Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Essence of life


Its existence seems to last a little more than infinity; it's slow and soft, so much so that every fleeting fantasy seeps into it, yet it is significant. However, it is not infinite nor is it a dream – its life itself.
Be it an ocean of mirth, the pinnacle of success, a sip of fascinating reality or a shower of His own blessings – the best boon bestowed on this carved earth, by Providence, is life itself. For every bit of swift feeling and every stagnant thought is saturated in this solution. A dead stone doesn't realize what wonders the world beholds, it doesn't feel, it doesn't think... that's because it exists, but it doesn't live. Little does he know who is Providence, or for a matter of fact, who on earth is he! For him, every gift of Providence is as numb as he is – lifeless and frozen. So, what lies in anything and everything if you yourself are a stoical statue?
Life, the composite of four words, and some smiles and sighs, is that gift which shelters all others. With its hills and vales, paved roads and abrupt dead ends, it is the only phase of light joining on world of infinite darkness to another world of eternal indifference. Whatever it is, everything is bound within this journey. Not just for mankind, but for every soul that breathes life. Providence has been indeed very generous in endowing us with a mountain of gifts, like virtues, talents, materialistic joys along with realistic ones, fond memories, a supportive surrounding, inexplicably beautiful a nature, and immense success, guarded by enemies; yet what he gives first is a life to live it all, live and love its essence to the fullest. Without it, every gift is reduced to mere nothingness a meaningless crap.
Life out stands all others, as the ultimate gift and there is no denying this fact. It's practically impossible to feign indifference to its emphatic dominance over every other boon of God. This journey of uncountable miles enchants every traveler, and allows it to taste the blissful satisfaction of all the petals of love and wrath shattered on it. This journey defines the world for a man - that is the journey of life.

Monday, December 24, 2007

Symphony of love


A spoonful of moonlight
A slice of fluttering silence,
Words imprisoned and all so
Drenched in a lingering essence -
The forbidden essence of love.

Some words are mingling,
With the song of my heart,
Some fading, shying away,
Yet willfully reluctant to part
With the sonnet of the soul.

There's a shower of the petals of
Undying confessions and love,
Amidst notes of an unsung song
Floating in bliss, with a dream above.
Of embedding you in my heart.

A sweet insanity it so is, and
I'm not unaware of its acrimony
But the smell of summer mirth,
Foils me from leaving this symphony.
Ah! The rhythm of invincible summer.

I've assayed hard to decipher the
Euphony that its warmth sings,
But even the sound of its silence
With it, mellow reminiscences brings.
A silence, mellifluous beyond belief.

If I had to paint love on a canvass,
It would be all so artlessly obscure,
For love's a sane insanity, that would
Arrest all mingled colors with its lure.
So sane, that I'm also its prisoner.

A beautiful melancholy or muffled
Raindrops of mystifying serenity
Or bohemian thoughts that take me
To my romantic never-land of amenity-
Ah! Love conspires to saunter undefined.

But life has conspired to capture
Me in the cocoon of this sweet vice;
Not complaining, but relishing the wine,
Tonight I'm in my divine paradise...
Hail the scent of love’s exotic wine!

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Feminism demands egalitarianism


Equality has been existing for an eternity, in varying forms and shapes. At times insignificant, at times emphatically essential; and over the years it has seen itself being accepted in varying manners. Literally defining, Equality stands as uniform or equal status and opportunities provided to one and all, indiscriminate of any human-decided factor.
There was a time of the reign of inequality, by the dint of the prevailing motto –'
Might is right', at times a partial equality, decided by caste, creed, color, title, sex etc., but in a world of today, equality and absolute equality is the call of the day. Discrimination on the basis of anything has been termed as a punishable offence, by the constitution, provided equal work is done. So, it obviously implies that I stand in support of the statement that men and women must enjoy equal rights, without a second thought.
I believe when I state equal rights, I mean not merely the fundamental rights, provided by our constitution, but every pother right that one can claim legally and which though seems superficially of trifle importance, is of unfathomable significance to one. Putting aside political allusions, if religious references are taken into consideration, then the bible holds the statement –'
Dust thou art, to dust returnest', which if explained in simple English means that all are made of dust and shall return to dust. Doesn't it mean that all are the same for the come from one source and throng back to the same, devoid of any discrimination? Besides, most holy scriptures emphasize on the importance of equality.
Men and women – classifications of the human society on this, don't hold good in any respect, for both are capable, sensible and efficient in equal amounts. If both can stand independently, earn a livelihood, if both can make out what's right and what's wrong, can read and write and do anything and everything the other is capable of, then there remains no factor on which such a classification can be based. And now that there is absolutely no concrete reason behind this discrimination, why not a provision for equal rights, status as well as liberty for both?
Once in the nineteenth century, there was a strong revolt by the woman suffragettes for their equal rights against those given to men, in the English nations and they did ultimately succeed. It was the ignorance of the people that had compelled the women to plead for their rights, but today, since the realization has almost dawned, such discrimination for rights, shall only be termed sheer injustice, insensate and baseless.
A line of discrimination is drawn when there is a difference in the capabilities or efficiency of both, but if men and women are considered, there is entirely no difference. So, where does the question of providing unequal rights arise from?

Treading uphill



I tread on these sharp rocks
Bare feet...
It hurts a little, but in this,
I find a spark of joy.
It glitters like gold,
Tempting me to move on,
So that I can grasp it all.
So that I may unlock
My chest of dreams.

I relentlessly go on,
Glancing at the crown of the hill.
This inspires me to conquer it.
No, I don't stop and dream,
I don't wish to be halfway.

I tread on these sharp rocks,
Bare feet...
I'm exhausted; I stop.
But I didn't quit yet.
I stand, motionlessly and
Deliberately turn back.
My valley is down there,
It's now distant, far off.

My steps grow firm,
My fatigue has disappeared.
I glance again at
The crown of my hill,
That's now not far.

I tread on these sharp rocks,
Bare feet...
Just a few more breathes
And I'll own you, my hill!
My feet are now so sore,
They bleed.
But I'm indifferent,
As now I'm at the top,
I'm the queen of this hill!

The little spark of joy,
Has now conquered my heart.
The steps of my sore feet,
Have helped me conquer my hill.

I've reached my destination,
I've reached my paradise now...

Diwali – The array of lights...


The festive mood of the early shades of winter in India, always gears up with the arrival of a riot of colors, sounds and lights; the festival of colors, Diwali to be precise. Enthusiastically enjoyed by people of all religions, Diwali’s magical and radiant touch creates an atmosphere of joy and festivity in every nook and corner of the country.
This festival of Diwali, in India redefines merriment, brilliance and splendor. All Indians, the young and the old, the rich and the poor, indiscriminately immerse themselves in the brilliance of this festival and have a gala time, for unlike others, this festival isn’t a composite of just rituals, mundane ceremonies and some discordant exhaustion, but loads more. Legend has it, that Ram, the mythological ruler of Ayodhya, a dominating ancient state, had come back to his land, after a fourteen year long exile, only after bringing Ravan, a vicious demon ruler to his end. And it goes like, the locals of the town, all overwhelmed with victory and endless joy, decorated their homes with earthen lamps to welcome their triumphant ruler. It so happens that this has been passed down to generations after generations, and Indians hold on to it even today. So, that’s how the significant of Diwali is prevalent even in the 21st century, amidst all the hyped modernization and individualism.
The uniqueness of this festival is it’s harmony of five varied philosophies, with each day to a special thought or idea. The third day emphatically makes up for the warmth of the festival. While the morning flies always with he household all engrossed in rituals and ceremonies, the evening is all about meeting friends, gifting sweets, bursting crackers and a whole load of fun and merriment. Yet, however, over the years, the festival has been commercialized and become an occasion for raucous rivalry. The earthen lamps have given way to designer candles while the sweets to dry fruits; it’s now merely concentrated in the extravagance of gifts of momentary joy.
All the pomp and show over it, has somehow disturbed or rather distorted the pleasant gesture behind it. But whatever it be, Diwali in a way still retains its essence.. With vibrant colors, brilliant lights and a boisterous beauty, Diwali’s got it all to make people wait for it with desperateness.

Hail the festival of lights and sounds…

Monday, December 10, 2007

Untold Words


Treading on the hazy
And lonesome boulevard of time,
With slow and heavy steps,
I cast a glance diffidently
At the bare burnt maple trees
Standing tall under the twilight sky.

Their breathes fill the air
With a silent and soft dirge
Awash with pain, resentment, anger
And many more untold tales
Speaking of the mysteries of their lives

Gusts of wind, howling and wild
Sweep away the music hastily
To the far horizon,
But the soft tunes seep in again
Quietly though, fluidly

The notes speak something
This silence whispers some tale to the air
Untold words dance gracefully about,

Oh! The ivory moon has risen
And the night has cast
It's dark and mystic shadow.
But I walk along these orange trees
Listening silently to there painful songs

I know they speak something,
They do whisper their life's unsung songs
Naively I have been listening to it,
But can never make out the hazy words,
Till the darkest night of life matures.

But I keep treading on path,
In hope of unveiling the untold words
But I believe all in vain!
Yet, I do keep treading on
The road of the unforgiving time...

Holding on to the colours


Drenched in the morning rain
And exhausted after the
Day’s long monotonous run,
I lay back in a pensive mood
On the old brown couch.

It's late in the afternoon
And the rain has ceased.
But the howling winds, still wild
Provoke the gloomy heavy clouds;
Rustling leaves hold on tight
To the sopping wet dark branches.
And the blossoms, although
All drenched, retain their radiance.

Every color is still the same,
Green on the leaves,
The dim yellow on the damp sands,
Brown on the shimmering branches;
Red, white, purple and pink,
All sit on the blossoms in
The very same way they had
Earlier this morning.

The hue of my turquoise gown
Also rests on it, just as it had
The day I first ran my fingers across it.

I really can't help but wonder today,
Could my spirit also hold on tight
To it's color and be all the same,
When drenched in the rain,
When under the shadow of the night
And when under the golden beams of hope?
Or will it lose it's radiance, much like
The artificial tree there in the corner?
Oh! I really can't help but wonder
This tiring, cold and rusty afternoon.

Identifying the me in me


There isn't any trace of decisive confidence in me. Okay, there it is in me, embedded somewhere deep, that it gets emphatically veiled. No matter how much I try to cling on to it, it slips through my fingers, leaving me to settle my motionless emotions, right from the scar. I'm shattered, I'm confused, I'm lost... lost in my own unfathomable insecurity... but what sort of an insecurity? I least know!
I've often tried to decipher it, but all in vain; what is it that prevents me from unfolding myself before myself? Why can't I be free, at least in my own triangle of me, mine and myself, if not with the infinity beyond the boundaries of this triangle? A particular blur thought stings me now. 'He said... she said... They said... The world said...', these words keep humming in my mind, even amidst intense pensiveness. These uninvited reminiscences conquer the words –'I said, I feel...' and rejoice over this mere yet long awaited victory. But it isn't faulty, the sole fault lies I me.
I wouldn't blame, I wouldn't curse, for I'd always enveloped myself with fake smiles, fun and frolic to let anybody peep into my soul. So, here it is – I needn't decipher anything, I just need to let others decipher me.
Permit me to speak out –
I'm one of those simple-joy lovers, possessive and violent (That's more like Catherine Earnshaw, but then, I can't help over it), a typical extrovert, but prefer a sip of silent solitude now and then. I need to spend time with myself often for I need to know what alterations are coming about in me, whether those should be accepted or not and whether I'm still compatible with my senses. My passions, my own world of senseless fancies and whims and all those muffled dreams. I hold on to determined concentration and focus – although now I get to realize, somewhere down the lane, it's fading away. Success is dear and cherish-able, provided it's an honest victory, for me, while failures though piercing set right my aloof stubbornness, the stubbornness to succeed. The pinnacle's always far, even if it's within sight, so in my dictionary, it's always 'tantalizing pinnacle' and never just 'pinnacle'. Yah, is socialize easily with people, But I'm always out of true friendship. Well, yah, I did have a dear dear friend, quite some time back. A girl with a beautiful heart... lost her. She isn't physically present in my limited world today, but yah, her essence still lingers. Not the least feasible on my part, to honor myself with another dear friend, replacing her, even in my wildest of dreams. That probably shows I'm possessive, but then, I'm so.
Again, there's another short-coming... you are prohibited to be yourself in a world of today. No being honest with one's emotions. And so... no blaming those who fail to recognize the me in me, in spite of being special. They find my friendship faulty, and love as well. Disturbing for me, but as always, I can't just blame them, they are 'they' and I here, am 'I'.
So, where lies the insecurity, when I know I'm me. Duh! Check my wandering mind and get back to work!

The flickering lamp-post


Scene I


A spoonful of moonlight, an ocean of placid silence and a melancholic saunter on a long dusty boulevard in the still of a n autumn night – perhaps, that was all Calyx needed to set his perplexed senses right. He was convincingly confused, the lingering fatigue of the day and tantalizing essence of slumber on one hand, while on the other, a profound desire to walk on. Alas! He was getting strangled by this caravan of gypsy whims. Tranquility always has the enchanting ability to induce a whimsical air all around, and the prevailing tranquility did the same. His eyes were losing it all and his steps were giving into a clumsy unsteadiness. He had lost himself to the emphatic serenity, to be precise.
A flickering lamp-post at a yard or two’s distance, however made Calyx zap out of his trance. It wasn't a flamboyant light to drive away his drowsiness, but a fond, yet fairly faded memory that was etched to it. Besides, there stood a man in robes of black. He was leaning against the lamp-post, but the color of his long coat and his black hat had decently veiled his face. All that Calyx could make out of his rigidity was his coldly mysterious persona, for he was motionless, so much that one couldn't make sure whether he still breathed life. He walked closer to the lamp-post when, out of the blue, two men in the same black robes appeared and enquired of something, which he couldn't literally understand, although it was undoubtedly plain British English. He swayed his head from side to side no better than a puppet in the hands of grotesque insanity and stared blankly at them. They probably convinced that he was the right man, left him with a suitcase, a thick file and a black cloth with a peculiar symbol '' on it. Calyx stood there motionless as ever. What exactly were they trying to do with him?
A faint sound was heard and the man leaning against the flickering lamp-post collapsed. He was dead. Thankfully, Calyx managed to keep his sang-froid intact and fled from the bewildering scenario, with a dumb-struck and muffled heart.



Scene II




Dawn broke in a clear sky. Amidst the relentless ringing of the alarm, Calyx got up as if he'd been woken up from one nightmare to walk into another. He received the call.
'Who's it?'
'Master Calyx, get us back our suitcase and files... else you are paying for it. Be were you were last night at 11:10 pm, Floyers' Street; near the same lamp-post but sharp at 8pm. Our guys will be having their eyes on you, so no chance of a narrow escape! ’
'Hello... may I
'
The call was cut.
That one was terrifying! Indeed a pathetic way to begin the day. And what exactly was in that old ragged suitcase and brown torn-out file after all. An anxious curiosity got the better of him and his sleep. Dragging himself out of the bed, he walked up to the couch, where he had thrown those last night and crept into the bed, shuddering. Flip and flap... There he stood aghast with uninvited terror, dumb-stuck and motionless again. He had really walked into a night-mare. It was a detailed account of the hide-outs, bunkers, underground hoarding centers, pin-codes of accounts and techniques to crack the code language of the '' drug smugglers. But it was that suitcase that switched places with Pandora's Box of troubles! It beheld the forbidden delights, drugs, cocaine and marijuana, to be precise; not less than 4kg for a cert, worth millions of rupees and not less than a million of troubles as well.
But then the shadow cast over the mysterious happenings of last night was lifted. In all probability, the two men were to hand over those to the ma in black robes, but they mistook Calyx to be him. The mystery behind the man dying at the post still remained unveiled. But being seized by an inexplicable insanity, he decisively stated that he'd go back to the lamp-post in black robes, with the suitcase and the files. Yes, he did walk out by 7:30pm that twilight, walked into the boulevard of the flickering lamp-post.




Scene III



As the evening grew darker, Calyx let his romany thoughts loose. Three quarters of an hour had passed, but not a soul was to be seen around. Time could have halted, but as always, no matter what one does, time doesn't stop. Ah! This was the very place where his brother, the last of his kinsmen, and he had parted to live their lives in their own fashion. Quite a number of years had passed since that dusk, when they went on either sides of the curved lane, the curved lane that had carved them.
'
Give the suitcase and the files. Hand them over.. Quick! Would you!', cried a familiar voice, as if he was suppressing his shout.
He was the same who threatened him over phone, but Calyx was far too vexed up to think about it.
'
Give it over fast. You are a dumb creature to tread on the smugglers boulevard and worse idiotic to be standing here right at the death point. It's over for you. Fast, give that.'
Sweat trickled down his forehead and in a frozen voice, stammered out, 'Yes Sir.'
A prolonged silence prevailed.
'
Calyx browning? Isn't that you Cal?'
'
Bro...', Calyx answered back,' Sorry, let me rephrase, Mr. Smuggler!'
'
Who the hell are you answering back?' and down went the trigger.
Calyx laid on the handful of soil, drinking the last streams of light from the flickering lamp-post... frozen, numb and dead.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Losing my sangfroid


A meek voice is drowning
Amidst a deafening silence
Slowly and silently
Withering away secretly...

A new sun ascend
The night sky during the
Last hours of darkness,
Tearing apart the shadow
Of grotesque sanity and
Holding out a promise
Of wiping away
The reigning gloom.
But the deceitful golden rays
Dissolve in the twilight sky
Leaving behind a
Lingering essence of a
Dying hope...
Every dusk.

Burying the sangfroid
With an impish smile.
How devilish a silence!
Drinking the last drops
Of my hopeless optimism
Oh! How devilish a silence!



Hope and I are parting
And the 'me' in me is dead
You made me dance to the rhythm
Of an ephemeral joy all day
And now as the sun
Bids farewell to the orange sky,
I drag myself of out the trance
I had dwelled in.

This maddening stillness
Numbs my soul, its frozen now
Give me my cup of sanity
Don't depart...
Don't depart...

My voice has drowned
Amidst your deafening silence
Slowly and silently
It's withers away secretly...

Monday, October 8, 2007

The silent visitor.


In the dead of the night someone knocked at my door. The howling gusts of wind muffled this sound and I threw myself back on the couch trying to embrace slumber once again, in the dimly lit sitting room. It wasn’t my insensate indifference, but my fatigue that had got the better of me. Probably after three-quarters of a minute, the clock down the corridor struck 1 o’clock and a series of loud knocks followed. This time, perplexity got the better of me and I dragged myself to the door. With great caution, I opened it, just enough to peep and see who it was.
Not a soul! Were my own eyes deceiving me? All this couldn’t be a fleeting dream. Holding my sangfroid, I stepped out of the lonesome mansion, and walked into the garden. The ivory moon shone bright; however anxiety had crept into my whole being and nothing could set right my disturbed sanity. A malicious silence reined… not this couldn’t be! There was someone around, certainly there was.
A queer sort of terror ran down my spine. I dashed into the mansion, raced up the flight of steps and in a moment was in my room. My fear had cast a numbness on my mind. I knew not what to do. Didn’t mom warn me of weird mentally unsound people loitering about the neighborhood? What about those hair-raising ghosts and spirits in the book I was reading this afternoon? All I could do was hope for things to be all right, at least till mom returned. I pushed the cupboard to the door and bolted it tight.
The clock kept ticking – 2:30am… 3am… 4am… 4:30am.
Terror had driven slumber away and not for a quarter o an hour did I get the privilege of a sound sleep. As soon as the clock down the corridor struck 5, I sprang up from the bed and rushed to the maid’s room.
Jenny! Somebody had knocked at the door last night,” I cried.
When? Who on earth was it?” she asked with a great degree of surprise.
Yeah! Who was it?” A child-like high pitched voice repeated after her much to my astonishment.
Ronald! Go to sleep and stop harassing the lady,” jenny ordered with annoyance.
Ronald?”
My nephew- the one you met last year. He popped into my room last night. When I asked him how he got here, he giggled and crept into the other bed,” Jenny explained.
Were you the dumb lady who never bothered to look down last night, after opening the door? You didn’t noticed me, so I had no other option but creep into the house, while you marched out into the garden like a terrifying ghost. How frightened I was!” he mocked with a grin.
Me – a ghost!”
Yes! And trust me, I was scared to death!”
Till the last moment, I thought I was the one scared to death, under the misconception that you were the ghost!”
Both better check their imagination,” Jenny muttered, while we gazed on.

Spring confessions...


I

Unstirred, unchanged trod on the dusts of
Abandoned breaths in the corridor of time.
Lost and vain, restless and unwanted forever
Wandering the nomadic eyes of stone, of mine.

To perish the hollowness of a betrayed heart
Was not the bare intention of my undying quest.
But a tranquil eternal sleep of this longing –
The lust for being wanted, I yearned to put at rest.

Long had been those poignant years when I did
Weep and pin away for the timeless loss I bore.
Danced to the tunes of a cold anguished winter,
Inexorably till the tears of blood made wounds sore.

The earth that bore me turned a haunting blood red,
Desolate wasn’t it from the mocking world beyond;
More keenly was the bare wound’s throbbing felt
Stolen, broken at last was a deceptive young bound!

Chill of winter grinned and pierced my reminisces,
Calling them closer, kept them etched to memory,
Yet abused them and struggled to keep them aside.
Ruled by insanity agitations whispered me unworthy.


II


Devoured by winter, the break of a healing spring,
Could by no means reconcile my hostile spirits
I could by no means to alter my aching serenity
And acceptance of the reign of resentment, permit.

Yet how very steadfast was this unwanted gay guest!
A pleasant shade, the brightness taking in my pain,
The bowling winds carrying away my curses and wails.
All that soft solace she bestowed with a dignified mien.

Day after day and night after night, threw herself by me
Nursed my wounds, singing low the tales of life’s truth
And kindling memories of long-forgotten crumbs of joy.
All that she could to waken in me the fiery spirits of youth.

Low but melodious a charming tune she blissfully played,
Letting a caravan of musical notes gracefully dance beside.
Unlocking a chest of astonishing fantasies of fable beauty,
That rested serenely in those dark pensive eyes, deep inside.

A whole new world of boundless joys and soaring dreams
She gradually opened the door to, as time did hastily fly.
Danced with me in the woodlands of both tears and smiles,
Understanding my silence, my eyes, their oceans and seas


III



Bitter questions on her altruistic care arose and lingered
In the mind that never be acquainted with the depth of it.
Trapped in this vain triangle of me, mine and just myself
I never accepted the sight of a candle of love being lit.

Silence and solitude my comrades in a life of obscurity.
Eyes had shed an ocean; witnessed nothing but frowns.
Strangled for long in a gray black portrait, faded colors.
Refusal to love forever; ‘Queen of darkness’ I was crowned.

But implausibly spring at last melted this cold stone heart
Allowed the golden beams of acceptance to slowly pierce;
Crushed those mountains of seclusion and sheer acrimony,
Just by someone lending a supportive hand after long years.

Seasons fade away soon, making way for another to reign,
Dusts of time cautiously bury them under the earth forever,
But some leave behind an impression, to be ever denied
Last forever, unchanged and treasured… an endless river!

Bringing shimmering smiles till the fading sunset of a life
Lightening the nights and brightening all the days through.
Blooming in hearts and not withering away till the very last
Oh! I confess today my dear spring, it’s none other that you!


Tuesday, October 2, 2007

Traditions.. let not they fade


A couple of days ago, I heard a noisy mislead youngster say, “I least understand why a number of people still stick to their old traditions and rituals; in the era of science and technology, traditions are no more than pests gnawing at our existence.” This wasn't surprising, but undoubtedly imprudently baseless.
With the dawn of modernization every nation, state and individual has strived to reach the pinnacle before others pour into the rat race. However it seems that in our quest for progress and development, we have tried to wash our hands off our traditions. May be most people are still under the misconception that Traditions are an obstacle in the path of progress. In reality, it isn't traditions but the tradition-less that hinder a society's progress.
A society stands firm on its long established ideas, practices and traditions. We can't expect to built new floors on a long standing tower by disturbing the ground floor; the tower as a whole is certain to collapse. It may strike a few minds that traditions bind us to our own little states and regions and prevent us from treading confidently on the high-tech international path of progress. If that was so, the French, Japanese and the German, all who cling on tight to their customs and traditions would have failed to be one of the most prosperous and developed nationalities. Though they are all super-powers of the twenty-first century world, with their own technologies which are far beyond the standards of many others, their traditions are embedded in their society as it was centuries ago. The more you be yourself and not let go your traditions, the more does the world admire and accept you. So traditions don't hinder, they enhance your progress.
Traditions can't be termed old-fashioned; they are meant to introduce one to his self. Progress can only be complete if it goes hand in hand with traditions, for keeping to one's traditions mean retaining one’s individuality. The law of nature doesn't favor those who manipulate their individuality; it allows only those who know who they are to tread uphill until the reach the pinnacle of success...

Friday, August 17, 2007

Two realms


There has been a ludicrously tranquil rapport
Between the world beyond and within me.
A balance between “Dreams” and “Reality” -
Now restricting my baffled spirit from being free.

This new empathy has been poking me a little.
Oh! I’d been treading on this pernicious lane
For a dozen of years and all this while, I’d
Muddled up the two in my quest of being sane!

A blur yet vital line lies in between these realms of
Fantasy and Reality- they are so significantly diverse.
Seems I have inadvertently erased this line; and now
The assurance my vain perfection is getting immersed.

The previous reign of dreams over my oblivious senses
After this musing, is fading away, slowly yet decisively.
Insouciance’s being taken over by awareness of reality
But well, all that I do now is stare in sheer perplexity…

They say - see the marvels of life yet take care not to
Spill the oil; tell me is that anywhere close to possible?
How fervently I attempted to observe the wonders of life
But, failed to dwell in reality, making things miserable.

It is indeed better to skip out of the realm of fantasy
The world of lively dreams and truly fabled serenity.
Reality is not always sweet and fascinating, it hurts-
And after all, real acrimony is better than fake fantasy.

Balancing the two worlds in me is entirely improbable.
I am not the impeccable mortal who in this would thrive.
So, there lies just one choice, opt for either of the two.
I have decided as I said earlier, and there no regrets alive.

Sunday, July 15, 2007

A fading rose


Crystal dusts settle over
A fading rose tonight.
Yet, amidst the fog and mist,
It dances and shines bright
Least bothered,
Least disturbed…

The song of tonight is
But a painful melody;
The moon, a drop of silver
Floating in a mystic sea…
But down there blooms the rose,
That smiles unbothered.

In spite of the threats of gloom
A magical grace it beholds.
With a heavenly fragrance
The beauty of fortitude it unfolds.
Ah! It’s indifferent to failing
Gloom and agonizing serenity

Her smiles drive away the insanity
Of the night, for to grief it belongs;
They crush the pride of the dark
As he now knows, he’ll last not long

Triumphant is the fading rose
And she shall revive soon again.
For she doesn’t feign endurance,
She can walk through all the pain.
To live another day,
To love a new sun.
To dream another dream
And to walk all along...

Love - a sweet Insanity


A perfect soul is undoubtedly a nuisance to this imperfect world, the most perfect of all being the soul of love - a lingering essence, at times strong and at times faint. Whatever it be, never does it fail to cast a numbness on our minds.
What haunts me each night is this very thought of love; should we accept its presence in our lives or shouldn’t we? Ah no! Not the love of our kinsmen, I’m talking about the other mushy love, the one which every other man dreams of, which he craves of being in when he isn’t and which he clings on to with great desperateness, if he is in it already. Is love worth all this?
What beauty does she behold that life surrenders before its whims and fancies? I find it to be an escort of grief. Once it succeeds in making room for itself in our heart, it never fails to discreetly gnaw at our existence, if not today, then tomorrow. I’m sure all those unsuccessful lovers are going to second me when I say, love is more like those catastrophic natural calamities, say the volcanic eruptions. A weird and senseless comparison? May be…That’s only if you had had half an eye open. These eruptions paint the best of scenic beauties on the surface of earth; simultaneously, they wipe out lives and drive away the sanity of all in that land. And how is love different? It holds a spoonful of beautiful romance, just to drive away the sanity of a lover with the gusts of time. So tell me now, is love worth it all? Is it worth all our time and sanity?
I’d finally prefer stammering out a ‘yes’. For love is what drives life. Love and life share a really strong rapport, and above all – This genuine sweet insanity is way better than fake sanity.