Pleasure

Thunder sounds
gentle and muffled

Rain sings
like in a trained choir

Lightning streaks
of soft-toned hues

All three take me
by their arms
Making me yearn
to get my skin wet

But then, here I am...
Not out, yet,

All-absorbing
already soul-drenched
and my pleasures quenched.



Dated: Jul 24, 2019

Purpose

At times,
I feel the seconds,
of the time given to me
ticking and toking
I feel it as visible as...

the throb of the heart
caged inside my chest

the pensive chair, rocking
back and forth

the trickling drops
of a leaking tap
that cannot withhold itself

the one-eyed blinkers of vehicles
raring to head left or right

the blinking series of tiny lights
hung outside on name boards,
outside of shops

the waves on the beach shore
marching ahead and receding

the alternating shriek of
the red-blue sirens, belonging
to a speeding ambulance

the dripping glucose lining up,
waiting to be infused
into my recuperating bloodstream.

I lucidly see the purpose
of this feeling...
and yet, I fail to act, to do, and
deliver with all my might.

Yours Lovingly

Here, now... 
I feel your dead weight on me.
Don't you worry
I'll take care of thee.

I am your sounding board
when you are all alone
You can lay on me
and take a stroll, out 
in your dreamy starry world.

I'll lend my ears
and listen to your murmurs
I'll show you the morning light
until your darkness is out of sight
When you have troubled thoughts, 
O dear,
I'll let you soak me with your tears.

You can count on me
all through your life.
I'll be by your side, and
give you a calm and clear mind
even when you are full of strife.

Now that you've heard what I said
come let's sleep tight...

This is your loving bed.

Today

How much I yearn to say
'I missed you today,
after you left!'

I have second thoughts, and 
stop my flow of thoughts.
I want to validate and 
re-validate, and 
want to test if it would
fade and die.
I repeat the words in my head,
and with a deep sigh,
I check if it would feel
wierd to say so.

I ask myself, 'so what'
and then ask
'will it stay if I say it aloud'
I tell myself
'it is better to stay sad
than to feel sorry'
I also ask 
'are they fleeting thoughts', and 
'what if I do not miss 
after a while'

Well, well...! 
We all know well enough, essentially, 
that is what happens...
We miss people, and then,
we get used to it.

~Dated - May 02, 2019

Bitterness

I've tried...
Enduring you
Being indifferent to you
Tried to avoid you, and
Ignore you.
Confrontation just doesn't work!

You come back, fall back,
and persevere.
And leave a bad taste 
in my mouth.

Like an ocean of bile
in my stomach.

I

The deafening thunderous applause
you give yourself
after you bend and break...

Wish I could learn from you,

Oh! Waves...

Bad Definition of Karma

Knitting together events that gratify your sadistic vengeful self.

Suicide

Autumn was almost done, and
I was at the park bench
lying supine.

The trees exposed the bare blue sky
through the loosely knit mesh
that it weaved, from
the remains of the paling green leaves.

As a gush of wind swiftly blew
the last few hurriedly fell off
severing itself from the cords, which
nourished them for so long.

They came down
like lovers in disappointment,
falling off a cliff.

Brown: Our Marriage

We are mostly brown
but then,
you are Khakhi 
and I am Beige

That is where we 
intersect and bifurcate

The Music in my House

Oh! the voices...
Of the dramatic cello
the sad violin, and 
the mellifluous flute.
I am not trained in them
yet
I can play them well, when 
in my act
I am not too cautious or slow

My heart is calm and still
my mind is unoccupied, 
and
I can hear the occupants 
of my house
play the note equally well
with precisely,
the same tone and pitch 


Three cheers...
To the dear, creaking doors 
for bringing music into my house!

Mosquitoes and Butterflies

If you come to think of it
butterflies that sip the nectar
from the flowers
do not deserve 
to be considered as divine
When,
the sinister mosquitoes
do the same job.

Both are equally devoted.

And yet, we yearn to hold one
by their arms
And, with the other,
we gnash,
and vengefully smash, and squash
between our palms.

Inference
One: Looks can be deceiving.
Two: As long as mankind is not bothered,
he would pass any harm and discomfort
as poetry.

The Clothesdoctor

I've known this puny guy and been seeing him for over three years, I guess. And, he is probably the only person to whom I have spoken far less than he has spoken to me. But then, I don't have any feelings of him stalking me, or something. I have never had feelings of indifference as well, so, you cannot attribute or imagine that to be the reason. I meet him every weekend without fail. He addresses me fondly, says a meek 'hi', checks on me if I've not turned up for a long time. He remarks that I am early or late, if I turn up so. In return, I just smile at him, or just say a word or two... at the max, I have given him warm courtesies. Despite such limited acts of reciprocation, he even advises me to take it easy on myself if I look tired and worn out; he has asked me to try lighter acts like yoga, which happens in the park nearby, at almost the same time I end up on the road, for my sprightly morning runs.

Don't bother guessing... He is the clothesdoctor stationed at the bunk in the street corner, ironing out the clothes and bringing them out of their mess.

My Writings

My writings:

At times,
too long for poetry,

yet,
too sweet for prose.

My growing love for lists

Friends who lend time, unjudging ears
Stillness that accepts things and moves on
un-yearning heart
serenity from listening to a piano
faith in God, hopefulness
the sustaining spirit
being self-sufficient, complete, and enough
feeling of confidence in your stride, and
unwavering determination
awareness of what is right, and
knowing what to do
patience implanted by a good book

Warmth of food on your palate
pleasure of smooth chocolate
sprightliness from cold, tangy juice

Heart that spells, mind that listens, memory that retains
impulse to leave the job at hand and start writing

Compass

Babe,
You are the compass
How would you get lost?

Salt Puddle

I was sitting on the park bench,
my retreat after the refreshing run
With my head drooping down
arms affixed and shank hanging loose

Not bothering to wipe my brows
I let the sweat drip down
And one of them lands itself 
on the edge of the bench

One or two of the curious, playful
small black ants
check on their new-found puddle

Time ticks away, and 
a lot more swarm around it
Now, I realize that they were sipping
like it was some nectar

After a while, the pool shrinks to half
disappearing imperceptibly
alike a sinking sun,
that you cannot see descending

Dead End

When we look for on-the-go directions to a destination,
a dead end also indicates direction.

Move on.

Orphans

We sway together
to the tunes of the wind
We grow together
in the warmth of the sun
We shed together
in the seasons of change
We weep together
to the sadness of the rain

At the treetops we are entwined
and cannot tell apart
each of our twigs or branches
Our roots are different
and far apart
We are the leaves of the trees
across an avenue

Siblings and Marriage

We still can enjoy nectar
from the pulp
of the cane
that you have chewed.

Avenues of Warmth

Words

Time

Thoughts

Poetry

Music

Cotton

Conversations

Shells

I pluck beautiful thoughts
from the mind tree
of my beautiful orchard
during my morning runs,
like
the kid picking and sorting
lovely sea shells
from the beach sand.

Discourse

The warmth derived, after
the discourse of a bereaved mind
is enough to comfort
someone lain bare-bodied on
a slab of glacial ice.


dated: Dec 17, 2018

Me

I wander all around
like a nomad, unaware 
of what I am looking for
Yet,
I discover, rejoice, and relish
I falter, suffer, and learn
You say I deviate...
But, you must understand:
I know, that I have to
come back home.

That's me. Know me.

Tired

After a long day, I hit the bed
I lay on my left and realize that
my body's pressed so hard, that
I begin to feel parts of myself
My entire head, torso, 
and my lower limbs.

I surrendered and 
entrusted myself to it
Knowing that it will 
take good care of me
Like walking beside the one I love,
completely carefree, 
and mindless and unaware
of my path, 
back home.

Autumn

God's blessing,
A thousand kisses flying,
All swirling and swaying, each
at its own pace and gait,
like butterflies that flew
from heaven to earth,
that only knew to take 
a vertical descent
Each fall's varying measure, 
telling me of the stateliness.

A thousand autumn leaves
dry and withered, yet
sprightly and cheerful, falling
from an old, wise tree
that I am lying under...
One thousand of 'em
shower my supine body,
and a few caress tenderly
my tired, deprived face.

The Annoying Itch

You are pretty sure
That the room is dark and calm
And you have been laying still

With eyes closed and ears shut
You see glaring lights
And hear deafening noises

When all you pray
Is to get a good night's sleep

As an answer to your prayer
Your head attempts to clear this clutter

It searches for words, replaces them
It strings them together
And recites them over n over
Until it finds the right ones
To allay the annoyance

Now you cannot restrain
But to straighten up and scratch the itch
Lest you lose the pearls you beaded


Dated - Oct 17, 2018

The Gift

If there is one that you would want to give to someone whom you think must get the best in this world. Like say, for instance, your kid. And let's assume that they have the innate sense to take of good care of things that they own and always strive to honor the responsibility given to them--to take good care what you have bestowed them.

What would you gift?

The fact that I started writing on 'the gift' deems me to give it hands down to the blessing of losing yourself to the versatility of music, of the things it can do to you. And like the fusion of two of the best things, it would be the duo of immersing yourself into the moments when the rain god presents herself and augmenting it with the vivacious listening spell that you have bound yourself into.

Addiction and Escapism

I see the poorest of the poor lining up at the liquor store, spending the last few pennies that they had saved up after toiling their self through physical hardship; all for some intoxication and relief. And I wonder: why would someone struggle so much to earn those meagre shillings and waste it upon liquor. What for... For the high and the temporary relief from their current mental and physical state. They yearn for the pleasure they received the first time. Then, it becomes a habit, and then, there kicks in the avalanche effect. That is addiction, and the point is escapism. An escape from the worldly botherations.

And then, I wonder how different we are from these folks. Of course, the modality of addiction and the level of moral degradation varies by a large amount. We tend to overdo stuff, spend excessive time and effort over what is not needed, and obsess over certain aspects that do not deserve so much attention. We are addicted to, and practice escapism. We kill time and pain like those who do so after consumption of liquor. Just that we use food, television, movies, work, and social media as various means of escapism.

At varying intensties, the end point or the areas of intersection between the alcoholics versus non-alcoholics would be addiction, loss of self-worth, lack of self control, mindlessness, recklessness, lack of concern over the first circle of influence (influence both ways), and loads and loads of meandering from the expected and desired path and action.


Dated - Aug 10, 2018

Comfort

You are lying supine 
with your heart thumping loud and hard,
thigh muscles burning, out of intense work,
and your tensed core gets a breather.

Your eyes are closed,
arms resting on the floor,
and knuckles on your brow.

Your feet, which usually rest,
under the weight of your body,
is now resting on the gym floor,
bearing the weight
of just the portion beneath the bent knee.

While you are so,
you think about penning these thoughts
with the title 'comfort'.

That was mental comfort,
after the innumerous dry days of 'un' writing.


Dated - Jul 28, 2018

Between Shades of Gray and Karwaan

How long has it been since I saw a movie as refreshing as the cool breeze on a sweaty evening! It was the Friday evening and my official weekend hours. Yes... weekend, for me, lasts for a few hours, and that is the Friday evening. The weekend is technically work for home. Work is work, isn't it, be it home or office. Anyways, c'est la vie! So, after a long time, I was surfing Amazon Prime to see if there was anything worthwhile, and this one popped up. The movie poster had Dulquer and Irrfan sharing a light moment with another young lady, and with tender coconut in their hands; so, by the first looks, it came across as a good movie to spend time on.

You get to traverse most of the first part with Dulquer's misgiving in his life. But then, it does not come out so on-your-face, like the typical lifeless guy with a beard. He is a guy who had to lose his passion for the sake of his father, who harps on a solid career, rather than dwelling on one's passion. For his father, Dulquer's passion was a mere insecure vocation that vacillated unsteadily, tethered by luck at the binding end. Dulquer is shown desperately seeking the attention of his love interests at a few places, and that is still reasonable for a guy with a single status. There is not much of a background for Irrfan, apart from the fact that he owns a few vehicles, but not the suave kinds, along the lines of his character in Piku; yet, he is a practical, lovable, and a rustic character. He has a brotherly affinity for Dulquer, and this clarifies or convinces us as to why he would take his personal vehicle to help Dulquer; a vehicle styled similar to the Volkswagen Camper.

So, Karwaan refers to a caravan, the vehicle that Irrfan drives to exchange Amala's mom's mortal remains with that of Dulquer's dad. Both their parents had travelled to the Ganges on a pilgrimage and the bus meets with an accident. For a few seconds, I actually could not recognize the beautiful Amala, but then her gait and body language lets you make the guess. Before the exchange act starts, there is a piece on the way the travel company and the courier company handle the demises; it does look a bit stony and dramatic, but I guess that is how it really is... perhaps more like the way George Clooney presents himself when he issues the pink slips in Up in the Air.

The exchange of conversation between Dulquer and the spoilt brat in Amala's daughter, and the situational romantic tragedies when Irrfan's tries to hit on a woman he falls for, form the rest of the movie. The movie evokes memories of Soodhu Kavvum and Neram, in the way it has dealt certain parts of the plot. Now here, I must say that my references to the other movies is certainly an injustice to Karwaan, especially after having had so much fun watching the movie. It certainly has a refreshing appeal and is a must watch. There's no doubt about it.

Karwaan was actually sandwiched between two of the many quick reading sessions of the book, Between Shades of Gray written by Ruta Sepetys. That night, after watching Karwaan, I was extending my weekend hours for a little longer, and I was not too sure if I must continue the emotionally heavy book after seeing such a light-hearted movie. But then, I reasoned it out saying that a good movie stands apart for the lightness it brings, despite the drama contained external to it. And, a good book like Between the Shades of Gray, however tragic it may be, does not dwell in your mind for the horrors endured by the protagonists (Lina and her fellow members), but the positivity and the ray of hope that beams throughout the narration.

Thereon and until the end, there was still a lot more tragedy in Lina's life. There were places in the book that were ghastly, and yet, Karwaan's aura never faded. And, neither did I feel so desolated after I finished the book.

Of course, even though there was a little hope saved at the closing of the book, when the inspecting doctor arrives, it still is not a happy ending. Could be primarily because of the number of years after which the countries surrounding Lithuania, the Baltic countries, got their freedom from the tyranny of Russia. In all, a very good book after a really long time. And it is yet another book that carries values and reinstates the spirit of hope amidst doom and despair.


Dated - Oct 06, 2018

Come Back

The pupils forgot to dilate,

my heart settled to beat slower...

perhaps, my blood got colder?

My senses were rarely alert

and never reached any high.

I was desperate and helpless.

I could not realize what I missed.

I was searching for something

to fill the void, not knowing what.

I was shoved around and
thrown into a perpetual dismay.
With convictions thrown astray
my ship sunk into diffidence.
I felt like I lost my voice
and my power to reason and say.

My constants exclaimed

that I seemed to have aged.

In actual, I was rotting

and indulging in self-sabotage.

Today, realization dawned
and slung me
to heightened consciousness.
Like an ablution 
at the close of a tired day,
like being amidst 
the expanse of a calm blue sea,
like inhaling scentless 
whiff of mist atop a hill.

I notice that it's you.
Am so glad to have gotten you back,
and, most of all, am glad it was you...

Dear Euphoria!

The Unburied

I ask the flowers a reason
For being prodigal
Shedding itself in vain
All its glorious blooms
On the dismal roads

In reply, it says to me
"I weep and pay homage
To all my warriors
The seeds, twigs, and leaves
Who gracefully heeded, and
Gave way to new blood
They are my kith and kin,
My bullets, swords, and shields
Who lay unburied
On the tarred, cold roads
Hapless and nowhere to go
Deprived of their deathright
To lay peacefully
In the womb of Mother Earth

I shed to perform their last rites"

I stood there pained and meek
Before I could say anything
The flower continued to speak

"I question mankind in disdain
About the inaction and imprudence
To let the valorous bodies
Their bones and flesh
Decay in dishonor
The ones that braved and fought
The likes of
Nature, time, and circumstance.

You better explain..."

Pleasure Balloons

It's a pity that
We've trained ourselves
To fly high
Only when we inflate our minds
With pleasure.

Cotton Ball - Redacted

On a dreary and cold day,
I sit in my room 
listening to a song, 
spieled to eternity.

I imagine tearing away
bleached white layers
from the cotton roll.

I fold and refold,
make two small balls
and stuff them into my ears.

My weary mind yields 
to a strange urge 
that comes over me.

I take the song in my hands,
gently make two globs,
and thrust 'em into my ears,
reassured of the warmth
to my cold heart.


Edits Credit: MaheshC

Cotton Ball

It's a cold day.
I imagine tearing away 
white layers of soft, fluffy cotton 
from the bale.

I make two small balls 
and stuff them into my ears.

As I listen to an all-absorbing song, 
an urge comes over me,
and I continue.

I take the song in my hands,
roll it into two chunks, and
thrust them into my ear canal...

To provide comfort and warmth
to my cold heart,
and clear itself
from the over-crowded clutter
caused by the innumerous, unsolved 
problems and troubles of my world.

A Heart-Warming Tale

Eddie the Eagle

Apparently, a tad old review. Be that as it may, I wanna write it anyways.

This one is such a heart-warming true narrative of Eddie, a kid who aspires to be at the Olympics. The movie's director manages to create the endearing feeling for the protagonist by showcasing his zeal to participate in the Olympics, despite his shortcomings. You kinda get a feeling of having won a medal for Eddie when the only thing that he achieves is the minuscule victory of having qualified for the Olympics, and that too when there were hardly any stringent minimum qualifications laid for qualifying for participating in the Olympics.

Most of us are mediocre folks, who live a life of a cigar that is either smoked or trampled, all done too quickly. So, this one eggs us to dream, and go after it. Another remarkable point is about the freedom that Eddie's parents give him, especially his mom who is super-supportive of Eddie's dreams. Consistently, the endearing mom that she is, she puts his aspirations at the top of her list and forgives and encourages that self-motivating lad. And, all of this, despite Eddie's dad who had long given up on him. Wish we could have a person like Eddie's mom in our home team!

And, not really sure why the handsome Hugh Jackman would have wanted to do the role of a prodigal ski jumper. Anyways, good to be seeing him without the metal prongs.

Mirror

Looking in the rear-view mirror of your two-wheeler after you leave the parking lot is almost like the loving ritual of dropping a peck on your loved one when you say goodbye after you reach the destination; of course, when you are in a good and chirpy mood. And yeah, at times when you both are not really doing well after a 'i-beg-to-differ' situation, you have a second or two of gaining composure and you think on how you really want to word your bye--do I scratch and scar the scab, or leave it to rest for it to heal.

Something that I now remember is a quote that establishes a relationship between a person's outlook and what they do in front of a mirror. It goes something like 'you really have a bad sense of humor if you don't smile at yourself in the mirror.' Long live such quotes, because at times, in our dreary lives, those are the only times we smile.

So, I park my vehicle and the rear-view mirror on my two-wheeler invited me as usual. I look at the speckles, on my face and on it. No... I only realize the speckles on it after peering deep into my face for a good one minute. And then, slowly I see those aberrations distracting me. Something like, you instantly are able to realize how you are doing on the outside almost instantly as you see yourself. But then, getting to notice the speckles on the mirror is like realizing how well you are doing in the inside, and it is not on a normal day that the aberrations show up. It actually interferes with what you are seeing—the physical self—your thought that you are doing just fine. However, think about it...

Blessed are those who realize this intervention and set on the act of cleaning the mirror, of getting rid of the distortions. You give the speckles a cursory wipe first; this is that acknowledgement thought on something that is bothering you. And then after the wipe, you see those stubborn speckles, the one that is much deeper that you thought; that's the root cause that you manage to point fingers at. Then you employ your nails, or apply pressure and try hard to wipe things off clean. After the job at the epicenter is done, you work on the inner edges to finish the cleaning. Ta-da! Now you are able to see things really crystal clear. There...! isn’t it obvious that after you mend the inner stuff, you look even better on the outer.

And there are times, when things are going too fast, you know there are specks but then you lose control of things, the mending act gets sidelined, and then you go down the spiraling path! Something like, you are late to a destination and just happened to wipe your mirror after you started the bike, and then realize those speckles. You cannot cleanse when your mind is in a chaos; it is impossible to mend it when you are in haste. You've got to pause, stop, mend, and surge ahead.

From introspection to mending stuff! I wish the realization and the mending act was as easy as realizing the specks on the mirror and cleaning it, partnering with time and priority!

The Growing Neem

About a year ago, at about eight in the night
when I was among the lot after a day's fight,
I saw a sapling in an almost wretched state.

Hardly did I know that I were to seal its fate.

I did see a steel strap beside the stooping sap,
And wanted did I to mend its breaking back.

I choked its neck with this rusted strap.
I was yelling at it, 
'think of yourself steady and strong!'

I fought until I stitched it back to its kin,
Even though I knew I was hurting its skin.

I left it there, hoping to have done a job so fair.

Today, it was just about the same time,
after a day's work not so fine...
I see a strange groove on a growing tree.

Hey...! He's the same dude who was so helpless 
and let to sway until he almost fell.

Now, here he is, grown twenty feet tall.
Proud was I to have seen him done so well.

But then, hold on for a second y'all...

This trough on his trunk that is running around
and about five feet from the ground?

Was I the one who left that scar?

I wonder about the neem's tale to the leaves!
Am I being damned or being thanked,
for the scarred life or for the breath of life?

Your Beautiful Eyes

The steady flicker of your naive eyes
always marked by a carefree candour
that which feast on the world's wonder,
and drenching it
with an imagination so splendour

Is like

The flame of a divine lamp
that which drinks the ether around,
neither too fast nor too slow,
living its fullest life
in each moment of its lustrous glow.

Beautiful, isn't it, to see...
both dancing
to the song of a thanking ode,
for being blessed to just be?

Poison

The point is not just about 
taking the blows or your deftness.
It is about being able to realize 
that you are about to be blown.

But, it is not that easy with words.

You... your mind may be poisoned 
without you being cognizant of it.

That is the difference...

in refusing to take poison
versus realizing 
that you are being poisoned.

We ought to be agile and immune.

Coincidence

How about this for a coincidence?

Long ago, when I had overcome a bout of greediness--OK... let's be a bit positive and call it enthusiasm, or love for books, or... eagerness, for lack of any other word--in buying books that have a good rating... I must talk about my book selection routine a little later; perhaps, that's an entirely different conversation (monologue?) altogether. Too much of meandering... I know. Anyways, the book, 'All the light we cannot see' by Anthony Doerr was one among them. And then, when I start reading it, I enthusiastically pursue the habit of jotting down the stuff that really impresses me, shakes me or whatever kind of emotion it brings out of me. So, of the three pages of ravings about the book, the one praise that I bother to write down is by J. R. Moehringer, author of Sutton and the Tender Bar. 

"Doerr sees the world as a scientist, but feels as a poet. He knows about everything - radios, diamonds, molluscs, birds, flowers, locks, guns, - but he also writes a line so beautiful, creates an image or scene so haunting, it makes you think foerver differenty about the big things - love, fear, cruelty, kindness, the countless facets of the human heart ... Doerr's new novel is that novel, the one you savour, and ponder, and happily lose sleep over, then go around urging all your friends to read - now"

It is indeed an amazing take on the book; no doubt about it. That is the reason why it takes a place in my beloved notebook. Now, the date was 28 Dec 2016. I have entries, more from books that I cared to leave midway, than from those that I bothered to finish. Just a rude reminder to myself that 2017 has been the worst of all the un-self years I have had to deal with so far. Un-self? I mean, not being myself or having very less time for myself. 

The last fews book that I read (in 2016) were 'Wonder' by RJ Palacio, 'When breath becomes air', by Paul Kalanithi, 'The One and Only Ivan' by Katherine Applegate, and in 2017, just one book: 'The Gita for Children', by Roopa Pai. And for the books that I deserted too quickly are Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild, David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas, Malala's I am Malala, John Grisham's The Firm, Kiran Desai's Inheritance of Loss, Jennifer Niven's All the Bright Places, Atul Gawande's Being Mortal, Jandy Nelson's I'll Give You the Sun, Harari's Sapiens, Doerr's All the Light We Cannot See, and Thich Nhat Hanh's Old Path White clouds. I know... Whatever!

And today, in a history of firsts, I manage to finish a book, and that's 'Open' by Andre Agassi. Rarely have books been able to catch my attention early on (he starts off like a wounded soldier and yet having to face the battle with such hate for the battlefield), and have made me read it till the last word. And this is one among such; I finished reading in one week, given my hectic schedule. In the last two pages of the book... a kind of closing statement from Andre, is the 'acknowledgements' section.

It reads, 'This book would not exist without my friend J. R. Moehringer. It was J.R., before we even met, who first made me think seriously about putting my story on paper. During my final U.S. Open, in 2006, I spent all my free time reading J.R.'s staggering memoir, The Tender Bar.'

And then, it is quite obvious that I would not remember that I had written that name a long ago, that too for some other book. I just happened to notice the name when I was about to jot down the difficult words in Andre's book on my notebook, and happened to peruse through the other entries that I had made.

Coincidence, right? I picked Moehringer's name so randomly, which was part of an praise list of some other book, and it comes back after a year in some other context; he is now the pseudo-author of a book that I manage to complete.

Sun

What do you wonder at, my son?

That the fragile flower
permeates cheer

while the fearless man
wilts and withers

under the light and glow
of our beloved sun?

Who am I?

I have seen your anger

I have seen you being rash

I have seen you being irrational

I have seen you lash

I have seen you as an arrant rogue
I have seen you being loved
I have seen you being used
I have seen your devotion

I have seen your fondness

I have seen you happy

I have seen you helpless

I have seen you punish 'em

and when you've let 'em flourish

I have seen you threaten

I have seen you tremble

I have seen you being blamed

I have seen you being wanted

I have seen you change, 

forms and shapes, and,

I have seen your resolve

I have seen you repent

I have seen you cleanse

I have seen you calm

and I have seen you cry

I have seen you being bullied

I have seen you betray

I have seen you in pain

and when you loved in vain

However...

You are unlike the humans around,

You never fake.

In all, I have seen all of you.

Who am I to you, dear rain?

Wrinkles

I read my writings of a decade ago.
Vernal, vivacious, pithy and sharp.
Liberal, focused, aplenty and nimble.

And then, I immediately,
scrutinize my face in the mirror.
Wrinkled and dull.

I wonder...

If my mind became as vulnerable
as my skin had become--owing to its love,

Time.

Introduction to Violence

Wouldn't exposing kids to the act of buying meat from a butcher (and thereby to the cleaning process) be considered as an act of violence?

~ Running Thoughts, June 04

Hyperbole

Seeing a speck on one's own nose.

Of Death and Sufferance

Does death kill ego, hatred, and any other forms of misgivings? For a moment, I thought it did. No... Not really. Between two beings in a tensed relationship, it proves who won and who had the last laugh. Under the pretext of homage, the ego-clad victor stands tall towering over the dead, registering the fact that he has won the race of time. Of course, it is only a temporary relief. But then, we are all ingrained in accumulating brownie points through temporary aspects, be it measures, relief, or victories; such a temporal object the human is. We go behind all things ephemeral: beauty, fame, money, power and whatever falls in the line of that trajectory. Well, what else can we expect? There is but one thing that we do which is indeed anti-temporal. And that is dying.

If one believes in after birth, then even that is temporal. What does this one important act of mankind signify? Because I do not believe in after-birth, I assume that it hardly signifies anything to the dead. For those who are left to survive the death, it is loss, both monetary and non-monetary. But then, death also bestows the survivor with wealth, power, and the usual accompanying suspects. Death brings out what was never said before—of the dead and the things surrounding them. With matters concerning benefits, at times, it brings more estrangements and more misgivings.

Of course, when the death has nothing to do with power, money, and fame, it is pain. It pains from deep inside to come to terms with the vacuum and the desolation created by the dead’s absence. Our heart cringes even with the very thought about the loss of someone who filled your time and senses with joy… like the loss of your very own progeny. 

All said, even these after effects are ephemeral. Time stands a victor, gobbling up even the sorrow that death creates. Don't you forget the fallible human memory that plays the partner in crime with time.

And of sufferance, does death act as a means to reconciliation? In most cases, it does. It makes the intolerant to reconsider and let what was then a major rift to macerate into a passable event. 

Leave alone a situation of death... Even if there is a near-death situation, and if an opportunity for reconciliation presents itself, would we not think about disengaging our ego and come forth to express our forgiveness and be uber-human about it? If that can be done, can we not imagine such a hypothetical situation, be large-hearted, shed our hatred, and look to work in harmony with folks whom we cannot even stand the sight of? That one act of kindness would open up so much more possibilities for collaborative living. If not anything, it would, at the least, let us be at peace with ourselves. 

And certainly, next to work, sufferance is the deliverance of mankind.

Air

You sucked in so much of me,

only to blow out the light of my soul?

Hurt

Do I tell her: Don't ever hurt me again.
or
do I tell myself: Don't ever get hurt again.

<...writing... as I listen to the rain's chatter.>


Dated: Sep 15, 2016

Afar and Aimless

Seconds after you left me,
the void space around me
threw me afar and aimless;

like

the unknotted full-blown balloon
that is sucked and squeezed,
and pulled to nowhere.

Hopefulness

Sometimes...

words, of hope and positivity,
come rushing towards me

and jolts me
like a blow of vengeance.

Redemption

I am searching your eyes
For all the love that we lost
Over our anger, actions, and words,
For so long...

Will you redeem it for me,
My love?

Seconds

Anger... mine and yours.
You ask, "what about it?"

In a few seconds,
all was done.

Like that untethered
full-blown balloon,
devoid of its noose.

In one word: haywire.

Dust

Be wary and cognizant
of what you do with the dust:

Defense
Offense
Delayed defense
Delayed offense



...Aug 21, running thoughts...

P.S.: To be read in correlation with 'Dust and Truck'. 

Companions

What better companions than

The walls that back your spine,

The books that hold your heart,

The music that fills your senses,

And

The thoughts that create your mind!

...Aug 06, running thoughts...

Forgiver

Rain, my dearest!

I forgive you.


Yours ever,
Forgiver

P.S.: Apparently, my 200^th post!

What do i do...

What do I do with all the 

songs of my soul 
that do not see the vocal passage,

love in my heart
that do not penetrate the indurate,

tunes in my head
that do not become scales and notes,

thoughts in my head
that do not meet the monochromes of a paper,

light in my eyes
that do not see the words of a book,

fire in my spirit
that go unkindled.

weary

i am not running fast,
but i am gasping for breath.
i am not working hard,
but i am longing for a break.
i am not thinking through,
but i am feeling spent.
i am not shackled,
but i am aching for freedom.

Aftermath

After I was charred
And just when I began to sob,
I hear a child cry...

It was neither an obstinate
nor an unreasonable cry.

It resonated inside my entire self,
And felt like our cries were in unison.

My heart shattered...

Like the shattering
of the bridge that shared
the same vibrating frequency
as the march of the soldiers on it.

Charred

Of late,
Things are being spewed at me.
The hurling objects look to me
like glowing snow-like pebbles
smothered with ash.

Alas!
It is not until late that I realize
they are the radiantly glowing,
hot and fuming pieces of coal.

I chide myself
for being incognizant
of the mistaken identity--
of the words.

And...

I am all charred by then.

Heartaches

Heartaches are messy.
Especially the ones involving misunderstandings.

Thankful and Happy

It's not happy people who are thankful;
It's thankful people who are happy.

Greed

Why that urge to stuff 
as much of you 
as much as I can
inside my head and heart, 
my thoughts and soul?

Love sunk, again!

When I fell in love with a song, I always tried to translate it and quenched my thirst. If I loved it so dearly, I also wrote about it. And now, even though I have not written about this song as yet, and I am going to write about it now, I am not sure if the respect for this song is going to die down so easily… Honestly, I am so madly in love with this song that I am feeling so bad that I cannot translate it one more time!

Out of the blue, the thought to listen to it and make it fill my senses bloomed on a very tired night, when I was trying to keep a guard on myself and that is something that I am not going to talk about here, because it is going to be out of context. In fact, the song actually managed to hijack my concentration from a thing that has been holding my mind captive for days together now. However, without much digression, let me say the song that I am talking about. But before I plunge, I must say that music and writing has again come to my rescue.

The translation was dated Nov 23, 2011. The rediscovery is happening almost 5 years later. And I just discovered that I had written, ‘Childlike Joy’, when I had attempted to translate this song then. No wonder…! Well, I am talking about my fondness for this song.

So what is so special about this song? OK. So which song is it that is robbing me of much needed sleep… It is ‘Kadhal Vaithu’ from the movie, Deepavali.

First off, I think it is the verses, and the next two things that would go in hand would be the voice and the music. I am not really going to talk about the lyrics here because I think I have done justice to it. So, the next best thing is the voice. Vijay Yesudas literally dignifies this song despite a few shortcomings that exist in every song, which are a few necessary evil things, either to fill the time and space, and the void. He is so sincere, so matter of fact, so soaked in love, elated, so endearing and passionate, in that order from the moment he starts singing first word of the song. And then he goes off in the tone of a story teller, and then becomes a person who is so love sunk. And then, the music takes off…

The simple guitar chords that begin the song, the amazing violin in the early to the middle portion of the song, the sarangi in the later half, the brief and subtle piano at the end, and the closing violin that signs off the song epitomizes the way a composer can use the instruments so flawlessly.

Amazing!

Dated: Feb 16, 2016

Move on!

I was looking for 'move-on' quotes and here are some of them that I liked:

One of the hardest parts of life is deciding whether to walk away or try harder.
~Unknown

Moving on is hard.
Knowing when to move on is harder.
~Unknown

I am proud of my heart.
It's been Played, Stabbed, Cheated, Burned, and Broken.
But somehow...
It still works!
~Unknown

You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who'll decide where to go...
~Dr. Seuss


At some point you will realize that you have done too much for someone, that the only next possible step to do is to stop.
Leave them alone.
Walk away.
It's not like you're giving up,
and it's not like you shouldn't try.
It's just that you have to draw the line of determination from desperation.
What is truly yours will eventually be yours,and what is not,
no matter how hard you try,
will never be.
~ Unknown

A quarter in my mind

Words of the quarter:

Euphoria
Addiction
Delirium
Therapies
Realization
Learning
Positioning
Placidity

The sweet thorn

You were that sweet thorn
That I could touch on and on
And I hate to say that
It is not so...
Anymore.

I am ready

The resurgent and rejuvenated me is ready
To lock horns with the raging bull...
called l i f e
dot