Tag Archives: existence

PRONE TO WANDER

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Some say rain settles the scattering heart
Some argue it enrages the wandering

The rains have started and things are as they should be
The floods have come for my roof which was built to last
After which they reach for my soul which was meant to stay
I thought I was lost in a sweet dream
Not knowing the showers are from an actual leaking roof
In the midnight I wake
Lightning lights my flooded room

Oh darn!

I don’t try to light the candle with my wet matches
I don’t reach for my rechargeable lamp
Which of course is dead
Thankful electricity is long gone
And I don’t have to step into a flood of shocks

They say rain enrages the wandering heart.

(Intermission…)

I have never built a home to last
I know I am always set to move with the next turn of the season
I don’t spend two seasons in one place
I don’t settle down and take roots
In friends and jobs and titles and neighbourhoods
I don’t plan for that future
I don’t carry a rope with me to tie myself down to anyone with
I don’t even carry a printer to print certificates and garner awards

The heart is not wild or rebellious
It is just prone to wander

It finds discomfort in calmness and weakness in stability
So I take a sweet flower with me wherever I go
To give those around who would be close to me
And whilst they see it as a pleasant gesture
I am watching for when the flower-fade begins
As a timer for my departure

People kid themselves
Don’t human physiology and psychology teach one thing
All are in constant state of activity
Even in the depth of that most restful sleep
The body is still active
Only dead things settle down

It is not deliberate
Things have just come to be the way they are
Hairs are always on end
Sleeping with eyes wide open
Hands always reached out
Feet always itching to move

Till the day I grew tired of it
And finally decided to make a home

Well now, here’s back to the start and end of the story

Settled finally in my home
At the start of the rainy season
Which is always a reminder to count
The many showers of blessings in my short life
The rain tears through my roof
In the middle of this night
I wake up in the middle of my house
The room dark and flooded
Full of possessions and loved ones
Grab that bag I kept in the corner of the wardrobe
And in 5 seconds I’m out the house
Only my boxers on
Not even stopping to check
If everyone else is alive in the flooded space
Sling my bag over my broad thickened shoulders
And leap through the window of the upper bedroom
My bare feet making no sound on the floor below
In the middle of the stormy rain
In the middle of the night

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My bag containing the two ONLY possessions
My wandering heart
And a beautiful rose
__________________________________________

BACKGROUND: “Quiet times” by Dido Armstrong playing in the background; and I echo “It’s hard enough to see the world as it is, and hold on anything”.

“Caution: what cynicism you may accuse me of is what you humanity has shown me. I am just a mirror; and my writings are not my own.” -JANISH

Mankind has done it again. The heart is by far more unpredictable than the weather. I am amazed afresh at how we behave. No, I have not seen it all! I have seen a lot, and I should be used to how our minds dance; but it amazes me afresh with some sparks of ingenuity. And I am left asking, fallen on the dancefloor, “how did you do that?” It does not follow any rule of love or reason. It does not even follow itself. It just wanders… drifts… fluctuates… dissociates….

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INCOMPLETE JUST YET

(Source: deviantart.net)

You gave no warning

When I did what I thought was right

You just smiled

When I did what I knew was wrong

You just smiled

I woke up first day of last year

And you were gone

I was sure I was still dreaming

Because you leaving has to be a nightmare

Because it was supposed to be morning

But it was still dark

It was morning but it was dark

Because when you left

You took away light

And since then the world has been in darkness

Day or night

The saddest thing was only you left

You didn’t take away your things from my house

It was when I looked for you yourself

That I realized you had left

Are you dead or just gone

Would I ever know

If you were the one I asked that question

You would probably just smile

You would just smile

Well, maybe I will wait here

For when you come pick your things

Please tell me you are coming to

That way I will have the sad dignity

Of being made fully aware

You are finally gone

And there’d be no mistaking it

I will sit here on my bed

Waiting for you

No! Not in self-pity

Or in a shameful attempt at histrionics

But what’s to do when it’s all dark

And I am tired of sleeping forever

And no one’s going to work outside

What’s to do to make sense of the madness

What’s an ill shrink got to do

Except to sit patiently on the bed

Listen to the nocturnal animals

Talking and playing together

Saying things only I can hear

Sweet whispers only I hear in my head

Well, they are comforting

Because now I hear the animals talk about you

They call you mysterious and strange

Well they seem to have you all figured out

Since that’s what seems to describe you best

I’ll wait for when you come

To pick your things

And maybe I will beg you

To tell me why you left

And took away the light of the world

Leaving us in chaotic perfection and confused clarity

Our centres holding as well as a rubbery cornerstone

And we have only managed to build lives like grand sand castles

(Source: deviantart.com)

Even so I am afraid I may not get an answer

Because you seem to like speaking in riddles

You seem to fancy shrouded and cloudy speeches

Replying my questions with words that raise more questions

I know what I’ll do

Since I can’t sleep or do anything

I know what to do

I’ll just wait

Uselessly

Passively

Forever…

After sending this all over the world

Maybe it will get to you

Maybe it will get to your heart

And you will come

And maybe when you come

Maybe you won’t tell me why you left

Maybe you will come back to me

Maybe you will stay for real this time

BACKGROUND: “Incomplete” by Backstreet Boys is playing in the background.

No, it wasn’t quite the song that inspired this. After writing this, I just couldn’t think of a better background now than the opening lines of the song.

WALKING OUT, APART

walked away

I am gone and out so don’t
Gaze at my disappearing silhouette
Smell my fragrant bed sheet
Wait for my returning shadow

May spend years building the house but I
Painfully exit at slightest call
Don’t longingly return at night
Never willfully return to same place

Because once I obsess it
Tirelessly tears me out
Radically redefines my existence
Shamelessly makes me a full-blooded vagrant

Count yourself special if I
Remember to say goodbye to you
Take the pains to warn you in this writing
Send a postcard from any phase of my life

You don’t know or remember me by the moments
Noisy in grooving parties or hearty laughs
Nostalgic over wine with movies, music or poetry
Peaceful around music and dead midnights

And I most certainly did not
Make myself this wild way
Look in my wardrobe one morning and
Pick out this personality to put on

Welcome me with half a heart when you see me
Handle me with one arm whilst I’m around
Smile with your lip through the moments we share
Kiss goodbye with a one-eyed tear drop when I leave

_______________________________________________________

BACKGROUND: This appears to be another tribute to the outcast. It is about relationships and human interaction and loss. I am a scientist still being amused and amazed by the concept of human interaction. Its biological basis alone is something to sit at dinner with.
I should add here that the CLOSER you get to people –just anybody –the more of their uniqueness you get to see and appreciate; and this MAY affect how you’d react to their absence.
No, this is not a tribute to me; but if you feel you must make yourself believe it to be, well I can’t quite help you on that I am afraid.

PS. A few weeks after writing this, Trent of http://www.trentlewin.com whom I met here was planning to make a next step in his writing career and I felt honoured he thought to share his itinerary with me. I would be further humbled if he should remember to send me a postcard from the place he eventually gets to.

What do we know

I assure you, I am not always standing close to the edge, four floors above the ground, sober and contemplative!!!

I assure you, I am not always standing close to the edge, four floors above the ground, sober and contemplative!!!

The mother carrying the pregnancy knows
Through labour’s pains before baby shows
Now the boy glows and grows
Wherever he wants he goes

Like he’s waltzed into earth all on his own

The father who protected him knows
Through childhood’s wells and woes
As the teen mellows and bellows
However he wants he flows

Like he’s become a free human all on his own

We have searched highs and lows
Experienced life’s tops and belows
And all the answer to our throes
We think philosophy bestows

Like we’ve become wisest beings all on our own

BACKGROUND: What really does it mean to be free and independent?
The mother knows there is no way the baby could have survived without a major input from her. The father who tried to give the child as meaningful a childhood as he could has influenced that “independent” adult we see.
To look at it more closely, without an external input, I am not sure we would still be here. We seem to do well on our own, only as well as a foetus could manage without the mother. We seem capable of making messes all by ourselves. Yet, we seem forever intent on more independence, or at least the idea of being totally independent.
Okay, enough sober thought. We do have happy moments in the midst of our changing worlds and shifting tides.
Some wine and honeyed milk, please!!!