Tag Archives: musing

THE LAST DANCE

 

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

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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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Where my senile memories go

NOTE: I apologize for this popup-post since I am not due for another post until another week, after my post on mirrors yesterday. Now, knowing I have a couple of smart-headed followers, I will not say more than that it’s fictional. Yes. But if you claim it has splashes of reality, figures! As at now, I am not sure if it’s gonna be in traditional poetry form or just plain prose because a couple of us are on a campaign to ban poor works of modern writing shamefully mimicking wonderful traditional poetry; and even though I am regarded as primarily poetic, I still have to tread cautiously lest I be sent to the gallows also for crime-of-art.

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I have seen it all…

Nothing surprises me again
Born a twin to this madman, we experienced a lot of life together. I am more level-headed though. Years ago, I took up job at a new place as a sales representative. I have always been in this business of human contact and take particular pleasure in reading the human mind, besides manipulating it for the purpose of money when marketing. Sorry for calling things the way they are, but many of us manipulate others for various purposes. And sometimes we think these purposes are selfless. As if it matters! I AM NOT TRYING TO EXCUSE MYSELF. And please feel free to judge me. (Yes, I tire of this don’t-judge-me philosophy that’s on the rave.) In another life, I might have been a psychologist or a forensic expert.

Enter the new girl.

If you, Reader, are into fairy-tale mushy-musheries then you might describe her as the quiet sun minding its business, yet the radiance it gives at day or night cannot be denied, though it never blows its trumpet. (Sunstroke is more a case of one-man’s-meat-being-another’s-poison.) Or you might describe the experience of seeing her as a philosopher who tastes ecstasy that leaves him wanting more. (Wonder why I use the word ecstasy a lot these days. Note please: I discourage doping on ecstasy!) Or you might describe your feeling as a confusion/disorganisation that makes perfect sense to you.

Without any dilly-dally on shilly-shallies, we would meet at work and go about the day’s business with perfectly courteous professionalism. We would part at evening, after a long day’s work and would never even speak of catching a drink. No, not a date. Not anything fancy. Just a drink at a non-remarkable place.

The first year, I handled the feelings well. I had no desire to wanna know her beyond the immediate business at hand.

The second year was slightly more overwhelming. The little attention to HER that I deliberately denied her during the first year came back with a little interest. It was easy for me to notice some of those little things beyond her body itself. I know it’s a bit unfair on other men, but my involvement with humans have meant I had to train my peripheral vision. So I could see my environment more easily just like ladies can (since it’s been noted ladies have better peripheral vision than guys. This means they can spot the guys shamelessly eyeing them out of the corners of their eyes.)

The third year I became concerned –about my welfare –enough to wanna know more about her. Questions I would like to ask her –like “How are you?” at the start of each day, or “How are you finding the work demands on YOU? since it was her first working experience. I had absolutely no problem with walking up to her and asking despite the feelings I had. But I knew this all along, since the first year when the feelings visited me, that nothing could probably come out of it.

It is life, isn’t it!

The fourth year and the feelings have persisted like a tough climate over the Sahara. Definite. Undeniable. Unstopping. Demanding attention. Yet untouchable.
I would not even seek closure. What does that word even mean?

The feelings were heavy in my eyes
For any who cared to look
But I busied their lazy bottoms
With reading her body gestures
The feelings were lodged in my throat
I could eat and swallow hard
The feelings would make my heart skip
But trained in relaxation techniques
I’d sooner regulate my heart rate
The feelings were tied to my dreams and skull
But I gave no indulgence to daydreams

Days turned to years and my five-year contract was soon over there.
I never asked if her heart was sold out to another
If she would wish to see me another day
I never knew even her second name!

It was just another passing phase of life. It is just another thing that happens in life. Nothing surprises me.

Times in my life come and go. I remain unchanging right at my core.
Well, except when I mope about how those four years went without even a monument erected in their memories.

Well, here’s one. Till the day wordpress.com crashes.

Deepest Desires

Erythrocebus patas in San Francisco Zoo

Two days later…
Enchanted Primate (in a calm mood): Bro, do you know the first thoughts that came to your mind after your birth?
Enchanted Writer (slightly puzzled, but also a bit light-hearted from the evening breeze): Uh, I do not know for sure.

Enchanted Primate (in a calm mood): Bro, what of your very last thoughts before passing out in sleep last night?

Enchanted Writer (appeared lost in thought for a while, brows furrowed, right hand supporting chin): Err, bro, the thoughts became fuzzy as sleep grazed in, but I remember thinking about how delicious dinner was.

Enchanted Primate (in a solemn mood): Bro, two nights ago as you were gathering sticks for the fire to roast the termites for our dinner, you accidentally tampered with a mamba’s tail. What were your last thoughts as the mamba about sank its fangs into your nose, before I knocked it off your face?

Enchanted Writer (chest heaving, eyes unblinking, left hand supporting chin): Hmm, I thought about how I was going to miss the fat termites waiting to be roasted for dinner. And I should say thanks again for saving my head there.

Enchanted Primate (nods in acknowledgement of the writer’s gratitude): One of your own species, a Great One I heard, once said that: your deepest thoughts and mind’s preoccupation will be on what/where you consider most important. Your heart is where your treasure is.
What do you make of that?

Then the monkey lets go of the branch he was holding onto, leaps jauntily along the shore to the other side where the party animals are raving, leaving the writer sitting on the branch of their tree house,
Looking steadily out at the beachy summer-sunsetty horizon,
Head tilted to the right,
Chin supported by the right hand,
Breathing slightly heavily,
Obviously lost in thought.
Whilst the monkey raves on with the rest of the animals,
On the other side of the shore.
And happy termites swarm the dusky space.

who knows when

English: Road to Hindringham It's a typical co...

Guns 001

Guns 001 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Who knows when the rain stops?
After the seeds have had just enough to grow and bring life to the earth?
Or after the flood wrecks properties and lives, that even none remains to know when it ends?

Who knows when the clock stops ticking?
After we die peacefully and leave this realm of “space and time”?
Or when it mechanically malfunctions and is condemned beyond repair?

Who knows when reading stops?
When we come to the knowledge of The Truth?
Or when we grow sick of seeking truth and/or think we know it all?

Who knows when the gun stops firing?
When man learns peace?
Or when all humanity has been forcefully laid to rest-in-peace?

Who knows when the long road ends?
Does it break at my hometown I have sought for long?
Or, at a homely cottage with a friendly psychopath-and-serial killer to welcome me?

P.S.: Who knows when the enchanted writer stops writing?
When all humanity has heard the message and learnt?
Or when he loses sight of the message and wanders off the path?

Do you know?

Thank you.

Words From Another World: Introduction.

English: Barmouth Bridge on Boxing Day 2008 Wo...

I was born without any sounds,
(Oh! So I cried within a few minutes after birth)
Yet I had my own perception of the world.

Then…
The society taught me words.
I learned to express meaningful sounds that would have been cries.
I learned to give words to my thoughts.

But…
What about the thoughts there were no words for?
What about the ideas that were original to me?
There were no words the society could give to them.

Now…
I am no longer a child.
The society has taught me words.
It has also taught me that confusion comes with words.

Like…
We try to speak the best ways we could.
People understand our vocabulary;
But they are light-years away from understanding our thoughts.

And…
We try to communicate with simple terms,
But become frustrated because we are still misconceived;
And we end up trying to defend our noble intentions behind those “kind” words that hurt others.

Meanwhile…
The poets/writers labour hard trying to build bridges,
That effectively link words to the abstract thoughts and abstract world.
Salutations, great scribes and orators that you are!

So…
Can I, please, use words that are original to me?
Because all I want is to build a bridge
Between the supernatural realm and the literal world.

Thank you!