Tag Archives: mortality

THE MAGI-CIANS 2: SHOWDOWN

Posted on October 16, 2017 | 3 comments

“

Trick or treat

Dance to the beat

Coz we got you neat

Oh you sly Herod got the heat

And now totally unsettled on your seat

”

(source: unknown)

_____________________________________________

Sat on your throne feeling neat

Any wagging tongues your guards beat

You called the shots and dictated the beat

You get angry and the innocent feel the heat

You give the orders and it all becomes a bloody treat

 

Well now feel my beat

I’m gonna give it to you neat

I turn on my words like the heat

From my kitchen comes a nuclear treat

Coz I’m a righteous gangster from heaven’s seat

 

All we got in life are a treat

Handed to us all in our seat

We can’t control life’s every beat

Not to speak of our every heart’s beat

Who survives when life brings on the white heat

 

Whether we work under the heat

Or play games each lounging on his seat

Fate is a cunning illness none can fully treat

Though we alter some events at life’s complex treat

There’s much in this party that doesn’t dance to all our beat

 

So whilst on your sadistic seat

Feeling like a god so fly and neat

The magicians heard a different beat

And did not stagger at the sight of your heat

But rocked side to side at the Chef-God’s treat

 

And now Herod feel the heat under your seat

As you just got beat at your own grand treat

Coz the Chef-God’s heat cooked you neat

Giving you a treat to his version of heat

Time to feel my beat crash your seat

_________________________________________________

Matthew 2:1-13 contains a summary of how Herod’s attempt at killing God’s son was totally foiled.

 

Narrator: “Hollup magi, I’m coming. Herod’s goose is cooked! Let’s go see those gods of the 21st century feeling like they own the universe and all of existence. We need to remind them they didn’t conceive, incubate and give birth to themselves. Now that they all grown up and making a few bucks and academic degrees, they be barking up and down the streets with doggy philosophies and belching with goaty pride!”

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Posted in constricted, Enchanted Scriptures, poetry

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THE MAGI-CIANS

Posted on July 9, 2017 | 3 comments

source: dnaindia.com

 

Narrator:

After the saga of the angels and virgins

We continue this tale of humble origins

At the ancient land of adventure and djinns

 

They grew skilled in the art

Of setting the merely supernatural apart

And studying the truly spiritual by heart

 

Magicians:

We’ve analyzed psychological effects and tricks

Criticized those engaged in religious theatrics

But we don’t do these just for kicks

 

So on seeing the strange star

Mad curiosity drove them travelling far

And they didn’t even use a car

 

When we landed in the metropolis

We said when accosted by the metro-police

We seek the righteous soul please

 

The police burst into wild guttural laughter

Calling their speaker a philosophical faffer

Like a page out of its chapter

 

Called the bunch amusing strangers

Like drunks who made wagers

They’d win a shootout with rangers

 

They then gave them an intro

To the 21st century in toto

Showing them they were so retro

 

We’ve come from a time

Where good flows in the clime

And love don’t cost a dime

 

Weapons protect us from nature

Not destroy each other’s future

And we got peace words can’t capture

 

We all thrive as one

Under the Illuminated One

Nothing he does can be undone

 

Magicians generally keep a low profile

And so these were silent all the while

Without saying anything right or vile

 

They couldn’t have come in vain

So they asked again and again

Though hearts bled in pain

 

We’ve been gathering knowledge in stages

Whilst half-truths and pride keep others in cages

Holding on to views and traditions for ages

 

Science and philosophy have their place

To finding truth they help in that race

But limited when evil stares you in the face

 

We are experimenters and astute observers

Not narrow-minded like so many others

Who can’t see science and faith share many borders

 

So we took to flight

At the signal of the true light

Who illuminates all in sight

 

Even our lord the Illuminated One

Can never hold a candle to this one

All realms will bow to this righteous one

 

(source: wakingtimes.com) What worlds really are all around us?

He will bridge the spiritual and physical

Unravel the dark web of the mystical

And he is not even mythical

 

So let all those with seeing eyes

Break away from all other ties

To reach for where reality lies

 

We will join you wherever you are in time and space in this search!

 

Matthew chapter 2 verse 1: NOW WHEN Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, wise men [astrologers] from the east came to Jerusalem, asking, 2. Where is He Who has been born King of the Jews? For we have seen His star in the east at its rising and have come to worship Him. 9. When they had listened to the king, they went their way, and behold, the star which had been seen in the east in its rising went before them until it came and stood over the place where the young Child was. 10. When they saw the star, they were thrilled with ecstatic joy. 11. And on going into the house, they saw the Child with Mary His mother, and they fell down and worshiped Him.

 

PERSONAL NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I wonder what really “unseen” means. We can’t exactly see atoms. Does that make them spiritual? What is the nature of non-physical intelligent beings? Can we readily walk the bridge between the physical and the ‘spiritual’ worlds?

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Posted in Enchanted Scriptures

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Prose or poetry

Posted on June 5, 2016 | 14 comments

image

I can never amount to that
Like those who shamelessly
Tirelessly aspire to glory
They seek novelty among the regular

I don’t coordinate that long
My thoughts are unfaithful
Shamefully capricious
I try to write a good story
Like a famed novelist
But I don’t get a page through

Novelists are manipulative and dubious
They live for masks
They conjure strings of words
But you never see the start or end
They say it is fiction
But we know it is gossip
They say they write about human lives
But we know they write eulogies to themselves

I am as plain as you read me
See my lines
Full of little short words
That don’t even aspire to the ceiling
Look at them broken apart
I can never seem to write sentences
Long enough to fill the screen
Even when I have ideas that long
I never seem able to write a full line
I always fall short
I always walk within my mortal limits
I’m no demigod like novelists
And other citizens of the Writing Kingdom
I’m an outcast
A dribbler
A scribbler
A conman

Look one last time at my lines
The next not logically linked to the previous
I am humble
I am broken
My thoughts are as fragmented as they appear
Disjointed as my lines
Verbose and circumstantial
My imagination loose and childish
Floating like a kite in lightning
Immature
Dented
Crippled
My scattered lines betray my mortality
Seeming close to paradise
But never quite making it for the life of me
Left trudging near the edge
Wandering
Wasting
Unsatisfactory
Incomplete

P.S. Hope the reader knows this is not a poem.

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Posted in poetry

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THE LAST DANCE

Posted on April 26, 2015 | 19 comments

 

If looking through your window in the rain doesn’t move you, or even looking at this picture doesn’t touch you, then you need to see me for evaluation.

Finally I have seen it all

I have seen all the seasons of life

All different kinds of people

I have learnt all there is to know

 

Time to dance to the last rain

 

Gradually these clouds gather

Heavy nimbus clouds

Carefully in formation

These kinds don’t come by accident or regularly

These dark clouds over my estate only

They snigger playfully, sardonically, as they march in place

And soon some sweet little rain drops show

They trek carefully down my windowpane

In sync with those down my cheek

In-between these drops I see seasons of my life gone by

 

In-between these rain drops

I count the many blessings I have enjoyed in my short living

I see the many smiles that have wrinkled my old handsome face

The bright mornings I woke up happy and strong

The sweet quiet times strolling in the midnight

The awards and honours to a distinguished psychiatrist

Who has seen the chaos of men’s souls and survived

The wealth I have amassed and shared

 

In-between these tear drops

I count the many sorrows I have suffered in my short life

I see the many frowns that have wrinkled my old gravely face

The grey mornings I have felt like lying all day crying in bed

The loud weary times toiling away in the sun

The dilemmas and confusions of a chronic shrink

Who has not remained the same after seeing the mind’s darkness

The heartbreaks I have amassed and caused

 

I say no word

It is loud enough as it is

I am still quiet and peaceful

Totally at ease with the clouds in my world

I have cleared my house and sorted out my affairs

The stage is wide-set and the audience seated

They wait happily for my debut

For how I dance as I exit

At the applause of a million showers of the last rain

____________________________________________________

BACKGROUND: I find myself recently constantly wondering how actually short life is. For anyone like me who runs a tight schedule (and I can count many of you that I have met), you occasionally scold yourself for not stopping to breathe or enjoying happier moments than when you have just completed some project and soon you define your moments by your professional/work accomplishments. It’s only occasionally we do this because we are way too busy to even indulge in such thoughts. We soon are lost in our “slavings-away”. For all the drama and activities we go through as humans, the whole story seems so short and pretty incomplete for a movie producer to even make a timeless classic from.

Here’s a little reminder and toast to the fact. A reminder that itself will not last long. A reminder that will be gone and forgotten with the first drop of the next rain over my little tropical city.

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Posted in life, tribute

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Things I see and hear at night

Posted on December 31, 2014 | 21 comments
image

That scene was actually lovely. Not scary as the picture seems. My nights are like that!

Do you mean to tell me you are this old and don’t know this
You have not tasted of the spicy fruit
Those top-quality clinical-grade hallucinations
Which someone like me makes money off

I see shadows and forms
I see patterns
They speak to me these people
They tell me how life will be
They teach me wisdom and experience about existence
They teach me without using punishment
They understand me
And I hear them and listen
They teach me on my own terms
They speak with soothing voices
Like that of a virgin seductress
Good blend of innocence and sultriness
They tell me of the fragile nature of life
And of how beautiful it could be
Like a perfectly delicate thing of high value
Something as delicate as these visions themselves
Visions that could easily fade
And details that couldn’t be validated
Because they change every time I attempt to recollect them
Visions so beautiful and precious
Visions that will fade when I sleep
The beauty of that short moment of insanity that will fade
After all, beauty fades
They tell me so
These voices
They tell me beauty is temporary and fluctuating
They tell me nothing lasts forever
And I trust them because I have confirmed this in reality
And for this same reason
I also believe these same wise people
When they tell me that the neurons of my brain
All defaecate semisolid gold
And so I have to explore my mind and dig for treasures
Breaking through my rock-thick skull with a dagger
I believe them when they tell me
There is a generator working in my brain
And creative sparks fly everywhere from the neural activity
And where there is no electricity
I’ll let people connect wires to my skull
I believed them because they have proven true time and again
These same voices led me through medical school
All my good ideas have come in similar way
The voices tell me I am radioactive
They tell me I am alien
And so should not allow others see how unique I am
That I can find release by hiding in plain sight
Writing things like this
Things which could easily pass for just another regular dribble of a mad mind
And how I believe these voices
I love them
These wise people
They speak to me
In that place, that time
Between being awake and being asleep
Which some don’t know of, as old as they are
And they have never had it as real and magical
As I have them, as young as I am
These beautiful moments just before sleeping

P.S. Maybe it’s just the special ones like me who have these moments.

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Posted in life

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