City of life buzzing under golden streaks on a pink sky.
It's a whole new world.

Immortal stand

The last of the immortals stood tall, undeterred.
In front, the scythe of death approached, large and in a herd.
In between stood an understated person, thin and tall:
Alone to hear a whispered scream, the last immortal's call.

The year was twenty-twenty -
Forty years before today.
When I was young and six feet tall, a dreamer,
So they say.

A firmness to the ground, the ever-green immortal stood,
Into the crust of Earth it bore, as deep as ever could.
The lushness of the freshness was a sight that one beheld.
To reach up high and touch the sky had seemed the green compelled.

The year was twenty-twenty -
Forty years before today.
No more gentle shade of giants left!
Who could say?

The hardened skin had held the cure to death of any kind.
No common species, type or any factor they could find.
No reproduction, replication, synthesis, it seemed.
"All of them must die so man can live", so they deemed.

The year was twenty-twenty -
Forty years before today.
I fought to save the life of an immortal.
What a day!

You asked for it...

Life's been so full. Yet empty in some ways.

I had a call for my voice. The voice which used to weave words in the pattern of turmoil my mind was contorted to. That turmoil that used to fester inside a pressure cooker was released, but now it sweeps me off my feet. Interesting that without the internalized conflict, there is no longer a voice screaming to be heard.

No conflict? Whom am I kidding?

Caught in a whirlwind called the-daily-life, it is very easy to lose sight of the important pillars of life. Pillars – they can be so fragile – Strong as mountains, bearing the load of the sky, but delicate as a blade of grass which bends with the slightest breeze.

Don't trample blades of grass on your journey. Every one that breaks shall re-visit the soul a thousand fold.

Compartmentalising life always came easily. Now I know why. To see an image and recognize beauty in the chaos of a hundred mixed colours takes an artist. I'm no artist. I'm an engineer. Where a straight line should bring to mind the resolute nature of an artiste's determination, there is usually y=mx+c. And I try to engineer art.

Hypocrisy is a way of life.

As is guilt and self-pity, apparently... But this is a rant on neither. Pillars have been shaken and they must be stabalised. For the sake of my sanity and ability to carry on with life, I must believe that they are not broken. As for hypocrisy, perhaps the admittance of a way of thinking will absolve one of its nature.

I am neither Shakespeare nor Sanjay Dutt. The marks I leave on history shall be for history to choose. I shall only worry about the marks I leave on people.

In response to your call, my dear... I haven't written in so long because I seem to have lost the ability to do so. My words have usually been clever masks designed to look like cathartic out-pours which made me feel I was doing something about them.

On the other hand, I was happy to be able to write like that. Perhaps I was being more honest then.

On the other hand, I am happier now, with my life. Perhaps I am being more honest now.

I don't know anymore.

HappiER, yes... Happy?... Hmmm...

Normally, a thought like this should spawn something seemingly philosophical on the contrast between absolutes and relatives and that how the theory of relativity has a whole different meaning when applied to life, rather than light.

Heh...

Rear view...

Sometimes it helps to look in the past,
Remember a time, uncomplicated.
When thoughts were honest, open and true
And writing wasn't pre-meditated.

I read through my work of years gone by.
I re-tread the path my life has taken:
Re-discovering things I've lost,
Remembering some lessons, forsaken.

Confusingly thought and minimally written,
It wasn't life but the work that was simple.
By the bug of art I had been bitten
And even love was about a dimple.

Coward of the county

Ev'ryone considered him the coward of the county.
He'd never stood one single time to prove the county wrong.
His mama him called Tommy, the folks just called him yellow,
But something always told me they were reading Tommy wrong.

He was only ten years old when his daddy died in prison.
I took care of Tommy 'cause he was my brother's son.
I still recall the final words my brother said to Tommy:
"Son, my life is over, but yours has just begun.

Promise me, son, not to do the things I've done.
Walk away from trouble if you can.
Now it won't mean you're weak if you turn the other cheek.
I hope you're old enough to understand:
Son, you don't have to fight to be a man."

There's someone for ev'ryone and Tommy's love was Becky.
In her arms he didn't have to prove he was a man.
One day while he was workin' the Gatlin boys came callin'.
They took turns at Becky.... n' there was three of them!

Tommy opened up the door and saw his Becky cryin'.
The torn dress, the shattered look was more than he could stand.
He reached above the fireplace and took down his daddy's picture.
As his tears fell on his daddy's face, He heard these words again:

"Promise me, son, not to do the things I've done.
Walk away from trouble if you can.
Now it won't mean you're weak if you turn the other cheek.
I hope you're old enough to understand:
Son, you don't have to fight to be a man."

The Gatlin boys just laughed at him when he walked into the barroom.
One of them got up and met him halfway 'cross the floor.
When Tommy turned around they said, "Hey look! ol' yellow's leavin'."
But you coulda heard a pin drop when Tommy stopped and locked
the door.

Twenty years of crawlin' was bottled up inside him.
He wasn't holdin' nothin' back; he let 'em have it all.
When Tommy left the barroom not a Gatlin boy was standin'.
He said, "This one's for Becky," as he watched the last one fall.
And I heard him say,

"I promised you, Dad, not to do the things you done.
I've walk away from trouble when I can.
Now please don't think I'm weak, I didn't turn the other cheek,
and Papa, I sure hope you understand:
Sometimes you gotta fight when you're a man."

Ev'ryone considered him the coward of the county.

-Lyrics by Kenny Rogers

a dog will always have a smile

refresh the most fatigued of minds
light up the worst, most fuck-all days
a simple lick
will do the trick
rare a human, so I'd praise

Recollection

You live a fairy story for a few fleeting days.
Real life then does intervene and changes everything.
From what we were to what we are, there's such a large expanse.
Who is to blame for this rift, there is no questioning.

But...

This note is not to toss the blame or dwell on old-time pain.
This note is not to cause a thought, a feeling nor emotion.
An accident did bring to mind an age-old conversation;
A conversation that did lead to some recollection.

Say your prayers, turn off the light, close your eyes and go to sleep.

You're afraid to take a helping hand?
You're afraid to release what's in your head?
You're afraid to do the logical thing?
You'd rather wake up screaming instead?

What if there is something wrong with your head?
What if there are real demons in bed?
What if you find, when you look too deep,
That you dream when awake and the truth's in your sleep?

Photographs show what mirrors don't:
That which is seen from a third party's view.
Not veiled by pride, ego or fear,
They show the honest, actual you.
(...explains the reason why, being in front of the lens appalls you.)

Moral: Don't read the moral!

There were never any stories whose moral read: You, be happy! Screw the rest of the world!

However, it is fair, because this usage of the word 'screw' would never get past the censors and into the comic book.

Damn those stories told when one is young! For, that is a time when the mind is most malleable and susceptible to suggestion. Teaching it, then, the vices of nobility, integrity and selflessness is probably the surest way to make the hardened, adult version a complete misfit in the hardened, real world.

Take me to a time when there were no morals.
Take me to a place where there is no saint.
It takes a lot of beating when the mind is hardened.
It doesn't make a difference to put a coat of paint.

The tools of metal-smiths once had a conversation.
One worked with iron and the other dealt with gold.

Said the gold to the iron, "Why make so much noise?"
"My own kind, do I beat, and not some fancy toys."

To change a solid state is the toughest proposition.
To change the time gone by, impossible, I'm told.

Somebody find the remote!!!

Live life in the 'intense' zone - Good is great, bad is catastrophic.

Enjoy your own company. Don't socialize... feign to be a workaholic.

Break old habits when you feel you must.
Force and break and bulldoze it all.
Nature's changed from within, not without.
It'll only be a head on a very bloody wall.

Count your blessings, one by one.
Or count your curses, it'll still be done.

Money's no object. You come and go, nude!
Whom're you kidding? Sans money, you're screwed.

Listen carefully to the 'sunscreen song';
But to do that, don't wait a year long.

When pleasures and pains are both astronomical,
Sit and complain in a space that is virtual.

More

We always want to be more than we are.

No big surprise. It is human nature. It is the quality that leads to growth, evolution, progress and all those wonderful things.

It is what has led to such astonishing heights of human development. To reach the farthest reaches of our galaxy has inspired us to first reach the moon. To understand the nature of the vast universe, we have begun to unravel mysteries at the sub-atomic level. To understand the meaning of life, we have delved into some rather scary depths of the mind.

It is also the reason we have created superheroes, who, in our imagination, are capable of feats far beyond human limitations. It would be rare to find a child who has not wished, at some point, to have some sort of such remarkable abilities: To fly, to move faster than a speeding bullet, to perform incredible acrobatic feats, or maybe just to wear a funky costume.

The point is that people achieve what they do in life by aiming for something beyond their reach. That adage is true: Aim for the moon and you’ll at least hit the tree.

Now, zooming in to a more personalized view, this trend is true even in individual lives. Leaving behind the big pictures of accomplishments of humanity, let’s take a look at the struggle for accomplishments of humans. Every day, people change their own lives by realising that they want to achieve more; do things beyond what they always do; prove to themselves that they are capable of more than what they think they are.

Epiphanies on toilet seats are no myth. That fateful morning when one wakes up and finds that spark of courage, somewhere in the sub-conscious, to strive to push one’s way out of the hum-drum of yesterday into the tingling excitement of a brand-new today, flinging out the window the fears of tomorrow, is a must in everyone’s life. You’ve got to try it!

This is the stuff that turns a civil engineer into a sand sculptor; a thoracic surgeon into a painter of exquisite portraits; a lawyer into the foremost of actors.

Sure, there is always that disappointment of not really getting as far as one would like; to not really make so much of a difference as one had hoped; to not quite be 'super'. There are no superheroes. However, I have found that I would rather be happier having risked it than be complacent having been safe.

How does one explain this to a generation from a generation ago?

Always live with a safety net.
Always won’t before the will.
Caution from an unknown angel.
Known devil’s a better pill.

When 'advice' like this, pretending to be a protective shield, behaves like an entangling net holding one back from moving, one is left with a question: What the hell do I do?

Is it nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and, by opposing, end them?

Sigh! It is a tale told by an idiot.

The hash is always greener...

Joint: [n]
The point where two components of a structure join, but are still able to rotate.

(smoking, slang) A marijuana cigarette.


I have lived in the corporate world. I have lived in the non-corporate world.

The paths taken by lives in this world, which is defined as 'corporate', largely centre around the profession, the job, the thing that one does on week-days in return for which bank accounts are filled. To be fair, there are distractions like spouses, children, taxes, the rising prices of fuel, rice and NAV's of the Franklin Templeton mutual funds. Any cricket match that may be on becomes a hot topic of discussion to punctuate lunch-time conversations which, otherwise, revolve around the most immediate customer requirement.

I have sat through the anecdote of a proud colleague who, one day, decided (on an absolutely reckless whim) to fill his car up on 'premium' fuel instead of regular. The absolute hilarity that he later found in an incident where he used the phrase "unzip it and send" in an e-mail to someone of the female species, is something remarkable. (He was, apparently, referring to a file of some kind which had been compressed.)

The zest shown towards an inter-department football match, the pride of owning the coolest phone on the floor, the jealousy towards someone who managed to purchase a Honda Civic, the contempt with which the HR department is held because of changes in the leave policy, the elation at the thought that the party at the end of each month serves beer: these are some of the many many fascinating colours that paint a picture that one can only appreciate if one is a part of it.

On the other hand... there is another world – The only way I know to describe it is 'non-corporate'. However, that name does it no justice, for it shows what its not, and not what it is.

A world where ecstasy can be found in something as epic as a twenty-year dream finally being fulfilled, or as simple as the sight of a flower blooming; where troubles come only in the form of true pain – the kind of pain that can only result from a true investment of mind, body and soul; where frequent heart-aches and orgasms make a person grow each and every day; where joy has to be found in something, anything, in order to say that that day may end.

In this world, lives follow paths laid out by their passions – the courage to pursue which sometimes needing the help of other people with whom close relationships must be forged. Relationships are maintained at the risk of ending up with a shattered heart. Some strange source then provides the strength to pick up the pieces of that broken heart and re-build it into a whole new person.

Here, what matters is not money, or politics, or the falling price of onions… here, what matters is life itself – the tears at the end of an argument; the applause at having created a work of art; the smile that grows while lying in bed, waiting for your pulse rate to slow down again; the glimpsing image, branded in your brain, of the most beautiful person you have ever seen through the window of a train just as it pulled away; a fifteen-year marriage ending.

It feels like someone, sitting and watching our universe on a big-screen, high-definition LCD TV, has hiked up the brightness and contrast to make everything just more intense. So much so as to change the meaning of the word 'joint'.

I often wonder what would happen if the people of the former world were put into situations of the latter.

And then, there's me. I straddle the two worlds, sometimes fitting into both and sometimes neither. Perhaps that's why I, sometimes, feel torn.

Yestereve

It is a quiet, lone evening-
A bottle of scotch for company.
Tomato purée, mixed with spices-
A culinary symphony.
Broken broom and a dry mop-
A cha-cha-cha quite sanitary.
A film about making films-
Hysterical history.
A hot bath with a fresh feel-
To end the day relaxed-ly.
Submit to thoughts of new lives.
Begin tomorrow doggedly.
Boiling water on the fine roasted-
The morning brew is filtering.
Now its time to say goodnight-
These words, with a blanket, covering.

Properties

There are metals, in the realm of human knowledge, which have an ability to take a great deal of load.

Specimens, of some materials, measuring about 10 mm diameter (1 cm) can withstand loads of about 10 tons (10,000 kg.) without breaking. However, if that piece is already under a load of 10 tons and then an additional load of even 100 gm is added, it breaks. So, there are always limits and the ability to shoulder stress also depends on pre-existing loads.

Interestingly, there are those materials (like mild-steel and aluminum) which do not simply break. Consider a pre-existing 10 tons, add 100 gm. The piece deforms. It elongates and that 10 mm diameter reduces, tending to give it that very coveted hour-glass shape; and then, it snaps into two separate pieces.

Now, if that load is relieved just before it snaps, one may still be left with a single piece, but it has been forever changed. The extra length and reduced diameter do not click back into their original forms. This is known as the plastic zone of the material.

So, while it may be able to withstand considerable loads, being stubborn enough not to crack, there is always some deformation from which it cannot recover.

Such are the laws of physics governing the behavior of mettle.

And so it is...

It's been a long stint of no writing, and I return, no longer spouting verse, counting feet and thinking rhythm.

I stopped for fear of that writing taking from the tangible doing. Doing is what life is about and I learnt that the hard way. I decided to cease the wasting of words and apply that effort in making them true.

So, now do I re-appear having achieved the ultimate of my goals? Am I now at the pinnacle of my progress; the zenith of my Everest? Ummm... no. But I am on my way. And as long as I don't fall off the treadmill, don't stop swimming, I should be okay.


... just like you said it would be.


The topic of relationships – the matter of interactions between two individual human beings – has been twisting around my life these past few months. Within and without, there have been many examples of smoothness, roughness, cracks, balms, joints and breaks.

A friend has chosen to end a marriage and it seems to result in two smiles. Another has had searing pain delivered from a rodent-type person – no smiles there. Yet another just stepped into matrimony and my impression is a certain detached apathy – Almost like an abandonment of individuality. And then there are those who have spent close to forty years together and it seems to be due to a system of 'choosing an alliance' which 'modern' mind-sets dismiss as archaic and hence obsolete. A 'modern'-ness which I subscribe to.

If the universe is cyclic, will we, one day, see the resurrection of those habits of so long ago where it wasn't intellect, attraction and friendship that made life-long bonds but rather social respectability and background? Or, on the other hand, will we see the collapse of the concept of a 'life-long' bond? It seems to be on a declining road of survival, anyway.


Life goes easy on me...


For my own part, I have decided to label the label of marriage as a label that was created to justify society's hypocrisies towards the natural response of one sex's body to the opposite one. (Bear in mind, certain responses to the same sex are deemed illegal)

A few discussions that I had with a couple of the afore-mentioned friends, have led me to give serious thought to this deified institution. It is said to: a) bind two people in a promise of fidelity, that fidelity having many possible connotations of what not to do – Love another, sex with another, covet another, friendship with another, conversation with another, look at another, etc.; b) form a spiritual connection between two people, wherein one may be expected to conjure powers of extra-sensory perception towards the other; c) create an affection for one another that must, must, out-live the person.

Maybe I've allowed myself to become a bit too cynical to accept this easily. If this is what society demands from two people who have proclaimed a "marriage" to one another, I would like no part of it. This is an attitude which works with my current frame of mind, anyway, considering I'm in a fling-ing kind of mood.

It would, of course, be immature to think that opinions don't change. However, suffice it to say that there is quite some skepticism and disillusionment on the topic of 'marriage' as society defines it. Perhaps, more than a judgment, a re-definition is what I need.

Leaving the tangent and returning to my main topic of thought, a relationship with another person, itself, is rather a task to maintain. The connection between two lives has a life of its own and requires its own kind of nurture.

The end of that marriage has caused the life of that relationship to be snuffed out, liquidated, done-in and, in short, made-to-kick-the-bucket. Now, it has been justified by saying that there was no relationship to begin with and that there was no point in just sharing furniture – but the fact is that something was lost even if only in theory. However, the end result is that both parties are more at peace.

The opposite end of the spectrum has actions from one side causing a cataclysmic collapse of all connections and a pulse-stopping pain in the pits of a heart that once remembered what it was to smile. No peace, just pieces. Perhaps a bit overdramatic but the viciousness of certain acts is not a 'matter of opinion'.

And where there is black and white, there is always grey. The method that seems to have worked so well for the previous generation still seems to have its appeal. Will I meet the newlyweds, forty years from now, with that same air of floating-along-with-the-breeze complacence? Peace, in one sense – not like the ocean but more like a glass of water.

Now, I have missed that one rare gem in a field of rocks. They met by chance, dated, were involved for a good amount of time, married and now live... (and this truly fascinates me)... with family. Like I said, that one rare gem. However, not insignificant by a long shot, for this proves that making it work depends so much on the individual minds involved.

At the end of all this analysis, I am left with a resolution that is as unresolved as the original conundrum. A relationship is as unique as the two individuals involved. One new snowflake for every couple in the world.


...most of the time.


While talking of relationships, I have very carefully stuck to the type that occurs between people met in this life. Those that one is born with... now that's a different ball game.

Perhaps another post, another time.

Au revoir!



Lyrics: "The blower's daughter"

Storm

Touch as strong as a summer breeze
Wake as mild as a hurricane
A storm that blew a warm sun beam
Into a winter's lonely dream

Now the season's gone; passed by
Time is swirling down the drain

Is it too late? Is it futile?
A winter's hope to win storm's smile?

Star light, star bright,
First star I see tonight,
I wish I may; I wish I might
Kiss the mistress of the night.

Lone dusk; bad sleep;
Aching yearn, buried deep.
In dream, does torment slowly creep.
I wish I hadn’t been so cheap.

Cheap to do, not to feel.
Meager action killed the deal.
Now I wish I could appeal,
"My sweet, I’m really not a heel."

Is she gone? The last dance?
Not another nineteenth chance?
Unfulfilled, this romance:
We didn’t even go to France.

Quote from Father Mulcahy of M*A*S*H:

Now I lay me down to sleep,
A bag of peanuts at my feet.
Should I die before I wake,
Give them to my brother, Jake.

Random

He
A random brush stroke on her pastel canvas
A free verse footnote in her poetic journal
That annoying piece of traditional garb
To contradict her liberal apparel

She
A liberal brush stroke in his pastel journal
A random canvas on his apparel’s traditions
That annoying contradiction to his poetic garb
A free piece of verse in his footnote existence

Truism

The purpose of a blog is to have people read it.

Death isn’t all that’s inevitable

Is the curse of old age
the price of a once blessed youth?
Is it better to die young
with a memory of life filled with joy?
Is it right to see a loved one
have to live this torment, with no choice?
Is it murder to want to free
a spirit that was born to be free?

Is it painless to be blind
To the shackles of time
That slowly, but surely
Restrain and confine?