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.

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...

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!

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...