Friday, June 22, 2012
Friday, June 15, 2012
Rain
[My entry for this week's 3WW]
Quite taken to monsoon,
murmurs rippling feet,
clung long to parched lands.
Quite taken to monsoon,
murmurs rippling feet,
clung long to parched lands.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Whence
[For 3WW]
At the edge of control, what taunts us is not whatever is on the other side, but how inevitable the crossing over and the looking back are.
---
What the sun had sought all year, mother nature chose to gift it today.
It was a sunny day. Bees hummed about the flowers, water caressed and fed gently the malnourished bed of the river. The sun ambled about between the clouds, enjoying the view, looking over all things earthen with a razor sharp vision.
Except that all things earthen did not contain any humans. Whatever wiped the humans out chose to spare the rest of living beings. So the lion whose roar rang around the world, the flora whose fragrance intoxicated the air, the trees whose branches seem to grip each other in a show of strength - the sun could hear, smell and see clearly all of these.
Mother nature had kept her promise. In one great swoop, she cleared earth of all the clutter, all those fleshed ones who could think but alas, chose to think only of themselves.
At the edge of control, what taunts us is not whatever is on the other side, but how inevitable the crossing over and the looking back are.
---
What the sun had sought all year, mother nature chose to gift it today.
It was a sunny day. Bees hummed about the flowers, water caressed and fed gently the malnourished bed of the river. The sun ambled about between the clouds, enjoying the view, looking over all things earthen with a razor sharp vision.
Except that all things earthen did not contain any humans. Whatever wiped the humans out chose to spare the rest of living beings. So the lion whose roar rang around the world, the flora whose fragrance intoxicated the air, the trees whose branches seem to grip each other in a show of strength - the sun could hear, smell and see clearly all of these.
Mother nature had kept her promise. In one great swoop, she cleared earth of all the clutter, all those fleshed ones who could think but alas, chose to think only of themselves.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The Wrong End of the Truth Table
Come on!
Lets open these boxes one by one,
find the one that contain our names.
Check the one to the right,
Let me check the one to the left.
Our names are written in black inside,
Trust my guts and don't ask me why.
One of them will contains our names,
Yours and mine.
Don't ask me why.
---
Having met with failure, be brutal here.
Bury alive a few dreams, see what the blinkers hide.
Revive the dreams worth dying for,
to shine like the sun across a sullen sky.
Lets open these boxes one by one,
find the one that contain our names.
Check the one to the right,
Let me check the one to the left.
Our names are written in black inside,
Trust my guts and don't ask me why.
One of them will contains our names,
Yours and mine.
Don't ask me why.
---
Having met with failure, be brutal here.
Bury alive a few dreams, see what the blinkers hide.
Revive the dreams worth dying for,
to shine like the sun across a sullen sky.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Flow
[Entry for 3WordWednesday]
The question I would like to ask Him is this: Will the good be hounded by the bad in heaven as badly as they are on the earth? Or will retribution see to it that the bad serve their dues somewhere else and do not end up in heaven?
---
An excerpt from the farewell speech
...after all these years of service here, I have learnt that sometimes, I tend to speak in a language that is simultaneously what I hear, and assume those around me will understand, and what others actually do not. This language might seem to push the contours of what is and should be comprehensible; that much I concede. But I will not cede ground to those who are prone to bellow with an almost dogmatic conviction that the words I mouth, its order, its topography is too far outside the realm of proper human speech and communication. I feel like the kid who writes on the shore and wishes that the waves would never wash away the words that he has painstakingly sketched. I agree that , on account of its proximity to the sea, the waves are never going to stop erasing the kid's crooked etchings. But it doesn't quite follow that what I write (or rather the kid does) is wrong or rather, incorrect, does it? It doesn't quite follow that what I write is correct either; however, being human and blessed with an ability to think and reason, I suspect I deserve the benefit of doubt, if not from the sea, at least from others like me. For now, all I can do now is to stand (having been rendered immobile by my inability to swim)and gaze at the horizon and wonder just who exactly it is pouring bucket after bucket of salty water from so far wide out?...
---
Once the claps had died down, it was time for me to move on. I observed that the busybees around me did not waste any time and promptly deserted the venue once the coffee had run out. I waited just outside the exit and made it a point to thank everyone who came in. A few were astonished that a sixty year old knew their name. One even confided that he hadn't heard of me till the day before. I smiled, shook his hand and wished him the very best. The walk outside did not take long. As I walked towards home, it didn't take huge effort to leave behind all the memories, miserable as well as joyous ones, one at a time. Maybe it will come back eventually with all the boredom that awaits me.
The question I would like to ask Him is this: Will the good be hounded by the bad in heaven as badly as they are on the earth? Or will retribution see to it that the bad serve their dues somewhere else and do not end up in heaven?
---
An excerpt from the farewell speech
...after all these years of service here, I have learnt that sometimes, I tend to speak in a language that is simultaneously what I hear, and assume those around me will understand, and what others actually do not. This language might seem to push the contours of what is and should be comprehensible; that much I concede. But I will not cede ground to those who are prone to bellow with an almost dogmatic conviction that the words I mouth, its order, its topography is too far outside the realm of proper human speech and communication. I feel like the kid who writes on the shore and wishes that the waves would never wash away the words that he has painstakingly sketched. I agree that , on account of its proximity to the sea, the waves are never going to stop erasing the kid's crooked etchings. But it doesn't quite follow that what I write (or rather the kid does) is wrong or rather, incorrect, does it? It doesn't quite follow that what I write is correct either; however, being human and blessed with an ability to think and reason, I suspect I deserve the benefit of doubt, if not from the sea, at least from others like me. For now, all I can do now is to stand (having been rendered immobile by my inability to swim)and gaze at the horizon and wonder just who exactly it is pouring bucket after bucket of salty water from so far wide out?...
---
Once the claps had died down, it was time for me to move on. I observed that the busybees around me did not waste any time and promptly deserted the venue once the coffee had run out. I waited just outside the exit and made it a point to thank everyone who came in. A few were astonished that a sixty year old knew their name. One even confided that he hadn't heard of me till the day before. I smiled, shook his hand and wished him the very best. The walk outside did not take long. As I walked towards home, it didn't take huge effort to leave behind all the memories, miserable as well as joyous ones, one at a time. Maybe it will come back eventually with all the boredom that awaits me.
