Hate

In this busy world of hate
They leave the commoner to fate
In this deck of cards they're the ace
When resisted they ask, "Which race?"

They ignite fires with flames unto skies
For their music are the innocent cries
They've flown rivers of blood longer than Nile
Rivers which can even turn a desert fertile

They kill woman and child with ease
When asked they say, "Preparing for peace."
You need your own hands for this fight
Because the real world has no dark knight

Unto Perfection

If you are not better than what you were yesterday you have wasted a precious, precious day of your life. What do you wish for? What do you yearn for? What do you anticipate to reach? Do you wish for fame, popularity and fortune? Do you wish for wealth, to show off or to probably buy an island of your own one day? If this is what you are yearning for and longing for then my brother or sister, you have been deceived, you have been deceived by the glitter of this world. You are still standing confused about what to do with your life.

Look at the person next to you. What makes you better than him? You may be a student in a class of hundred. What do you think makes you better than the other 99? And for God's sake don't tell me, marks. At the end of the day almost 90 of you will graduate from the institution and most of you will get a job but the question stands, 'What makes you better than the other person?' What did you do for the world that the other person didn't? What knowledge gives you an edge over the other person?

What you need to do today is hunt for something, hunt for your passion. Search for the thing in life that you can dedicate yourself to. Time will pass and you'll get old but your love, your passion inside you will ripen and before you're mixed into the earth you'll either leave a beautiful piece of art behind you or you'll make the world a better place to live.

Don't just let this post scroll away. Think. Think about your love. What can you live and die for? This is what all great men do, don't they? But they were not born great and neither are you.

Tonight and all the following nights, ask yourself, 'What did I learn today and how am I better than what I was yesterday?'

Ah, by the way, Good Morning.
Awake, unto perfection.

Marooned

I see the bright white ball of fire turning red, visible to the naked eye. The change in the lighting tells me that another day from my life is about to come to an end. I don't know what time it is though, I've lost count of time. I still remember myself getting mad at my wrist watch when it stopped 20 days back. I hit the watch many times in a hope that it may start working magically. I think it may be 4 P.M. or wait, it can be 6 P.M. too. After all I don't really know in what part of the earth I am. I've stopped sensing cold or heat.

It has been three months or precisely 92 days since I was left on this island by the thunderstorm. I've kept a count of days in this little diary of mine. I don't have a mirror to look what exactly I look like after these many days but the blurred reflection in the ocean tells me that I don't look that smart now. Unshaven and in the same clothes for 92 days, I probably look like those people from the novels who were left alone on islands. Ah, how stupid of me! I myself am an owner of this undesired privilege now.

I've lived here on the water from the ocean, coconuts and a strange fruit of which I do not know the name. It looks like a poisonous little fruit and I had actually tried eating it one day to commit suicide but then I found that it was the most delicious thing I had eaten in years. Perhaps God didn't want me to die. I haven't tried to kill myself since then.

This is a well traveled trade route, each passing day I see hundreds of ships passing in these waters. I've tried to signal many but to no avail. Still, I shout and try to signal ships standing on this cliff nearby. Hope, you see, keeps things, relations and the broken-hearted alive.

Actually, it is not so bad down here. I've started loving this beauty of nature. It was nature herself though who left me here, marooned. I cannot say for good or worse though because all the other members of the crew are dead, perhaps. It is sometimes tough to judge between death and life.

There is something here which overpowers and breaks me down sometimes, this loneliness. It would have been beautiful had there been someone with me to share this life. I cry sometimes thinking about the girl from the town whom I loved. Then, I wipe my own tears...who else will, if not me?

I see a ship coming this way. It is the nearest I have ever seen. I'm going to try my luck once again.

I sign the page of my diary with my rank daily. I've never used or heard it in many days after all.

Captain Robert Miller.

Musings

It is 4 in the morning and I’ve still not fallen asleep. I think I have gone crazy, a retard or maybe I am institutionalized. What is institutionalized, you ask? Institutionalized like Brooks was in — The Shawshank Redemption. I think I’ve become so used to the life in that cubicle that I cannot handle a life this serene. I mean, for God’s sake! I’ve taken this two day leave just to get some life in me and I am not even able to sleep.

I’ve grown kind of weird these days. At times I want to judge people on scales of logic, science and rationality and at others I just want to sit like how God sits in the Christian paintings; up in the heavens with the earth as his foot stool and smile at people caring very less about logic and rationality.

I get up and head outside. The sky is still dark, full of gloomy clouds. It is not looking scary actually. It is looking like me. I move towards a nearby hill. Hill stations are beautiful places.

I reach the hill top in about half an hour. I see that the trees have started swaying. I think that even the hill doesn’t like me being here. Or wait! Maybe it is just welcoming me in its own way. I hear the beautiful sounds of the birds moving out of their nests and flying high in the air in search of food. Food — that’s all what they seek, and we? We seek wealth. And why? To lead a life of luxury. It sounds very ironical though.

I see the environment brighten up a bit. The sun has started to come out of its sleep. I see it coming from far behind the mountains. I think the sun has brought a glad tiding with it. I’ve suddenly started to feel calm and serene. Sometimes I wish that I lived in the era when nobody knew if the earth was flat or a sphere and if the earth went round the sun or vice versa, life of a pirate as they say. A drop of rain falls from the heaven above and tickles my skin. I’ve never felt like this in years.

I’ve learned that the beauty of nature can give you the much needed happiness and resurrect your devastated life and as it turns out, I am not that institutionalized after all.

Happiness

"Mumma I want those glasses," shouted the boy while the family came out of the auditorium. It was the first time he had watched a 3D movie. All the cool and colorful stuff in an extra dimension fascinated him. He thought that the world would look awesome and come alive when he looked through the glasses. Little did he know that the world was already awesome and cruel enough in its three dimensions. About the life, yes, the world has been dead partly of late.

"No, son. We have to return the glasses back to the cinema staff after watching the movie."
"No, no. I want it, I want it." he cried again.

His father went inside the hall again and purchased the glasses. The worker was reluctant to give it, but money, you see, can buy almost everything. He gave the glasses to his son and they got into the car.

"Why does this not look as it looked inside? It's not the same."
"It's the same boy."
"No, it's not the same." the boy shouted again as his father drove the car.
"If it's not the same then throw it and shut up." the mother replied, irritated.

The boy pressed, disfigured the glasses and threw them out of the car.

A group of street children ran after the car. They used to run after every shiny, swift car. One of them saw the falling pieces of glass. He picked them up and gazed at them for some time. The glasses were colorful, red and green. He smiled like he just found a box full of jewels. He took a piece of glass and looked through it. The world looked beautiful with a greenish tint. Then he took the red piece and kept it over the other eye. He gazed at the beautiful patterns his tiny eyes created in the air in amazement. He laughed and ran towards his friends to show them the miracle.

Someone was happy in the end.

Vision

I was walking alone on a derelict street. It was beginning to get dark with no sign of moon in the sky. December nights are cold but that night was extraordinarily chilling. The breeze struck my chest as a group of recently sharpened spears thrown with the very intention to rip the soul apart from my body. I dragged the zip of my jacket to the highest point available for the slide. The cold metal touched my neck and seemed to extract all heat from my numb body in one go. I lowered the slide a bit.

The only thing that helped my eye have a vision of objects was a lamp post about hundred meters away. I ignited a cigarette to pump some heat into my lungs. The fog made things barely visible beyond the lamp post. I somehow dragged myself to the lamp post. I looked up and saw the beautiful white beams emerging from the lamp. The fog made it very easy to see the trajectory of the rays. The leaves of the tree nearby sieved out the light rays which came as perfect tangents and spread radially into the atmosphere.

While I was busy analyzing the beauty of the scene, the lamp dimmed, sparkled bright again and got quenched. Damn! The only source of my vision was gone. I closed my eyes in dejection and kicked the dust on the street.

After a while I opened my eyes and looked onto the street. My pupils got dilated to collect extra light from the atmosphere. To my surprise I was able to see. I looked up and saw the moon emerging from beneath the dark clouds.

It wasn’t a full moon though.

Reviving Sir Robert Frost : And Miles To Go...Continued

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
 
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
 
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sounds the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
 
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep, 
And miles to go before I sleep.

Desire in my heart forms a heap,

Stunned by woods' beauty, I weep.

But I won't stop 'cause there are,

Acres of corn field yet to reap.

Both the thoughts are still at par,

My heart with mind is caught in war,

Leaving the snowy woods I've to move,

Following that bright still north star.

In state of such dilemma you've,

To make one choice and prove,

That you can never have it all,

How much ever you desire the grove.

My wish is naive but promises are tall,

Now they give my weary spirit a call,

So let the white snow flakes fall.

So let the white snow flakes fall.

Light?

Light lures every soul. Why wouldn't it? A powerful dazzle of light hardly makes things visible beyond. It spreads with perfection and falls on everything. Crickets and bands of tiny insects just yearn for a touch of their darling light as the only crucial task of their life.

But halt!
Is it always the bright that is good?
Something sparkles; why is it necessarily celebrated as right?

I had never seen the air in my life. One fine day I switched off all the lights and closed all the doors and windows. A small opening in the ventilator allowed a faint ray to pass through. The ray fell on my face. I changed my position and saw the perfection of the dust particles. The beauty with which the air moved them, their dance and collisions.

I finally saw air.

Tyndall Effect, the geeks say but for me, I realized that just light isn't needed to see some of the most beautiful things in life, darkness is essential at times.

Reflection

I looked through the glass of the window and saw,

Green leaves on the brown twigs. Some trees had the large ones while the others had too small that they appeared to be brushes smudging the blue sky. The old yellow leaves too withered to shake with joy.

A gentle breeze blew and the leaves rustled. Clouds got a grayish tint. The sun still peeped through a piece of the fluff. Very minute drops sprinkled over the trees and before they could completely wet the surface the clouds blew away.

A mysterious blur came over my eyes and I could not see. Then I realized that I had come too close to the glass that my breath condensed on it. It must have been cold outside. I wiped the droplets and saw an eagle flying high flapping its wings in the sky. She probably headed to the horizon. I wished I could follow her on her pathway to bliss. I wished I could follow my dreams and fly. But these bonds, Ah! How on earth could I get free of these mental bonds?

I looked through the glass of the window and saw, nothing.

The Fallen Leaf

Driven by the wild selfish air,

Taken through all foul and fair,

I wonder if life always will be,

A fallen leaf yearning to get its tree.

Wind so stroked its ruthless blade,

An instant parting from life was made.

I screamed if someone could hold my fall,

My cry to the dumb world seemed small.

O you who move with pride on earth,

I too was once green with mirth,

Perplexed I’m why bliss is so brief,

Why all paths end up in grief?

I always followed the sun’s amber flight,

Amazed I was when all that was left,

With me was night!

Plant that Stood

 

 

Heaven full of dark gloomy patches,

Yonder a fierce storm approaches.

Here I stand overflowing of youth,

Agonies of life they say are sooth.

 

 

Lo! the storm impulsed me so,

Leaves n' branches stooped all low.

Hither I lie yelling of pain,

Efforts to recuperate all go in vain.

 

 

Little they know what feels being solitary,

Men do praise my flowers in flattery.

Tasting the troughs of life being doomed,

Reflected how I was once erect and bloomed.

 

 

The violent storm was followed  by rain,

Threw off all dust rejuvenated every vein.

Days passed : now my curve is gone,

And Lo! here I stand up on my own.

I reckon from the heaven a reminder was sent,

Sorrows and cheers of this life are never constant.