so:ng

Drum beat thumping wall
The joker dances in the hall
Stretching his smile
Mocking madness
His red lip shade
I hear what you say
Laugh laugh, echoes
There
The court jester’s grave
It’s not a death song foretold
It’s the sound you’ve forgotten you know
My colours all turn to grey
Sir psycho’s box in which he lays
With his leather boots and ashtray
Tearing the slumber of peace away
One two three
and
one two three again
The veins shall all sway
To my strings one day
I scream
I’m here to stay
I’m here to stay.

ho:me

The big hero of your pocket sized heart
is scratching on its red moon walls
collecting arrows and the sharpest dart.
He lies entangled in the termites of veins
that eat away freedom
and build new chains.
Sleep deprived by the sound of the clock
he fails to escape in time
so he waits and drinks on your wine,
restless to board the ship at the sand laden dock
he stays awake,
bangs on the door without a lock.
He keeps at it for a thousand years
relentless, he starts again from the start
like the crazy eyed soldier without any fears.
In between the war he sits up to breathe
wide awake in his recurring lucid dream,
blankets the room around him and curls up his feet,
safe,
he chooses defeat in a heartbeat.

mono:logue

An idea that was born out of monotony has taken its form in an audio-visual. What began with just a melody, is now a monologue of three minutes and twelve seconds devised by Puneesh Suri and Reshna Banerjee.

The song was created by Puneesh inside his humble home studio. During an informal listening-session with Reshna, it was derived that the song depicts the infinite-loop of reality in between an everyday quintessential monologue. It was then conceived that the song must be documented with visuals that draw metaphorical parallels to the core idea of the track. As per Reshna’s vision of the video, the duo decided to tread the streets of Delhi to create a story and consummate it with a connecting element. The element was not just created but also performed by Reshna herself.

Press play to start the | monologue.

ink:well

How far would you go to feed your insanity? How long will you say that you will do it to keep it sane? The cuts wouldn’t be deep enough till the valley rises, the spring of wine to which your thoughts would succumb. The maddened lines embroidered artistically, delicacy you will find there none. Only the haste to finish the last chapter, you will take the glass through your hand till the last word is done.

How far would you go to follow the belief, that the only truth is god’s son? Will you turn the page in disinterest but thrash yourself in urge for some? The naked truth is as stark as the vice in your sermon. It shows itself, in the torn paper and the glue which holds the replacement. The sham holds strong in the covers and the T-ruthless sin on the wall, with no water to wash the grey and red ink intoxicating the skeletons of your brain. Which keeps the bones from falling off, the veins from nearing the dock.

I would go without dough or a penny but let me keep my insanity. My hunger wouldn’t cease at all. My hands may be cut and my tongue walled. I will be my ink and quill and tattoo my being with the needle that doesn’t prick at all. I will write. I will stay insane to keep my sanity after all.

fra:gile

Are you walking through a ball of fire
Are you walking through the sea
Is it hallucination, déjà vu
Your own echo, it could be.

It’s also that book you wrote and buried
Scratch the mud and begin to read
Look closely at the folded corners
There lie the pages you must strain to see.

Are you crazy enough to find the answers
Warning,
For a glass ball it has questions too many.
On the torn page lies the beggar,
Talented enough to buy you off.
Next comes that one legged dog,
Who heroically saved your life.
Another chapter brings answers to calls of query
Where those cinematic pigeons on the rooftop sang
Two for warmth, one for lonely, five far too many.

The old tree is a new coffin
Water hotel-y hot or cold
Smoke, holy smoke marks your glory
Everything you put your hand on is sold.

It’s going to tumble soon
To make some noise in your silent sea
This book has its own charm
It will lose gracefully.

History says the fragile is always bet in wars,
Hasn’t it been at stake times far too many.
Let’s stop passing it around,
To see who wins before the fall.
All of it is reflected through the looking glass,
Every episode will end in a barricade
If you continue walking down this hall.
If it crumbles, can you resurrect a new you
In the wind of ashes you can hear it whisper
“If you burn me, I will burn you too”.

spla:sh

I lie in a corner, splashed in life both old and new
I stare at each passer-by
Some judgingly slip in a glance
While I seductively fool some of you
Some almost touch me giving it a closer chance
They anoint me with meanings
Some decide meaning there is none.

No matter how beautiful I am
I can never choose or reject you
My essence will still remain the blend of his hues
Complete, when he fills in my flaws
And we begin to be known in twos.

Bid my price at the auction
He’ll be my man and I his wife
Never can you afford the humble muse
You can dissect me with your blood stained fork and knife
But my dear lover once you hang me
Only then will I come alive.