Tag Archives: humanity

The shift

source: medium.com

We interrupt our usual semi-disorganized artistic-poetic transmission in order to briefly appreciate mankind’s efforts so far:

We existed

We populated

Then, to address the problem of overcrowding, we killed

The population shrank

Then we pushed another government agenda to encourage population.

 

We started religion

Religion led to horrors

Then we went on anti-religion campaign to eliminate religion

When we became bored, and horrors still happened

We invented ‘cooler’ ways of trying to find some meaning and answers

We just ran short of calling them religion.

 

We knew deity

We called him wicked, selfish and proud

Then we went on anti-god rampage to stamp the name out of the planet

Man then took on the name of god and idols

Man is wicked, selfish and proud

Now we just may need another point of reference outside of ourselves.

 

We made laws

Laws became constrictive, made things ‘black and white’

We eliminated the concept because we adored the sixty shades of greys of (im)morality

Our inner lawlessness turned all the greys into darkness

Now we scatter everywhere seeking some order.

 

We knew emotions

Feelings made us ‘weak and illogical’

We made of ourselves androids

The perfect hellish paradise every post-apocalyptic sci-fi movie depicts

Cold reason gave us the building and construct

But devoid of the beauty and meaning

We then dared to ‘crave’ a ‘higher sense of purpose’

Short of calling ourselves MERELY HUMAN AFTER ALL!

 

 

These observations have we the learned ones –scribes and Pharisees –made. We then went for a consultation with the Wise One. He merely smiled at us smugly, logged on as an admin to www.bible.com on the Deep Net for those who dabble into truth and mysteries, and entered the query: “matthew9v16to17” which yielded: “No one puts a piece of new cloth onto an old garment; for that which is put in to fill it up takes from the garment, and the tear is made worse. Nor do men put new wine into old wineskins; else the wineskins burst, and the wine runs out, and the wineskins perish. But they put new wine into new wineskins, and both are preserved together.”

We actually developed an acute headache from the irritation. Is he kidding us? We should, what, scatter the whole structure and start building from the scratch? We all know this sounds very useful in principle. But, how do we, where do we even begin to go from? What do we do in the meantime? Why shouldn’t we just run things on the side by patching? Management-by-crisis. But how do we then make that clean switch to the new? Do we just abandon the planet, take a recess like those lazy monks to the wilderness so we can start at the primordium of life, meaning and sanity? What will happen to the world in the meantime?

We grabbed the so-called Wise One by the chin, and just out of pure irritation, smacked him up in the head, spat on him, and thoroughly trashed his laptop.

Then we went back to our city. We patted ourselves on the back. “We sure showed him, didn’t we?” “Who’s really wise now?”

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Where it ends

(source: seriouseats.com)

On the day I was born

You saw me

My heart like granulated sugar

Little drops of innocent sweetness

The kind so pure

Everyone wants a feel and fill of

Including the ants

Who really have nothing to offer in return

They come asking for ‘some sugar’

Even they know what’s sweet

 

I became smart in my own ways

Learning my share of lessons from life

I took pride in the great pyramid I built

Heart now hard like cubed sugar

I swore anyone who wanted a taste would sweat

You were there warning me

A little drop of water could mar me

I am not invincible yet

 

Life told me I hadn’t seen the start

The worst began to take a shot at me

I tried, God you must know that

You know I could only withstand the heat for so long

They told me the heat was good

They told me the most painful lessons

Would bring out the better in me

Behold my heart a golden syrup finally

 

But I fall short

I ain’t no honey

I still attract ants

Water still dilutes me

I am tougher than a cube

But I bend under pressure still

 

There is no way to complete this story

There is nothing within me

That could turn this tale into a fairy one

The only way is to remove myself from this story

Change the writer

Who appears obsessed with the various states of matter of sugar

Maybe for a writer who’d paint me as dust

 

At least, there’d be hope for a diamond in my end.

 

*flaccid smile*

 

 

LOOKING FOR YOU

Source: online, unknown

Dearest,

Some would fight for love. I don’t have that as-noble-as-is-shameful aspiration. I am writing to find you. When I used to watch you write, I never quite understood it when you told me it calmed you. Well, maybe because I could not imagine you ruffled in the first instance. You said writing helped you collect your thoughts.

I don’t collect, neither am I quite collected.

I am writing to find you.

Where are you since you have been gone? Where do people like you go? Into the arms of someone else? Who can satisfy the appetites of people like you? Can even someone like you do that? I know I pushed you away. And I know the hurt in itself could drive you into the arms of another in a fit of rebound, yes? Or, are you beyond frailties? I like to think what we shared could mean so much to you to have affected you that way. Apparently, I am not beyond selfishness. Or, maybe that is the way the experience some call love ought to be. That what partly made it special was knowing that I was responsible for you and you vulnerable to me. How sick is that?

Is there any point to this? Why should I want you back? What is to stop this cycle from repeating itself again? People argue breakup-makeup cycles are bad. Others say one could learn from past mistakes and redo things better. What if the explanation is simpler than that? That we are meant to be, and part of what happens is we grow from knowing that we are bound to end up with each other again –the sense of the inevitability. That generally should make sense to you. It should comfort you that: the fact we keep ending up back together should mean that we are meant to be –the sense of predestination, certainty and rightness of decision. The proof that a force beyond natural must want us to be together.

Or, have we become an old love? The kind that just gives off smokes like a locomotive, which can never aspire to be a spaceship giving off fire. You know such crafts are not practicable on this earth’s ground where we live, right? Why not enjoy the familiarity that we have. Why not gain from growing into each other. Or, does that make us like poles which repel?

People argue a little drama now and then is good. Does breaking up sound little to you? Should one deliberately start a drama not knowing if it had the capacity to escalate into a break? How does one perfectly control the situation? Would someone in love be so calculating and manipulative of love itself no less?

I know we are generally a complicated lot as humans. We criticise some for making issues complicated. Yet we somehow deep inside enjoy complications in life. We say it makes us feel alive.

But, please, believe me when I say I want to find you. It’s not about finding love as an experience. I want you. And this desire is without complication or another shade of meaning. It is as plain as my thoughts, as my words.

It is as wonderfully calm as I feel when writing. When writing this.

Don’t make me wait forever. The waiting game does not necessarily breed passion. It can finally kill whatever spark is left.

Please…

I wait to hear from you.

 

Yours,

RIVER GOD

 

 

They say

If you leave a rough little child

Long enough by the river bank

He will become better

 

He will be washed clean

And gently be eroded

By the clear running water

Till he ceases to exist

 

Intermission…

 

Been years waiting by the river bank

I am still the same

Maybe he will come

Maybe he will do as he wants

And I will have no say

 

I remain the same

Even if I feel dry during the drought

And I can’t pretty much find passion for anything

I can’t even notice I am dry

 

Or choked during the rains

And can’t handle all the normal things

Other human beings enjoy handling

All the pleasant emotions and moments

And miracles and experiences

 

The heat refused to melt me

During the harshest of times

And cold means little to me

I don’t take pleasure in being aloof

 

I am still waiting

Maybe he will come

To touch me

That is all I want

 

Maybe he will touch me

At my curves and spots

And straighten me out

Softly

Firmly

Slowly

Making me wet

He won’t be rough or harsh

He will just touch my edges lightly

And gradually smoothen me out

 

Please come

River spirit

This little stone is rough

Make it smooth

 

Been waiting here by the river bank

All these years

Watching all those seasons and tides

Remaining unchanged

 

But when he comes

The river god will use his water

To smoothen me out

As he makes me wet all over

 

 

Or maybe just for luck

He will wear me out

As water erodes the rock

And that will be the end of my story!

 

BACKGROUND: “River God” by Nicole Nordeman playing in the background.

I am taking a step back tonight from shamelessly bemoaning and eulogizing the sad state of life today.

I am taking a step forward today into the hope that things will be better and light will shine.

But, somehow, I am still carrying the cynicism along with me through the door into that hope.

 

PRONE TO WANDER

image

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

image

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….