Thursday, December 31, 2015
lets begin again
A new year beckons, beckons us to dream a few new dreams, build again new-hope-castles in the sand. Peer far and peer deep into the blue sky horizons and wonder afresh about the possibilities of life. A time to introspect and a time to reflect, a time to smile and a time to embrace our realities and all our fears. Let's make good beginnings, dance or smile, feast or relax, pray or plan, and commence upon some newer journeys.
Wednesday, December 9, 2015
Another non starter
The ends seem to always be corners,
Leading on to newer ways;
We all seem to call ourselves names,
Only to be lost in our own wile games;
We wish so many tragedies on many,
But none of the wishes ever come through;
I am caught between witches,
Asking for their pounds of flesh;
I can't decipher a road to escape
From the thousand little pathways;
I am shouting hoarse and sometimes crying loud,
Too far too long into the wall that separates me from faith.
Saturday, August 15, 2015
A passing storm
Dark clouds rolling in from the east, grim warriors in their armored gear,
On the wings of furious winds, piercing like needles to my bones,
Watery eyes beholden to the sight, waiting for the lightning to strike,
Drooping trees turning green to grey as if refusing to stand in the way.
A maddening glint in my eyes, and on the lips an unrepentant smile,
Mangled but erect, on my feet still, hunched like a bull,
A dark silhouette full of rage, staring deep into the gathering storm.
Sufferance when pushed, burns the blood and drowns our soul,
And it oozes like pus out of our bloodied selves, toxicating all that passes near.
Eighteen with four to go, wonder if I can withstand these storms any more,
On the wings of furious winds, piercing like needles to my bones,
Watery eyes beholden to the sight, waiting for the lightning to strike,
Drooping trees turning green to grey as if refusing to stand in the way.
A maddening glint in my eyes, and on the lips an unrepentant smile,
Mangled but erect, on my feet still, hunched like a bull,
A dark silhouette full of rage, staring deep into the gathering storm.
Sufferance when pushed, burns the blood and drowns our soul,
And it oozes like pus out of our bloodied selves, toxicating all that passes near.
Eighteen with four to go, wonder if I can withstand these storms any more,
Teeth clenched and bracing for the impact, but will I be standing still when this one ends?
Monday, February 23, 2015
Searching for moonlight
A week had passed, amidst the morning to evening dredge and within the long hours spent doing unremarkable things, I had been secretly waiting for the Sunday to come. Waiting to find her again, to execute the many search plans I had been contemplating every day.
I woke up refreshed and full of spirit, jumped out of the bed, stretched and walked to the wall size window of my room and moved the curtains with a flourish, somewhere I was hoping for the weather to partake in my enthusiasm and depute the sun to be shining bright. The dark gloomy clouds and the strong breeze that I could see flowing through the trees in my neighbours garden below, instead seemed to signal a dissuasion. Determined to not wait another week, I went about dressing up and having a light breakfast. Spent considerable time setting my hair in a manner that would signal a casual and carefree manner, and then in a similar manner handled my clothes. After an approving glance on the outcome of my efforts, I walked out the door of my warm, small but sufficient apartment, into the biting cold of that autumn morning. I had set out in her search.
Heading straight for our quaint first meeting place, near the rocks of the old decaying cottage, I found the surrounding a little unwelcoming, the overnight dew had left the rocks dripping wet and the wind was especially sharp atop the corner of this small hillock. I could have still braved the conditions but I was convinced that if she did turn up again, from her Sunday morning trek and found me sitting here, the chances of being taken as a glum moron requiring help were too high and not worth the risk. The lack of any basis, for my confidence in her Sunday routines did not bother me at all, though my mind did rationalize that a trekker is likely not to use the same exit every week and hence she might not come down trail behind the old cottage today. Having convinced myself to this line of thought, I immediately proceeded to the trekking trail, that led from behind the cottage and was on my way to meet her by 'chance'.
A couple of hours passed, even in the oppressing cold wind, I had broken into a sweat, I was standing atop the sharply jutting out ridge, the highest point in my little town. I had a few faint memories of having trekked up here many years ago, with a few friends from school. I realized, with a tinge of remorse, how in the moribund life that I had been living all these years, I had never again found the motivation to walk up here. The crisp morning, the slight light headedness from the mountain air and the many tall pine trees, had taken my mind away from all the inanities I chase week on week, I felt liberated and brimming with a feel good hope. Standing there and looking down far away into the valley that spread all around, I was tempted to promise that I would make this a weekly habit, to trek up here- but then I thought the better of it, as even in the optimism of the morning, I didn't see much point in adding another promise on to the overladen table of unmet promises I kept in a corner of my small room.
I woke up refreshed and full of spirit, jumped out of the bed, stretched and walked to the wall size window of my room and moved the curtains with a flourish, somewhere I was hoping for the weather to partake in my enthusiasm and depute the sun to be shining bright. The dark gloomy clouds and the strong breeze that I could see flowing through the trees in my neighbours garden below, instead seemed to signal a dissuasion. Determined to not wait another week, I went about dressing up and having a light breakfast. Spent considerable time setting my hair in a manner that would signal a casual and carefree manner, and then in a similar manner handled my clothes. After an approving glance on the outcome of my efforts, I walked out the door of my warm, small but sufficient apartment, into the biting cold of that autumn morning. I had set out in her search.
Heading straight for our quaint first meeting place, near the rocks of the old decaying cottage, I found the surrounding a little unwelcoming, the overnight dew had left the rocks dripping wet and the wind was especially sharp atop the corner of this small hillock. I could have still braved the conditions but I was convinced that if she did turn up again, from her Sunday morning trek and found me sitting here, the chances of being taken as a glum moron requiring help were too high and not worth the risk. The lack of any basis, for my confidence in her Sunday routines did not bother me at all, though my mind did rationalize that a trekker is likely not to use the same exit every week and hence she might not come down trail behind the old cottage today. Having convinced myself to this line of thought, I immediately proceeded to the trekking trail, that led from behind the cottage and was on my way to meet her by 'chance'.
A couple of hours passed, even in the oppressing cold wind, I had broken into a sweat, I was standing atop the sharply jutting out ridge, the highest point in my little town. I had a few faint memories of having trekked up here many years ago, with a few friends from school. I realized, with a tinge of remorse, how in the moribund life that I had been living all these years, I had never again found the motivation to walk up here. The crisp morning, the slight light headedness from the mountain air and the many tall pine trees, had taken my mind away from all the inanities I chase week on week, I felt liberated and brimming with a feel good hope. Standing there and looking down far away into the valley that spread all around, I was tempted to promise that I would make this a weekly habit, to trek up here- but then I thought the better of it, as even in the optimism of the morning, I didn't see much point in adding another promise on to the overladen table of unmet promises I kept in a corner of my small room.
Saturday, February 7, 2015
Beginnings
Walking back from the weary, dry and deserted hillock, I knew that for completing my unfinished story, I will have to leave. Leave the confines of self created boundaries and limitations- some real and others mostly imagined. As a stone tumbled down the path ahead of me, I could see how I too needed some tumbling, away from where I stood rooted.
Summer days are like this, they make you feel generous about your own prospects. The balmy weather, sunshine and the lightly swaying dry grass in the tropical march breeze, made me feel optimistic that winters were left behind for good. Or so I hoped.
I took many determined steps walking away, fast and quick, from the dry hillock on which I knew I had vile'd away too many years of my life. Arrogance, foolery, cowardice and lastly plain dejection, in that order, had made me sit atop the hillock, waiting for the thing to happen. It never did, and I grew older and bitter. But now was the time, the great breakaway from my prejudices and failures.
With glass eyed determination, I had set out to find my green valley and that longed for drooping tree, beneath which I would lie down to sleep each night, under the gaze of the far away shimmering stars.
I had finally set out to find love.
Summer days are like this, they make you feel generous about your own prospects. The balmy weather, sunshine and the lightly swaying dry grass in the tropical march breeze, made me feel optimistic that winters were left behind for good. Or so I hoped.
I took many determined steps walking away, fast and quick, from the dry hillock on which I knew I had vile'd away too many years of my life. Arrogance, foolery, cowardice and lastly plain dejection, in that order, had made me sit atop the hillock, waiting for the thing to happen. It never did, and I grew older and bitter. But now was the time, the great breakaway from my prejudices and failures.
With glass eyed determination, I had set out to find my green valley and that longed for drooping tree, beneath which I would lie down to sleep each night, under the gaze of the far away shimmering stars.
I had finally set out to find love.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Unfinished
Leaning on the rails of the bridge, I could see faraway lights on the sea, probably a hundred miles away in the embracing darkness. Star like though yellow, unaware of the distant stranger contemplating them.
In the strange disquiet of that quiet evening, under the quite caress of the strengthening breeze, in the darkness of the sky and the harshness of the waves , I could neither hear the outside world nor could I hear the chatter within.
The hardening with the years and the vicissitudes of my unremarkable life, have left me cynical to the existence of epiphanies, however in that moment on that bridge, I saw a life changing one hurtling down towards me. I could have spoken aloud, for there was none to overhear, but I am not much used to verbalizing what's in my heart. So instead I write.
In the strange disquiet of that quiet evening, under the quite caress of the strengthening breeze, in the darkness of the sky and the harshness of the waves , I could neither hear the outside world nor could I hear the chatter within.
The hardening with the years and the vicissitudes of my unremarkable life, have left me cynical to the existence of epiphanies, however in that moment on that bridge, I saw a life changing one hurtling down towards me. I could have spoken aloud, for there was none to overhear, but I am not much used to verbalizing what's in my heart. So instead I write.
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