Sometimes I want to stomp the overwhelming grasses,Thinking that I also have a boot.Sometimes I like to crush their ambitions,With feelings tough;And dwell amongst the planets,Like a star.
I want to be the heavy rain,Wetting the ambitious;And become the rainbow after,Drying the wretched.
I look up to the sun,Only its heat melts me,Not its sight.
Sometimes I feel like sweeping awayAll opposition, buildingA staunch place for myself—In this deathly world.
To feel ambitious is to attack myself,And to feel meek, is to be defeated.To maintain the line should be the aim;Blurring the line sometimes, but neverForgetting that it shall always remain.
Monday, July 4, 2011
TO LIVE WITH THE HEAD HELD HIGH......
HALE AND HEARTY.....
The melancholy statues exploited their tireless feet sulkily through the streets; some, with the head held high and jaunty; and some, with bowed vertebrae, trying to caress the fond memories of the past, when the present held no meaning to them. Those, enjoying a propensity towards simplicity, haunted the streets of their taste, maybe behind the colossal Mall, or rather in the small, dingy lanes vis-à-vis. And those, who shuffled their lives amongst the wonders of glamour and extravagance, rather impudently chose to elbow their way into the likes of the aristocrats; irrespective of a degree of defame (if any). The day rambled on with its own gust when, at night, the beautiful white sphere rose to accompany the luminous orbs decking the sky. Some of the same breathers appeared once again on the streets, but this time with a more ambitious figure; perhaps with a sudden vivacious desire to revive what had been lost and regain Life, in its true sense. And also a new passel of mortals appeared altogether now, among which maybe all were lacking in their presence under the sun. They seemed to be in a sui generis type of rush, some rapidity that can stun any common onlooker like you or me. Once they reached the main street, in a trice, they broke into myriad individuals; some darted to board a bus, some for a taxi and some for an auto-rickshaw or a rickshaw; while the others chose to traipse their way, either in the ecstasies of prospect, or in the fathoms of tension or pensiveness. Many opted to dally around the shops lining the footpath: the voyeur enjoyers embarking on extravagant purchases while their counterparts either staring agape at such “mismanagement” or fleeting their time observing the goods without victimizing themselves to the claws of profligacy. When the darkness seemed to wrap the city more and more, the native dwellers could be seen pressing the doorbell—some with the case of exhaustion due to work, and some, overwhelmingly inebriated, dying to find a place in the mattress, until the tenacious hypercritical comments from his spouse seem to compound his condition more and more. So days go on as such, and man moves on; and the static change makes life dynamic, with every new day seeming better than yesterday.
Friday, July 1, 2011
ONE MORE DREAM AND I'M THERE.....
As the blinds were drawn across the window that night, they were not folded anymore since the night never ended. The owl kept hooting, the birds were sleeping in their nests and I kept myself immersed in the depths of my dreams. The dream never ended; the trance never seemed to give me out. A thought kept recurring, the vision kept flickering. I was lost in the vagueness of the past, outdone maybe by the weapons of reminiscence. My head was turned toward the hill, the hill that seemed to be very close until you reached it. Even in the dead of the night, the peak had a luminous lining: I wondered from where the light had come. I kept wondering and wondering, until the arms of the present defeated future, and the hill disappeared from before me and only the dead of the night came to grasp the ambience altogether. I journeyed through the woods in a lonely road, with only a light to guide me. I neither knew from where the light came nor my destination. I went on and on until I saw the hill reappearing once again. I stopped momentarily and resumed my wonder. I looked towards the night sky, miles above me, but saw only Mars glowing brightly. Stars were markedly absent. While wondering, I thought of reaching the light at the hill-top; but for that, I had to journey there. The night never ended, and so didn’t my passion. I tried for months, for years until I just reached the bottom of the hill. Now when I looked up, I couldn’t see that same light at the top; but I knew it was still there: I just had to scale. When I dreamt of a dream in my dream, a huge rock from the hill-top tumbled and fell upon my head, knocking me senseless. You can still see me there, at the bottom of the hill: my soul has escaped and my body lies there: senseless, but not dead. It shall wake up once again; once again, when the dream arrives to take me, once again.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
I AM WAITING.....
When the prospects are far away from good, I try to live within myself as much as possible. Probably I pen down vital thoughts, or carry on with the humdrum Chemistry tome, trying to crack the numericals with as much accuracy as possible. Sometimes, when alone in the house, I take an impish bite at the cashew or crunch a couple of delicious cookies. After all the work, I sit and relax, with either Hollywood Hills or Tu Jaane Na streaming though the air and dive into fathoms of fantasy and emotions.
At times, while dreaming about a Physical or Mathematical concept, 98.3 Radio Mirchi, no wonder, hogs the limelight: with the lightweight Philips radio kept virtually in contact. And when infinite scribbling and calculation fill the latter pages of an exercise book, I myself tend to lose the point where I came from and what results is an intensely intricate piece of math, maybe beyond the reaches of correctness.
Sometimes I close my eyes and mull over what started me and what is ruling me. Whenever I notice some serious shortcoming, I try to work upon it by the day and improve the situation. Being a gaming freak, it’s really difficult for me to stay without a game. I satiated my desires, rather much more satisfactorily, at my cousin’s, 30 metres from my house. Facebook had to be suspended to quite an extent temporarily, owing to rather problematic and abrupt circumstances. My close attachment with coding had rather loosened quite a bit over the last two years, especially. And now since, I have little time for inventive programming, I essay some meaningful smiles when I look back at those two glorious years of 2007 and 2008, when the subject had been my obsession.
I lie now, sandwiched between the duress of day-to-day assignments and the sine-cosines, lambdas-mu-s hidden somewhere in the 1000 pages of the colossal volume(s). The time for the dictionary has also decreased, or rather has stopped. For many days, I am not receiving the Word of the Day since I haven’t opened my Gmail account for 2 weeks.
Out here, at the Don Bosco, Park Circus, Bosco Fest’s on the cards. Quite a few schools are having their own Fests, namely X-Uberance at St.Xavier’s, Creations at La Martiniere Calcutta, Boscotsav at DB Liluah, Bosco Xprezns at DB Bandel, etc. I like it.
Overall, if you can enjoy the life (that includes everything: from simple class tests to great limelight) here and can keep your rhythm, you are soon to be the daedal swimmer ready to dare the high waves.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
CATER-COUSINS
Unknowingly some things thrust towards my mind some times. Some dazzle me, some challenge me, and some benefit me. I like them. Every little thing around me, or rather, every minute happening that seem to move me, target the ability of my expression and I go on—sometimes, finding myself engulfed by the seas of fantasy and sometimes, cudgeling out poignant realities. Sometimes the same mind embarks upon a journey down the memory lane, reliving those sweet, golden memories. A confused mind, sometimes, fails to differentiate. At a time, only one option appears correct and at other times, the other option only. Then the mind leaves it to the heart and the latter goes on with its impeccable judgment.
When at times, the sun disappears under the horizon or the rain clouds obstruct the sun, the partners forget their states; depressed, they lie. But whenever the sun reappears with grand regalia the next day, they give a new meaning to themselves and dive into the depths of what had created them; the realization of their importance is achieved.
Their life is a blend of evanescence and remembrance, both playing a balanced role in the game, the Game of Life. This game isn’t bordered by high fences; this game isn’t the austere theories of pragmatics; let them decide what the game is, actually.
When at times, the sun disappears under the horizon or the rain clouds obstruct the sun, the partners forget their states; depressed, they lie. But whenever the sun reappears with grand regalia the next day, they give a new meaning to themselves and dive into the depths of what had created them; the realization of their importance is achieved.
Their life is a blend of evanescence and remembrance, both playing a balanced role in the game, the Game of Life. This game isn’t bordered by high fences; this game isn’t the austere theories of pragmatics; let them decide what the game is, actually.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Where have you gone?
I have seen the innocent being trapped,
I have seen the wise being fooled,
I have seen the hardest being moulded.
The claws of Death,
When grapple the most beloved,
The lovers break down.
When the most delightful sight
Is seeing them move their
Beautiful, loving hands,
Caring for you from the heart,
The reality becomes a bit difficult,
A bit difficult to accept.
Endless tears follow,
When one only gets to see their smoke,
Curling towards heaven,
Leaving behind a lot of memories,
A lot of love.
It’s the most difficult
When the unexpected happens,
Without warnings, without omens.
One lies under the sun,
Singing tearfully the song of love and respect,
While they, miles above the sun,
Look down cheerfully.
If tears could make a stairway,
And memories a lane,
I would walk up to you,
And bring you home again.
THAT LITTLE GRASS
The claws of darkness
Swept away the sun today,
As the incessant drops wetted the grass again.
The world thought the grass a trifle,
The trees never knew if it was there at all,
And humanity trampled it unknowingly.
The grass had some story to tell,
The grass had something to express,
But it didn’t know its destiny was in the ground itself.
Sometimes it sprang up
Under the bright morning sun,
And dallied with the dew drops.
When it sprang,
It tried to share—
Whatever seemed new to it,
Whatever seemed unique to it.
Sometimes the grass desired to grow
Tall like the tree,
Strong like the man,
But alas! Nature didn’t permit him such.
When it tried to share,
The other grasses mocked at it,
The trees never paid heed;
And man, like always, trampled it.
Sometimes the grass was wetted,
Sometimes it was bent under heat;
But it tried hard to stand erect defying the inclement.
It wanted to live;
It wanted to see the rainbow
Like all others;
It wanted to shine through darkness;
But its destiny was founded.
It got to understand—
The meaning of a grass,
The meaning of its roots,
The meaning of its existence.
Trampled, wetted, crushed—
At last when it could bear no more,
When it had lost the blood of desire,
The grass-cutter uprooted it,
And threw it away.
And such was the end,
Of the short and sweet life,
Of the short and sweet life,
Of the grass.
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