If silence could form gorges, then we did form one. A wide impenetrable gorge. Yet, you tried to bridge the gap with your few sentences. I responded to none. Your words died after crashing the indomitable wall of my rigidity.
Gradually, your few sentences got reduced to a handful of words. I took note of none. Your words eventually reduced to ashes.
Yet, you tried. I pitied your unrewarding endeavors. I was entrapped and suffocating in the gossamer of my own rigid ego.
You placed your forced intermittent coughs to drive my attention to you. My mouth didn’t even make the slightest quivering to acknowledge it. It stood motionless.
With your every failed attempt to bridge the gorge, my ego inflated. It swelled to a gigantic size. Seeing my frozen being , you gave in too, thus allowing the sepulchral silence to engulf us both.
Thursday, 17 May 2012
A conversation
He asks , “Why do you write? There must be something that drives you to write! You say you do not want to be read and yet you write. Every thing is written for a prospective reader, no? If the reader is not your motivator, then what makes you write?”
I smile mysteriously.
“No silly! Answer.” He says flummoxed not being able to make out what exactly drives me to write.
“ There are times when the mind weighs with thoughts. What do you do with a pregnant mind? You need to bring the thoughts out because they are so willing to be born, to be manifested on paper. There’s an inner driving force. The egg hatches on its own after incubation. The mind is like the egg shell. The thoughts break out on their own after they attain a certain size. They need to be inked else thoughts are evanescent. They vanish! They need to be fettered with the shackles of ink else they fly.” I said , surprised at my own eloquence.
“Let them fly, why do you care? Who cares about them anyway when you never share them with a reader?” He was still unresolved.
“The writer in me writes them for the reader in me! I don’t need anyone else to read them, okay? I am writing and reading simultaneously! Why should I write for anyone else?” I give my final remark.
He had nothing more to ask.
I smile mysteriously.
“No silly! Answer.” He says flummoxed not being able to make out what exactly drives me to write.
“ There are times when the mind weighs with thoughts. What do you do with a pregnant mind? You need to bring the thoughts out because they are so willing to be born, to be manifested on paper. There’s an inner driving force. The egg hatches on its own after incubation. The mind is like the egg shell. The thoughts break out on their own after they attain a certain size. They need to be inked else thoughts are evanescent. They vanish! They need to be fettered with the shackles of ink else they fly.” I said , surprised at my own eloquence.
“Let them fly, why do you care? Who cares about them anyway when you never share them with a reader?” He was still unresolved.
“The writer in me writes them for the reader in me! I don’t need anyone else to read them, okay? I am writing and reading simultaneously! Why should I write for anyone else?” I give my final remark.
He had nothing more to ask.
On a Sunny day
Ever seen the rising sun? It comes out of the womb of the horizon like a ruddy infant. With its glowing face and an infantile innocence, a cherub in the sky. You feel like loving it. You know it shall never burn you. It leaves you enthralled with a beauty like that of a newborn.
The sun ascends the sky as the day breaks further. The child now approaches its Youth. A smoldering sun reveling in the pride of its adolescence. It never knows that there shall come a time when it shall have to descend the ladder that it now used to ascend. The face no more glows, it glowers. A raging teenager.
Eventually, it attains its mid life when it feels exhausted yet it continues to burn. It thinks that his Youth is forever. It thinks its indefatigable.
And when it ages further, it sets down. It seeks Samadhi in the same horizon from which it had emerged. It knows all about Life! It knows that life is not about burning but about shining. The setting Sun is the most Enlightened one.
The sun ascends the sky as the day breaks further. The child now approaches its Youth. A smoldering sun reveling in the pride of its adolescence. It never knows that there shall come a time when it shall have to descend the ladder that it now used to ascend. The face no more glows, it glowers. A raging teenager.
Eventually, it attains its mid life when it feels exhausted yet it continues to burn. It thinks that his Youth is forever. It thinks its indefatigable.
And when it ages further, it sets down. It seeks Samadhi in the same horizon from which it had emerged. It knows all about Life! It knows that life is not about burning but about shining. The setting Sun is the most Enlightened one.
She who loved the Sky
She talked to the sky. She heard the Azure confiding in her its secrets. Whenever she would be sad, she would look up to the sky, her confidante. The sky made her smile. She intently watched its clouds. Not the birds but the clouds, the cloudy formations that sometimes resembled a face, a bird, a cat and sometimes nothing.
She read those faces that the sky, through its clouds, made. She would see how clouds disappeared like vapors and so did her sadness. As the sky would clear, the frown of her brows would clear away too. Sometimes, it was almost impossible to differentiate between the sky and her face. They behaved identical.
Once she asked the sky why it lent its blueness to the water. She didn’t want Sky to share its blueness with anyone. She wanted it to stay unique. The sky murmured to her that it had lent its blueness to her eyes as well. To which she emphatically retorted that its blueness belonged to no one but her eyes and that she was not willing to share it with anyone. She was the sole owner of the Cerulean, the apple of her Eyes!
The Sky broke into a thundering laughter and said that no one could possess it. She shouted at the sky and asked it to stop making fun of her. The Sky too was at its notorious best. It drained away its clouds on her. She was drenched.
‘I am going to settle my accounts with you, Sky’, she said pretending an exasperation but she was actually happy.
Later, when the Sky realized that it should now console her, it became quiet, asked its clouds to maintain a pin drop silence. The sky like a little child, peeped through her window and woke her up. She knew the sky had come to console her. She was pretending that she was angry and hard to console. The sky relentlessly tried.
It pleaded her. It cajoled her. It begged for forgiveness . She was too stubborn to simmer down. The sky, later, stopped pleading her and wore a rainbow on its vault.
She looked at the rainbow spellbound.
She knew this is how the sky doodled her name on itself. Her happiness knew no bounds. She stood at her porch with her arms wide open to enwrap the Sky in her bosom.
Perhaps, at that very moment, they were one!
She read those faces that the sky, through its clouds, made. She would see how clouds disappeared like vapors and so did her sadness. As the sky would clear, the frown of her brows would clear away too. Sometimes, it was almost impossible to differentiate between the sky and her face. They behaved identical.
Once she asked the sky why it lent its blueness to the water. She didn’t want Sky to share its blueness with anyone. She wanted it to stay unique. The sky murmured to her that it had lent its blueness to her eyes as well. To which she emphatically retorted that its blueness belonged to no one but her eyes and that she was not willing to share it with anyone. She was the sole owner of the Cerulean, the apple of her Eyes!
The Sky broke into a thundering laughter and said that no one could possess it. She shouted at the sky and asked it to stop making fun of her. The Sky too was at its notorious best. It drained away its clouds on her. She was drenched.
‘I am going to settle my accounts with you, Sky’, she said pretending an exasperation but she was actually happy.
Later, when the Sky realized that it should now console her, it became quiet, asked its clouds to maintain a pin drop silence. The sky like a little child, peeped through her window and woke her up. She knew the sky had come to console her. She was pretending that she was angry and hard to console. The sky relentlessly tried.
It pleaded her. It cajoled her. It begged for forgiveness . She was too stubborn to simmer down. The sky, later, stopped pleading her and wore a rainbow on its vault.
She looked at the rainbow spellbound.
She knew this is how the sky doodled her name on itself. Her happiness knew no bounds. She stood at her porch with her arms wide open to enwrap the Sky in her bosom.
Perhaps, at that very moment, they were one!
Wednesday, 28 March 2012
Hearts do not undergo a Miscarriage
‘We need to meet NOW’ , she tersely said and disconnected the call.
He was bewildered and he called her back. She didn’t receive the call and instead texted , ‘I can’t talk. Come home.’
He couldn’t make out anything and in a jiffy packed his briefcase and left for home.
‘What happened? Are you alright?’, he asked earnestly.
She nodded her head imperceptibly. He still couldn’t make out. She asked him to sit.
‘I haven’t left an important meeting midway to sit at my home. Would you please let me know what it is?’, he stridently countered.
She sat beside him mechanically. He turned her towards him. She somehow murmured ‘Miscarriage’ .
The word seemed to shatter his world, he felt his insides sinking and his heart dropped with a thud. He felt a miasma of absolute nothingness in his head, a whirlpool of an unknown origin reeled in his mind frantically. He was cold. His eyes wide open.
He finally stuttered, ‘w..wh…en did you f..f..find?’
She swallowed an enormous lump in her throat and inaudibly said ‘This morning.’
She hurriedly sprang on her feet and walked a few steps towards the window.
He followed her and tried to embrace her. She freed herself from his embrace and incoherently asked him to leave right away.
Running her hand softly on her belly, she said ‘You remind me of the hope that I had been nourishing for so long. Please go away. Its your presence that I can’t tolerate. Please do me a favor. I want some time to realize that there is no one within me. Its all a mass of dead cells now and it shall soon degrade. Let me , alone, stay with the ephemeral remains of my child. You know nothing of what I am going through.’ She said with quivering lips.
He smiled benignly at her and said, ‘Yes, I can’t feel what your body is feeling. How can I, its your body, after all, not mine? You shall get rid of the dead cells with time. What about my heart where our child was growing and is still growing. How shall I get rid of those millions of unrequited dreams that I had weaved with it? Do you now understand what living with dead dreams means ? How shall I ever get over with it?’
She burst into tears and he pensively left the room.
He was bewildered and he called her back. She didn’t receive the call and instead texted , ‘I can’t talk. Come home.’
He couldn’t make out anything and in a jiffy packed his briefcase and left for home.
‘What happened? Are you alright?’, he asked earnestly.
She nodded her head imperceptibly. He still couldn’t make out. She asked him to sit.
‘I haven’t left an important meeting midway to sit at my home. Would you please let me know what it is?’, he stridently countered.
She sat beside him mechanically. He turned her towards him. She somehow murmured ‘Miscarriage’ .
The word seemed to shatter his world, he felt his insides sinking and his heart dropped with a thud. He felt a miasma of absolute nothingness in his head, a whirlpool of an unknown origin reeled in his mind frantically. He was cold. His eyes wide open.
He finally stuttered, ‘w..wh…en did you f..f..find?’
She swallowed an enormous lump in her throat and inaudibly said ‘This morning.’
She hurriedly sprang on her feet and walked a few steps towards the window.
He followed her and tried to embrace her. She freed herself from his embrace and incoherently asked him to leave right away.
Running her hand softly on her belly, she said ‘You remind me of the hope that I had been nourishing for so long. Please go away. Its your presence that I can’t tolerate. Please do me a favor. I want some time to realize that there is no one within me. Its all a mass of dead cells now and it shall soon degrade. Let me , alone, stay with the ephemeral remains of my child. You know nothing of what I am going through.’ She said with quivering lips.
He smiled benignly at her and said, ‘Yes, I can’t feel what your body is feeling. How can I, its your body, after all, not mine? You shall get rid of the dead cells with time. What about my heart where our child was growing and is still growing. How shall I get rid of those millions of unrequited dreams that I had weaved with it? Do you now understand what living with dead dreams means ? How shall I ever get over with it?’
She burst into tears and he pensively left the room.
Monday, 26 March 2012
A kind of silence
If silence could form gorges, then we did form one. A wide impenetrable gorge. Yet, you tried to bridge the gap with your few sentences. I responded to none. Your words died after crashing the indomitable wall of my rigidity.
Gradually, your few sentences got reduced to a handful of words. I took note of none. Your words eventually reduced to ashes. Yet, you tried. I pitied your unrewarding endeavors. I was entrapped and suffocating in the gossamer of my own rigid ego.
You placed your forced intermittent coughs to drive my attention to you. My mouth didn’t even make the slightest quivering to acknowledge it. It stood motionless.
With your every failed attempt to bridge the gorge, my ego inflated. It swelled to a gigantic size. Seeing my frozen being , you gave in too, thus allowing the sepulchral silence to engulf us both.
Gradually, your few sentences got reduced to a handful of words. I took note of none. Your words eventually reduced to ashes. Yet, you tried. I pitied your unrewarding endeavors. I was entrapped and suffocating in the gossamer of my own rigid ego.
You placed your forced intermittent coughs to drive my attention to you. My mouth didn’t even make the slightest quivering to acknowledge it. It stood motionless.
With your every failed attempt to bridge the gorge, my ego inflated. It swelled to a gigantic size. Seeing my frozen being , you gave in too, thus allowing the sepulchral silence to engulf us both.
For the one , I heart
Dearest,
Yours is the voice I have slept like a child in. Your voice- the cradle of unconditional love. You have guarded me like a cavern from the grotesque callousness of life. You have been a placenta , I have curled like a fetus in, every time.
Yours is the baritone, I have found refuge in ,while I spent a thousand nomadic nights, sleep deprived. Every time, I made you sing, you sang earnestly without complaint, without weariness. You went on, on and on! Your voice rings in my soul, you purge every corner of me, cleanse me of all of my impurities thus elevating me to a higher ground.
Yours is the visage , I have painted a thousand times on the canvas of my imagination. Yours is the name that shines on the firmament of my otherwise spotless mind. You inebriate me. I am drunk on you.
You’re my unknown benefactor, my Guardian Angel, my savior! You have smoothened the distortions that I had in me. You filled me to the brim with love. I don’t know when my pond like stagnant heart became as wide and as deep as an oceanic basin, the floor of which safeguards your pearls , your treasures of wisdom.
You poured in me everything. With your every song, I knew I formed you within me. You happen within me like a swirling whirlpool. If ‘I love you’ could convey all what I feel for you.
You’re that one word that talks the sweetest, that talks the briefest , the word that encompasses all of my world, the word that echoes and fills my conscience like a night that effortlessly fills every nook every corner of a forest.
I doodle your name and thus I write volumes of poetry . Yours is the name, where all my pilgrimage resides.
Marko….ooh…ooh… ooh ….ooh
This is how you resonate in me. One name that soothes all of my jangled nerves. One name that awakes my senses to make me believe what LIVING is!
If ‘Thank You’ could convey my overwhelming gratitude, I would have been grateful to the two words.
Sincerely yours
Miss Impossible
Yours is the voice I have slept like a child in. Your voice- the cradle of unconditional love. You have guarded me like a cavern from the grotesque callousness of life. You have been a placenta , I have curled like a fetus in, every time.
Yours is the baritone, I have found refuge in ,while I spent a thousand nomadic nights, sleep deprived. Every time, I made you sing, you sang earnestly without complaint, without weariness. You went on, on and on! Your voice rings in my soul, you purge every corner of me, cleanse me of all of my impurities thus elevating me to a higher ground.
Yours is the visage , I have painted a thousand times on the canvas of my imagination. Yours is the name that shines on the firmament of my otherwise spotless mind. You inebriate me. I am drunk on you.
You’re my unknown benefactor, my Guardian Angel, my savior! You have smoothened the distortions that I had in me. You filled me to the brim with love. I don’t know when my pond like stagnant heart became as wide and as deep as an oceanic basin, the floor of which safeguards your pearls , your treasures of wisdom.
You poured in me everything. With your every song, I knew I formed you within me. You happen within me like a swirling whirlpool. If ‘I love you’ could convey all what I feel for you.
You’re that one word that talks the sweetest, that talks the briefest , the word that encompasses all of my world, the word that echoes and fills my conscience like a night that effortlessly fills every nook every corner of a forest.
I doodle your name and thus I write volumes of poetry . Yours is the name, where all my pilgrimage resides.
Marko….ooh…ooh… ooh ….ooh
This is how you resonate in me. One name that soothes all of my jangled nerves. One name that awakes my senses to make me believe what LIVING is!
If ‘Thank You’ could convey my overwhelming gratitude, I would have been grateful to the two words.
Sincerely yours
Miss Impossible
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