The sands of despair

For once I'm not at all liking this cloudy weather. Technically it's not even cloudy. Just a lot of sand hanging in the air and blocking out the sun. Since morning the outside world has been consistently subdued, orange tinged (of a sickly variety), dusty and windy. That I'm safe from this unhealthy atmosphere ensconced within four walls, comfortably air conditioned doesn't gratify me in the least. Perhaps it's because as I look out occasionally to berate at the unrelenting bad weather I see a few souls out exposed to the risks to their health which they must take in order to keep up their livelihood. It just doesn't seem fair however illogical my indignation is. Or perhaps it's because of the fact that I can't even venture out to blow away my proverbial cobwebs since I must consider the health of my toddler if not my own. The weather application on my phone claims today to be dreary which aptly describes the reason for the depth my mood has gradually plunged to. Ironic what a few million tonnes of sand in the air can do. Prayer helped, but since probably my spiritual state is woefully weak I couldn't maintain that meditative calmness after I finished praying. It's one of those unreasonable moments of despair when neither contemplating how things could be worse nor counting one's blessings helps. Contentment seems like a mythical concept and worries that are usually in a distant background seem to hang like a millstone around the neck. The mind alternately becomes listless and restless and the soul yearns to shed human dignity and pushes the body to run amok screaming ferally at anything and everything. But then I couldn't really subject those poor souls outside to such insanity when they are already being exposed to the potential threats of dusty, polluted air. And with that I've come a full circle, beginning and ending this rant with woes of a bad weather. It is my fervent hope that soon my mood rises to a peaceful state whence I can gratefully and humbly contemplate how things could be worse and count my blessings. 

The found

O traveller under the blanket of night

Take little heed of your pitiful plight

Dark and wretched the path may be

Only by the light within will you see.

O seeker of the answers wise

Be wary of pride in disguise

The faults that down mansions are often small

So dwell in a place where there’s no further to fall.

O sailor of the tempestuous sea

Look how tenuous your life can be

Don’t you, with hands stretched heavenwards, implore

Only to forget on the safe lap of shore.

O wanderer of the distant lands

Your travels seem more aimless than drifting sands

Have you some secret that could only be

The traveller’s, the seeker’s, the sailor’s envy?

O lover of the Beloved unseen

More lost than the wanderer you seem

What can I, to this drunken soul, say

Which by losing itself has found the Way?

O Maker of worlds, most Divine

For these souls is this humble prayer of mine

Bless them; wake them up from their sobriety

Except for, as a lover himself said, let the lover be.

The redemption

Sing me a lullaby deep into the night
Take me by the hand through the dark
Hold my world while the dreams take flight
Soaring and plunging, until sings the lark

You listen to my pleas with pitying eyes
You grant my wishes thinking me frail
I'm flawed, not frail, without fondness for lies
For indeed there's only truth in this sad tale

Your songs don't reach the abyss of my mind
Where nightmares mock at the guilt of my dreams
Not a fear they dispel, nor an end they find
Where my world only falls and the lark only screams

Yet give me no promise of a dawning hour
But bind me, chain me or just let me be
I will curb my desires, rob myself of power
When was I ever of this world to be free?

If my soul from sins can only darkness keep
Then a thousand sad tales I will live, and die
As long as you hold my world when I sleep
As long as you sing me your lullaby

The closure - II

Even nightmares are a blessing in this difficult world. They hold a promise of unimaginable relief when they end with awakening.

It seemed like a monster had walked through our street, wreaking havoc, whether in mad fury or drunken frenzy I couldn't say. Trees were uprooted or bent or broken, leaves and twigs and mud were strewn all over, and the streetlights were all out, looking forlorn and dripping rain water like tears. I eased my breathing and inhaled slowly taking in the smells of wet earth, wood and ozone. I had slept through the cold and a storm. I bridled my mind. It was just a storm. It didn't change the necessity to find him. Storms were common. He was not. I walked into the wreck and the rain, barefoot and unmindful of the pebbles and twigs and other sharp debris. If not uncomfortable, the pain under my feet made me alert and aware of my surroundings. It was as if I had walked into a life sized greyscale picture. Past the lop sided iron gate, I walked on the cobblestone street. Cobblestone? I stopped and stared wide eyed at the grey stones at my feet and then slowly looked around taking in the stretch of cobblestone spread far till the eyes could see through the grey haze of rain that still fell lightly, relentlessly. Fear crept over me and I turned around and saw the same expanse of grey stones tightly packed into the ground, haphazard, bumpy and endless. The house was gone. My heart threatened to burst out of my chest as I slowly turned a full circle. All the houses were gone. The trees remained, the streetlights still stood, even the iron gate and the gates of other houses and their gardens and fences in various stages of damage. I broke into a run then, along what once was our street. The rain drops hit me and soaked my clothes and seeped into my hair. The cold seeped further into my skin and flesh and bones. I ran through the murky greyness and after a while a wall loomed suddenly in front of me. It was low, barely reaching my waist and made of stones that were, yet again stubbornly grey. And beyond the wall was a sudden drop of a couple of dozen feet ending with the same cobbled ground. That too stretched in every direction, strewn with destroyed vegetation and loose earth. There, at a distance just before my vision was limited by the grey haze, I saw something that stood out starkly against the monotony of destruction. The only bit of colour in the greyscale picture. Hope flared in me and I clung to it like a drowning person. I looked down, over the wall and my heart sank. It was quite a drop. I glanced to my right and saw that the wall stretch for quite a distance before disappearing behind the veils of falling rain. I turned left and to my amazement saw stairs leading down along the wall. I took the stairs without another thought and found myself plunged into a fog after a few steps. It faltered me a bit but I kept going hoping it would clear away at the end. It did thankfully as I reached the bottom. From there I couldn't see the coloured figure but I now had a sense of its location and bolted to my right. I ran hard and fast looking in every direction hoping to catch a glimpse of colour. I was almost out of breath and thinking of slowing down when I saw a flash of blue in front of me. All rest forgotten, I covered the last few feet and stopped dead when I realized that the blue belonged to a pair of jeans. A painfully familiar pair of jeans. One step closer, and I saw a white shirt, soaked yet somehow pristine. Another step, and I saw the face of the person whom the clothes belonged to. I hadn't noticed the feet since had blended so well with the grey stones; just like the face so pale and ashen and so familiar; just like the eyes so dark and vacant and dead staring sightlessly into the stormy sky, into the world that felt just as dead to me in that infinite moment.

~~~ 

 I gently touched her cheek hoping it would wake her up. The slight frown on her face troubled me and I debated whether to rouse her or not. The chill of the previous night had dissipated and apart from a few stray clouds, the day held a sunny promise. Her frown deepened and I became more worried. I was about to call her name to wake her up when tears suddenly sprung up at the corners of her closed eyes. Now my worry was bordering around panic. Just when I held her shoulders to shake her gently to wakefulness, her eyes flew open. At first I was startled and then shocked to see sheer terror on her face. For a moment that seemed to stretch endlessly she looked at me with those brown, terrified eyes and then, in the next, she was up and crashing into me, throwing her arms around my chest in a tight embrace that knocked my breath away and almost pushed me off my seat. When I could breathe again a beat later, I noticed that my hands had fallen off her shoulders and the front of my shirt was slowly getting drenched. Her tears were like tempest and she was weeping like a burst dam. But I just circled my arms around her protectively and didn't let that worry me. I knew she had forgiven me and, more importantly, forgiven herself and that was enough. For once, I didn't ask what had transpired beyond the frown and the tears. For once, I just held her close and let her cry.

The closure - I

My broken heart’s sorrows are deep.

Painful, disturbed, broken my sleep.

If you don’t believe, send me your thoughts

And you will see how in sleep I weep.

- Hafiz

We fought all morning. After almost an hour into the fight if I’d paused for a moment to recall how it had started I’d have had trouble remembering. Two hours into it and it wouldn’t have mattered at all. I was so angry and upset and hurt that I was blinded to reasoning. All I wanted to do was lash out at her. And to see that she wasn’t backing down either made me angrier. I’d been in a couple of fights before. But that day it was the first time for me where only words were involved. And for the first time that day I learnt that I preferred fists. The anger dissipated with each blow, whether mine or my opponent’s, in such fights and, they ended quickly. Here, the anger only increased and the words never seemed to end. That day they finally did after a particularly hurtful comment spoken by me that shocked me almost as much as it did her. Her eyes blazed, as if my words had stoked the ember already burning in there to a fire. Pain boiled over, spilling in rapid tears as she stepped purposefully towards me, raised her hand and slapped me. Hard. And then right in front of me she buried her face into her hands and crumpled to the floor. 

~~~

I knew I’d regret what I was about to do as soon as I’d taken the first step towards him, closing the gap that was in every way but physically ravaged by our war of words. What I didn’t know was how heavy the burden of regret would be. As I cried silently on the floor I felt the sting on my palm that had made contact with his cheek and I realized I preferred his hurtful words than this sudden and resounding silence brought about by me. It seemed to stretch for a terribly long time before I heard the sound of a door opening and shutting. He didn’t even slam it on his way out. I wished he had. I’d deserve it. Or maybe a kick in the gut before walking away. I closed my eyes and wept some more. My tears pooled around my cheek that was pressed on the cool floor. I was a mess but I didn’t care. I couldn’t think of anything but the person who’d just walked out of the house. I don’t know how long I lay there. When I opened my eyes it was dark and the tears had stopped, leaving sticky and salty trails on my face. My hair was a mess and my body stiff from lying curled up on the cold floor for too long. I blinked several times and realized I had a splitting headache and was thankful for the gloom. I got up slowly and groped my way across the dark and lonely house. When I reached my bed I fell gratefully into it, instantly asleep.

 ~~~

The streetlights seemed too harsh in the moonless and chilly night. I flinched every time I walked under one of those bright sentinels that regarded me silently while they shone with all their brilliance to keep the darkness at a safe distance. Unfortunately they couldn’t do the same for the cold that pressed me from all sides. I neither had a jacket nor were my clothes warm enough for the weather. Shivering slightly I stuffed my hands in my jeans pockets and started walking at a brisk pace to work up some body heat. It didn’t help much and it served me right. Leaving her there like that, all alone, crying was a stupid, stupid thing to do. Now I was going back hours later hoping the worst was over, like a coward. I turned the corner that led to the house and stopped dead in my tracks. The house was shrouded in darkness. After having walked down a too bright street, the sudden gloom was unnerving. It seemed like the nearest streetlights had taken great care to keep the house in shadows and shed their light elsewhere. I stepped in closing the door quietly behind me. Everywhere was darkness so absolute that it was disorienting. I navigated with little ease, even with the map of the house etched in my brain, until finally I reached the bedroom. Switching on the night light I saw her lying across the bed, still in the same clothes I’d last seen her, what seemed like, ages go. Under the soft light, with her hair untied and tousled and dried tears staining her cheeks, she was a heartbreaking sight. I suddenly felt very tired. Without bothering to change I tucked myself into the edge of bed and went to sleep.

 ~~~

I woke up with a start and immediately noticed two things. It wasn’t dark anymore and the room was freezing. My blanket lay neatly folded beside my legs and I briefly wondered if it was the cold that had woken me up. The other blanket however lay in a heap on the floor. He’d come back last night I was relieved to note. Also my headache and stiffness had vanished. All my idle musing and comfort were shattered when I realized I was, yet again, the only living soul in the house. The feeling of loneliness was too tangible to be dismissed. The day was cloudy and grey with bleak sunlight that made it impossible to guess the time. The wall clock was high up in the shadows that the light from the windows couldn’t dispel. Suddenly I didn’t want to know the time anymore. I forgot about the cold and the grumbling stomach that tried in vain to remind me that I hadn’t fed it since breakfast the previous morning. All I wanted was to find him, apologize and bring him back. As I passed by the windows on my way out I realized it was raining lightly. It seemed like God had particularly chosen the dreariest weather for this day. Ignoring my growing dread I stepped out of the house and almost reeled back at the sight in front me. Through the foggy breaths that were coming out rapidly of my mouth I saw utter destruction.

Contd.

The wish

I've maimed myself. There is no excuse to cry or blame. The world still turns. The movement splashes colours in front of me. If I could just stop I would see. The stillness wants to whisper to me secrets. If I could just pause to listen I would hear. The movement, the stillness and everything in between; if I could just care enough I would feel. I have let this noise sweep me away effortlessly. The night is no more enigmatic, the rain is nothing but wet. Is there a loss that I must mourn or an irrelevance I must ignore? Should I stop to wonder at the depths of all that holds meaning? I question that whose answers are already known. My heedlessness is a vicious parasite. I console myself with pathetic excuses; with delusions behind whose tattered veils I hide. A sorry soul once oblivious to the rabble but now immersed in it would leave little room for pity. Why do I choose to stay in this gloom? It was an easy choice once, but no more the most satisfying. Words brave this gloom and come to me, but turn away after waiting in vain to manifest, disappointed. They call me a coward and I grow weary of this guilt. I yearn to weave magic with my gift. To give life to thoughts. A desire to pen an ode to things as obvious as a thunderstorm and as subtle as the reflection of a lover in the eyes of the beloved. A desire to see where I was only looking. A desire to feel. A desire to live again...

The sunshine girl

A light of wonders paints a rainbow in the skies

So does your ready smile and that glint in your eyes

Maybe there's a story or a secret to be told

Share a new adventure or some memories of the old

Laughter tinkles and spreads like a wildfire

Douses all the anger and abates all the ire

Trivial seem the sorrows and the senseless fears

When we laugh, silent and hard, crying happy tears

Your heart ceaselessly searches for any taint of despair

To wash it away with prayers and concern and care

At times you come seeking comfort and advice

Giving me a chance to put back the rainbow in the skies

A thousand seasons change within a moment on your face

You're a colourful soul, many worlds filled in one place

If this beauty were to outwardly glow

Heads would turn, hearts would stop everywhere you go

To some you're a confidante, a kind friend to some

Oblivious you're of the blessing that you've become

A light of wonders so pure and bright and whole

Let your colours spread and shine on my soul

The Deathly Quiet of the Living

A tear stains his rough, lined and aged cheek

His story he tells with words forced and meek

Of a mother’s broken sigh, of a wail of a child unfed

Of a father’s struggle, of the silence of the dead

Children gather mutely, half naked, filthy and frail

Around the old man who tonelessly recounts his tale

No more spark in their sunken eyes as they vacantly stare

No more will for anguish, no more strength for despair

Resignedly he shows me the graves beyond a wall

Heartbreakingly many and many heartbreakingly small

If this goes on, he says, none from his village will remain

Their straits are dire yet their pleading will be in vain

In the wilted fields, in the parched, cracked lands

Under the harshest sun, over the most arid sands

As far as the eye can see only emptiness and barrenness reign

Yet it is their home; to forsake it their hearts won’t deign

How many times have I pushed away my food with distaste

“This fruit is not to my liking, this bread is nothing but waste!”

If only I knew of their unending suffering and sacrifice

For every grain I would thank, for every crumb I would rejoice

If saints and prophets were to see the man’s present state

The power-hungry monster, the wealth-snatching ingrate

They would cry, is this the man to whom we fervently told

To share his wealth, to feed the poor, to care for the old?

How fortunate we are that Divine Mercy exceeds the Wrath

Still compassionate souls live to walk in the saints’ and prophets’ path

As long as the earth hums with their tireless efforts to keep their word

There’s hope that the old man’s sad tale will soon be heard

This poem is dedicated to the Somali people and everyone else around the world suffering and dying from hunger, and also to those men and women working day and night to eradicate this suffering.

The hiatus

It’s been a while. I’ve never gone so long without writing since I took it up as a hobby seriously. Not just blogging, since not everything I write goes up on my blog site; but writing in general. There have been numerous days when I’ve found myself huddled in my room with a battered diary and a pen furiously jotting down whatever that sprung up in my mind as a result of an epiphany or inspiration. My creativity would go on a manic overdrive consistently, if unpredictably. I could afford this literal insanity; even wholeheartedly welcome it, since everything else was so constant, so predictable, and normal to the point of being boring. Then there came a deluge of changes. All kinds of changes. Changes in me, around me, in others. A few expected, many others unexpected and all of them inevitable. The phrase ‘nothing lasts forever’ took a whole new level of meaning for me. It’s so easy to delude ourselves that we do it quite unwittingly. It is quite easy when things are going normally for us. We live in a bubble without even knowing of its existence until something or someone comes along and bursts it to nothingness. Now this happens to everyone at some point or the other I’m sure. What sets us apart from each other is how we set about to do the damage control. In the end it comes down to the realization that just as the bubble of contentment met its end, this gloom will have an end too. And it’s not necessary that solving all the problems and finding the answers to predicaments will lift the gloom. There are no ultimate winners or losers in this fragile, never-lasting realm. You've won a little over life just by deciding to face its problems and lost by choosing to run away from them. Already I feel like I’ve triumphed over my inconsistent writing dilemma by spewing out so much “deep stuff” while fiction writing has always been my repertoire. So despite all the tears and heartbreaks an mishaps and all the known and unknown things that go with them that I’d rather avoid, there’s still one insanity that I can afford and wholeheartedly welcome.

The Joy That Wounds

You try to be faithful

And sometimes you're cruel.

You are mine. Then, you leave.

Without you, I can't cope.

And when you take the lead,

I become your footstep.

Your absence leaves a void.

Without you, I can't cope.

You have disturbed my sleep,

You have wrecked my image.

You have set me apart.

Without you, I can't cope.

~ Rumi

The haunt

0337 hours.

As I sit here unable to succumb to sleep watching a storm struggling to unleash but not quite getting there, I remember other nights that lay more significant imprint on my memory. Not just with their better luck with storms but whatever such nights entailed. One particular stormy night was, among other things, a merciful show of Nature compared to what, it, the Nature had wreaked not many days previously, in a land safely distant from ours. The bright morning of that fateful day had just begun to witness an enthusiastic and tri-coloured display of celebration of a deeply instilled patriotism. As it is the way of thing, the enthusiasts were mostly schoolchildren in whom the love for their nation yet remained genuine, innocent and unconditional. Unsuspecting to those who rejoiced and also those who didn’t, (she never paused to differentiate) the Earth trembled violently and brought absolute chaos, death and destruction. As the land shook and tore and folded and cracked, many of those who had just begun to commemorate its republicanism, perished.

Like any other day struck by the wrath of Nature it was a day of agony, loss and pain. And for many more days and months and years to come it would continue to be. Fear of another unpredictable disaster gripped the many vulnerable lands with its icy clutches. We reeled with shock, we mourned and we became wrought with wariness. In our own home the concern and fear became disturbingly palpable on that stormy night which this memory of mine has borne. It was unprecedented for it to storm as it was too early in the year for any kind of noisy weather. Winter, at least in climatic theory, was in full swing. But our household, still diligently wary of nature, couldn't see an unusual storm as just another unusual storm. This untimed phenomenon only fed our fear, I, of course, was too young to grasp the paranoia. My fear then only encompassed the flashing lightening, the roaring thunder and the howling, rain laden wind. The real fear dawned on me only after I was told that we were all going to sleep together in one room that night. This sudden announcement brought more dread than comfort. And this dread whispered terrifying secrets into my naive heart.

The howling night is ominous. The electricity is gone, gloom is everywhere those flickering lamps cannot reach and the loved ones from whose unexpected nearness you are trying to draw courage and a sense of safety will only give you a momentary respite. Just wait till slumber takes over. Just wait till the dark oblivion tears your defences down. Until then remember the torn lives and ripped homes that plagued the other land not so long ago. It didn't matter that it was a cheery morning and young eager innocents like you wore their best, waved flags and ate sweets, did it? Now this night is anything but cheery and festive. This unusual solidarity to face what is to come among your kin is your final comfort. Just wait. As this drenched night deepens it will witness a catastrophe not unlike the one that bright morning did. Seek reprieve in this unusual gesture of togetherness in the face of concern and fear, while it lasts. For once the world has slept, it will be rudely awoken to the screams of more than just the stormy night.

The lamps winked out, the storms abated as if it never happened and the world awoke with the sun and yet, like tonight, I didn't succumb to sleep. 

The transcendent

Flickering dreams within dreams of the past

Fleeting glimpses and flashes of deep secrets they cast

A woven silken spell so tender and benign

Neither a vision of promise nor an ominous sign

A sea of delusion as the heart’s dark refuge

An innocent, unsuspecting of impending deluge

Of the poisoned truth and the ravaged lies

The facade of bonds hiding the severed ties

Lest it succumbs, the mind hunts for grace

Shunning the tempt of an image, an ethereal face

That which ruled thoughts from the glorious helm

Now only haunts the recesses of the dark realm

The journey began to meet its infantile end

A clarity, fate from its murky depths did lend

That the days of travel would be painfully brief

And memories would bring back a souvenir of grief

All crushed, the traitorous heart dauntlessly hums

The rhythm of life until the call to relinquish comes

As it falters and breaks and languishes and burns

In an illusion of reality the world impenitently turns

Many colours the relentless angel in flesh had brought

Riddled with mortality, this tortured heart it sought

Its relentless soul, the heart will yearn and meet its demise

Hoping to meet the seeker in the plains of eternal sunrise

The perdition

Deep in the bowels of his darkness he stirred uneasily. Dawn was approaching and he could not but wait for it with much trepidation. His dawn was not like the dawn of the illusory yet deceptively tangible world. Dawn marked the start of the day and activities of most of these vain mortals. For him dawn was the rise of a ball of fire whose purpose and affects were much different from its heavenly counterpart. And the dawn was approaching earlier and with much more deliberation with the passing of each earthly day. This gave him lesser time to recuperate, to plot, to try to take over.

How had things gone so horribly wrong? He had been a fool to rejoice in that painfully short lived victory. Looking back, it seemed like it was no victory at all. No. that pseudo-victory had been the start of this inexplicable nightmare. If only he could glimpse the future. But he couldn’t. That didn’t belong in his bag of tricks that he was so proud of, which now seemed suddenly short so many more tricks he wished to possess. He couldn’t worry about that now. Dawn was arriving, much faster that it had previously. And he had to get tot work. Although the work weakened him he couldn’t stop. Stopping would mean the death of him or something morbidly equivalent, since mortality wasn’t known to his kind of entity.

This wasn’t always how it used to be. His abode was a welcome retreat. A place where he relished each moment of his existence and his many exploits thrived. He’d never required rest; it was as alien to him as mortality. Those little potent conscience-induced moments that his abode went through routinely, barely managed to slow down his pace. He had been relentless. He had been a conqueror. He used to successfully invade every thought and action and disposition that his abode manifested and turn them his way. And when the world slept, it felt like he’d attained an awakening beyond his perpetual wakeful state. So many possibilities, so many avenues of adventure, so much darkness, so much power. He was never carried away of course. He knew he’s being watched. He knew it better than any of these unsuspecting mortal fools who were often swept away by their unknown powers at the slightest ghost of his whisper. How he used to mock and jeer and laugh at them. How his soundless voice reverberated endlessly within the bounds of his abode. And when the great Opportunity had knocked at his abode’s door he’d welcomed it with much malicious delight. One slip and the world had been his. He’d marveled at his fortune, reveled at the complete shift if power to his hands, celebrated the senseless thrill of what seemed to be the biggest conquest of all. What a fool he had been!

Now it seemed like the power that had so gloriously peaked to its highest extent had just as rapidly plunged to a dangerously low level. Yet, he worked, he had to work; laboriously yet diligently. His work was what kept him going; gave meaning and purpose to his eternal existence; fed his go; empowered his prized arrogance. He felt raging anger. His abode had turned against him; threatened to expel his presence. He knew his extinction was impossible but the mere intention directed towards that impossible goal weakened the tools of rebellion that he treasured so much. He could start an all-out war. But he had and knew his limits. After all he’s being watched. What was iniquitously worse was that he was being attacked without prior warning. His abode had not only turned against him but fortified itself with unpredictable, mercilessly potent yet efficient weapons. His trickery and tools were mere playthings in front of such an arsenal.

What a shame it was! Why couldn’t he just get rid of them when they were lying there dormant and buried. They’d seemed so harmless then. He was so brazenly confident about the power of his tools and tricks. They were so easy to manifest. Humanity frowned upon them but was secretly slave to them. Such hypocrisy! What a charm and allure it had. His other tools were no less either. The seductive greed, the consuming selfishness, the thrilling anger, the soothing slander, the addictive grief, the hypnotic desire, on and on they went. Now these tools were the ones that lay dormant, occasionally unleashing their power, but feebly so, failing pathetically to cast a lasting effect. Now he was up against the fiery patience, the torturous gentleness, the unforgiving kindness, the harsh humility, the soul-searing love, the bludgeoning belief, the painful trust, the terrifying hope and so many more horrors that he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Dawn was upon him, the first rays of blinding light made up of devoted mind, fervent heart, praying lips and weeping eyes that cut like invisible blades through his dark dominion. Yet, he worked; used his tools; fought to get his abode back. He couldn’t stop. He had after all sworn never to.

The stellar reach

Do you know beyond the rising moon

A star awaits to sparkle soon?

Yearning to shine, unwavering

Far more than just a traveller’s boon

She dipped into the sea of night

Embraced the dark with much delight

A cold fire that burned with grace

Neither daunted nor out of sight

A guiding light, a gift so pure

A loyal friend, so firm so sure

A Divine sign for those who ponder

A lover’s hope, a poet’s lure

Beheld her, the child, eyes agape

A diamond on a smooth black cape

That child was I, a child no more

With life to mend and dreams to shape

Yet now I gaze into the sky

Watch her as eons pass her by

Untouched by them will she remain

While I will age, wither and die

The Dusk

Deep on the horizon, built of the hottest of fires

Burns with the last of its might like the fiercest desires

Layers upon layers of heavenly magic it weaves

Beckoning to the darkness, for the other side as it leaves.

Shimmering and languid rivers, like lava they flow

Bathed in soft saffron, trees like embers aglow

Orange in the forests, glittering rubies in the sea

Golden in your hair, as fiery eyes gaze deeply at me.

Hypnotic hues melt hearts by kindling fires within

Enrapture us with fables that don’t end, only begin

Surreal painted skies none but Divinely contrived

Gifting us a moment whence a mythical autumn has arrived

Come, revel in this wondrous, painfully short hour

Ablaze with all its beauty near the shift of power

If tomorrow’s promise breaks bringing darkness and gloom

With the last blazing sunset on our souls we will enter our doom.

The gift

As I got on the train that cool rainy night I felt apprehension for the first time regarding the journey we were about to undertake. I must have come to terms with the excitement, joy and curiosity that had eclipsed the prospect of travelling to and seeing a new place. Now I trudged warily into the compartment pulling my luggage behind me that suddenly felt heavier than it was. The atmosphere was filled with general excitement, confusion and noises as fellow travellers strove to settle themselves in their respective seats. Trying to shake off negative thoughts I determinedly attempted to blend into the environment. It helped that I had to focus all my attention on finding my seat and keeping my belongings in their allotted places. But as soon as we were all settled the apprehension came back. I said a little prayer this time to keep the worst of my fears at bay; the fear of all the possible things that could go wrong and uncontrollably awry. After a while as the train began moving, Dad struck up a light, humorous conversation that further allayed my anxiety. I did purposefully allow myself a little apprehension though, to prime myself in the face of adversity.

A couple of hours or so into the journey had passed and the cacophonic environment had changed into a slumber haven as we crept into the late hours of the night. To the one still awake the atmosphere could either infuse in one’s heart an eerie loneliness in the midst of a train full of travellers or a peaceful solitude, detached from the stillness of the world outside, together with a few people most of whom as an added advantage had wilfully surrendered to the realm of temporary death. I wished for the latter; to indulge myself in a sense of serenity. But the remnants of my impalpable fear had let the former reign for a good part of my waking hours. I knew my attempts to sleep at this point would be futile. So I just lay on my berth and tried to turn my mental loneliness to my favour. I kept glancing at my cell phone screen that, when network allowed, showed names of new and bizarre-sounding names of places whose reception areas we passed through. I held on to it like a lifeline that connected me to the outside world. Occasionally the cell phone chimed and I would find a message from a friend who seemed to be living in a safe part of the world, not gripped by the vice of uncertainty. Later I would find this thought to be preposterous because my rational mind then would point out the obvious fact that the world of events is a prime representative of perpetual uncertainty. With my heart tipping towards vulnerability, rationale seemed like its least possible aid. Consequently I began thinking about things that had occurred recently. I remembered the day when Dad announced the confirmation of our train tickets. When he added with great flourish that we would be travelling in AC compartment it drew a lot of cheer and relief from everyone except me. I muttered my disapproval over its boxed confinement, its heavily tinted windows with poor or no outside view, the pungent staleness in the supposedly conditioned air and the overall lack of freedom of openness. I expressed my preference for second class compartments.  I had to relent owing to the hearty approval of the majority. It was too late anyway to make any changes. The next day, the subject of our much anticipated trip came up once again and Dad announced that our return journey would be in second class compartment. Amid the mini-chaos that followed I was profoundly touched the immense consideration in this small act of his. He had promptly transferred the seat reservations from AC to second class at just the whiff of my half-heartedness. His concern and thoughtfulness overwhelmed me and the feeling was little affected by the hostile vibes of AC cab preferring enthusiasts.

Lying on my berth I smiled as I recalled the incident and my heart lifted a significant bit. The atmosphere started to feel much serene and less lonely. More thoughts and memories came flooding into my mind and I revelled in them. I was amazed at how a mere shift in the state of mind dispelled fears and lifted my spirits. Some amount of wariness still remained but it existed as a persistent by-product of my alertness. I glanced at the heavily tinted window. Even with the poor visibility I imagined a cool, ink-blue, star-studded night with a partial moon struggling to outshine other heavenly entities. The train was moving with a steady speed now. The tell-tale rhythmic sounds of hundreds of wheels turning over gapped metal tracks and the pistons and the engine and the occasional distant blare of the horn created an unprecedented  mechanical melody that dipped and soared as the sounds echoed off nearby and far-off valleys, hills, plains and houses. The melody filled me and lulled me and the steady swaying of the cab infused in me a distantly familiar calmness. As I slowly drifted away from consciousness I remembered a familiar deep but gentle voice that crooned age old lullabies and the strong hands that held and cradled me to sleep under the partially moonlit, cool, ink-blue, star-studded night.

As I slept dreamlessly, hours passed and miles were traversed of which I was blissfully unaware. From across the bridge of nothingness a voice called out my name, faintly at first but gaining strength with every call. The voice was same as the one I had remembered as I had drifted off to sleep. It grew louder but not uncomfortably so and as my mind broke through the realm of sleep, I realised someone was gently waking me up. The voice spoke my name again and I slowly opened my eyes, registered the all too familiar face through the early morning gloom and smiled sleepily at my Dad.

The contest VII

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 The blog contest is back. Show your best on the July edition of the Blog contest.
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The shower

The day hadn’t begun remarkably. All the joy and the positivity that comes along with a brand new day went hurtling out my seventh floor window when I swore loudly as soon as my bleary eyes registered the time on my cell phone screen. I was late. Again. I had to be somewhere important but I had overslept. Again. And so the first word out of my mouth on that brand new day was a curse. And yet I wonder why my day hadn’t begun remarkably. By the time I threw on some clothes and made my face look like it didn’t belong to a constantly oversleeping person, my self admonition had ended and I happened to glance outside the window through which joy and positivity had recently jumped and met their premature deaths.

Patches of threateningly rain-laden clouds were scattered all the way till the horizon but it seemed like they had temporarily let the sun peek from its hiding place. The daunting downpour of the previous night had washed the city thoroughly and it gleamed brightly in places where sunlight had nervously managed to reach.

A glance at my wall clock (that conveniently hung over the window) shattered the rosy description of the outside world and shifted me back to my oh-shit-I’m-late mode. I was about to curse loudly again when Mother called me for breakfast. Ugh! I was too late to even think of breakfast. As I entered the dining hall I saw Mother holding a plate with slices of bread smeared with butter and jam on it. “Eat fast. You’re already late,” she said, like I needed any reminding. I was about to rush of the house when she called again. I turned, only to find her shoving an umbrella into my unsuspecting hands. It looked old, dusty and barely used, rightly indicating my irrational aversion towards umbrellas. Naturally I opened my mouth to retaliate. She gave me one of her stern-mother looks that always made me back down and brought to my mind a picture of a puppy whimpering and retreating with its tail between its legs.

Tapping my foot impatiently on the ground and looking at my wrist watch occasionally like some Big Shot I scanned the sea of infuriatingly slow moving traffic and felt a feral urge to curse again. Oh stop it, dirt-mouth! As if that’s going to help, said a small but firm voice inside me I’d like to call conscience. Its sane, no-nonsense words were still resonating in my mind when I sighted an unoccupied rickshaw approaching me. Without even having the need to flag it down it slowed to a stop right in front of me. The driver was kind enough to only give me an amused smile when I blurted out a thank you for stopping for me and saving my day. As he drove me to my destination I reminded myself I had to visit the library later, a prospect that immediately squished my near hysteria. My lateness was pardoned (yet again!) which further relieved most of my ridiculous tension. By the time I set out to go to the library there was positively a spring in my step.

The grey clouds had gathered over the city again after it seemed fit to them that the sun had shone enough for the day. Consequently they began their promised onslaught as it began pouring heavily; the sound of falling rain reminding me of a large crowd bursting into a hearty laughter all at once. I smiled widely even as I grudgingly opened the old contraption of spring, steel, plastic and nylon (or whatever. No way am I mentioning the name again!). I really didn’t want to end up sopping wet in the library and drip all over the books. As I issued a few books and headed out I saw the rain had no plan of relenting. Humming a tune of no song in particular I walked gleefully on the sidewalk stepping purposefully on the flowing rivulets of rain water that gushed noisily as they ploughed into things on their way and drained into gutters. The black canopy over my head was serving the purpose of keeping the books that I carried fairly dry. Meanwhile I happily splashed my way through the puddles and streams completely wetting my clothes well up to the knees and almost all of my right side. The books were tucked inside my bag that hung for its dear dry life from my left shoulder. I looked around and it was like seeing through a clear silver-grey glass. The usual din of the city was drowned out by the orchestra of raindrops of every size pelting themselves on any exposed surface.

 The vibes I felt of the general disapproval, annoyance and impatience were reflected by the scene around me. Pedestrians huddled under their, well, devices they use for ‘protection’ against the rain, skipping and prancing over puddles and streams vainly, while some just hurried along wading through the water (although they had an expression on their faces that looked like they were being forcefully made to swallow something bitter!). Some people had taken shelter under trees or awnings of shops or anything that bore even a slight semblance of a roof. On the whole, everyone around me was doing everything they could to get away from the rain and its wetness while I promenaded on the sidewalk revelling in its freshness. I was so content in my little bubble of joy. By the time I reached home I was dripping and sopping wet from waist down and my sandals were making a squishy sound with every step I took. I giggled giddily like a five year old on a sugar rush and punched the door bell. Mother smiled despite herself as she took in the sight of my silly grin and my crazily flapping wet clothes. Still smiling she let me in and said, “You look quite like a very wet crow, dear.” I chuckled at her comment and opened my mouth to reply but instead gave out a sudden almighty sneeze. Mother burst out laughing and the day was remarkable again.

The contest VI

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June contest is here. Post your best on the Blog Contest.
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The crumbling bridge

If misery had a face I’m ready to believe it is smiling smugly right now. It knew all along that I’d inevitably choose to drown in its lightless and hopeless abyss without even putting up a fight to try to get to the surface. Now there just remains a painful wait to finally reach the bottom which, a good part of life has taught me, would never come. I should try to get out of this misery, one might wisely suggest. But the fact that I’d willingly walked into it has made it that much more difficult to get out. Not that I want to. Hopelessness has blinded me and I perceive nothing but a stark gaping void that mocks me with its perpetual presence. Misery has filled the void to its brim like dark waters encroaching dry low lands at the start of imminent floods. And I’ve welcomed the floods.

I had never imagined the lack of physical presence of certain souls would have such staggering consequences. I have no idea for how long I had convinced myself that I’d eventually learn to live with the void before sadly realizing I had been fooling myself.

Life has shifted its wheels to an unfamiliar terrain on which I tread warily. New and unpredictable commitments demand my reluctant attention and mutter disapproval at my attempts to look back at the times when different lives crossed paths regularly and intertwined easily. A few familiar voices assure me, coax me, and encourage me in vain to take things as they come, be grateful and move on. Some of those voices are laced with concern, some with impatience and some with exasperation. But they are all drowned out by the by the incessant, unfamiliar chatter that corrodes the peace of my mind and tests my patience. It is relentless in its purpose to prod and pry. At this point all I want to do is run away to a place where all my problems become redundant. I wish for all these distractions to just vanish forever. I crave for solitude not realizing it has already infested the dark waters of misery. My craving strengthens it as I slide helplessly into the clutches of loneliness. The mindless chatter prevails but it is the least of my problems now. Life goes on like a slow pointless dream as I struggle to conform to the new reality while my mind wanders aimlessly in the hopeful past. My struggle is futile, I’m taking all the wrong turns and misery smiles some more. I’ve inadvertently built for myself a world of cruel irony where loneliness that I’d once so fervently craved for has become the ultimate distraction.