Thought Safari

Deflated, Depleted, 'Simon & Garfunkel'ed...

2009-10-02T02:06:00.011-04:00

I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises
All lies and jest
Still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest. hmmm...

Who are you fooling my dear? You are but trivial, immaterial to the roving world and the churning seas. But go on, delude yourself some more. Self importance and daydreams are but your only crutches that remain. What will you do my poor dear? When your recursive reassurances sound hollow even to yourself... What else will you do?

When I left my home and my family I was no more than a boy

In the company of strangers
In the quiet of the railway station, runnin' scared
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go
Lookin' for the places only they would know

No my dear! Don't you look back. For you will know in a flash that this is not where you want to be. This strange place that holds even your whims prisoner, is this where you want to die? Those days when you shared a kinship with Roark and Galt, those wonderful days are gone. Believe me dear, all that is left is a mirage, a fading sheen. A dying light is all that is left. Oh my dear...

Asking only workman's wages, I come lookin' for a job, but I get no offers

Just a come-on from the whores on 7th avenue

I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome

I took some comfort there

Apologies my dear. I laugh not at you, but at your endearing naiveté and your hopeful face. Clamber all you want, claw at nature, if you may. But a place for everything and everything in its place. You in yours, they in theirs. Sigh! I told you my dear. Of the obsolescence of effort, and the chimera that is hope. I warned you.

Now the years are rolling by me, they are rockin' even me

I am older than I once was, and younger than I'll be, that's not unusual

No it isn't strange, after changes upon changes,

we are more or less the same

After changes we are more or less the same

Run my dear. Run! Melt away those layers of age. Race to the setting sun. Beat the rushing wind. But even rainbows, resplendent as they are, have to vanish and die in time. Some truths don't change my dear. They just take a while to catch up. But run you must. Away from it all. Make like a bird and fly my dear.

And I’m laying out my winter clothes, and wishing I was gone, goin’ home

Where the New York City winters aren’t bleedin’ me, leadin’ me goin' home

You walk with your head in the clouds. You really do my dear. Don't you remember you don't have a home? You squandered it away on a bet. A bet against yourself. You have long been a drifter, don't you see? My little destructive dear...

In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade

And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down

or cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame

"I am leaving, I am leaving."

But the fighter still remains

Nurse those scars my dear. Nurse them, for they are not going away. Rest tonight and leave tomorrow dear. But then again, who are we fooling really? For you and I have always known. You are but a fighter my dear...

PS: Written while listening to Simon & Garfunkel's "The Boxer" on repeat. Easily their best song!

Wishful

2009-09-30T02:33:00.005-04:00

I saw an elderly couple on the street. They strolled leisurely, gazing at store windows and stopping for snow cones. He waited patiently as she surveyed shoes. She smiled to herself as he stopped to stare at toy cars. Maybe some things never change, I thought. Maybe the boy or the girl in us lives on forever.

They stopped at a traffic light, cars zipping past in a hurried world that was once theirs. He peered right and she to the left. An unsaid protocol, a tiny idiosyncrasy ingrained in them and habituated over the years. They locked hands with each other and off they went across the road. Did she always walk on his left? Did he take her hand or did she take his? Was it practice or was it chance? No one could say. I’m sure.

They spoke softly, about this and that. He leaned close to her and said something. She let out a low delighted laugh. He chuckled, his eyes twinkling mischievously at his own joke. Did they not argue when they were younger, I wondered. Maybe differences fade away gently. Maybe over time, they had become a little more like each other. But today there was a lovely harmony as they walked along. They were perfectly in step with each other, their pace, fluid and gentle like the breathing of a sleeping child.

It began to rain, a slight drizzle, all but lost in a gusty breeze. He flipped open his umbrella. He didn’t wait, she didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she took a step closer to him. They walked on, her own umbrella still dangling from her arm. They slowly walked homeward, this profound moment probably just one of the countless others they took for granted.

To me, it was a magical reality dazzling in front of my eyes. I stood there, even as the drizzle became a pattering rain, and looked on at a love that had stood the test of time. I stood there and promised myself our own autumn evening. In that crystallized moment I knew that all I want to do is grow old with you.

Ritual

2009-08-15T05:27:00.007-04:00

To you, paper roses,
night after night.
Painted birds and doodled love,
Cut, copy and paste,
when sleep comes in haste.
But for you, a little trinket,
night after night.

To you, scribbled poems,
night after night.
Neruda and Dickinson,
when my thoughts get lost
in the midnight frost.
But for you, a special poem,
night after night.

An Unwarranted Mirth

2009-07-19T00:40:00.005-04:00

Today I sat on a swing in the park and swung away to my heart's content. And I suspect I enjoyed it way more than my two year old cousin. For those brief moments I had not the smallest worry. The burdens of life gave way to a lightness I have not felt in years. I stopped. I breathed. I turned my face up to the breeze. Back and forth, back and forth. Life is full of similar oscillations. Secure to stranded, elated to morose, confident to terrified. There is never enough time to categorize life as good or bad amidst this constant interplay of ravaging extremes. But today, in these rare moments of stillness I wondered what is it that makes one brave the downs and seek the ups of life.

What makes one pray to an unknown God? What makes one read astrology? What makes one search for the elusive silver lining to every cloud? It could be need. It could be discontent. Or even greed. I like to think it is faith.

It's funny how faith works. Oftentimes it is difficult for the rational mind to grasp faith as a concept. For it can seem rather blind, baseless and unscientific. The rational mind understands effort and result and expects them to be proportional to each other. It cannot settle for an aggregate but non-chronological reciprocity between effort and result. Neither can it understand belief without proof, or patience without progress. Rational as I claim to be, I believe effort and faith feed into each other. Faith induces effort even when the fruit is not in sight or within reach. Unrelenting hard work in turn serves to augment the very faith that one is constantly inching towards the fruit.

In principle, one could have faith in anything- in oneself, in instinct, in justice, in the ultimate reign of goodness, in the immutable laws of nature, in Time, in God. I think it is something, maybe the only thing, that protects our irrevocable right to dream, our sometimes irrational optimism, and our unjustifiable claim to lofty goals and ideals. It is what keeps the innocence in us from escaping.

Back and forth, back and forth, life will go on. I know. But right now, there is a breeze in my hair. The grass is young and green. The moon is high and blue. The world is picturesque. The idealist lives on...

Where are you?

2009-06-14T17:52:00.003-04:00

Time tempts and torments. Yes, the same Time that raced past us that day when I lay wrapped in your arms. The same Time that, miles away from you, ticks laboriously. Second after excruciating second.

I miss you... All the time indeed. So much, that sometimes it unleashes the devil in me. Sometimes I want to grab you and admonish you for not doing so yourself. But No, I will not strangle you for no fault of yours. For it is Time that made false promises of eternity. You never did, I know. No need to remind me. The truth is stark naked. As always.

Most nights I tire myself to sleep, grinded teeth and clenched fists. Some nights I cry myself to sleep. I later laugh at how you struggle to understand the tears and my bitten lips. Pray don't chastise yourself. You are just a boy.

Oh yes, there are ways to fill time. None that I've not tried. I discover that you've taken away with you the romance of the movies I so love. Heroes in my books speak your language and take your silhouette. The iPod plays but one song on repeat. I can write about nothing but you. Time has become unbearable.

Memories sear the heart. The mind sweats with unchaste thoughts. Dreams stand indefinitely deferred. Fear abounds of the terrible unknown.

Adrift

2009-04-30T21:01:00.002-04:00

The older we grow, the more of our mind's spaces we shut down. We shut them forever, allowing not a glimpse of the pristine faith that once resided in them. We shut them, leaving not a trace of the child's undemanding love, of the teenager's insatiable thirst, of the lover's boundless passion. Sometimes we paint over the artist's dream. Sometimes we burst the dreamer's bubble. These spaces, we shut them to the world, we shut them to ourselves.

Oftentimes wisdom from experience serves to mar the mind. This is not to say experiences do not leave us richer. But oftentimes wisdom brings with it reckless scars of memory. Unknowingly we change, unwillingly even. The metamorphosis however is thorough and clinical.

So I stand at the helm of my life, looking back instead of forward. I wish I could go back in time. Not to change anything. Just to be in that time instead of this. Just because my anchors are still planted there. Just to be childish, ignorant and cocky one more time. I stand at the helm of my life, knowing not where to go.

Fantasia

2009-04-22T22:17:00.006-04:00

Here I sit at my table, trying to write to you. It's incredible how difficult I find it to tell you my thoughts. Maybe because I don't even know you. If I did, I would write you a ream. I would write you my dream. About our book of yellowing pictures. Echoes of your favorite songs. Crumbling letters of love and loss. If I knew you I would describe to you, that wrinkle on your nose, that curve of your brow, that shining brilliance of your smile. If I knew you I would write you lengthy verse. Of shy favors and ticklish whispers. Of moonlit nights and sweet surprise. If only I knew you...

Here I am, wondering if I can have you. If I could, I would etch my footsteps next to yours. Our fingers locked tight. My time ticking with yours. If I had you I would hide you in the crevices of my thoughts. Weave you into the seams of my dreams. Wrap you in frills of poetry. If I had you I would reel and swoon. And drown and merrily die. If only I had you...

Lessons galore

2009-04-19T02:40:00.009-04:00

Need is not immutable. It is simply desire fooling the brain. And desire, of course, is whimsical as ever.

Distance tarnishes memory rather quickly. My misery shuns company and has become best friends with silence instead.

God does not hear your questions. And it is always too late when life chooses to answer them.

Obsession is not as easy as it seems. It can get quite tediously mathmatical as you try to work out all the possibilities in your head.

Desperation cannot accelerate life. Neither can today's effort make up for yesterday's misdeeds.

I spend most of my life chasing concepts that belonged to a more innocent me.

Time and again I struggle to make the impossible choice between idealism and cynicism. I unfailingly choose the wrong one.

Hope can be delusional. Pitiful as this may sound, ego is the only steadfast armor against denied hope.

Well! Well! Doesn't reality love to snatch away those rose tinted glasses?

Disappearing Constants

2009-04-02T00:46:00.004-04:00

Everything comes with an expiry date. Most things in life are like medicines that turn poisonous over time. Excitement turns into ennui. Ennui becomes indifference. Novelty turns into routine which morphs into boredom. Knowledge turns into memory. Memories are forgotten. Intensity turns into weariness that slowly degenrates into inertia. Ambition turns into achievement. Achievement becomes mundane. Love turns into pain. Pain is replaced by numbness.

All that remains is a ceaseless obsession with details, an incurable insecurity and a deep fear of the unknown.

Catharsis

2009-03-30T20:48:00.006-04:00

My swimming coach pushed me underwater with one quick thrust. He is firmly pressing down my shoulder, not allowing me to surface. I'm supposed to practice holding my breath underwater until I simply cannot do so any longer. I open my mouth and the water rushes in. I'm choking, I'm flailing my arms and screaming in panic. I cause not a ripple in the world above me. They cannot hear a thing. The water around me sways in silence, threatening to swallow me.

It did not last one whole minute. Several years later, that memory is still raw. The fear of water is long gone. But my associations with the memory are dark and ominous. It promises to haunt me for a long time yet.

What does one do when life morphs into a cycle of anxiety, uncertainty, doubt and fear? I seek control and calm. I'm left staring at calamitous chaos instead. Gosh! My brakes gave way while going downhill on hairpin bends.

Quests can be tiring, especially when they renew themselves without notice. Even more so when they pawn me in their duels with each other. Is it even possible to deserve such extreme conflict?

The dots of life shine on, slowly drifting apart in some preordained continuum. No thread remains to go from one to the next. No shortcut. No lifeline.

Grapple

2009-03-28T01:43:00.007-04:00

I put life behind a magnifying glass. The exaggerated details jumped out at me. Menacing. Chilling. My diary of dreams stands irreversibly altered, marked all over in a merciless red. The soft sepia glow is gone. The crystal chandelier has turned into ugly shards of glass strewn beneath my feet, checkered again with scrapes and bruises. Voices in my head scream, "I told you so." Ouch! Such sarcasm in the undertone.

Words capture but a passing moment, I always insist. I will this one to pass too, but in vain. For a pervasive hopelessness now prevails where innocent happiness once abounded. Eternity to me will remain a concept, a lost faith. Ether, simply ether.

Zip my mouth shut!

2009-02-16T11:33:00.004-05:00

Nothing is a safe thing to say. Even frivolous comments have surprisingly disproportionate consequences. It is amazing how intent is enslaved and vanquished by semantics and poor timing. I need a crash course in wise choice of words, non-opinionated tone and holding a straight face. Can I get a touchiness sensor and also an omniscient disclaimer machine?

I think I'm learning to think before I talk, really learning it the hard way. The curve is steep and the metamorphosis is fascinating. I'm slowly resorting to drawing decision trees in my mind before uttering anything. Trust me, it is not a bad skill to have. I have found the elusive silver lining! It significantly slows down my speaking. Soon I might actually be heard and understood. I might even sound intelligent! Well, almost... I still wish I could blab away thoughtlessly now and then. Maybe I should talk more to my mother... Ha!

Vicarious

2009-01-29T04:55:00.003-05:00

The shadow on my wall grows, I stretch impossibly to make it look as tall as you. Imagination is a heartbreaking substitute for proximity, and your voice, and your footsteps across the dark room. I've taught the talking parrot your name and mine. I make her recite it now and then, when I need to feel we are one. I've also taught her to complete my sentences just like you do.

Your words paint my wall. My eyes travel to them from time to time and rest on the beautiful red flower you've painted in the corner. I always drink two cups of coffee these days. One of them with sugar, exactly the way you like it. A man passed by me today. He was wearing your cologne. I forgot where I was going for a few minutes. Chocolates on drugstore shelves can kill. I don't enter that aisle anymore.

*Pop* That shadow is not yours. No! You would have smiled, I'm sure.

Pining

2009-01-25T01:31:00.006-05:00

You live inside me these days. Or memory has befriended me in special ways. Your image in my mind is precision itself. I see your neatly parted hair, the corners of your boyish grin, the fine creases of thoughts on your forehead, a hint of a dimple teasing your face, the angle of your questioning head. I can see your fingers flying over the keyboard, the way you squint at an error, your eyes shining bright in the screen's light. I remember your measured pace, even the tiny skip in your shadow's gait.

I write to you a lot these days, oftentimes in my mind. Sometimes in class, punctuating the professor's wisdom with cryptic verses meant only for you. You make me very tongue-tied. Maybe that is why I write so much to you. Or maybe because I don't trust myself to say the right things. You've taught me, painstakingly, that anger and sadness, exhilaration and joy, misconception and doubt, everything diminishes with time. I've learned, on my own, that writing helps greatly at such times. Can I really fill silence with writing? I try. It is always more exciting to try the seemingly impossible.

I talk to you when you sleep. I whisper actually. I'm sure you hear me, every time. You smile, you even murmur back. I like it when you talk to me with your eyes closed, your voice husky and distant. I wish you would reveal your dreams now and then. Am I in them? I always wonder what it would feel like if you say a different name or if I do, for that matter. These fine lines of fire that we tread so carefully within never cease to amaze me. Nevertheless, talk to me in your sleep please...

I've etched each memory a hundred times in my mind. I have resolved to save every note I scribble to you. I guess I can talk to you when you sleep, no matter where you are. Sigh!

Confession

2009-01-24T22:00:00.004-05:00

I sit in a train, familiar rails running alongside. I just had an epiphany of sorts. I discovered that I cannot write, I never could. I just think aloud with a pencil. I shamelessly pardon myself the stutter and the doodle, the incoherence even. For I simply have to speak my mind. To someone, something, even this crinkling white paper will do. I have to spell it all out, in excruciating detail.

Today the mind is a clamor of words. Trees, tall majestic trees. Stranded ambition stretching hard to touch the sky. Now I am full of hope, and a ludicrously innocent faith in happy endings. Then again, a tree will be a tree. Its shadow it can share. But can it ever lend color to the magnificent rainbow?

Wispy fresh snow. Little gleaming flakes of time, imperceptibly melting away. It is a finite life, every moment is finite, so is every emotion, even you and me. Eternity is merely a quest, ironically- one that promises to last forever. This probably explains the excess, the extremes- my abandonment of right and wrong. Believe me, it doesn't have to be hard. "Free Spirit" is a more convenient mask than admitting decadence, even to yourself.

Numbers everywhere, on billboards, on buses. My mind is crowded with them. I like them, particularly the second decimal and percentages. Many people claim that intelligence is a turn-on. Numbers are a long shot indeed. But what better illusion of knowledge and precision?

The President smiles from the Economist's cover. I flipped it open and read a single line. And I read it again and once more before I gave up. Maybe inattention worsens with age. Maybe it is inertia, or my passive rebellion against the information brigade. Maybe the thirst for knowledge found a younger desert to ravage.

I just heard myself! These excuses are my own failed motivation masquerading in party-wear. I just read my scrawled words. My discovery holds. I cannot write, I never could. I will go back to biting my lips, to my constant anticipation, to my abrupt musings.

An undesired low

2008-12-09T17:12:00.006-05:00

To me, the written word has always signified infinite possibility. But it is also my worst enemy, just by virtue of being irreversible. So I tried to stop writing, as an armor against merciless censure, in the hope of a renewed reign of smiles. But of course, the experiment failed. Miserably, to put it mildly. I suffered the loss of my best friend, my sole trusted confidant. I had no place to rush to or to hide in those naked moments of fear. I'm back. I had to be.

Yes, you guessed it right. This space is a chronicle. A memoir written in blood, of endless moments of gut-wrenching pain, of unshed tears and muffled cries, of unanswered prayers and punishing blows. Today I will tell you about rejection.

Rejection, no matter how well deserved, is hard to swallow. It eats away at self-esteem like termites devour wood, almost imperceptibly but with the single goal to destroy. "Why me?" you cry. Everything seems impossibly hinged to the unforthcoming answer. You sink in your own eyes. And in the eyes of everyone else, it seems. Your flailing hands cause not a tiny flutter. The ether remains undisturbed. Your pleading eyes invite no sympathy. The world goes merrily on its way, its wheels well-oiled, its course unaltered.

In good times the cynic comes to the rescue. You laugh at the world and skip on. At other times you decide you were pursuing sour grapes after all. You haughtily turn and walk away. You know it is the worst time when all you want to do is curl up and die. No skip left in your step. No pride left in your heart. All you have left is your deflated self, crushed and discarded.

Unyielding

2008-11-14T17:53:00.003-05:00

Every day I walk a tightrope. I walk gingerly, for there is no room for mistakes. A mistake is impossible to recover from. The next day I pretend like it never happened. But Alas! The cracks and scars are permanent. They've even spawned their own crutch- an ever-growing list of dos and don'ts. Of what real use is a crutch to a tightrope walker? You would think practice is the answer. Believe me I do. I learn every time I fall and etch the lessons in my mind and repeat them to myself until they are rote. Of what use is my memory when I walk a new rope each day?

I am indeed the only imperfection in this perfect world I live in. This is a world where everything has already been carefully considered and a single right way has already been defined for every little thing. Transgressions are unacceptable and should not be attempted. Excuses are unheard of. Doors once closed remain closed. Others open at the right time, when they should. Everything happens for a reason and with clockwork precision. Of course you have a choice. You either do it the right way or you are left stranded, cold and shivering, the world around you a silent dark desert.

I breach boundaries, sometimes unknowingly, sometimes in an effort to push them a little- a tiny leap of faith if you will. The punishment is instant. The curtain falls for the day. Show is over folks! No second chance to cover up when I forget my lines, no witty comebacks, not even a stammered apology. Well, I guess that's life, decisive and unforgiving.

Obituary

2008-10-15T23:00:00.004-04:00

The idealist who lived here died, at least in part.

The clocks struck twelve. The fairy tale is over. Don't waste any more time here, there is no beauty to be had.

Dogs don't smile anymore. The coffee has turned cold and bitter. Trees stand still, no dance in their sway. That gentle breeze has blown itself out, taking with it the candlelight and the scent of the rose. The sea is still inviting, but consumptively so. The shiny young leaf has long become a relic, drained and dry.

Flap Flap! Hope flees at lightning speed. Ouch! Memories have razor edges. Swoon! Patience takes the plunge over the brink.

Well, I told you so. The idealist who lived here died. Come, join this dirge... Come, help gather these pitiful remains...

Love in absentia

2008-08-31T01:39:00.004-04:00

Oftentimes life is like a movie trailer, scenes from the future handpicked and perfectly orchestrated that leave us wanting more. We have in us a certain innocence that makes us want to believe that the promises will be kept. For if we don't, we will be left with pitifully few things worthy of fervent pursuit. Relationships can be tempting trailers followed by hard tests of endurance. At times we learn more about ourselves through relationships than even meticulous introspection.

Sometimes a relationship begs for silence. It ceases to be about sharing the small things that make you smile or about narrating every interesting thought. It takes standing aside and quietly watching life go on without intrusion. It takes waiting and hoping that it will be as fantastic as the trailer promised it will be. This silence would be easy, if only it was not indefinite.

There is a nebulous region in every relationship where it becomes less about getting every little thing you want and more about gratefully accepting the little you receive. Interestingly, this is the region where we grow. We stand deserted by time and energy that once seemed infinite. We recognize new boundaries. We learn how to trivialize ourselves. We learn how to recall the beautiful beginnings and continue to feel fortunate in an altered world.

And when the shiny newness wears away we muster the imagination, sometimes even delusion, to paint a silver lining. We realize that the colorful cocoon we lived in has broken, or maybe was imaginary all along. We give in to reality smiling its dazzling smile and shaking its proud head, saying "I told you so."

Rhetoric

2008-08-25T04:13:00.003-04:00

Is it real,
your love for a spontaneity
you refuse to intercept
when it passes you by?

Should it be,
this intrusive impulse
that wedges itself opaque
between you and me?

Ceding to change

2008-08-24T07:08:00.003-04:00

Today the mind dwells on change. The mechanics of change is admittedly fascinating, no matter how hard we try to resist it. It is much like salt dissolving in water. The water makes the vainest of attempts to allow the grains to sink to the bottom intact. But they diminish, melt and vanish without a trace. Appearances may defy the truth. But the water stands changed for good, its pristine form so starkly violated. Change really is the only true permanence. For when the change is complete and you look back, the past seems so unlikely and almost wrong.

Solitude was something I thought I understood, although I vacillated between love and hate for it. Now I face a new solitude I never sought. It is the kind I cannot mourn with cryptic elegies or immortalize with heartbreaking verse. Books cannot banish it, the sea cannot snatch it, there is no distraction from it. It is still solitude, albeit a changed one.

"Detachment is a virtue," I always philosophized. The day has come when it seems like a necessity and I find I'm one virtue short. Maybe I lost it in a euphoric journey, maybe it is hiding, maybe it is masquerading. The detachment I feel today is a mere impostor that cannot numb me to the reproach I feel or eclipse the devious deceptions of the world.

I look back and rightly see a past so ludicrous. I wonder if I am beginning to love this solitude criss-crossed with dear memories. I wonder if I ever want to find that cold detachment again.

Prisoner to perfection

2008-08-22T08:32:00.010-04:00

There are times when you feel adrift, much like a sailboat bound nowhere. You feel the last strand of cognizance slipping away. In one such stupor, a voice called out to me. A soft voice with little to say, but cradling me in its intonations full of care, and washing me in its resonant melody. I held on to it, I played it in my head like I do my favorite songs, on repeat. Ever so slowly, I learned to read it. It shivered in rage and faltered with emotion. I learned that the voice could smile...

Soon came the banter- countless intellectual journeys into the world of sports, critiques of the silver screen, a beatific flirtation with the written word, poetic trysts with Neruda, magical odysseys with Floyd. Hours flew by, the exploration stretched on, oblivious to night and day. Music flowed, songs sung for a sole listener. Bards of yore and great maestros took turns to visit. The river of life danced in mirth...

An indulgent breeze floated in, bringing with it the aroma of orchids and roses, a delightful midnight surprise! Surging waves, seaside promenades and moonlit silences reigned unresisted. The breeze, unannounced, turned into a velvet caress, a lover's warm embrace, a melting first kiss. So imperceptibly did it turn into a promise of eternity...

This promise renders me speechless. This dream restores innocence. This hope breathes new life. This perfection, it holds me prisoner...

A million imagined sorrows

2008-07-14T17:48:00.007-04:00

The radiant sun sears my soul. The rain, much awaited, feels like a thousand needles. The leathery ocean swirls about me, its inertia, sluggish and contagious. The flowers have faded away unnoticed, a few await their turn, languid and sighing. There is refusal in the sway of the trees, heartless deception in every passing cloud. The maiden night is blue and starry. She stops short at my window, for sobs and shivers diligently stand guard.

My mind swells with questions. I pretend not to know the answers, for they will seek and stab every buried hope. Every minute brings a different conclusion, linchpin after excruciating linchpin, keepsakes from life's countless lessons. Everywhere I turn, a limitless blank wall looms up. Anger bounces back. Sadness echoes its sonorous silence. Darkness seeps down as the menacing walls close in.

This agony I've invented, it imposes on me the weight of a million years. I have to stop. I can say no more.

An escapist route

2008-07-10T17:45:00.010-04:00

Just for a day, I became a child again. Mickey and Donald, Aladdin and Alice, Simba and Mogli, all pranced around me. I danced with them, in an innocent attempt to bring back those fairy tale days.

I was walking on the road, my palm safely locked in my father's. We were going to the bookstore to buy my book for the month. There was so much anticipation, long moments of deliberation, as I struggled to make the difficult choice between Rapunzel and Peter Pan. But I asked only for one book every month, no more.

I walked alone for miles on end, playing the wide eyed traveler, giving in to truant whims and wayward thoughts. I reveled in the cat calls that came my way. I pleasured in those envious glances as I slurped my ice cream as if it was the only thing I lived for. Words, in tongues both familiar and novel, hung around in an unintelligible buzz. Smiles from strangers flashed on and off in my head.

I've always lived in a fantasy land, my own dear creation. I mostly lurk in folds of an improbable imagination. For the world outside is really gray in comparison.

I sat at the very top of the Ferris Wheel, Sun Wheel, they called this one. I sat drenched in the midday sun, the cool air, such a welcome soporific. The cage I sat in swung back and forth as it gently descended to the shimmering water a hundred feet below.

January! Carnival time again. I hopped from one colorful store to the next, my fingers sticky with cotton candy and lips chapped from salty popcorn. I rode the Ferris Wheel, Giant Wheel, we called it, three times in a row. I loved the slight tug in my stomach each time I zipped down to the ground. I savored the feeling of power when I paused at what seemed like the top of the world. When I get out I will stand in the line one more time.

I walked in that world of animals that sing and birds that talk. I cut across pictures being shot, soon to be hung up on familiar walls, souvenirs offering timelessness. I searched for a souvenir to record these memories. No wall can hold them. For these thoughts are too fluid, part of a continuum, heavy with drama. How do I frame such enormity, such flux?

It is my birthday, an uneventful listless day so far. I walk into my house to the collective cheer of every person I considered friend. A cake waited with glowing candles. They handed me a scrapbook. Every page was handmade by my friends, crafted with such care. They somehow magically framed the enormity. That moment of surprise and gratitude, I will remember forever. I swept the room with my eyes, all I could say was a silent thank you.

It was another day straight out of the fairy tales I still hold on to. They agreed with me, Lilo and Stitch, Belle and Beast, that perfect endings were true indeed. They even dazzled me with a promise of my own sweet ending -happily ever after.What must it feel like to be Cinderella, kissing her prince on her special night? What must it feel like, such hard earned freedom, such unexpected love! Such thrill is but imagined. It is the solitude that is real.

I tire myself, more often than I should. The fatigue can be unbearable. The grief can be morbid. I've always wondered about the reason behind this extreme turbulence. I always emerge confused whether it is the cause or the effect. I would wrap this life and gift it away. Alas! It takes a brave martyr to be my rudder...

Discoveries, this New York Summer

2008-06-30T00:51:00.006-04:00

I walked up to the metal railing overlooking the water. The Hudson rolled on, sheer blue and mossy green as far as my eyes could stretch. The sun was setting at the far horizon, saying its leisurely adieu to a dimming world. James Joyce in hand, I leaned on the railing, lost in Stephen Dedalus' simple world. Today was a day of compliments. First for my carelessly hummed song, then for my unruly long hair. From passersby I might never cross paths with again. They evoked a smile, nevertheless. When will it cease, this abject need for acceptance, for appreciation and validation from the world? Will it ever come, a day of peace?

My eyes lazily traced a narrow rickety bridge. At the end of the bridge floated a barge. The barge was unchained. And every moment it spent trying to float away. So pitiful was its freedom. For the barge was prisoner to four tall pillars rising up from the riverbed, allowing it just a constant sway and an occasional bounce. Free! Only nearly. That barge is you. That barge is me. The river is our world. In its meandering whim and turbulent vagaries lie infinite possibility and enchanting vices. And there stand the imposing pillars of society, of rote conditioning and unbending rules. There stand the proud guardians of the right and the wrong.

I could hear music in the distance, from a crowded bar full of weekend revelers. Only the shriller notes and the clang of drums made the distance to me, leaving to my hungry imagination the melody and the mood. I watched a group of teenagers dancing. They took turns to show off their double flips and straight splits, their jealous eyes searching surreptitiously for the passing admirer. I absently looked on at the subtle rivalry as they vied with each other for little glories. It was all unfolding in front of my eyes, the birth of the adolescent ego, the slow demise of innocent pleasure.

I sighed at a couple as they casually fell into step and melted into easy conversation, thanks to their dogs playing cupid between them. I walked by a dog park and felt a rush of affection for my dead dog back home. I wondered what life was like for the senile gentleman leaning on his walking stick. Was it burdensome, his long memory? What did his solitude feel like, satisfied or lonely? I touched the edge of the page I was reading. Suddenly I swelled with gratitude for all the moments of pleasure my books had gifted me. Books obviate people. But much like humans, books make me smile, they make me cry, they please, they hurt, they tempt me only to later desert me.

In a strange coincidence, I had them all today. My book. The water. Music and happy thoughts. Even the rising white moon. But it was missing, the sound of a footstep by my side. It was missing, that warm arm around my shoulder. Can this solitude ever be perfect?

Soon...

2008-06-16T14:07:00.006-04:00

I dared to peer hard and far into the future. I saw many sights. Some redeeming, some surprising, some mocking at me for even trying. So what do I tell you about? What can I tell you about from within this dreadful circle of fire I've lit around us?

I could sketch your radiant smile and your mischievous wink. I could imitate your carefree gait and your singing voice now, here. I could describe that air of success about you. Your passion will persist, I can tell you that too. Those people I see, they must care for sure. For they eye you from near and afar with such solemn pride. You are unfettered! Such flawless freedom, a lover's parting gift maybe? You are shrouded in a surging love. A love so imperceptible and accommodating, a mother's unfathomable ocean, likely. I found you looking up at that tempting cloud, hoping for rain, for a quick shower of joy. I caught you smiling to yourself, probably traipsing down a fond lane of memory. I watched your hop, your skip and that tiny dance in your step. Your world must be a happy place, I thought to myself.

Won't it be a sin to taint that pristine sight with presumptuousness? Won't it be unforgivable to undeservedly ask to share that gift, so rightfully yours? The slightest wrong wish, however sincere, can pitifully raze that delicate castle of cards. I would shield that beautiful tomorrow even from indefatigable hope. For such perfection is beyond hope, beyond possibility, beyond my farthest reach.

Under the dark shell

2008-06-03T15:51:00.037-04:00

River Urubamba, Peru

Stop. Read no more. Go away! This is the river of hurt, swelling with pain and a passion that can kill. Don't take another step, for you are in Fear's proud kingdom. Beware! Nightmares masquerading as dreams will usher you in with angelic smiles and pleasantries. Only to trap you and devour you. Here is Reality, rearing its rational head. Behold from afar, Fate's boiling blood. Doesn't it make you shiver, Nature's relentless revenge?

A child once lived here, at a time when one could still see the crystal cascade and the meandering stream. On a fateful day she peeked out from under the layers protecting her. Enthralled by what she saw, she tiptoed out, getting braver with every moment. In an adventurous whim, she left the confines of her customary hiding place and extended her innocent hand to the wide wondrous world. They made a comely duo. They held hands and whirled around together in seemingly unending bliss.

On the Inca Trail, Peru

In all ingenuity she gave herself to her newfound world. She became every crystal droplet in the waterfall, tirelessly falling from the sky to anoint the barren earth. She turned into a cloud and kissed those yearning peaks. She was every flower bobbing in those fields. She was the slanting sun ray illuminating the universe. She flowed, she swayed, she submitted to every demand. All in hope of keeping forever the beatitude she cherished from that fateful day. For she naively believed in goodness, justice and some sort of permanence.

Saqsaywaman, Peru

But this sadistic world would not let the idealist be. Fate methodically destroyed belief after belief, precise and painful. The river of hurt ran red with spite and venom. The Halloween was over, the ugly nightmares stripped themselves bare. She was shrouded all around by a new nature, so cold and gray. Fear left an indelible scar on her unsuspecting trust. The child receded into its trusted shell. Not for this child, this merciless river, not its love, not its hate. The child will live on, but in deeper waters untouched by harsh turbulence, only in a safe world of words.

Machu Picchu, Peru

Charmed

2008-05-31T19:16:00.012-04:00

Yesterday, for a moment, my life soared and flew away. Mundane pains vanished. My feet forgave the cold hard floor, my squinting eyes welcomed the intrusive sun. Hunger pangs gnawed lesser. Even morning birds sang sweeter. My insomnia was rewarded. All in a blur of white and blue.

He gently strode in and brightened my room. There he was, mischievous grin and cocked head, searching my eyes for surprise. His hair was neatly parted and flew lightly in the soft breeze. His smile announced triumph and a trace of fondness I cannot forget. I memorized the shape of his lips as he talked, his rounded o's and pursed pause. I almost touched the questions lurking in his furrowed brow. And I built my castles with his waving hands. He often looked upwards, maybe at an instant bubble of memory from which he sought for me tales of yore. Many a time, the gleam in his eye was a precursor to his forthcoming wit. Most other times, his eyes, they spoke a language of their own, esoteric and disarming.

He took me on a tour. Around a city in five minutes, incomplete but inviting, much like everything else about him. He pointed to a distant sea and I painted a lone ship. I carefully gleaned the city's sounds. I folded and put them away to fill later the silences in my head. I etched the skyline in my mind, also his silhouetted form against the magical light. I saved them all, his home, his lawns, his favorite swing. Now I have pictures I will beckon to make perfect backdrops for future conversations.

Yesterday was better than my first fantasy, my speechless thoughts more lyrical than my best poem, my heart fluttering in frolic. Such a day, I simply want to befriend and cajole to stay.

PS: 100th post! Fortunately it is something I want to remember.

Today's Quest

2008-05-27T16:20:00.001-04:00

A vain search
for unearthly strength
to wipe you
off this dear space.

To no avail,
my absurd search
for deeper recesses
to hide you from me.

Welcome tyranny

2008-05-26T18:30:00.007-04:00

He ruled over her. And the time and space between them. He ruled with routine, with a hierarchy of priorities she had learned to defer to. There was not much room for negotiation, or even pleas for that matter. His was the hand of logic and an extreme rationality that belied his claims of sentiment and affection. His affection itself was like the summer rain, intermittent and harsh. His will condemned, even stymied, her impulse. His spontaneity was prisoner to his practiced principles, she could not recognize it even in its rare moments of nakedness. His decision often hung like a veil between them, delicate yet perceptibly forceful in its permanence. His joy wrapped her in a new beauty each time; but naturally this cloak was not hers to keep, it heartlessly melted at her accidental touch. His anger silenced her, a muted wait for a kinder word and a softer countenance. His presence was the morning sun blinding her eye. His absence was the brutal chill of the December wind. His rule is here to stay, real and final.

Fits and Starts

2008-05-25T20:33:00.008-04:00

Engulfed!
Rankling doubt- gray seas, churning
9pm sun- novelty and charm
Fogged heart- still in wintry solitude

Deceived!
Trusted promise- fading ripple, so sly
Glass cage- cruel big city
Favorite fantasies- just wispy cotton candy

PS: No will to string the words together. So make your own story.

Allow me my fear

2008-05-24T02:52:00.004-04:00

What did you do with my callousness? Did you claim it to recycle it?

My conviction in the disutility of emotional attachment, it is broken and battered and sneering at me from my dusty attic.

Unfulfilled ambitions have sprung back to life, newly whetted and whipped. Now they know not their way back home.

My perfected mechanism of loose knots, measured distance and algebraic control suddenly stopped functioning. I have no tools to mend it, no oil will grease it back to motion.

Anger is snoozing in the stands, patience is keeping goal.

My sharp tongue is losing its acridity. Words have lost their sting. Ego has gone into indefinite hibernation.

In many little ways, in arguably good ways, I don't recognize myself. Pray, tell me now, how should I feel anything but fear of this unsettling unknown?

Yours truly

2008-05-14T05:47:00.003-04:00

Take my patience,
lose it or hide it irretrievably.
And thus be absolved indefinitely
from my prolific demands.

Is my absence imperceptible enough?
It is my gift to you,
of freedom from my invasiveness,
in gratitude for your indulgence.

Tell me my silence is dulcet.
For I deliberately lost my voice
and laboriously buried my words
to create for you this strange silence.

My insignificance should suffice,
to restore the familiarity
that I selfishly snatched from you
when I crashed into your merry life.

Accept my offerings.
And grant me my hope,
of atonement for my follies,
of a guiltless slumber.

Defences, so futile

2008-05-10T20:00:00.010-04:00

This deluge of tears refuses to stop or dry in time. And life today is an inconsistent film of oil stagnant on its surface, the painful patches- a tattered map of a coherent past. I squint at the sun through this curtain of tears. Colors shine and shimmer, but no memories arise of previous rainbows. The refracted world holds but watery promises.

No one knows my tears better than this corner of my house. These walls meet only to gently hold me as I sink to newer nadirs. This far corner, my invisible cradle for impossible sorrows. Literary excess and musical heavens are unreal worlds offering a temporary mirth. Beloved words and strains of melody- rivulets of joy that weave around me a faithful armor for such days of war.

Litany

2008-05-08T02:23:00.003-04:00

Every day,
I write to you,
if only to rehearse
those wordless, voiceless
circular thoughts.

Oh! They are still real-
those forbidden thoughts.
For every day
I rehearse them,
sans words, sans voice.

All I can do

2008-05-01T19:38:00.004-04:00

You can have my fairy,
glistening wand and all.
I will blow your way
any luck I find today.

You must take my prayer,
take my eellike God.
Drenched in a venal shower,
He will saunter over.

You shall have my smile,
and those I borrow for you.
This wave will wash away,
not a ripple will stay.

Genuflection

2008-04-28T19:40:00.004-04:00

She was just another passerby, she almost remained one. But she was scooped up by an epiphany, ravaged by a singular instinct and tossed about in a vortex of improbable dreams. That moment lingered. Transfixed by its enormity, she stayed on.

"Life is just a series of choices. It's all very binary", had been her unequivocal stance for years. This time, there was no choice. Fate had gripped her by the gut and categorically handed her the red pill. Her feigned black and white life was drenched in a sudden spurt of color. Even beauty, as she reluctantly admitted when no one was listening. Red, purple and blue. Almost too true.

She unwittingly had something to hold, to crush and try to break if she wanted to; everything she could never do to her mercurial theories. Alas! This choice was but a mirage, vicarious and tantalizing. She rightly lacked the courage to destroy or even deny what threatened to be her only claim to truth. Such serendipity will not repeat itself, will it?

An unseasonal rain may claim her beautiful colors. Serendipity may not be eternal, after all. She could be reduced to a passerby again. But for now, the moment stays frozen, she stays brazen.

PS: Cryptic as ever, a rather vain attempt at capturing an indescribably awe-inspiring moment of submission. Brickbats appreciated...

Truth

2008-04-24T19:22:00.004-04:00

Gladly, will I show you
newer ways to hate me.
Gladly, every day!
Who better than me, any day?

Tongue-tied

2008-04-12T23:04:00.007-04:00

The ink in my pen has dried up. I have no words to describe this strange reality. I cannot wrap my secrets in esoteric verse anymore. Where can I hide in a room of mirrors?

I'm living my choices, of honesty and innocence. I'm living my philosophies, some hypotheses I hurl out the window, others, I set in stone.

I willingly handed over the reins I hitherto held on so dearly to. I readily became a powerless blade of grass, swaying to the whims of the wind, bending to the might of the rain, blending with the miscellany of the world.

I seek not to be special. I seek not the smallest of favors. All I want is a shield from the distant hopelessness that eyes me with threatening glee.

I was reborn today in youthful exuberance. But I relegated myself to a silent crucible to wait and watch life unfold. Stretching the tendons of my patience and will, an acid test of my hope.

Attack of the wee hours

2008-04-11T03:57:00.006-04:00

And thus I relinquish
my jaded search for
tomorrow's foggy fortune,
to relish precious today.

And thus I recite
these garbled words with
ironically mimicked conviction,
to salvage deserting faith.

For how much longer
can they persist,
my borrowed smile,
and this stolen hope?

For the day is
not too far away
when truth decides
to rest its case.

PS: Travails of my sleep deprived mind

Enslaved

2008-04-09T14:47:00.002-04:00

Smiles reign cyclical windows
of time, too fast and finite,
Nature curses me with
her precision clockwork.

PS: I'm probably enslaved by my four-liners too. I need to stop!

Escapism

2008-04-09T11:27:00.002-04:00

Hiding in dark crevices
of cryptic verse,
belittling the power
of the truth, so naked.

Confession

2008-04-09T02:34:00.001-04:00

Every faceless person-
a child of deception,
just a lowly pawn in
my checkered pursuits.

Craft

2008-04-05T19:10:00.006-04:00

Clever camouflage
of feisty superlatives,
sprightliness that deceives
neither you nor me.

Lament

2008-04-04T05:08:00.002-04:00

Can my words, hurriedly scrawled,
capture the pathos of
these trivial moments
I die to tell you about?

Can my thoughts, ardently willed,
travel long weary miles
without fear of wrath
for untimely transgression?

These days...

2008-04-01T18:39:00.005-04:00

Lost in an ethereal
maze of words...
A treasure hunt
worth an eternity.

Unfettered by chains
of crippling want...
Freedom, akin to a
walk in the rain.

Sigh

2008-03-27T03:20:00.000-04:00

Fervently, do I seek
long lost innocence,
albeit through designs
that defeat the end.

Estranged reality

2008-03-22T20:05:00.005-04:00

So deceptively easy-
living a surreal life,
in the indistinguishable medley
of dying night and dawning day.

Irrational obstinacy-
the remnant reluctance,
to destroy the tangled web
of a misjudged past.

Such humongous effort-
turning a blind eye,
to the insidious enticements
of the wicked unknown.

My newest vice

2008-03-13T10:25:00.005-04:00

I have long been resigned to the fact that I am not a contented person. I almost cherish and nurture discontent, for I believe it is a harbinger of ambition, and consequently, achievement. But for the first time in my life greed accosted me and now I know how different a beast it really is. Greed can seep up like the slow warmth of alcohol slipping down the throat. Warmth that rapidly becomes an unforgiving heat, a burning desire. What I naively imagined to be an ephemeral tryst with an unknown vice opened a Pandora's Box of realization.

I'm greedy for time. Time for pursuits close to my heart. Time for those special few. Such greed, only timelessness can sate. Even eternity is insufficient.

The times when I behave like there's no tomorrow. The uncontrollable urge to bare my entire self within moments. The involuntary rush to talk faster than my racing thoughts. The constant battle with nature to stretch time on the sly. All of this is greed indeed.

There is greed in the questions that haunt my mind. In my undying thirst for an instant answer to every question, every time. And in my need to dichotomize all of life into right and wrong. There is greed in my determination to wipe away every threatening hint of gray.

Greed rules the need for approval. The craving to be wanted, accepted and appreciated blurs the line between the normal and the irrational. Importance is an avaricious quest, the unfortunate weakness of our insecure race.

Restlessness is a form of greed. Impatience, its inevitable child. There is greed in the urge to second guess life, in the hunt for binoculars to get a sneak preview of the future.

Greed! My newest acquaintance. Greed! The mother of my insomnia.

PS: Musings during my flight down to Peru. Glories of wonderful Peru coming up soon!

Dearest Stranger

2008-03-03T22:24:00.006-05:00

You trespass on territories of my mind I am yet to christen. Born in a moment of hopelessness, you could have well been the proverbial cul-de-sac. Instead, you brought with you a promise, an arcane wisdom I accept without question. You induce a magical silence... a reassuring calm that life will be recognizable again. You effortlessly paint a beauty you don't see yourself. You epitomize possibility. And a hitherto unknown desire for perfection. You lend me your ear and your voice. I know not your touch, or even your face, for that matter.

But thanks to you, I stop to listen to the spring bird's song. I hold my breath as I pass the river on my way home. I stand unaffected amidst milling masses, counting stars and searching the moon for your hiding face. I even smile as the chilly wind rushes through my hair. The coffee between my hands rouses thoughts of a lover's warmth. My snug coat feels like an embrace. The roaring airplane above makes me yearn to fly. The universe is enticing again!

Stranger who rules my mind! Who are you? How do you evoke such excess?

Delusional

2008-02-18T02:27:00.003-05:00

I make half-hearted
promises to an
imagined god, a barter
against my dark demands

Powerless

2008-01-25T18:44:00.000-05:00

I mutely watch flippant Fate tease, torment and threaten my tenuous hope

I meekly submit to a reign of reason, to the wisdom of age

I sorely nurse my thwarted impulse and my admonished whim

I bleakly dream of a forgiving life, a forgotten mirth

Transience

2008-01-13T00:04:00.000-05:00

Rebellious,                        The night swirled,              And day broke,                  Motionless,
She sinned,                       desultory                           shattering                          He sleeps,
rejecting her                      words of                           the night's                         fermenting her
virtuous guilt                     whispered pleasure             fictive castle                      amorous mind

Reverse precis

2008-01-07T03:08:00.001-05:00

The world tilted 45 degrees as we climbed higher in an upward swoop. Below me a polka dotted glory of lights shrunk rapidly and disappeared. I looked around at my fellow travelers, some with a book in hand, some with earphones plugged into their ears. Our iPods generated our very own personal worlds, silent on the outside, musical on the inside. Spotlit heads all around me, laptop screens lit up frowns of intense concentration. Smells arose of coffee, wine and bread. I drank my unwise but deliberate coffee, for I chose MS Subbulakshmi and Dostoevsky over sleep. Delicious bitter coffee, unknown companions, a caffeine-induced unreal alertness, memories of Fight Club! And MS crooning just for me, Kurai Onrum Illai Kanna...

My seat overlooked the plane's wing. I had borrowed those wings, they were mine for the length of the flight. I scrutinized the paneled wing, those metal sheets flapping mechanically under human control. I wished I had my own wings to flap and flaunt, to fly about as I pleased. But for now, even metal wings will do. Will this fascination with flying (or is it freedom?) ever fade? We entered a wispy cloud, opaque white below me, clear blue skies above. I searched for a crack in the clouds, hoping for a glimpse of the lovely land I left behind. I caught myself hoping and I smiled, so did my ghost in the windowpane. I hoped the roar of the airplane would magically turn into the roar of the wind in my ears. I thought about forty years hence and wondered what I should hope for. Bright kids? A private jet maybe? My own wings? I caught myself hoping again. It's amazing how dependent the human mind is on hope. Success raises hopes of more success in a neverending recursion. We resort to hope to soften the blows dealt by failure. Hope baffles me, cornerstone of ambition at one time, haven for the escapist at another, elusive, chimerical and indefinable, to say the least.

My neighbor serenely knitted. It was something in a lovely pale green melting into rich dark olive. I hoped it was being made for someone with shining hazel eyes. I squinted at my neighbor's beverage. Calories-0. Fat-0. Carb-0. Sugars-0. Protein-0. I smirked at the pointlessness. But then how often should I smirk at my life? I felt the outside of my bag, I traced a fully charged iPod and my books. I never travel without enough books to last me at least a week. I momentarily acknowledged my intense fear of boredom, paranoia if you will. But then it could also be a fundamental distrust of my own mind and of chance acquaintances, even of nature to stimulate my interest for long enough. Life, of course, has proved me wrong too many times. But we elect to just go through our entire lives lugging some of our fears and inhibitions with us. There is not enough incentive to make an effort to lose particularly this one when I can resort to wonderful books and music. Vathapi Ganapathim... MS keeps me special company.

Strapped into safe confinement in submission to tiny illuminated signs, I wrote a story. Can I call words separated by hyphens a story? I wrote it in blue on tissue that blotted. My absent reveries when I paused for thought took the form of live growing inkspots. Inkspots on blotting tissue, begging and teasing for interpretation. The story was really just incomplete thoughts jotted down in a hurry, lest I forget them as quickly as they came. Random thoughts to be fleshed out later in the comfort of my bed. I tried to capture her voice on paper, her brilliant rendition of Bhavayami Gopalabalam and the echoing violin sounding like it was moved to cry by her pious voice. A perfectly bronzed woman, in push-up bra and tiny thong smiled at me from the glossy magazine peeking out of the seat pocket. Sorry, no room for her in my story. We were inside a cloud again. And I felt suspended, motionless thirty-seven thousand feet above land. No frame of reference to gauge the motion. Much like life, I'm tempted to say. I never finish stories, I don't know if I ever can or want to. I didn't promise myself that I will, but I did carefully save those precious tissues. Bhavayami Gopalabalam... I retired to MS at her mellifluous best.

A year of resolve ahead?

2007-12-31T18:49:00.000-05:00

Read more, write more, travel more, focus more, pay more attention to detail, step outside my cocoon and be aware of the world, cook more, become a fitter me, concentrate better, slow down, talk less, sleep (less or more???), life can be improved in a thousand ways...

Yes, it is that time of the year. I am not one to take stock of the previous year and I don't usually make resolutions. But today I am tempted. I embarked on the mental quest for a resolution and realized that a resolution is a self defeating entity. My premise is that a disciplined person does not need to put an oath down on paper, police herself and then reward herself to achieve something as trivial as a visit to the gym everyday or half an hour a day to keep abreast of news. Neither should she wait for a new year to begin these habits. Quitting alcohol or smoking or drugs are graver issues by virtue of being addictions and require more than just discipline. But it is her lack of discipline which gives rise to the need for alternate motivation to develop more mundane habits and to the procrastination until a new year or a birthday to begin. And this very lack of discipline will avenge itself by preventing her from keeping up the resolution successfully. Such is the self defeating nature of a resolution; it arises from a want of discipline which defeats the resolution itself. One could argue that we don't live in an ideal world and that resolutions serve as an anchor, a walking stick that abets noble goals which may otherwise not even be attempted. But unaccompanied by discipline, a resolution reduces to an anchor lowered on quick sand, a walking stick deserted by its owner.

This year I want to court discipline itself, wage war with it, conquer it and own it forever. I'm assuming that discipline is the starting point of achievement and hence can be acquired. For if it cannot be, then nothing can be changed or achieved by an aspirant who is not blessed with it. I'm putting this down on paper now, hoping that soon I will do away with the need to. I could call my quest for discipline an oath, hopefully the last one I will ever make. I'm also imposing on myself the onus of taking stock of my "resolution" a year from now. Sigh... my beautiful, ironical life!

Wish you a Happy New Year!

This blog

2007-12-28T17:00:00.000-05:00

Every couple of months I spend long hours reading every post I've made on this blog. I do so to take stock of my writing but end up reliving the actual moments that made me write each post. Today as I read some of the posts, I realize what an important extension of myself this blog has become. I refrain from calling it a "part" of myself because I believe that it is a parallelism built around my commentary on life (in handpicked fonts and justified text). Every post on this blog is witness to ten others relegated to the recycle bin, deemed unfit for public display, at times too unbearable in its honesty.

I come to this blog to pen the unthinkable, to think the unpardonable. This blog is my irrational dream. It is a recourse for my restlessness. It is also my bruised ego. A cupful of joy, my unshed tears, my denied fears. It is my silence, my screaming pain sometimes. It is my unleashed anger at the aberrant world. My helplessness too. My insomnia. My cheated, defeated reason. My will to beat the odds, my intermittent persistence, my bent beaten resignation. This blog is my corner of the universe where reality submits to imagination. It is the reign of conjecture over fact, hypothesis over proof, rebellion over reason. It is a tiny tribute to the belief that Art is God, Effort - worship, Creation - sacred. This blog is the nonzero sum of my rationality, my curiosity and my insanity.

Ego! Welcome...

2007-10-21T04:38:00.001-04:00

She: You are the single largest demand on my time
He: Come on! You have nothing better to do than talk to me anyway
She: If not for you I would be doing a million other things
He: Fine, so go do what you want. I am not stopping you
She: Yeah right, you are not stopping me. Just that you prevented me from hanging up four times in the past hour
He: Really? I can stop calling you if that's what you want...
She: You would? You can? (snickers)
He: Are you daring me?
She: Maybe...
He: Ok, so how long before I call you next?
She: Hmm... next Wednesday??? As if you can
He: So be it. Till Wednesday then...
She: Great! Bye
He: Bye (slams the phone)
She: (Hangs up with a mischievous grin) I give him one full hour (to herself)

One hour later, there was no call. Two full days passed without a call. The week trudges along, wearier than ever. She pointedly leaves the phone out of her sight all the time. He "distracts" himself through conversations with other women, conversations he neither cares to listen to nor remembers.

Villainous Ego pitching its tent in hitherto impenetrable quarters...

Windowpane wonderings

2007-10-17T05:20:00.000-04:00

Her hands rushed to her ears. She tried to block off the noise, but in vain, for the clamor indeed was inside her head. What everyone construed to be excitement or zest was in fact an uncontrollable restlessness. She chose to fondly call it "infinite energy" instead. It was this restlessness that endeared her to the world around her, the same restlessness that wedged itself between her and the milling masses, immovably so... It instilled in her an undying quest for happiness and a compulsive need for direction. It evoked in her the anger she needed to transcend the hopelessness that surfaced unannounced...

...she watched the river, a thousand feet below. "Is it really flowing?" all the hours she spent staring into its dark depths still left her confused. "How can a river, a flowing river be so serene? Why didn't it bring on a gush of feeling like rivers always did?" She was petulant at nature for letting her down. On the bridge over the river, cars purposefully drove past at alarming speeds. The world within the river was moving equally fast,the cars in the river were racing too, the watery traffic lights turning from bleeding red to blotchy green with mind-numbing regularity. But the river itself, caught in a timelessness of its own, remained unfazed by the urgency of the world it reflected. It refused to be anything more than a faithful mirror that completed the symmetry of nature...

...her hands were still clutching her ears, but the noise had gone away. Her senses were lulled, her mind was fuzzy, the hopelessness had momentarily relented and her restlessness had momentarily receded. "Are you really flowing? May I not have some of your inertness?" she wondered as she enviously pulled the blinds shut...

Sleepless Blues

2007-10-03T18:39:00.000-04:00

Light, uninvited, squeezes
through the careless window slit,
Yellow grids on vacant blue,
Stories- lurk between the lines

Fluid shadows, Freeze! Please!
Hold still, that sensuous silhouette
One moment to separate
him from her

The lone moon, steps
out of its wooly den,
My darkest thoughts revealed,
in its mazelike crevices

Hunger- Five hours too early,
Take your pangs, Be gone!
Sleep - Ten years too late,
Lend your dreams, Be gone!

I tried to peek into her mind...

2007-09-26T19:40:00.001-04:00

She sat, a wasted pen grasped loosely in her hand. Her face was a cascade of emotions. Those eyes flamed with anger, tightly pursed lips screamed of recent resolutions, promises to herself perhaps. Frustration at the humongous effort that never paid back, at time that slipped through her fingers never to be had again. Questions contorted her features- Why am I here? Where am I going? Not a year ago, it seemed picture perfect. Is it just one huge mistake? A comment sailed by, that agreed with the cynicism she felt. Her pen moved on paper, I could discern the slant of her hand from yards away. I could feel the searing force of the pen as if it were piercing through my own skin. Resentment hung around her like an impenetrable curtain.

I wondered if these are just my inferences snatched away from the fleeting expressions on her face. These could be just my thoughts, isolating patterns from the kaleidescope of her feelings. This might be a futile attempt at mind reading. Or my faulty perception and skewed imagination jaundicing simple reality. I sat wondering, when suddenly a small smile, a happy one, stole into her eyes. Those lips, a thin line until then, perked up from that smile. Was it the beloved violin back home, beckoning? Was it favorites from Bach and Mozart, resounding in her head? Was it the sun that had just swam in and brightened the window? But she smiled, a happy smile. Aren't these the very moments that make life worth its while...?

Flouncing

2007-09-11T23:39:00.000-04:00

Have you ever felt your life has become an exciting tug of war between fancies and reason... intensity and inertia... heart and mind (allow me the cliché)? It is almost as if someone, with the touch of a wand and a whispered spell, has rendered everything unrecognizable.

Not too long ago, I was young and important and thought I was the sole master of my life. But life has its way of springing these surprises. Surprises that could be nasty, or a much needed reality check, or just an amusing change of scene.

The cynic is tempted to wonder if as we grow older, we slowly spiral down into a vortex of ambivalence and uncertainty. Isn't that moving backwards? Where is all the wisdom I was promised will come with experience? Maybe those important lessons swished past me during an elusive woolgathering moment. Or is it too early for wisdom to reveal itself? I am still a child!

For a change, the cynic was smothered! There is a certain charm in the non-algorithmic tortuous flow of life. There is a promise entwined in the tangles of uncertainty - a promise of a memorable today, the tomorrow of my dreams. The fear causes an onset of boiling wrath that soon hardens into unbending obstinacy against the ravages of fear itself.

The illusion of success could paint itself real... The rainbow could come and stay on forever... Call it optimism, call it irrationality, call it lust for life. The proverbial speck of light gleams enticingly, maybe the tunnel will end in an ideal world?!

Off guard

2007-08-10T18:37:00.000-04:00

All day long I walk amidst a sea of faces, many a plastic smile, many a muttered pleasantry, civilities galore. We share a dingy elevator always making space for one more, united by nothing more than intermittent beeps and bright numbers mechanically blinking at us. We run together, the ceaseless race to reach our respective destinations, none the winner, none the loser.

A wizened gentleman stands before me, expounding the theories of microeconomics, hypothesizing and infering and concluding in turns. I twiddle my pen, intently searching my neighbor's face for a clue to his thoughts. I gaze at the blackboard ahead mildly amused and largely unaffected by the symbols and numbers scrawled across. Random words that, if strung together, might unravel their mysteries issue forth and float past me. My neighbor stirs, our worlds crisscrossing for a brief moment, time enough for a polite nod, for a meaningful shrug at the futility of it all. The professor draws elaborate patterns in the air, his voice rising in excitement. Maybe it is passion, a deep love for his job, if you will. Maybe it is just an ethic to do his job well, to earn a living untainted by the guilt of shirking.

"Passion", I wonder. But where is mine? Does my mind wander away in search of that very passion or does it wander for the pitiful lack of it? Why not meekly submit to the "flow" as they call it? Why the unending quest for fiery passion, lofty goals, perfect love? Why this obsession with elusive superlatives and high ideals? My hands have gone clammy and cold- Fear wielding its power, perhaps? But the seas of home are a million miles away, the welcoming roar of the waves a distant echo in my ear. Those eyes in my mind have lost their spark. Those familiar smiles are fading away, shade after shade. My bookshelf has reduced to the impersonal touch of cold metal. The yellowing books have crumbled in my memory. Pages from Jane Austen and Wodehouse and Voltaire gently superimpose and melt into each other.

Here I am, having relinquished the defences I so painstakingly built. Here I am, a tortoise with no shell to hide beneath.

Playing spectator

2007-06-30T17:00:00.000-04:00

It was early evening and vehicles were beginning to trickle in towards the traffic signal. Rush hour traffic was building up, an occasional honk permeated through the swank glass that separated me from the road. I sat in a small cafe with two friends, engaged in an interesting discussion, the kind young people with big dreams indulge in - discussions about people who relentlessly pursue their dreams, about hot jobs and shortcuts to fame, conversations that carefully skirted the periphery of each other's personal life.

"...did you read about this guy who..."

I watched the lucky few who sped past the traffic light as it turned from orange to red and the timer above it began yet another countdown. I could almost feel their tiny thrill at an imagined victory over time. Over a decade of driving in the city has not abated the unfailing excitement I feel every time this happens. The way we let clocks, timers, alarms, phones and answering machines dictate our lives saddens me briefly at such moments of realization. But I've learned not to let the feeling last too long.

My friends had moved on to girls, "...Oh watch out for her. She's gonna be one of the hot ones for sure..." I flashed a knowing smile at this, a grin almost, "Is she the girl you met today?", I asked, though I knew the answer already.

My gaze wandered back to the road, now burgeoning with cars locked fender to fender and shiny motorcycles maneuvering to squeeze themselves in between. There was an urgency in the air. It was the cumulative urgency of men and women hurrying to their waiting sweethearts, of mothers worrying about their hungry children at home, of the occasional loner craving for respite from the mad rush, of those hoping fervently to make it on time for their favorite soaps.

I snapped into the present and smoothly veered back into the conversation, "Oh! Holidays are definitely getting more and more luxurious", I added. It's amazing how a slight nod, a noncommittal acknowledgment or a muttered response issues forth with immaculate timing even at such levels of abstraction.

Far removed from the din and unperturbed by the impatience, I felt disconnected from the muted show outside my window. This evening, for a change, the frenzy was not a part of my universe. But I felt a restlessness in me that shunned the cozy interior of the softly lit cafe. I was clamoring to be a part of the buzzing road. At that moment, all I wanted was those harsh sodium lamps, the honking in my ears, my fair share of that throbbing urgency.

"I just wish I owned an isolated island somewhere", I said aloud to deceive myself...

As I depart...

2007-06-01T14:24:00.000-04:00

If I were a dewdrop, I would evaporate without a trace
If I were a snowflake, I would melt away out of shape

If I were a ray of light, you would look away from the glare
If I were a sheet of rain, you would run away to drier abodes

But if I were just a memory, will you not keep me safe
between the myriad folds of your mind?

Alas!

2007-05-24T15:15:00.000-04:00

Little did I know
that futility indeed
is the aftertaste of satiety...

So what?

2007-04-11T14:46:00.000-04:00

Oh yes! I'm quite the cynical cow. This is how I feel most of the time...

Be Mine

2007-04-06T18:45:00.000-04:00

Run with me in my perpetual haste
Meander with me in my devious course
Wander with me in my desperate search
Slalom with me through my discordant vacillation
Wade with me through my hopeless misery
Sink with me in my unrequited love
Spin with me in my eddying emotion
Cruise with me through my youthful fantasy
Flow with me in my surging spontaneity
Swim with me in my divine euphony
Float with me in my phantasmal heaven
Whirl with me in my fragile bubble
Fly with me as I escape reality

insignificant intimacy, please

2007-03-28T18:03:00.000-04:00

saccharine spiels
devised demureness
amorous adoration
casual caresses
exotic erotism
nimble nipping
moaned murmurs
barbaric bacchanalia
flooded fatigue
limpid languor
sated slumber

Let go!

2007-03-24T05:58:00.000-04:00

Pilfer my wing
in a moment of inattention,
Hold it tight, stop
my flight, my fervor, my frenzy.

Cocoon us tight
in this ephemeral chimera,
Weave it closed, paint
a moon, the ocean, our reality.

Tragic

2007-03-20T17:21:00.000-04:00

I turned back slowly, fearfully, even a little hesitantly...

A chain of seemingly connected, truly disparate realities, fragments strung together by some strange whim of nature. A misplaced fantasy- well, hopelessly!

Ellipsis carefully strewn about to beautifully camouflage the uncannily repetitive omissions, or should I say forgotten procrastinations? Negligence- well, nearly!

Ripples, one after the other, incessantly spreading, arch emotions, flitting romance, illusory love, undying lust. Turbulence- well, always!

Tears, both shed and denied, stifled and blinked away, solitude, self-inflicted heartache. Happiness - well, wistfully!

Phantoms, some even real, of thoughts and words and deeds, some said, some swallowed, some loved, some repented. Spontaneity- well, rued!

I turned away sadly, fearfully, even a little too quickly...

Greedy

2007-03-03T15:26:00.000-05:00

Fingertips, a hummed tune, the moment before you sneeze,
a crumpled sheet of scrawled words, chipped coffee mug, a puppy,
whispered love, a secret meeting place, momentary motionless locked gaze.

If you will allow me some more greed...

An embrace, your voice, the moment before you sleep,
manuscripts of love, the sugar in your coffee, allegiance,
an oath, paradise, eternity.

Trivial

2007-02-28T15:11:00.000-05:00

I'm an inkblot, scattered by an angry whim of the hand.
I'm a footstep, an insignificant instant in an eternal journey.
I'm a shadow, a dark twin that lurks by day and fades by night.
I'm a torn page, an incomplete story with no beginning or end.
I'm a broken clock, frozen at a forgotten moment of truth.
I'm an ambiguity, maybe, maybe not...

When I'm gone...

2007-02-28T01:19:00.001-05:00

Oh cuckoo that wakes him every morn!
Won't you sing a melancholy song,
the day I'm gone?

Oh rainbow outside his window!
Just one more color, won't you show,
the day I'm gone?

Oh fragrant flower in his way!
Your pretty head, won't you sway,
the day I'm gone?

Oh teardrop in his left eye!
A little sooner, won't you dry,
the day I'm gone?

Oh new moon, out of sight!
Won't you be his lover for a night,
the day I'm gone?

Stay awhile, will you?

2007-02-25T02:57:00.000-05:00

You are my fleeting fantasy,
Rest awhile before you hurry away-
Just long enough to sing me a song...
Just long enough to write you a verse...

You are my sweet intoxicant,
Hold me awhile in your magical mirth-
Just long enough to profess my love...
Just long enough to lull me to sleep...

You are my unopened gift,
Stay awhile wrapped in ribbons-
Just long enough to stop this flutter...
Just long enough to guess your surprise...

You are my flowing poetry,
Remain awhile as stammered words-
Just long enough to finish this dream...
Just long enough to string you together...

You are my impending doom,
Wait awhile before destroying me-
Just long enough to feel your wrath...
Just long enough to hear my plea...

Soma

2007-02-11T16:58:00.000-05:00

Inspirational Art: courtesy Nithya ( A really good amateur artist!)

Crystal goblets, musically clinking
Sparkling stars, softly blurring
Imagined music, gently lilting
Warm intoxication, washing all over.

Blurted words, barely croaking
Leaden head, wildly throbbing
Numbed senses, slowly dying
Brutal intoxication, ravaging all over.

May I not have just a bit of your morn?

2007-02-08T12:36:00.000-05:00

May I not perch
on your window sill
and glimpse your creased forehead
and guess your last dream?
I promise, I will fly away into the dawn.

May I not ride
down a gleaming ray
and tickle your eyelids
and kiss you awake?
I promise, I will not stay too long.

May I not slide
into your morning papers
and peek at your face
and follow your gaze?
I promise, I will not leave my far corner.

May I not melt
into your dark coffee
and float up the steam
and whisper you a secret?
I promise, I will not cloud up your eyes.

May I not have just a bit of your morn?

Insomnia

2007-01-31T13:42:00.000-05:00

Midnight glory,
Fold around me
your celestial quilt.
Tell me a tale.

Raven Beauty,
Breathe into me
the mysterious dusk.
Sing me to sleep.

His and Hers

2007-01-21T06:42:00.000-05:00

An anger gushing with virulence, an anger so physical, it leaps out and grips you as tightly as his clenched fist, a temper so hot, you will wince if you touch that green vein pulsating against the stretched skin of his neck, an anger that hurls every object in sight, an anger caught, mangled and minced between two unsmiling rows of pearly teeth that seem incapable of such wrath, an anger that brings forth a cascade of unimaginable abuse, an anger swelling with spontaneous curses and threats rarely meant, an anger that sparks, blazes and reduces to cold ash- all within a quick throbbing moment, an anger that hurriedly slips through your fingers, an anger that leaves as remnants only repentance, profuse apology and not a trace of malice. Such is his anger- red to behold, searing to touch, loud to hear, fleeting in time, harmless while it is there, guileless once it is gone...

Silent anger that resides in her sharp glare, in her slow forceful walk, in her firmly set jaw, in the thin line of her mouth, a practised anger, its perfection visible in the controlled pace of her movements free of urgency, movements carefully designed to conceal her emotion, an anger that had no ears for pleas or reason, an anger chilled till you shiver in its iciness, an anger that simmers silently long after you think it has passed, an anger that strikes back with hurtful words when you least expect them, an anger that stores every moment away, committing them to memory to serve as fuel for some future wrath, an anger that never forgets, an anger that stays on for you to touch, remember and fear forever, an anger that leaves behind charred bitterness and a promise of return. Such is her anger- eternal embers that glow unnoticed, biding time as it awaits the wind of revenge, a spiteful fire that only her will can quell...

Caught Unawares

2007-01-16T08:05:00.002-05:00

Is that all there is to a dream-come-true?

Life spiralled down into normalcy,
As I continue to wait for indulgent mirth.
The glorious moment slunk away silently,
leaving me no chance for leisurely reminiscence.

Is that all there is to a dream-come-true?

We still exchange the same pleasantries-
About the weather, the traffic, the bitter coffee.
Can't you see the bounce in my gait,
the glow on my face?

Is that all there is to a dream-come-true?

A thrill that raced past,
A smattering of disbelief, tears and prayer,
A faint recollection of sweet success,
rapidly replaced by dreams anew?

Silent Flutter

2006-11-28T11:43:00.000-05:00

Bright orange streaks ran the width of the sky, rapidly turning pale, as the sun bid its daily farewell. Waves gently lapped up to them, receding with a silky caress. She intently watched her feet and raced to count the bubbles before the wave could sweep them back into the sea. His arms encircled her shoulders lightly, a half embrace that announced easy fondness. A boat merrily bobbed under the command of the high sea, a vanishing image at the line where sky melted into sea. The low hiss of the waves, the gentle rustle of the breeze rose to fill the silence between them. It was not a silence that hung heavily. It was a silence cloaked by their perfectly resonating thoughts, a silence cocooned in content love, a silence engendered by years of understanding.

She traced designs in the sand with her toe, rushing to complete intricate patterns before the sea came to claim them. "Why do you love me?" he asked as casually as he would ask for the time. "It's your handwriting, I've told you before", she laughed, not taking her eyes off her feet. "And why do you love me?" "It's your lisp my dear, as always", he feigned a pronounced lisp as he said it. A tiny spark twinkled in his eyes as he squinted to catch sight of the distant boat. An impish smile crept up the corners of her mouth and she looked away from him. She entwined her fingers into his and tugged his arm tighter around her. They lapsed into silence again and looked up in unison, each searching for the other's star.

"Not a word we utter
But does it stop, the flutter?"

The sanctity of their love rested untarnished in the soft recesses of their silence, in the fleeting thoughts she engraved in the wet sand, in the mesh of their intermingled fingers.

PS: Inspired by fond reminiscences of the sorely missed sea...

Resurgam

2006-11-23T23:26:00.000-05:00

Intangible thoughts, flickering images, dreamy fantasies surface and vanish, playing a game of hide and seek in my mind. My pen and paper meet only to render my mind instantly blank. My words, a trickle of incoherent stutters and stammers, die away unexpressed. I build elegant characters and weave elaborate tales. But they refuse to leave the ephemeral abode of my thoughts, they shun my offer of immortality.

Thus we rest in peace-
My langushing mind,
My drying pen

Resurgam

Enduring wait

2006-11-19T00:57:00.000-05:00

The weeks trudged along laboriously,
I wistfully counted each tomorrow...

You left me fading manuscripts of love,
Creases softened with time, Ah! the familiar coarseness of your skin.
Fond eyes welled up as I ran them yet again
over your undotted i's, your slanting t's.

You left me a picture tacked to my wall,
A snapshot of long past, frozen in eternity.
I touched your smile, your finger tips,
I blew the fleck off your eye.

You blew me a kiss from the far curb of the road,
A fleeting gesture of parting.
I hid them under my eyelids-
your gentle kiss,the warm moon, the cool night breeze.

Since your return,
The todays pass as I longingly wait...

To run my finger along your face,
To trace the curve of your lip,
To melt in your lowered gaze,
To kiss you in your cherubic sleep.

Will this missing ever cease?

Pensive

2006-10-12T14:57:00.001-04:00

Suspended clouds mesh together like pieces of a jigsaw and metamorphose into forgotten faces. Some smile, some are still angry, some show no flicker of recognition. Unfazed, I fly past...

The cacophony of voices in my head break the underwater silence. Lofty ideas, fragmented dreams, childhood memories, ancient mirth, heartrending grief resurface and add to the chaos. I dive deeper to shut out the clamor...

Visitors unsolicited in real life crash into my dreams. They stomp all over the rosy dream and distort it into a cruel nightmare. I simply nuzzle closer and sleep on...

A harsh storm follows the deceptively soft breeze right through my window. My gently meandering life is entangled in the sinews of the raging tornado. I melt into a sheet of rain...

Oh! How I yearn for that floating flight amidst the wispy clouds, that silent plunge into the deep ocean, that tender dream in the night-long cradle, that fluid journey from heaven to earth...

Oh! How I yearn for that simple life...

Can you hear the silence?

2006-09-11T10:07:00.001-04:00

She peered deep into his eyes, He quickly averted his gaze
                                           A violent storm brews in the distance
                       Can you hear the Screaming Silence of Anger?


                              She touched his fingertips hesitantly, He squeezed her palm tight
                A cool mountain breeze nudges them closer
                Can you hear the Calm Silence of Trust?


               She ran her toe up his leg slowly, He wet his lips hungrily
                         The wet smell of rain mixes with the pungent smell of sweat
  Can you hear the Moist Silence of Lust?


She laid her head on his shoulder, He kissed her forehead lightly
                  Deafening thunderclaps, a blinding crack of lightening
                         Can you hear the Choking Silence of Grief?


                       A single teardrop escaped her eye, He wrapped her in his embrace
                  The moon glows softly in the clear night sky
        Can you hear the Gentle Silence of Love?

The night whispered

2006-05-27T14:35:00.000-04:00

I'm standing on my terrace. The sky is inky blue, there are no stars, there is no moon. Clouds drift towards each other slowly and hesitantly like silent lovers melting into their first kiss. The cool night breeze ruffles my hair, a lump forms in my throat, it's been a long time...

Distant memories sail in and out of my mind, I let them pass.
I don't want to think, I just want the moment to stay.
I close my eyes, I hear faint guitar strums, music straight from the heart, I'm smiling...

Characters from my book enter and leave my mind, I let them go.
I'm living a dream, I don't want to wake up.
I close my eyes, I smell rain, there is a mild drizzle, I'm smiling...

The sea beckons me from far away, I stay still.
The night is whispering a secret, I just want to drink it up.
I close my eyes, the spray is on my face, waves crash around my feet, I'm smiling...

A rainbow drifts in and out of my mind, I let it fade.
I don't want color, I just want the black night to last forever.
I close my eyes, I'm humming, I feel his arms around me, I'm smiling...

I'm standing on my terrace. The kiss is over. The night is suddenly still. I know the secret now. The clouds part to reveal a lone star, he is back! I'm smiling...

PS: The night itself was sheer poetry! And my thoughts were not symmetrical :) The randomness was the poetry!

Living Paradox!

2006-05-15T14:32:00.000-04:00

There is a voice screaming in the head - "There are things to do..."
There is an inertia tugging back the mind - Cannot move an inch...

There is the urge to fly - The wings are still in the making...
There is a morbid fear - Searching for a place to hide...

The heart desires to create - The mind refuses to imagine...
The face yearns to smile - The heart remains frozen...

PS:
I've not written in a while, not because I could not squeeze out the time, not because of writer's block, not because I had nothing to say, simply because I didn't feel like it!

Writing is gratifying. Sometimes, "Not writing" is liberating!

Thanks for all the messages during my self imposed sabbatical. I came back to them time and again!

Dumbstruck !

2006-01-30T06:32:00.000-05:00

I looked up at you, enraptured by your soaring beauty.
I will stand taller some day…

I stood by you, dwarfed by your majesty.
I will be bigger some day…

I climbed up with you, inspired by your mighty ascent.
I will fly freely some day…

I tip-toed around you, awed by your immaculate symmetry.
I will be perfect some day…

PS: Inspired by a weekend trip to Wayanad, Kerala, India.

Life is circular

2006-01-07T03:39:00.000-05:00

Another year gone,
Another year come,
But life has become
so very circular...

Happy New Year!

I'm hiding in your flower

2005-12-04T23:31:00.004-05:00

I will hide within the flower
and bring color to your day.

I will hide within the flower
and watch your eyes smile.

I will hide within the flower
and steal your admiring glance.

I will hide within the flower
and feel your soft caress.

I will hide within the flower
so you'll pin me to your heart.

I will hide within the flower
so you'll miss me when I'm gone.

Peeved!

2005-11-29T22:16:00.000-05:00

Be beautiful
- enthrall me

Be mysterious
- excite me

Be rewarding
- please me

Be difficult
- motivate me

Be vengeful
- anger me

Be punishing
- humble me

But why be confusing
- and puzzle me
and depress me
and annoy me?

Most of the time I just love life. But there are times like these when I can't hate it more...

PS: I know this is not great poetry, I was not even attempting one. I guess my mood is evident...

Some moments are forever...

2005-11-11T02:43:00.000-05:00

The tickle of a receding wave…

...the salty spray on my face

The first rays of dawn...

...surrendering to sleep

A teardrop waiting to fall…

…the drizzle before a torrent

The flutter his voice evokes…

…breath held, waiting for his “Yes”

Pass it on

2005-10-28T00:26:00.000-04:00

She ran her hands over his face, his hair, tears streaming down her face all the while...

Consumerdemon suggested(quite a while ago) that we have a story tag, where one blogger starts a story and others are free to take it on and complete it, or add a few more lines and pass on the tag in their own blogs. So if you are interested, take this tag, write some more in your blog and leave me a comment here. I will update the links in this post.

It will be really nice to see what different imaginations can create...

Magical Elements (in 55 words)

2005-10-20T03:42:00.000-04:00

The Air I breathe
brews inside me
into a passionate storm.

The Waters of the ocean
evoke in me
a deep silent longing.

Earth, the eternal charmer,
She beckons me
to her far corners.

Someday I will fly
and become Queen
of the unconquered Sky

The Fire burns-
I live.
I live-
The Fire burns.

Tag: 55 word poem

PS: Thanx to . : A : .

Defeating Fate

2005-10-17T08:16:00.000-04:00

He peered down from the top of the cliff. Steeling his nerves, he put one leg into the air. The calm sea below was both inviting and intimidating. The sheer height made his head reel. He was going to make his own destiny, shackle Fate’s hands and defeat her. He gazed into the sky savoring his last few moments, when he saw a faint white light. Sun's rays were creeping in, rapidly turning night to day. Behind him the stars shone brighter than ever while before him the sun was making its grand entry. Fate was beckoning to him with a glint in her eyes. The enormity of the moment made him feel small, alone and insignificant, all at once. There was no choice, there never had been. There was no changing destiny, no challenging Fate, no last laugh. But this journey itself had been inevitable. Smiling to himself, he began his slow descent from the cliff, clutching Life tighter with every step.

55 Words

2005-10-06T04:08:00.001-04:00

Their eyes met. He was rooted to the spot, a few feet away. They were locked in a virtual embrace, while parallel worlds moved on. Odes recited, promises exchanged, unsaid words, a tiny flutter…she smiled, he raised a hand to his heart…The light turned green, she turned left, he turned right. A deep calm prevailed...

PS: I would have thought a story in 55 words next to impossible. Kudos to whoever started the tag!

To touch those words...

2005-09-26T04:32:00.000-04:00

The scent of fresh ink,
The brilliant blue…

The mild yellow of ageing paper,
The soft crinkle…

The scratching of pen on paper,
The sound of flowing words…

The embossed flower in a corner of the sheet,
The unsaid greeting…

The long fluent hand,
The slight slant…

The feel of the etched words,
The writer’s touch…

Alas! How I miss them all...

....And I got this pleasant surprise from velvetgunther, Special thanks to him :

This makes my post complete

Tryst with nature

2005-09-19T04:19:00.001-04:00

The journey had begun…

She gazed out the window, searching for meaning in the shapeless clouds, the chilly wind pricking her face, shafts of moonlight kissing her good night…

Silhouettes of trees rapidly flew by, forgotten faces flashed by, awakening random memories, casting shadows on her thoughts…

She ran into sea’s embrace, the roaring waves welcoming her. They lashed around her feet, threatening to carry her away and drink her up.

The foaming waves, the salty spray, the deep blue sea, soft skies, smoky clouds, melted together like a melody- another one of nature’s symphonies.

She stood atop the mountain, great skies above, deep sea below, savoring the sweet scent of wet grass, resisting the urge to take a plunge, resisting the urge to take flight…

Twilight set in, she bade sad farewell to the day as the sun retired behind the clouds...

...the sky painted orange, purple and pink.

Lo and behold, out came the moon to put the smile back in her eyes.Caressed by a soft breeze, she lolled in the moonlight and fell into a dreamy slumber, smiling shyly as she entered her prince’s arms.

PS: Inspired by a weekend trek in Gokarna, Karnataka, India.

I "Live"

2005-08-29T09:03:00.000-04:00

I sing...
I sing to calm
the screaming silence

I laugh...
I laugh to eclipse
the droning tedium

I cry...
I cry to mollify
the hurting ego

I love...
I love to feel
the throb of life

I hate...
I hate to remain
fate's perpetual puppet

I create...
I create to liberate
the trapped passion

As time flies by

2005-08-12T03:02:00.000-04:00

When I met you first, I was-

Allured by your mystery
Aroused by your temptation
Enthralled by your capriciousness
Intoxicated with your novelty

Many a year has passed-

You are still shrouded in mystery
But I search for something familiar

You entice me no end
But I look away

You are whimsical as ever
But I choose routine

You are born afresh each morn
But I want eternity

Twilight reminiscence

2005-08-04T07:21:00.000-04:00

My mood so mellow
I watch your halo,
As you look down at me
smiling in glee.

I reach out to touch
your smoky face,
As you float around
in your high abode.

I hate to see you
melt away,
As you rush to hide
behind dawn's veil.