Primitive, strong and wild,
This love flickers and burns,
In your eyes, near my beating heart.
Your name is my treasure,
I would never utter aloud,
And spoil it with too much use.
Your name brings blushes,
Your memory smiles as I walk,
Through the same paths.
Your smile, so innocent and fleeting,
Your face buried in my bosom,
In a season of silence.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Primitive, strong and wild,
Friday, January 30, 2009
Voices whisper in the head
Claims of having bred, fed and loved,
While they have done nothing but bled,
Tied by an invisible umblical cord,
A noose on the neck,
Bled, this poor heart,
From its freedom instead,
And coming back speaking of
Duties having bred, fed and loved,
When it would have been better
To have left alone without any claims.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
What happens when Love Laws made by the society are broken? The laws which dictate who should be loved, how and how much. Arundhati Roy’s debut novel The God of Small Things shot the author into fame and bagged the 1997 Booker Prize. The scene is set in Ayemenem, a small town in Kottayam in Kerala of the 1960s, where caste system reigns high. Ammu Ipe, an aristocratic young divorcee falls in love with Velutha, an educated untouchable carpenter. The day they start their affair is also the day when Sophiemol, Ammu’s nice arrives from Britain only to drown herself to death in the River Meenachal while on an adventure with Ammu’s children. Their nocturnal trysts are discovered and the affair brought to a tragic end. They break all rules of conduct in a close-bound and rigid society. But the punishment does not stop with the death of the two lovers- the murder of Velutha or the slow death of Ammu. It has got serious reverberations on the lives of the people in the family as well as society. It takes various forms and in the family it takes the form of silence of Estha and the emptiness of Rahel- Ammu’s two-egg twins who get separated after the tragedy. Strangely their lives are joined once again in defiance against the Love Laws of society. The book has a complex structure because of its shifts in time. The language is unique and repetition adds to the pathos in the novel. Written in an engaging style the book offers a culture and a flavour that is definitely Indian. The novel describes a society which is hypocritical and patriarchal as well as politically corrupt.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
It is strangely pleasing,
To see that you remember,
Each and every word I said,
Every word of nonsense,
Recorded and stored,
In your fond memory
All the queer fantasies,
Uneasiness and likes,
Every turn of phrase,
Recorded and stored,
Carefully held close
In your fond memory.
But I would rather you forget,
Every little thing, every word,
Than remember and store,
Treasure with sharp ache,
Going through every day
Like on a bed of arrows
I would rather you change
Change with the seasons
Dance with the crowds
Shake with roaring laughter
Smile that slowbreaking smile,
Than ever remember me.
Yet every night the candle burns,
With thoughts sent as waves,
Prayers that may or may not reach,
For all blessings to fill your hands,
And strength to forget, forget,forget
An intense slice of an uneventful life,
Lived without any sense of regret,
Only unmatched pride in victories.
What is the importance of having a simple style in writing?
A simple style signifies clarity of thought and is easy to understand. Yet every day lots of books are published that are written in an incomprehensible style.
Do they have a reader in mind? Or are they meant exclusively for experts?
Do people really know what they are talking about? How can a book alter the way a person thinks if the reader is not all able to understand it?
Monday, January 26, 2009
I wish I could undo that turn in history,
I wish I could tell you how much this story means to me,
Of you being always near me and me being so blind,
Though I was always there,
Always with you in all your ramblings.
I have never called you by your name,
Or never dared to utter your name aloud,
Though this was where my mind ended,
Like a chorus in a song.
Now it’s no more I believe,
But who knows it more than us,
Who have only dreamt and believed
And did nothing else,
But remained silent.
Silence was such a crime,
Against you and me,
And the world of our possibilities,
And this now extends across,
Not just miles, but ages as well.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
A silence, a longing, a struggle,
To get back my balance,
Lost and found, lost and found,
Like my love for you
Hiding in my own heart
Surprising and attacking me,
Attacking my reason,
To follow your steps
Like a faithful disciple
Which my heart is,
But my reason isnt.
Whom should I heed?
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Your face flashes in my mind, my love,
When I try hard day and night to erase
Erase its impression and give me
Freedom from your haunting thoughts
Yet you come back in the rain
And in the bright sunshine
In the soft peach light of the sunset
Your voice, trailing across the miles,
The distance and forgotten times
To find a chink in my coldness
Built strong to keep you out,
Out of my life to keep me free.
Yet I am a slave to your thoughts
And bound than really free.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Until you came with your songs and laughter,
All I knew was the language of silence,
To choke and swallow whatever,
My heart whispered to me,
Until you came along I knew my heart,
And its sudden betrayals into surprise,
And its strange habit of killing joys,
I wonder how this time my heart remained still,
Without ever thinking of betrayals or rifts,
But only rebelled against whatever was there,
And set out without fear
To fight its own battles.
I know only the language of silence.
Don’t know, my dear, how to explain,
When and where it happened,
From where this chirpiness disappears,
Or how this young body contains,
A heart that’s heavy and old,
A mind that looks helpless at everyday tasks,
A blank mind and nothing else.
You’d always ask with silence and words,
What are you thinking, you enquire,
While there is nothing in the mind,
Only that pure sense of being lost,
Though I don’t know where.
This heart would have grown old and worn-out,
If it hadn’t been for you and your way with words,
Which wants to break all my vows of silence,
And barriers to love and loving,
And I give in willingly this time,
To learn the language of words,
At least this time.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Do you look at life and the universe with the wonder of a child? Do you accept failure with equanimity? Do you believe in fighting for your dreams? These are some of the questions raised by Paulo Coelho’s Manual of the Warrior of Light. This gem from one of the greatest storytellers of our time is a collection of philosophical meditations spun around the image of a warrior of light .
The Manual was published in the newspapers as ‘Maktub’without the Prologue and the Epilogue, which connects the random meditations by providing a structure. They deal with the story of a village-boy who meets a mysterious woman at the beach who talks to him about the bells ringing from a temple beneath the sea. Years later, the same mysterious woman asks him to write about the Warrior of Light.
What is a Warrior of Light? The boy asks the woman. The woman replies that a Warrior of Light is one who understands the miracle of life, one who fights for his dreams and one who follows his dreams to reach his destiny. The boy is asked to write down the life lessons of the Warrior of Light.
The mediations deal with the life and nature of a Warrior of Light. All his mental, spiritual, social and emotional battles, his victories and defeats, his relationships with God, his companions, followers and enemies, his strategies in war are all described. At times the life lessons seem contradictory. This is because a Warrior of Light understands that everything around him is subject to change and he is competent enough to adapt strategy to situation. He is open-minded and receptive to the paradoxes of life.
Paulo Coelho’s Manual of the Warrior of Light is a quest for discovering the Warrior of Light within us.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
When the sun shines and the moon fades early morning,
While birds sing in trees and the morning is wet with rain,
The wind blowing and hooting along with the noisy raindrops,
You come in my heart as goose bumps and memories,
Your hand holding mine in words that I cannot remember,
You are the rain; you are the rain that made my world spring.
For years my barriers were high, but this moment they’re lost,
For days my heart was barren, without love, now full of love,
Singing melodies and missing my self that was there before you,
Slowly eating away my heart as you go away even a minute,
Again you become rain kissing the leaves, the earth and me,
As nature springs up in delight with rain, I’m alive with you.
Though far away you walked, on a tender moonlit night,
With moon a crescent hung like an ornament from sky,
Your face lit with love, your eyes glittering as you smiled,
Your love as memorable as the moonlit night you left;
My heart remembers you yet knows there’s no going back,
There’s no going back to what we were to each other.
There’s no going back except in dreams and days like this:
When memories are singing along with my frozen heart,
When nature reminds, resurrects and buries emotions,
Like heartbeats that once stopped and ran with your smile;
To feel the love that we made our home in a distant land,
Long ago and far away in the world of forgotten dreams.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
What do I need from you, my love?
A little understanding for thoughtless words,
A lot of shaking laughter for my clownish deeds,
And absolute peace about old scars, yours and mine,
The past, where I've known neither cares nor care,
When shook, can stir only poison in the stillness.
So lets only drink love wild from being us,
Let all the ghosts rest in dead silence,
While we rest in wordless bliss.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Look my dearest,
See how the morning wears
The jewels of glittering rain,
See my love, my life,
How your tender eyes
Speaks in tongues myriad,
Singing of the words
Your tender eyes spoke,
Of blazing fires that lit,
Wet rainy mornings,
Eyes opening to delights,
Of you beside me,
Now flying away,
From bustling crowds,
Finally we have come,
Become, living stories.
Friday, January 16, 2009
I want to play in the rain
Till my soul is wet with love.
I want to play in the rain
Till I hold your soul in my hands.
Through the same life spirit
That binds all beings
That brings us close
I touch your hand
And you touch mine
Thursday, January 15, 2009
I never say I bring you only bouquets of joy,
Yellow flowers of sunshine and love.
Hidden beneath them may be flaws in me
Which may wound you and pierce your heart
Yet with the broken, tattered, torn, scarred flowers ,
Which call my soul, I bring you dreams
From the unknown land, where in the grass,
Little toes will step towards you with delight.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
I was just a child
When roots of a tree
Ancient and mighty
Came to my silences.
With a thousand limbs
Words embraced me.
Ripples in still water,
Words moved life.
This untutored heart
Of rhyme or rhythm
Learned a new music.
The universe whispered,
My heart listened,
And my hand wrote
In the silence of night.
Time gifted more words
Till love came as silence
And danced in your eyes,
Leaving me without words.
Love unveiled drapes of time
To reveal and to relive
An innocence, the heart had
Before it knew words.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
On some days of silence,
When we need nothing,
but only togetherness,
Your words lift me up,
Like a caring hand,
Holding out to me.
I feel my heart, melt, beat,
Quiver and cry at your words,
Alive more than any other day,
Where there was space,
And a false sense of happiness,
Now I feel, feel, I feel bliss.
Now am an earth woman,
Dancing with the rain,
For the love of my life.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
I was only ten when I learnt about unhappy endings.
Like when I knew my grandmother had cancer,
I kneeled in churches, for God answers a kid’s prayers, they said.
She died and I didn’t meet her to say one goodbye.
She looked like a horrible nightmare,
Not the one you saw last, not the one you loved,
A swollen, ugly remnant of what was once beloved, they said.
Once botched goodbye, an unresolved parting for a little girl,
There were no tears for her, only numbness that didn’t feel real,
From that chirrupy girl who never gave her a proper burial,
Who died a little that day, with prayers unanswered,
Full of questions but never with answers or resolutions,
Now, I’ve grown older with bungled muted loves,
Improper goodbyes, giving up too easily, too too easily.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Come home, come home, to me,
In the dark stormy nights am alone.
See my dear, how we have made our home,
In the rocks, facing the storms.
Where did you go my dear?
Where did you go my love?
To leave me alone in countless time,
Where I cannot go or look back,
Yet thinking of the times we had,
See how my heart fills,
With love for you.
Where did you go leaving me in this night?
Why did our home, disappear in the storms?
To your thoughts, my heart keeps coming back,
To treasure a love that will,
Forever bring a smile, a tear and laughter,
Your love that made what I am,
My love forever, and forever.
Friday, January 09, 2009
When my friend speaks not,
And my ears hear not,
Who is it to blame,
You or I or us
For the careful words?
Whose story was it,
We all wrote together,
Amidst dreamy eras
And slow-moving time,
Your being there always.
From two ends and spaces,
Two identities meet,
As if by written by fate,
Peels lying on the road,
It seems like accident.
Days wander and flow
Nights silent and slow,
Together we built towers,
That threaten heaven,
And touch the sky.
Then in one careless word,
The fury of heaven breaks,
Like tower of Bablyon,
Our world crumbles,
Into understood niceties.
Will you remember how we began?
The tongues we spoke together,
Drawn by puzzles and threads,
Scattered through words at edge,
We stand, like strangers again.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
You walked rebellion in high-heels,
Red lips and life without rules,
Named after a fragrant flower,
Yet a flower that fell too early.
You come for every gathering,
Unseen, unheard in silence,
You need no invitation,
Only fond remembrance,
And nothing else.
This time when your name,
Was mentioned I decided,
This time to break my silence,
To say in words what I felt.
The one you speak of,
Was more than rebellion to me,
The one whom you call,
Dishonourable was more,
More lively, beautiful than
All of us put together.
Yet I held my breath,
Muted my fond words,
Feeling, knowing, judging well,
That you wouldnt understand,
Even if I said my deepest love.
Thus for you, my fallen flower,
Of ages forgotten, your death
Remains a mystery, just like your life,
Just like everything about you,
Shrouded in mighty silence.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
You jolt me suddenly,
Into whirlpools of desire,
Where I drown and lose
Everything that I have.
Again your eyes sing
That lure mermaids,
In every known land,
Pulling me into you,
Making me drown,
Then tossing me back,
The ebbs and the tides flow,
At times dashing against rocks,
Till I sit on the shore, lovingly,
Watching you sleep...
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Monday, January 05, 2009
You were fast and wild,
And I was slow and steady,
The two worlds never met.
Yet one rainy morning,
Saddened by your absence,
I took up my pen and wrote.
In every word I wrote,
You cast your shadow,
Flowing with the ink.
The ink splattered on pages,
But the grief of your loss stayed,
Like dried ink on pages.
In the early morning dreams,
You come with a smile,
A kiss or an embrace.
Waking, raged at my folly,
I turn to tearing page after page,
Killing you slow and steady.
Friday, January 02, 2009
I'm not great with New Year Resolutions. For the last few years, it was not January but November that has been the time of changes for me. May be the consciousness that a year is going to end sets me in motion. The changes may not be drastic; but only small changes in the emotional and mental set-up.
So even before the New Year begins, the resolutions are formed; mostly the resolutions will be same:
* To write at least a page a day.
* To take steps to shed the flab.
* To get up early on week days.
These are the driving forces of life, with the first resolution marked as the most important. With the beginning of this blog, the resolution is more or less kept. At times, I realise that this thought of posting a few words everyday has become a kind of obsession for me.Next comes the dream of a slim body, with no flab. Dream! That's what it has remained. Everytime I take such a resolution, the first few days are heaven, with lots of exercise activities but then comes lethargy and the exercise regime is thrown to the winds. May this year be a time of change.
Waking up early is very difficult for me, owing to my habit of late night hours and general lazy nature. Sometimes, I try to put an alarm to wake up early but then on such nights I will stay awake until the alarm rings.
I found that trying to rise early causes sleeplessness and that I’m comfortable rising late. But I do enjoy the days when I wake up early to watch the sunlight of early morning and to breathe in the fresh air, sitting outside, sipping black coffee and reading some book until the newspaper arrives.