Category Archives: journal

A Postcard From My Life

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{No, it’s not the road I’m on!}

Please pray for me
I no longer know the road I’m on
It’s a long road
With so many bends I can’t see a mile ahead of me
It’s hard to see far ahead when life throws you the curves
Nothing is certain anymore
And then the winds blow and I see sandy mists here and there
There are shape-shifters and I can never tell reality from fantasy
There are mind-shifters and I can never tell right from wrong
I am straining through blood-and-sweat-smeared glasses
And all I see are shades of grey
Not greys of a thunderstormy cloud
The flood would be an exciting change
But greys that becloud my judgment and sense of morality
Greys that want to make me regret I have a sense of morality
Greys that want to make me throw away my sense of morality
Along with everything else I have lost on this long road
Thinking I’d be travelling light and simple
Unknowing that some complicated baggages
Contain some bare necessities
For an easier life-journey

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Ha! There! More like it.

{This would be it!}

Pray for me on this road I’m on
I left my car a mile and week ago
There are trees here and there looking at me
They are not bothered
Are they me
Have they been called to a life like mine
Keep looking, trees
Pray for your souls
That the woodcutter may still have a son who remembers him
And so he’d never have to retake his job to earn his living
Keep looking monkeys
Called to a blissful life lounging on tree branches
Pray for your souls
May I never find a stranded and lost soul-of-a-knife
At a period I may want to have monkeysoup
I am still too far concerned about wildlife conservation
And will not harm a hair on your butts
Besides, you are my only companions
No, I do not think you beneath me
I don’t have the luxury of that complex
You can stare hard and unblinking at me all you want
So long you acknowledge
I am alone on this journey
Though we be on the same road
So long you take a minute from your busy lives
To say a prayer for me
Thank you.

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In Humble Tribute To Myself

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(I could only manage a shot at the house with my crappy phone camera lens.)

A long and dark road to the house at the end of the road…
Let’s pretend the house is called ‘soliteon’.

Without the use of grand words from my end to help you, just try to imagine the most extreme degree of solitude possible for a house. It is totally removed from the township. We stumbled across this piece that appears like a happy firefly in the distant night when our car broke down in “the middle of nowhere”. We trudged towards the dimly lit soliteon naturally hoping to find relief from the dead night. Tropical night, winds were blowing and rain was threatening as the clouds gathered. Some of us were so desperate we were prepared to evict the home owner if push came to shove.

(Who would blame them when humans naturally would more likely cut off a friend if (s)he was an extra weight than allow themselves be dragged down?)

I wonder though what they were thinking. Evict the owner, occupy soliteon till dawn, restore the owner with an apology, and just be off on their way… ? Do they think this is just another fiction?
Truth be told we were just seven strangers to any hermit who might be occupying that house and we weren’t sure (s)he’d take kindly to humans (s)he was living away from. But, a heavy tropical rain in the night of nowhere!?!

Peeking through a window, I, the only writer and most curious in the group, observed the lord of the soliteon who seemed like a

A very normal person as relaxed and comfortable in a house not structurally different from other houses internally.

There was no oddity or paucity of dressing, blank expression or deeply furrowed brows. His hair not a messy mass of twines. There was no beard like that of a wise old goat or long curved fingernails on this vicenarian. He apparently paid attention to pedicure too. And he was not dressed in leopardskin or humanskin.
Shame!

His chair was tilted backwards at a precarious angle as a heavy-duty headset probably boomed steadily into his ears. I wondered what sort of song could be playing there. He seemed totally at ease.
After a while, he’d set the chair down and put his fingers to writing; then he’d talk as if to someone else besides himself. For all I know the house could be a haunted one -not just the typical one with eerily whistling winds and mists crawling from one shadowed corner to the other.
He seemed totally queer and ordinary at the same time.

Oh my word! I could swear I heard another voice. No kidding. The closest person to me also heard it. The voice appeared to come from the sitting room where the soliteon lord was sitting. He’d communicate with the voice, the voice would respond, then he’d write.

The rain screamed closer on us.

I conferred with my colleagues and, in view of the talking voice alone, we decided to knock on the door….
___________________________

BACKGROUND: Sometimes, in the dead of the night at my hospital quarters, I’d get up to stroll out, enjoy the midnight plants, animals and weather; and meditate on life and all things sweet and true.
When returning, I’d see my room dimly lit in the dark distant environ and would snicker slightly mockingly at myself, feeling somewhat like the odd soliteon lord in the piece above.
So, I am both the writer and the homeowner characters in the piece.

Journal of the simple: simple random lessons

Everyday I wake up newborn
Walking out into life’s street
Everywhere a wolf and a thorn
Yet no covering for my feet

I learn to fall
And get a prick here
To experience it all
I also get a wolf-bite there

I chew on the grit and shit
Then re-present to the helpless
Those who are not fit
Being found gut-less

Who stumbled naked into earth
Ill-prepared for this jungle-land
And remained so since birth
So they can in turn understand

I have to teach them how:
-Not to expect thanks for every kind deed
-Not to repay evil for evil or be kind to only friends
-And karma is not the highest or only law
-Not to expect happy faces everywhere
-Not to expect things always go as planned
-Not to expect writing poetry always makes sense
Yet
-Not to be discouraged by all the above
-Not to expect life will always be complicated
-Not to rely on themselves apart from their Maker

Uninitiated into gangs out there
I have to do these as a child
And though wolf-thugs instill fear
I have my Maker as a guide

Journal of the Simple: life on loan

Let’s put time to sleep
We are tired of being stood up

Tomorrow will come
A day we haven’t fret over
Could we have
How much does WORRY go for
In the market these days
I can’t afford it
I have barely enough
To afford a simple life
A life that doesn’t even belong to me
Yet I live it somehow
A life taken out on a loan
Please, put those fires out
Before they burn the terms of agreement
And all I will have is quit notice
Drafted in form of a suicide note
Because life’s troubles came knocking
And I had nothing to show them
So douse the flames –
The passion to give in to all my basest instincts
The danger of many philosophies out there
The desire to do just as I wish every time

Remember I am a loan not a mint
Not even the bureau whose job it is to worry
Enjoy all the Life-Giver affords me
Live according to the agreed terms

An average day in the life of Just-a-regular-crazy-spiritual-human.

Only once in a whole day
Does the dawn catch me lazily asleep
Never more than once a day
Do I have the privilege of breakfast
As rarely as once a day
Does the rising sun soothe my soul
And just once in a whole day
Do I have to toil under a fiery sun
Only once throughout the whole day
Does the poor afford a scanty lunch
Believe me it’s once a day
Do I enjoy a liberating evening stroll
And only once in my day
Does resting after work make sense
Never as oft as twice in any day
Do I smell a good supper
And just that one time in the day
Does the night speak sleep to me

…Okay, let’s go rogue now!

Most of the day do I cry for the frailty of humanity
Most of the day do I pull through with hope
Most of the day do I feel the poverty of wallets and souls around
Most of the day do I eat and drink anything I desire
Most of the day do I wear a straight face
Most of the day do I feel happy and contented
Most of the day does my mind actively work
Most of the day I am mostly the man I ought to be
Most of the day none of those that happen once a day happen