Ramblings

Endless ladders
Knots and threads
And more is the confusion
It is chaotic
It feels right
A tangle of THINGS
Of whats and what-nots
And wheres and whens and hows
The seeker ascends
The endless ladder
Leading to the ultimate destination
The place where it began
Before there was an aim
There was
IT.
And after the end has ended
It shall be
As it was
As it should have been
And was not yet is
Before the beginning
Is there chaos?
Or what is order then?

My dearest wish

I've always wanted to go away
Walk alone for years and days
And nothing between the horizon and me
But the foaming-frothing deep-blue sea...

The Joke of Pretences

Whew, writers block is a horrible thing. Not that I have legions of fans beating down my door to read anything, it's just a personal thing. Anyway, I have a muse. She broke my block by giving me an interesting perspective on 'facades' that people put up for others. I started thinking on how everyone has a facade and how ultimately it's more of a filter.

We all live behind veils

Of our own creation

Laughing at the tales

We seemingly display

Yet the joke lies ever upon us

For through our masks

Does come coloured and dimmed

Even brightest light of day

These Memories of Joy

I watched the Indian team as they lifted the world cup on their shoulders. I also watched my friends and college-mates as we ran riot on campus. I remember thinking: "We are now part of history, the generation that saw the world cup come back to us" and thanking fate that it happened while we were still in college. We have one more month to go before each of us parts, perhaps forever, and follows each his own path. We are drinking in every moment of every day of this magical last year. This year, this time, will never come back save in memory...


They laughed in the sunlight
Jumping with joy golden as
The streaking sunbeams
That flashed across their
Happy faces
They were young and strong
With laughter that only the
Bubbling of youthful joy can bring
Each drank in the moment
To his own measure and need
Seeing all the same but remembering
Apart what today feels like
They leap and bound among peals
Of laughter that colour their faces gold
They live now as much as they can
For, years later when aged
And weary of walking they run only
In their minds to those days so long ago
When they were young and free
Light of loads and carrying bundles
Of joy unbounded and uncontained
They shall remember and be glad
In a small corner of their hearts
They shall live those golden moments
Again and again and never tire
In their minds as once they did not in body
Of those memories of joy

They walk on

For they know not where the road bends
Nor where ultimately the horizon lies
Where men go when they leave this world
Nor to the unknown regions where time flies

Ignorance is bliss verily and thus happily they walk
Laughing with joyous face and singing lips
They walk down the path knowing not
Where goes the Sun once beyond the horizon He dips...

The Mingling of the lights

It comes twice everyday
Once each at dusk and dawn
Rarely do we notice, litte we say
Unaware we move on
It is the time of death, an end
The death of day or of night
A death on which a birth depends
The mingling of the lights

The mingling of the lights
Neither the dying sun suffices
Nor the lamps glimmering bright

The mingling of the lights
When the world is grey and dark
And shadows flicker in aimless flight

The mingling of the lights
For dusk and dawn are moving on
And thus will change alight

On a world stuck in stagnation
The daily change reminds us
Of it's ignored presence
And yet it's eternal continuation
The wheel of time goes on.

Passion

I was trying out the mode Haiku for the first time, it is refreshingly liberating. Although this is more of a word based one and not strictly 'hora' based.

That fruit on life’s labour-tree

While tasting of which  one is oblivious

To the toil growing took

***

The juice of fleshy fruit

Enchanting the senses thoroughly, that grates not

The coarse textured seed within

***

Listening to the river rushing

The swift musical harmony erodes any sense

Of getting ones feet wet

Passion to me has always been a sort of loss. An immersion of the self so deep that the internal sense of time or continuity is lost. This disconnection with the motion of ones life, the disorientation I feel when I come out of the phase is how I recognize it. Sad in a way because it takes the death of something to recognize that it lived.