Saturday, July 26, 2014

...the better half

A mild music mesmerized the evening, a soft and chilled breeze added romance to the moment.  It was about to rain, few drizzles here and there made the earth to revel its aromatic fragrance.  The twilight was painted in orange as if a kid played with colors on the wall.  The clouds were in process of merging with one another alike a just married couple, but the wind acted as the decorum to make them stay apart for little awhile.  The time was fast approaching for the day to embrace the night and night to glitter in shy but the clouds hid all the glittering of the night alike a woman hiding her shy when her man touches her; and in her ear whispers some lies.

He was holding his favorite book, which he was reading for the nth time.  Leaning over the cushion, watching the fast approaching night through the window he was again falling in love with Selma Karmy.
“Is it again the Broken Wings” she asked him sitting next to him. 
“Yes, it suites the evening and this climate” he replied. 
“Yes, of course it suites the evening” she replied.
“…the only writer born in this world, Gibran. Nobody could make me realize the love I have inside me other than this book, Gibran, and…” he stopped
“…and?” she said
“You…” He said.
He opened his arms; she got closer to him and leaned back over his chest.  He held her tightly from behind, the book in his right hand and her hip in his left. 
“Shall we read together…?” he asked.
“I love to…” she replied.

They filled the evening romance with the essence of the book and the love it bestowed them.  His lips, in between the read, read her cheeks sometimes.
“Did you see the love of Selma Karmy in me…?” she asked.
“No” he replied.  She frowned slightly.
“I see the beauty of this book – Broken Wings – in you” he smiled. She closed her eyes and clutched his hand that was holding her on her hip.  A warm breeze crossed her cheeks and it rained there.  She kissed him back.

“What has changed after marriage or after I came in to your life?” she whispered.
“…many times I kissed this book, and after marriage it kissed me back” he said and kept his silence continue.  She understands his silence and in that silence they read the book, he read her, she read him.

After a deep long silence he whispered her name in her ear.  She said nothing.
“…how could you decipher the love in my silence? Many a time I was afraid that this strange silence of mine would irritate you, but you showed no sign of any such thing.  But I could not talk anything more than that my silence could not say. The warmness of your caress adds fuel to my silence and makes me go speechless.” He said

“ssshhhh” she sounded and turned her head to one side with her ear over his chest and said “don’t talk, I am listening to your heart”.

He closed the book and surfed over her abdomen. She clutched his shirt and said “May the third heart beat, by God’s grace, be heard very soon in our life” 

“I don’t quite understand how you could understand what I was thinking” He said

“My man, I am listening to your heart” she kissed him in his chest.


PS: Selma Karmy was the beloved of Kahlil Gibran, read "Broken Wings"  to get to know more about.

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

She, my mystery...

…deeply dipped in the wine, which was dipped in the earth for years, wandered the thoughts around her, around those sedative eyes, around those slippery wrinkles on her eye lids.  I astound, esoteric where those smiles along with which her lips tasted the honey secreted in her tongue. I admonish, sedative where those peers.  No, those are not just peers but that which tears the age like a spear.  I fear that I might find what is so special about her, while she was being around when the time moves forward and the space moves backward.

Image courtesy : http://designyoutrust.com/


Is she the Ishtar born again in this world! And am I the only one who realized the goddess of sacred love! Her cheeks moved up and down dancing for the acoustic of her laughter competing with my thoughts moving up and down to move closer.  And those throat sprinkles the holy water of Ishtar to say ‘you are not done with those eyes, before you move beyond to satiate your thirst’.  I like to disobey, she breathed in and out to which her bosom said yes and no.  Not just the flesh, but I saw beyond.  The drops of fears in her eyes, the feel of crush in her lips, lots of emotion in her laughter, need of warmth of love in her glimpse, marks of past in her bosom.  Not just the flesh, I saw something beyond. 

I neither fall in love nor believe in love but beyond the love, lust and crush there exist that which is above the so called God, for He couldn't have created it since He lives there, in that something above.  Like the something between the Sun and the light.  It is not the fire but something which keeps things in place.  Like the something between the statue of a goddess and the sculptors hand.  It is not his mind or thought for it could change once in a while but it is the godliness by which the statue was worshiped and known not by those who worship or by the one who sculpted.

She has that something in her body, in her soul, in her lust, in her eyes and in between her brows – the light of godliness.  Her light was so very bright that sometimes makes me keep looking at it and sometimes makes me turn away and it was the same light.  It is not caresses or embraces which will make someone understand her light but some other way that which will prove the God exist, will do.  Till then it is better that the flame grow.

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Nothing...


 

Sitting before my laptop, in fact half lying before it, I am thinking what does this words goanna do to me and I just type nevertheless never worried about who is going to read because most of the prose I write I do read it not after I finish.  Now the room was all silence, just a light, and a fan over my head, the oozing noise of my little old air conditioner, me and my laptop.  That is it all I have here but from where comes all these words which make no sense at all if somebody as to read it for any use to them.  The only way to understand these words is to learn occultism and take me out of my body and get it to my brain and read all that I stored in my hippocampus.  I am here, writing just because I’m alive only those few minutes I write, all other minutes and all other time all my organs work, my heart pumps the blood, my blood travels all around my body, my brain continue to try remembering all that I could but I never had a thought that I am alive.  All other time I am just like any other social human beings on this earth who live because they are born and they are born because a couple was married and forced to live together.  But that is not what I am here to talk or write.

Then, what is there to write here? And the answer is probably nothing.  How could somebody write lines and lines when there is nothing to write? The answer is pretty straight forward, but before that there is another question.  Why does a baby laughs looking at a twinkle of a light, flash of a know face, kiss of a mother?  And when the answer to this question is answered there exist no question of “How can somebody write when there is nothing to write?”  One who writes with nothing in mind is somebody who is affected by all that he sees or all that he saw in his life.  Also he could be someone who is not affected at all with the happening of his life.  And I am a writer of both the type, slightly confused where do I fall.  Life detaches me from all that I think were divine and it even detaches me from all that were lustful and tasteful.  When ever I fall in love with these words, I write not more than a sentence and when ever I detach from what I love I feel like I have thousands of lines flowing from nowhere to write about that love.  If you reread the last sentence, it is not about something I love but it is about that love.  For a long time I thought what ever I like is love – the object – but there exist a pulling force that which detaches me from the object I love and I learnt that that the force that detaches is the love, and again I am slightly confused here.

I am neither an atheist nor a theist because both searched for God and concluded there on there own decision or with some scientific facts that somebody has proposed.  I believe not in the existence of God but a greater power than what we refer to God.  If you predict that I am going to talk about “Love” then I should say a “sorry” here.  The one who doubts whether God exist in the stone statue is a theist and one who believes it is just a stone, there could be no God, is an atheist.  I stay away from both because I see Godliness in that statue, the greater power that rules this world.  I see God in the eyes of the statue, in gesture of the statue, the strong built of the statue, in the brightness of the statue when it glows in light. I see God.  I see God in the space between the sculptor’s hand and the stone with which it is sculpted.  I believe that is where God exist.  If you do not see that you will either live the life of an atheist or a theist and never the life of that of a sculptor who could see something more than a God, the Godliness in a perfect disoriented stone.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Dream...


Any dream seeded deep inside any heart gets manifested a day, before you sleep.  I have a dream, seeded deep inside my heart, waiting for its manifestation.  I was thinking, if I really have seeded it deep well! And I saw paddy crops by road side that which I passed.  A farmer was standing in the middle of his field busy weeding out something from the ground. He ploughed it, seeded the crops and patiently waited for sprouts.  Then he planted it in his field, watered it and sometimes he waited for the rain to come and sometimes for the sun to shine.

It was his dream.  And the field is like a mother baring the crops within it, farmer acts as the God or as a guardian angel.  He cannot seed or plant at a wrong season, he cannot harvest early or late, he has to maintain the amniotic – water – level; it neither has to go down its level nor go up.  The baby – crops – has to be scanned for wellness often, the weeds have to be unplugged and need fertilizer to eradicate the insects.  Patience is the key which might be painful but no pain no grain.

There comes a day for his dream to manifest, he sees grain on the crops – a well grown fetus.  He knows, soon the day will come for harvesting, the day the fetus has to be cut down from its mother.  When he does that, that is the day his dream, his goal, his reason for hard work is manifested.  This is how any dreams’ manifestation happens.

When I was passing through this field I found something unique about the crops, they were well grown and ready for harvesting.  It was drizzling like diving blessing from heaven, as if angels welcoming the crops with colorless flowers.  In spite of all blessings and contemplation from heaven, all the crops stood humbly bending their heads down.  It was teaching the humanity the divine meekness. 


When you have become wise and filled with knowledge, you have to be as meek as me’ says the crops literally.  ‘I will remember’ I nodded.

Sunday, December 1, 2013

I stay this way...

Image Crtsy : Scoop.it
I stay this way,
With a never ending longing
And I want nothing,
With a never ending sorrow
But I care for none.

I stay this way,
Always joyous internally
Still I cry externally,
I believe in ‘nothing’
So I pray to that ‘nothing’

I stay this way,
Little lust in eyes
But love in heart,
I Appreciate colors, but
Blind when it comes to racist thoughts.

I stay this way,
I be with people but
solitude, to which I’m a pupil,
I think to write, but
All I write were not the way I think

I stay this way,
To me God is just one
The multitude of human,
For me the time exist, so that
I travel to and fro and I persist

I stay... this way...

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Writer...

image from google images
It’s a cup fully filled always
From heaven some words will drop-in in some ways

Something will be spilled from the cup
Many a time emotions acts as a scoop

A writer scribbles what comes to his mind
We never mind what meaning we find

There is nothing new under the sun
But believing not to say it again is a sin

What we scribble is just not words
For many writers, they were burning wounds

No better than solitude for heart will heal
It’s always the ink acts a medicines to our soul

Sorrows are the fuel for the flame
Because on the divine plans we are lame

We always wait for a better word to come
And to the love and to the heart of readers we succumb

Shakthi

It was when all the colors of the twilight were washed away by the darkness, the lamps in the temple was lit.  The temple stood away from the town and the Goddess Shakthi stayed alone and away from the humans.  The statue of the Goddess was dressed in red and she looked gorgeous and powerful in her meditative poster.  The aroma of incense sticks and the light from the lamps fill the temple with divinity and godliness – the Shakthi.  The air was silent and peaceful.  In that peace there was a vibration which gives belief and a feel of security by a virtual hand.

image from google images
 The silent continued until a woman who was in her mid forties entered the temple shouting for help.  She looked terrified and horrified.  She reached the statue and fell down at the Goddess’s feet and cried, and cried, and cried.  The air was totally horrified.  The woman shouted at the Shakthi for help.  Shakthi sat there without any expression in her face.  The statue didn’t moved nor nothing in the air changed.  In a minute a man came walking from behind the statue.  He shook the woman crying at the Goddess’s feet at her shoulder. 

“Tell this stone to help my girl, please tell her” the woman cried and screamed at the man.
“Tell me what has happened?” the man said in his meditative voice
“Five human beasts as taken my girl to satisfy their sexual thirst, they took her in to the building next to this temple” she cried

The man saw the Goddess and took the mighty swords from the hands of the statue.  Carrying one sword in his right and another in his left he ran to the building next to the temple.  As he came out he could hear the screaming of the girl and in next minute he entered the building silently he saw four beast holding her hands and legs and another was over her trying to enter her body.  When that human beast was about to kiss her breast the sword sliced his head from the back.  The blood oozed out from the neck making other four and the girl to flabbergast.  The other four beasts moved away from the girl.  The girl pushed the body away and ran to grab her dress.  The blood was all over her breast.  When the girl was about to grab her dress, the man carrying the mighty sword screamed at her to stop.

“You are naked now, but this is not the dress which is supposed to cover your nakedness.  Now only few part of your breast is covered, hold this sword now it is up to you to cover your body, dress in red, get fully drenched in dirt before you need to be washed” said the man silently

The left out four human beasts was furious and angry on what is happening.  They shouted at this man-with-sword in angry, but he doesn’t seem to bother about them.  He bent down to the feet of the naked girl and placed the might sword that which he was carrying. 

“Close your eyes” said he “the beasts needs to be torn in to pieces, dress yourself in red” he said and touched her feats.

The naked girl opened her eyes and saw the glittering sword in moon light at her feet.  She bent down and held it in her hand.  The man with another sword went to the entrance of the building and sat in meditative position, placing the sword on his lap. 

Looking at the sword in the girl’s hand the left out beasts relaxed a bit thinking they could handle her.  The girl raised her eye brows, stood firm in her legs, raised her breast in angry, gripped the sword in her hand and stood still.  One among the four neared her to grab the sword from her. The moment he neared her, she swirled and sliced the mighty sword in air.  She missed his head but that was not her aim.  The man stood flummoxed watching his one hand cut from his body and blood oozing out.  She smiled. Before the other three could realize what was happening, she swirled again twice and made the man into two pieces cutting at his hip.  The body felt down into two pieces.  She went near the body lying down on ground and sliced the head apart and threw it to a side.   Now her breast was totally covered with the blood that spilled from the beast. 

The other three surrounded her; they need to kill her in order to escape.  The girl saw the beast rounding her with fear in their eyes.  Suddenly one among the three jumped over her to grab her.  She knelt down bending to her back slightly; exactly she placed the sword to his neck.  The sword went inside his throat and blood flowed like water over her face and body.  Looking at which the other two started to run away from her.  Throwing her saccades on the two flying away, she dragged the sword away from the dead beast and threw the sword aiming at one of the man running.  The sword flew and stuck in his head piercing his brain.  She ran and pulled the blade out from his skull and cut his neck from the behind to separate his head from the body. 

Now just one beast left.  He looked at the entrance of the building; a man was sitting with a sword on his lap, and he turned to his left; his death was waiting for him nakedly.  The girl went to the dead body of the one she tore the throat to cut his head from his head.  She took it in her hand and threw at the one alive, the one standing before her.  She was already drenched thoroughly in blood, just her feet is left uncovered.  Moving near to the last man she smiled like a Goddess.  No fear, no angry, no anxiety in her eyes.  Her eyes were sharp and her hands were strong.  The moment she went near the last man, he knelt down and bent his head to her feet and cried to spare him.  Silence prevailed for a minute.  She looked at the moon shone over her head; the light of moon was not able to penetrate her body which is now fully covered with blood.  She remembered that her foots was left out.  The moment the man relaxed a bit thinking he was spared, she raised her sword over the head and sliced his head.  The blood covered her foot.  

Now she is no more naked but covered with dirt, dirty blood.  She walked slowly towards the man in meditation and dropped the sword near him.  He took the sword from the ground and walked towards the temple.  She followed him. 

She saw her mother still holding the legs of the statue and crying.  The man placed the sword back in the hands of the statue and took the beaker containing the milk placed in front of the statue.  He poured the milk over the girl to wash out all the blood.  He lit a lamp before the girl and handed over her dress to her.  He went behind the statue and took his hammer and plumbing instruments and packed his bag.  He again came to her, knelt down and touched her feet to get blessed.  The girl stood still without emotion. 

“Now you know where the real Shakthi is” he whispered to her mother and walked out of the temple.