, feeling like a sailor marooned aboard a ship in a stormy sea. Let me put on my clear comm. And watch the fuck up happen all over again. The people who didn’t do their jobs, the people who don’t put in their all.
Let me explain a thing or two about budgets to freeloaders and socialites. Let me tell them a thing or two about market research and strategies. About cutting costs, about working hard.
I may be twenty, but that doesn’t mean you talk to me like a child. Treat me with some respect, even though I may not have the time to put on my Armani shades and mascara my eyes.
I may not have a boy toy clinging to my waist and a D&G glittering in my hand. But one thing- and get it straight- I work harder than you.
And I respect hard work enough to not disrespect someone’s efforts. Not to be a bitchy bystander.
If something goes wrong, I’m going to be there. Tell you to be strong. Tell you it was great and there were, indeed, a lot of great things about what you did. That you’re learning, and there are people who criticize Mona Lisa, Shakespeare and Sigmund Freud! For god sake- there are people who criticize metal!
It in life’s testing moments like these, that I get a look at my real friends. I’d like to believe that all two hundred of them (believe me I have that many friends!) would be still there in that moment of truth, but I see just one or two.
Thank god for those two!
I’m not disappointed. I’m used to being left in times of miseries. I know most people are fair-weather friends. But I’m hoping they’ll change. I’m hoping again. Because when they’re in my situation- or something even close to it- they’ll realize that t wasn’t the event but they who sucked.
No consolation scraps please, your time has passed.
the beautiful trees and the gentle breeze
almost flows through me
..
wounded sky...
i love to swim
almost flows through me
..
wounded sky...i love to swim
the most beautiful painting, thats being painted all the time
...is hanging over our heads, if only we'd look up and see...
there's just something about a flyover...its structure..i find it beautiful
staring into the flashes of light...
staring into the flashes of light...
pray
the demon
The demon awakens.
From under my bed, he lifts his foot and brings it down on my skull… and enters my head.
I watch him running in circles. I watch him scream and howl. I am shivering. He can’t see me. I see his giant silhouette as he turns. The hollowed eyes seem to be giant caves of nothingness. His nails are like tall claws in my minds’ dark blue sky.
I hide behind a tree, I hide to breathe.
The demon comes dangerously close.
He lets out a shriek. I cover my ears, trembling in fear and pain.
I cant bear it anymore, its like my ears would explode.
I come out from under the tree, come in front of his giant being. I cant look at him, I’m too scared.
He stops howling. Startled at the sudden silence, I look up and I want to scream. But my voice is stuck in my throat. I can’t get over what I’m seeing.
I can see him clearly now, the moonlight filters through the side of his face.
Scribbles cover his body. Words and more words. Scribbled. Doodles on his face. Scribbled with a knife.
What I thought were claws are swords. Swords sticking out from his heart.
I look into his face.
It can’t be.
I look again.
It’s me.
From under my bed, he lifts his foot and brings it down on my skull… and enters my head.
I watch him running in circles. I watch him scream and howl. I am shivering. He can’t see me. I see his giant silhouette as he turns. The hollowed eyes seem to be giant caves of nothingness. His nails are like tall claws in my minds’ dark blue sky.
I hide behind a tree, I hide to breathe.
The demon comes dangerously close.
He lets out a shriek. I cover my ears, trembling in fear and pain.
I cant bear it anymore, its like my ears would explode.
I come out from under the tree, come in front of his giant being. I cant look at him, I’m too scared.
He stops howling. Startled at the sudden silence, I look up and I want to scream. But my voice is stuck in my throat. I can’t get over what I’m seeing.
I can see him clearly now, the moonlight filters through the side of his face.
Scribbles cover his body. Words and more words. Scribbled. Doodles on his face. Scribbled with a knife.
What I thought were claws are swords. Swords sticking out from his heart.
I look into his face.
It can’t be.
I look again.
It’s me.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
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