The Collage of Modern Life

Stick to the scale. Even rock music is for sale. There is an E and an F and fiddling around B, and then back to E. Is it the perfect formula for ecstasy? All this time, where have you been? Modern life is a drum machine. It is mechanical, controlled and loud. It makes the chief executives proud. We are wandering around the circle of fifths. We hang between urban dreams and rural myths.

A little distortion wouldn’t hurt. From the strings, you better wipe the dirt. Ghosts of Hendrix and Morrison are in trance. It is up to us to head-bang or dance. A long wailing solo screams. Then a certain silence kills all dreams. On the air waves, music streams. It all gets confused and blurred. Should I slide down to a fifth or a third? Rebel, don’t follow, and break the rules. The ones in orchestra are all fools. Is playing out of tune such a sin? What’s the key I was playing in?

Who needs a reason, to justify treason? Some would die for a cause, and some for a mere applause. Eyes blink; instincts of profound thoughts get extinct. Chaos turns into cosmos and back to chaos again. Cycles of uncertainty. Immorality goes out for a date with moral questions without answers. Closed chapters. Stay home, don’t roam. It is all unfair, they shout in the air, but no one cares. The only place left to go is nowhere. There is nothing to spare.

Keep intact, your artifacts. Black blood-sucking insects on white papers. Race tracks inside skyscrapers. Senseless competition. No conclusion. Making connections, to win a contract at resurrection. Energies of life blended in a huge blender. All the glitter and splendor. Consume that in a sudden haste. Life is such a waste. Portions of an unrealized desire poured in a disposable cup. We have come together to celebrate a magnificent mess up!

From media to relationships. Artificial smiles and dirty tricks. Mass production kills the art. While we stay back to play our part. She wants to make another start. Three missed calls, and a voice message. Attempt to pull me back to the center stage. It’s high time for us to come of age. I am bored and sitting alone on the backseat; contemplating the meanings of victory and defeat. Come on now, rise above the petty personal problems; change the world. Some broken ideals swirled.

It is all such a big confusion. I turned on the television. George Bush walked out of his chopper, promising to bring harmony to chaos and disorder. More clashes on Pak-Afghan border. He emanates feminine grace of Margaret Thatcher. Yet another actor on the political theater. My brain can be dumped on a DVD in surround sound. In the meantime, I’ll simply let the darkness play around.

Amazing grace, so sweet the sound, of bombs falling on the foreign ground. Cowboys in command. Clouds of uncertainty showering rains of new-found faith all around. Harvesting brand new beards, through centuries old fears. Pop stars and cricketers baptized at the Tablighi Woodstock in Raiwind. Gods of mankind making love. Birth of a cocktail of holy wars.

Chants of crusade and jihad. March of armed Hindu maniacs under a peaceful façade. Jews high on holocaust’s memory. Continued blackmail of humanity. Remains of classless red religion sold in the free market. Human values in silent retreat. Self-appointed protectors of state in military uniform. More third world dictators born. Racial hatred and scorn. Bitter talk show hosts. Silent Vietnam soldiers’ ghosts. Haunted by memories of a possible future, free of conflict and strife. The collage of modern life!