Bench under that tree

There is a place on this earth, where I so have been fixed. Under a small rolling hill, under the tall tall trees, there I am a wooden bench. I watch the seasons as they come and go, the green gets brown and sometimes white. and then they come in all colors and sizes, happy and lonely, crazy and funny, just jostle around under the trees , walk the trails on the hill and then come and catch a breath on me, under my old friend tree.

Some would say well what a life, you have! Stuck at a place, mute and dumb, sitting out in cold and sun, just watching the people scratch their names on your back and sit for a while, we guess you wait to rot and be at last free.

Well yes I am dumb and mute, so I can't refute. But I know sitting here under the tree I learnt so much from just watching thee.

Motifs and names engraved on my skin, by lovers and freaks, just wiling away their time. No they never had a grudge, but I guess just had to fidget, and leave a scar to remember them by.

Sitting under an old tall tree, on the edge of that small rolling hill, yeah you will find me rooted to the spot, mocking the rain and scorning the sun. I stay put like a sentinel of constancy,in an effervescent world. This low under bush that so tickels my legs, with crickets and birds perching on my head and aimless leaves of the passing autumn finding a moments peace lying on my face, the flying moments of a dying day and the burning red ball of the sky getting devoured by the land, I watch it all, with bored eyes, cause forever have I watched these tricks, been around for some years now, sitting here and seeing it all and still saying nothing to top it all, well cause no soul would think that me, an old wooden bench, also got a tale to tell.

For often have I touched and felt the beauty of this life, for many maidens have come and sat on me just shoeing the breeze, and I have sat frozen and fascinated staring at their face's every crease

The tresses of the lovely hair and gentle touch of the playful nail, oh how often have I fell in love with a passing lovely maid.

Guess you think I only saw the beauty and missed the beast, but both I have clearly seen

I wonder why god chose to make something so pretty and still ugly within,for all the maidens I have seen, somehow selfish they all have been.

But for this groovy heart of mine, I would have better been a cask for wine.’ cause wine would give the cask some pleasure and in turn take my color, these maidens you see only longing they seem to give, woods also have a fate, some end up being a cask of wine and some just benches destined to whine.

What next?

So what next?

- a personality make over?

- a make over of values?

- a dreams make over?

- an attitude make over?

a hardening of will?

a clear, cynical, self first approach?

A wild flower's reminiscence of an evanescent butterfly

10.15.2006

A small buzzing stream and its chlorophyll green banks; the golden yellow sun and not a soul in sight; I hide beneath canopies of mighty pines; the air is abuzz with sounds of myriad creatures and the trickling waters of the shallow pristine stream. In moments like these my mind it wanders and I reminisce like only a wildflower can.

This is an ode to a beautiful butterfly I met; I haven't even seen it again for so many years, but the memory of the colors of its plumes will forever send these shivers of longing in my soul.

For most she was just another butterfly,pretty and vibrant, colorful and haughty, vagabond and restless, but for me , ah it was the color of my very soul, the singular touch that brought sun shining through the grays of a clouded existence, like bright yellow splashed suddenly on a old dusty canvas.

But then this is not about what I felt for the butterfly, it's just an ode to that beautiful creature, I wish would have stayed on my petals for ever.

Oh, my lovely little one, where you are now and how you look, have you grown old or are you still the same, I know not. But in my consciousness I still can see you spreading joy and beauty in this world.

The spring in your foot and your restless heart,how a petal would know that to hold you near forever all that was needed was for the petal to stay bright and beautiful. But as the things in this world go, the petal thought the only way to make you stay was to hold you near and obstruct your flight. So I closed my spread and unknowingly became so jaded and dried.

So the petal it made two mistakes, one it lost its brightness and warmth and two it suffocated the butterfly, which was born to fly.

Not long after it was a final goodbye; just a silent parting glance through a watery glimmer in its shiny pearl eyes; the eyes they seemed to say ' wanted to stay for ever in your colorful plumes , but you have lost all your charm, if only you knew that this butterfly would fly and frolic and spread joy all around and then come back tired just to feel your warmth'

And so it flew away..

Oh my butterfly, I know wherever you are, you must only be spreading joy, and I wish you summers and flowers, clear blue skies and cool breezes, cause in this ugly world, only a few souls like you spread some beauty and sunshine.

Live long and carefree as ever.

10.15.2006

Alice: But it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then

from dusty notepad files, found again in years old piles of data

--Directionless rambling---

Ask any man, the fondest memories of love will always spring from childhood, about that lovely girl from the younger years.
The tragedy of life to me, is the fact that of the all the men on this planet a percentage tending to zero, would have actually held on to those childhood loves.
To be honest the way of living of humans hardly provides the opportunity to continue to hold on to these childhood loves.
The family might move, you shift homes, you change school an endless list of external factors conspiring to just make sure that a man looses probably the only thing worth holding on to.

As a child if you remember, liking some one wasn't really thought through, it wasn't a step of logical deductions by which you learn to like people as grown ups.
Its also definitely not yet about sex, for obvious biological constraints, for a man can surely fall in 'love' with any woman, in a moment of pure 'lust', well yes in childhood we all are free of this beautiful feeling of 'lust'.

So that brings me back, what is it that trigger love in our hearts in childhood?

I wonder, with no forthcoming answers really, other than a few cues and deductions.

Was it that you like a girls face, or may be just her voice, no it cannot be that superficial. There must be a larger design to falling in love when we are all children. for we still go soft thinking of that one childhood sweetheart, if it was so shallow a feeling, you wouldn't even remember it forget feeling nostalgic or warm within.

I have read/ heard it often, that as a child you are closest to god, and then with the growing up comes the distance between god and you. And we continue to drift apart, until every person at sometime or another reaches a cross road in life, where you feel alone and forsaken.
Sometimes, then begins the process of understanding and reaching out to god all over again, just trying to reduce the miles growing up had put between god and us.
But by then we have lost the plan of life, it has merely become a series of choices we make, sometimes turning out to be good and sometimes not so good.
But all in all, we have lost that reason for which probably this life is there.

In this complex universe, I would have also had a plan, something I was supposed to achieve, someway I was also supposed to make a difference. But the assembly line of society has made me just another product of the factory which is running overtime to 'condition' and manufacture people. Now some of these products turn out better than others, some worse. But if we look at the mass of humans, what deviation are you likely to find out in one person from another? for such a large set, statistically we would find so little a variation between people. Shamefully,its a proof of how we have all managed to loose sense of our true destinations, reasons for being born,in this moribund machinery of living.

-----Inquisition-------

Dusty winds and the simmering heat,
sweaty palms and a cold shiver down my spine,
its judgment day again;
I twitch and shuffle,
mumble and grumble,
unable to face my souls inquisition;
Stand like a thief caught in the act,
eyes downcast and shoulders drooped;
its time to answer for all I promise ,
and fail to keep,
those promises to myself;
My inquisitor stares,
a smirk on his face,
and an underlying sadness,
that's quite hard to trace;
This pregnant silence between us,
hides a story of its own,
he is waiting for me to blabber;
And let go of a string of excuses,
but the excuses have also excused themselves today,
the brain is numb,
and the lips wont move;
silence lingers as the inquisitor ponders,
waiting for the second ruse,
for whenever i haven't got an excuse,
fate i would abuse ;
But this time abuses are also hard to come by,
for forever have i made excuses and abuses fly,
guess I am no longer shy,
to accept the faults within,
rather than everywhere around;
The inquisitors expression,
changed from sarcasm to anger,
as he boomed when did u learn to cower?
for whatever was your fault,
cowardice it never was;
For years i have seen you stand,
each time empty handed as ever,
but defeat in your eyes i saw never;
So speak up and tell me when did the fire go out?
I answer in a tone so low,
ears couldn't hear the sound of the tongue,
i tell him, now with each punch I take,
it becomes more hard to stand up again.