Saturday, November 15, 2008

Chaotic Dreams-Memories of Atlantis

The green sea swims
Among the once magnificent ruins
Fish and ferns follow
The echoes of decadent steps in the past
Taken long ago in splendour
And the faint shadows of power
Flit noiselessly from corner to corner
And salty brine
Drenches floors once bathed by fragrant wine
Such is the way of Time
The diadem of Destiny
And the feet of Fate
Leaving prints across the sands
Of a thousand lives
And leaving nothing to survive
What was, save a few fragrant
Shadows of memory
The mighty and the puny
The symphony and cacophony
All alike beaten to pieces
By the relentless rhythm
The remorseless beat
That etches a searing staccato
Across our pitiful past
Some run, most cower, few fight
Yet all suffer
Mountains are shrunk
Rivers desiccated
The air itself altered in essence
And yet these are the Unconquerables
These are the Constants
The Ideals of Man likewise
And none shall live to remember
What was and what will be
And the cycle shall go on forevermore
Till Eternity itself is eaten
By Time

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Characterized Chaos- Part the Second

In the heart of hearts of
An aged king on a crumbling crystal throne
Lived the desire to live
And bleeding virgins were drained
And spent forces turned to evil
And lions roamed the streets
Mothers fed their children to them
And demons wept in shame
For chaos was ordered
And death danced with Ate
The diadem of Gaia was split
And blood gushed forth from seas
The oceans were stilled
And mountains in indecent motion
And Time went on
Truth lived in shame
But Time went on...

Characterized Chaos- Part The First

A dead leaf
A traveler beginning his journey
The first nipping wind
A ray of slanting sunshine
A swirling-whirling cloud of dust
A once-sharp blade eaten by rust
The decayed dreams of dying minds
The eternal-ephemeral lines
The heavens high
The oceans deep
Whose secrets their denizens keep
Blind worms in dark places
A jewel with a thousand faces
A bleeding tomb
An empty womb
The tears of a child
A wolf in the wild
And light short-lived
And darkness eternal
And death
And death
And death....


A flame
A picture of clarity
A burning, blinding, burnished beam
Of Fire!

Flame the sword of the Angel
Flame the power of demons
Flame the destroyer of life
And flame the essence of creation...

J.R.R Tolkien

All that is gold does not glitter
Not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither
Deep roots are not reached by the frost


The famed Delhi fog...well at least famed in Delhi anyway. Ubiquitous symbol of winter's presence. Its all pervasive, caustic and irritating. I make my daily contribution to it(wink!). Cheers to the fog for appearing like it does every year, at least SOME things haven't changed...

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Ursula K Le Guin

"In time nothing can BE...without becoming."

SM- I say FEW things can, if it IS once, it IS forever...


A friend once remarked to me that I "analyze things to pieces and they hit me on my face". Perhaps most people, like her, labour under the delusion that analysis must be destructive in nature for we are splitting the thing into pieces in trying to determine how it works.

True analysis however lies in RECONSTRUCTING the object of study mentally; and in the process perhaps creating alternatives; and determining its functionality/utility/depth.

It is not forced, rather it is a spontaneous exercise of the developed mind. And as for those who say that: "it destroys the unexplained unsaid vistas of thought" are merely in a comfort zone created by their own delusions. Why bother to look behind the mask when it itself is so beautiful? Such people would say. But it is also neccesary (albeit only sometimes, I will concede) to know the motivating force behind that mask, the creative energy that spurred it to BE

Mingling of the Lights

Whispers in the wind
Hushed and muted
Yet not silenced completely

I hear the change before I see it
I taste it before I hear
Change. It returns different as always.

In the Mingling of the Lights
When shadows dance in play
My spirit rushes to join them
In the fading remnants of the day.

The wind whispers
The light weeps
And the soil is livid
For Change is come
Blown hither again

And as before, so after
I rush to greet it
And my shadow waits for me...

The Last Heir

I close with fumbling fingers
The crypt of my fathers
Some remnant of their presence lingers

The door is crumbling and heavy
Age is a burden all must shoulder
Save a few who embrace
Their death laughing

Their laughter dying
On the lips of their mourners
Or reverberate in the singing Stones

I am the last and the first
I rush to IT
The glory of my life in its conclusion
Like the blush of a sunset in the twilight