Spring

There are many getaways from abject failure. Very easy ones as well. The simplest is to lock yourself in isolation and ruminate over the past. Well its’ tougher than it sounds. Others meander into addictions, yet more self-introspections and sometimes the most drastic step, which I shan’t mention here for the sake of surviving the most terrible beating I would receive and one drunken Bangkok night. The easiest way out is companionship of those who you care for. Love and affection can infuse life into even those who have lost the will to exist. This one is dedicated to all those who stooped to bring back the dead to life….

Arid lands laid waste by the west wind

A blanket of snow and lifelessness

For none lived when even water surrendered

Captive to the icy layers

Ah but does life ever give up

Meanders it in mysterious ways

Bubbling in suspended isolation

For the warm might yet return

For life teams in hidden caverns

In stolen water under the icy calm

And melt away will the stony silence

When life will silence the autumn leaves

And there shall be spring and bloom

Flowers will rise in every brook

The sea of colours will overwhelm

Every inch of winter that ever remained

The Land of Nod

The Land of Nod

A medley of thoughts, hopes and expressions

Yet with unwavering honesty and conviction

She strides across my life fleetingly

Brighter than many who crossed my sky.

One moment she stares across the room

And as I wonder to myself

Could a mere smile be so beautiful?

To light my life with so much optimism

There she has passed into the Land of Nod.

Her beauty is a wondrous sight

And yes she very well knows it

For she stands out as stark

As a beacon in a jungle of monstrosities

Her beauty however is but one of many

A gift which she proudly possesses

Be the written word or the spoken

She essays them with fire and élan.

Here must I reluctantly stop

My puny words do no further justice

To script her saga or call it tale

One of the finest who I have ever known

The King of Hearts

The King of Hearts

A king needs her kingdom

To rule and govern

Those whose lives she has touched

By many a gift some seen others hidden

A child and yet a woman

Of matchless charm and magnetism

Her beauty and wit have no measure

Mere mortals cannot but come even close

A magical pen does she wield

It essays many a picturesque dream

Her words wreathed with her own beauty

Laced with power and sheer delight

But more potent than her charm or intellect

Is her power of belief and faith

In people, ideas or even a passing thought

She can move mountains if she wants to.

A loyal subject have I been for years

Loving, admiring and looking up to her

Alas the journey draws to a close

The light will move way and leave behind

A grieving me for her company and strength.

The Eyes

Full many a path had I tread

Till the edge of the dark forest

And each time overwrought by the mist

Would I return morose but hopeful

Those gloomy recesses had stirred

Within me an unforeseen desire

To venture into the uninviting depths

I had only but myself to overcome

Till finally stung by a grave wrong

I plunged fearlessly into them

Heedless of even the great Medusa

No mere gaze could now turn me to stone

And then at last I beheld them

Those twin pools of gray-green

Seething with gravity yet full of mischief

Dripping with sorrow yet kind and inviting

The most beautiful sight I had ever seen

All my woes suddenly seemed forgotten

I only wished to stare at the misty depths

Even Father Time seemed vanquished

I emerged a converted believer

Change is ephemeral

Curiously enough there is little discontinuity in life. It potters down familiar paths, looping and winding along with very few surprises springing up. Always? Well maybe not...

When Romulus founded Rome he is supposed to have made a remark when he sighted 12 vultures in the eastern sky that Rome would be the most powerful empire for all of 12 centuries. But then it would lose all its' glory and fall. And fall it did reeling after one barbarian attack after another, toppling away, burying the decadence of its' people. So did the proud Incas and Mayas, so did Alexander, Egypt...You name it.. history is littered with failures..one to match every glorious triumph.

Some call it the law of averages. Others the hand of destiny. I guess one never knows. But there are these fundamental changes which wreck life apart. They can alter everything. What you believe in, what you desire, what you are proud of. As if your past form never really existed. Like Christ you died and got resurrected all along. But something got messed up and you are now a fundamentally different person with not even a mere shadow of the past to linger along.

Whether for the better or the worse is a pointless question. Change is fundamental and inevitable. There can be no philosophical tag attached to it. But change can certainly overcome you. Evolution demands sacrifice, sometimes when you are least prepared for it.

Conflict, pain and angst are the favourite agents of change. Often our own actions lead us down to the threshold of change, as if inadvertently we seek pain. Doesn't sound likely does it? At least the sense of adventure remains, again I guess it works only when you emerge on top of the wave. But one really doesn't have the luxury of choosing not to change.

The Death of Heroes

I am leaving now. I simply cannot go on. Its’ too painful. Every step hurts. With every step I get scared about my future. I am racked with self-doubt and defeat. And yet I am not brave enough or stupid enough to kill myself. I want to leave all my cares behind me and walk away while I am still sane. Leave every vestige of the last world behind me, as if it never existed. I shall take no money, no material possession except the clothes on my back. I shall forget everything that I have learnt, every useful skill that countless others have laboured in vain to instruct me. For I believe that all of this is useless. I need a new identity, a new reason to exist.

I have failed my life. My hopes, aspirations and dreams are dead now. Of what use is a man who cannot dream about a better future? An existence without a purpose or desire to dream about a better tomorrow is pointless. It is better to stop existing.

I go to my death. My body shall survive…. in a way. But my spirit and mind shall never walk again. I shall shed every trace of my life behind me. I shall forget every friend I ever made, every relationship I was ever part of. I shall walk unfettered and unburdened free of every obligation which I ever walked into. No desire or hope is strong enough to stop me or even persuade me to ever change my mind and return.

This may not be a suicide note. But really is there much of a difference. This is the last time I shall ever read or write, the last time I shall attempt to ever lead a normal life. I do not want to be found. I seek anonymity. I even leave my name and identity behind me.

I may be a coward. I may be spineless. I do not care about the memory I leave behind me. I do not seek an elegy. It would be pointless now. The only thing that I know for sure is that I am weary of the struggle. I cannot stand and face everything that comes against me.

Heroes are for children’s fairytales. Life definitely isn’t one.

Where it all began

A child clambered down his school bus. Skipping literally. Kindergarden school is a horrible thing for a 2 year old. Bullies, sadistic teachers, stupid little furry toys, forced mealtimes where some self-styled popular chap steals your food just to see you cry. Well you get the picture. No wonder he was glad to escape from it all.

After all home was in an idyllic little forest, miles outside the small smelly city. All green and beautiful. You should have been there when it rained. Pearl like drops clambering down every vine, every flower. The child stayed in a rambling place amidst oceans of sheer garden. Sometimes he would just sit in the little porch and watch it rain. Sigh...

There were roses, and poppy, colourful marigold, sweet smelling jasmine, heavenly tulips and those huge fruit trees which he loved to climb. And well there always was the TV and those delightful scissors which he could use to snip off everything around him when he was down in the blues.

He had no friends around him - nor did he need any. His father, a genius of kinds had made it big in life quite early actually. And hence he got to stay with people so much older than him, whose children had already left their parents. Soldierly old men and fat miserable aunties surrounded the kid. And still all was bliss.

Pottering around the nooks and crevices of the endless patch of the garden was fun. Sneaking around butterflies, exotic birds, an occasional mongoose or two. Oh yes and his little mite of a sister. Could things get any better?

Sometimes those horrible relatives of his father turned up. Oh your mom is too uppity and so are you. Well the kid could be mean when he wanted and he paid back in kind quite often. Boy did he have an awful temper.

Sometimes he got to go to the sea in his mom's place. Freaking out in the old library attic, poring over the Sherlock Holmeses, Agatha Christies, Treasure Islands and all the golden stuff. His imagination would steal away. If only he had a pirate's cutlass what a swashbuckling figure he would cut. Everything in life was a glorious adventure, waiting to be unravelled. Chasing after the countless monkeys who clambered around grandpa's terrace and to sliding down the ledges and literally unreachable nooks. Those indeed were exciting times. Need we mention mutton chops at the beach when he got to sit by the shore amidst sand castles watching the waves sweep past his feet.

The happiest years really.