Friday, 31 August 2012

Feather




A single feather detached itself from the fluffy belly of the bird flying high up in the clear sky. As it began descending, it wrapped itself and became stiff for the fear of what was to come next. It began drooping, as air  whizzed past it at blinding speeds and the heat generated by friction began burning it's skin.

Just then, sapped of all its energy, the feather gave up and embraced the inevitable fall. As it loosened its stiffened stand, a miraculous thing happened. As soon as it spread out its arms into the air, the rapidity of it's descend decreased rapidly. It started floating dreamily, as if dusting an imaginary hemispherical bowl in the air. The very air that was scorching its skin was now cushioning its fall, making it more delightful and pleasurable.

What a great thing to do? To let your arms wide and fall , fall with no care of where you are headed to. Fall, with the notion that you will never hit the ground. Fall, with no thought of falling but a smile on the face. Fall, and let everything else happen on its own.

The feather then saw, as it approached lower altitudes vast oceans, lush green fields and the rising and falling mountains as if teasing it to come and touch it. Much more it saw as it kept drifting from one place to the other. Lightly, with no baggage but itself, it moved all over the world, lapping up the agonies and ecstasies of everything around it. It would settle for some time at a place and then upon the slightest of whiff, rise up to go to another abode. Darting here and there like the pretty butterfly.

Don't you wish you could be as the feather ? How I wish to move freely, dart here and there, with no care for anything in the world. How I wish to let things happen and then see what I can do about them ? How I wish to settle and move and settle again only to move yet again.

Dainty butterfly,
now low, now high !
~

Tuesday, 21 August 2012

I'm Sorry



You may not say so,
but i can feel your voice
losing its bounce.

You may not show so,
but I can feel your heart
aching within.

You may not know so,
but I can feel your
disappointment seething.

I'm sorry Dad,
I turned out bad.
But, I am trying
not to make you too sad.

I may not say so,
but i love you a lot.
Because you taught me
one day,
not very long ago
that love was lost in words
and felt in action. 

I'm sorry that I broke your trust
I'm sorry that I made you suffer
I'm sorry that I am a duffer
But, this last chance - a must.

Thanks for being there always.
~

Monday, 20 August 2012

Thanks for being a candle

It feels so great to talk to some one who thinks alike. Like minded people are such a pleasure to interact with. Specially if you can actually count the number of like minded people you know on your fingers.

Sadly, I had reached a point where I had started believing that I was wrong all the time, or fake all the time, or simply silly, just because my thoughts did not find resonance. They did in some cases. But as time has told me, they did so for all the wrong reasons. The darkness in me found companionship and resonated fervently till it reached a climax of its own. But the other part remained destitute of company.

And then you slowly fall into the default-ness of life. You stop caring about the choices, you ignore the decisions, you let things push you around, you let people make you believe stuff you would not have otherwise, you become listless and you age - not from outside, but inside. Your spirit has effervesced and your heart aches for no particular reason. You realize that the walls are closing in onto you, choking you and leaving you with no space to even spread your arms.

And like Gandalf, who returned from his battle with Balrog, you come to realize where you are. The sky seems to toss around, the heart sinks into the pits of your guts, your head jumps onto a merry-go-round and yet a smile lies around on your face. Some realize late, some do early. Some hope to change. Some change.

Slowly, you fight the darkness , falling every now and then, learning to pick yourself up. Giving up, crying, dying, you try again. It's like crossing a huge road in darkness where cars and bikes speed past with their headlights off and engines on mute. Each moment you curse yourself for having come this way. For, while coming it was very easy - it was daylight. But now, it is endless sparkling darkness.

And like the umbilical cord, you are tied to the past and it feeds you with hatred, grief, anger and disappointment. You wish to break through, but realize you can not. You are not yet born. You wait for the doctor to come and cut it for you.

Days and nights, nights and days. They just slip by. Each day is the same. You find no difference. Each person is the same. You see no difference. You weigh a ton and even thinking 2+2 equals 4 seems to be a marvelous achievement. You are in the pit.

It is the pit Miranda had to come out of as a kid and later Bruce wayne too, albeit after a few failed attempts. But its like that. Each failure is a deathly blow.

And as they say perseverance pays, tiny chinks appear in the armor of dark-god. It seems as though somewhere out of the shell you enclosed yourself into are people who are knocking now and then, people who drop by a few times only to be disappointed by your absence. And as you casually say that you are there and that you cannot see - there are people who will come and try to break your shell from outside. Like those who rescue lives form debris of earthquakes.

Help, it seems is just a call away. You no longer feel you are alone. You no longer feel isolated. Yet, like a venomous snake a doubt lurks in you - Why ? Why should anyone help me ? Why should I be helped ? I don't deserve it. The snake makes you restless. You feel like a bomb waiting to explode. You want to run or jump from a cliff, drown yourself, bury yourself or burn yourself - but you don't want those terrible thoughts to return. You sleep. Days altogether. You think that by closing your eyes, your troubles will fade away. You are wrong again.

And while everyone else is going on with their everyday work, you have no clue of where you stand in life. Yet, you now know, more than ever before the meaning of life. You now know what living actually means. But you doubt if you have it in you to live.

You try to work your way through. The darkness is lessened. The sun has just set. The birds are calling out your name while they fly away to distant lands. The clouds are parting to let a few mischievous stars take a peep at your miserable condition. And then, they wink at you and you feel you are not lonely. You wink back.

You are now afraid of everything around you. You are conscious of yourself, your hands, your legs, your mouth, the words they utter. You start hating yourself even more. But you want to change that. And you know how. But you don't know if.

And then as you are walking along the road counting stars you meet a person who brings back a long forgotten photograph of you. You look at it and feel a warmth within - something that is alien to you now. You feel the muscles of your lips parting on their own and you feel like you have just been drugged with the elixir of life.

You are suddenly reminded that statistics demands respect. That the laws of probability are universal. That if you think of something in some manner, so do a number of other people. You suddenly have respect for people. Something that you had lost long time back.

You now want to think as everyone as equal. You want to smile and share your joys with everyone. Because  you were wrong that your joys are not acceptable. You want to go on and live your dream. You want to be free. You want to share your ideas and receive ideas. You want to respect and love people. You want to be a good person. You want to be a responsible citizen. You want to be alive.

Now, you need to. Thank you friend.

Bad is bad. Bad is what your innermost of inner gut feeling tells you in an instant is bad. That is the worst of all bad. And all bad things leave a stain.

In the words of a fellow blogger - "Move not into the darkness but into the light, for both of them exist here and there."

So much dusting to be done. Vacuuming the cobwebs, replacing dusty tablecloths and repairing the circuitry. Thanks for being the candle.

:)

Sunday, 19 August 2012

Are we all Willful Sinners ?

There are always so many more reasons for not doing something than for doing it. Whatever it is, we seem to be (or at least I do) always waging a war with ourselves. Sometimes I think the person who said that - "The world resides within you, not without", was bang on. I mean, it's always so much me, me and me. (at least for me)

Am I correct ? Am I doing the right thing ? Should I be doing it ? What am I ? What is my purpose ? b.l.a.h.

Whenever faced with a problem or a difficulty, I was always told that it would sort out on its own. I never figured out how. What I figured (or rather am figuring ) out is the fact that we have many more choices than we actually figure ! Every moment we are making tiny choices that affect us. I know it is obvious, but I find it profound and scary.

I mean, to think that every moment for the past so many years that I have lived, I have made choices without being conscious of (or blissfully ignorant of, (same thing)), and that they have directly influenced my life, makes me shudder. Because every time I look back at myself in the moment that just passed, I see a stupid me. So either I am getting wiser or I am constantly stupid. Or maybe becoming stupider to the point that my apparent relative 'wiseness' in the previous moment seems to me, utterly stupid.

So why do we fight with ourselves ? When we have a craving for chocolates and we are able to resist that for , say a week, we feel so elated. Victorious. But victory against whom ? Against the one who wanted to have it, which is the same person. So I win. And I lose too. (that is, if we assume that a victory for someone necessarily means defeat for some other ones).

We are told not to compete with others. But to compete with ourselves and beat ourselves. Why? It seems as though that gives us a long lasting pleasure. (I know that by experience)

Funny little things that bug me like the irritating sound of the wood termite eating wood. (I am not sure if it eats, though.)

Sometimes I feel like there are some thousand people residing inside me, each having their own individual opinion and they keep talking to me in the head. This and that. That and this. Wow. It's not a particularly well orchestred conversation. Cacophony, more oft.

Are we all Dr. Jeykll and Mr. Hydes ? The murderers, the rapists, the child abusers, the terrorists, the pope, the caring mother, the 'good' people - is each of them a result of the victory of one over the other ? Does a rapist have within him the person who would lovingly tend his own mother or daughter ? Gandhi had a lot of issues with self control. (apart from other things)  Or was he designed/engineered by circumstance to be such ?

Or in general, do mistakes actually happen unknowingly ? Or do we simply turn deaf to the part of us that lets us know what a mistake is, and what is not.

Are we all willful sinners ?

Tuesday, 14 August 2012

bits and pieces

Why do you want to be pushed and shoved again ? Pulled and sent in different directions like a paper boat riding on ocean waves. But what journey is this ? Which path is mine and which not ? Deep down I know. But do I ?
What flusters you most ? The not so unwavering waves you ought to surf or the steady images you have been into and out. 
The insides are torn into bits and pieces with each rush of fresh air. The heart aches and burns to see their smiles, and mimics, perfectly, for the world to see. 
Running away ? or running into ? It's just which way you look at things. Squandered yes. Over not. 

It's what you take from each of them. It's how you deal with each of them. 
There's this brick wall I wish to smash someday into

bits
pieces
bits
pieces
flipping
and
flopping
bits
and
pieces
over
and
over
again
and
again
up
until
then
~

Saturday, 11 August 2012

And they call him mad



They call him mad who laughs 
for no rime or reason.
What of those who don't,
even when they have one ?
~
They call him mad who roams
aimlessly with no care of the world.
What of those who walk a named path,
yet know not where they are headed ?
~
They call him mad who dares
to bare his rotting body for you to spit at.
What of those who hide their rotting souls,
perfumed, for you to kiss and bow ?
~
They call him mad who goes
forth to live his dream.
What of those that rot and stench
in the corridors of your aching heart ? 
~
Image courtesy: google.com

Thursday, 9 August 2012

Slipping through

It's in my grip now




Forever elusive:
slipping through the crevices of
my now-hardened fingers
or lying in tiny pools
lost in it's own thoughts.
~
The sun darts through 
the canvas of heaven:
sends an array of mute mutineers
upon the not-so-tiny pools
until each drop does fly, euphoric.
~
But as the moon comes over
and darkness casts it's spotlight
upon those that fly ecstatic-
fortunate freedom and drunken dreams
condense as dead drops upon blades of grass.
~
And I wonder if I can ever grasp
the tantalizingly clasp-able tentacles
of my mind, as I struggle
to keep water willfully 
between the plains of my palms. 

*Image taken from Google.com

Friday, 3 August 2012

सोच


वो कहते हैं कि ज़माना बदल रहा है

मई कहता हूँ कि आप भी बदलो |

वो कहते हैं कि अब उम्र कहाँ है बदलने का

मई कहता हूँ कि ज़माने की उम्र देखो

अगर वो बदल सकता है, तो आप क्यूँ नही ?

The hopes I snatch

A whiff of nectar
did embrace his senses
but before he could plunge
I chopped his wings.

The shy cocoon
was cracking slowly
but before his wings could spread,
I crushed it to the ground.

The hungry child
on the street was waiting
for the candy, before
I popped it and drove past him.

The poor kid
in the orphanage was asking
me to tell him the wonders of the world
I promised, then broke his soul.

To give a helpless, some hope
 and then to snatch it away:
I do that everyday
and say that I need hope. 

Wednesday, 1 August 2012

NO MIDDLE WAYS

Image courtesy: Google
When I asked my senior the meaning of Limbo, he simply said:-
"The place between heaven and hell : where you dwell"


If you want to live your life:
Go aim for the sky,
or six feet under lie.
~

Life Through A Smoke Screen

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