Sunday, December 25, 2016

A Musical Confession

When I type, I just don't write the words I think but the musical notes.  May be that is why both are named a keyboard. Like that of a melancholic musical notes that digs the hypothalamus and brings back the memory to eyes, followed by tears to wash it and clean it, when I write, these words plays a song that I wish I shouldnt have heard.  When someone asked me, long back when I was very young, to close my eyes and think back the mistakes and sins I committed; all I heard was a happy song though here and there it was off key.  But now when I close my eyes and think back through the path I walked I could realize I have crushed may roses with my own hands for its thorns has made me bleed.  All I forgot is those are roses and thorns are by nature. It was a beautiful music mixed with melody and rough strings.  The music enters directly to heart from ears before it could reach the brain.  Before the brain analysis what to do with the emotions that thorns already stings the hearts wall and thus my eyes bleed.  I do not want anybody to see that I am bleeding inside and that is why the tears are colorless and not red.

I sit in a garden, to write, filled with essence of flowers and aroma of grasses it was all magical to see the surrounding happy and fresh.  The song of nature was always refreshing, a mild melody that keeps hushing in the breeze that keeps the world moving.  But there also exists a song of sorrow inside the heart.  The sorrow of the bleeding wound, the pain of the scars that could not be healed.  And when I start to write happy words would not come.  My comrade, the solitude, wants to fill my pen with the mixture of my past and tears to write.  Never my comrade left me alone and that is why solitude became my best comrade.  I wondered many a time what makes a good poem or a prose.  I realized that it is not a writer or a poet who makes a piece of writing to enter into ones heart but the song they heart from inside.

My song was so special to me though it is always a sad one.  I know not to sing so could not explain it but I know the notes of the music that what I write down. This is my personal song that only I could hear; all others could listen but not hear.

A voice said Close your eyes relax go deep into your heart.  The expedition starts with a fresh day light like that of an early morning sun.  It won’t hurt.  Get deeper and deeper the music slows down like the ending note of a violin.  Go deeper, wipe the blurred glass where all the stains of the life was hiding; now the song will become melodic, romantic, filled with love and lust.  Get passed through the glass like the light and it begins to dim.  You sometime see twilight loving and harmonic and suddenly you will see dusk, then dark.  The songspitch changes; the drama of melancholy will start.  This journey is not so easy, not a narrow straight path but a wide road with multiple lanes.  Sometimes it brings you to the same road you walked before just to understand the path, make sense out of the experience the road has given you.

Don't open the eyes; just allow your mind to travel.  Do not shut your ears; allow the song to enter into your heart. The dark wall that you have painted with white will start showing its own color.  To show the world that the wall is only white and there exist not a spot of dark you would have painted in white.  But the wall always revel its original color to the one who painted. Only the one who painted can see the darkness behind the white shade. Only the composer knows the missing notes in the song.  Alas! My composer knows the mistakes in the song I just could hear and not correct. 
The voice again said it wrong time to open your eyes, get deeper, travel deeper.  The music now will become poignant.  Dont stop hearing; just keep listening to the music.  The unfaithfulness, the love, the lust, the care, the ambivalence, the malevolence, the gratitude, the good deeds, the bad sins and what not; all that you have done to your life pops out like roses and thorns. 

Remember, the voice said the flower you smelled, its softest petals that you caressed and sucking out all the honey from it you flew away like a cruel bee and the flower started fading.  You didnt look back for you are afraid that flower was fading and its because of you.  You do not know whether there may be a rain to water the rose or a storm to uproot, but you didnt stop to look back for you are afraid the sin might fall on you which are already yours.

Dont open the eyes the voice said again loses are always lose.  You were once a mother feeding the breast milk of love to the baby that was not born for you.  And there came a storm with turned your world upside down.  The baby disappeared leaving its heart in your heart blended.  Centuries you may live but the memory of that touch of the baby, those little fingers that scratched your lips and those tiny lips that sucked your lips, will leave you never.  You will still feel the weight of the baby in your hands for only the heart has grown hands.  Now the song is a sad lullaby which will make the baby sleeping inside the mud to sleep and keep you awake.

You are once in your mothers womb carefree, happy, enlightened, rejoicing the warmth of the amniotic.  And now you want to get back there for you can start your life anew; the same life in different fashion.  But you are not allowed.  More tears now running through the cheeks and it now has touched your chest trying to put off the burning heart. The song changed to longing, the music of guilty.

Open your eyes the voice said you do not want to open the eyes but its not the time to shut down the life so you have to open the eyes and look at the light without fear and guilty for days may not come back for you to correct. 


Deep inside every heart there is always a song of hope, a devotional song of faith and trust. Only the composer knows when to stop playing the music, till then just sit back relax, listen and enjoy when it is a song of joy and cry when it is a song of sorrow.  Hum the song of life and the life goes on till the notes are done.
                                                                                                          - S

Sunday, November 27, 2016

A Love Letter...

courtesy : dangerdame.com/
It was just another day I was sitting and doing the most difficult task; doing nothing. The park was less crowded, couples here and there was hidden behind the trees hand in hand and chatting.  Elderly couples were obeying their doctor’s words to go around the park how much ever times they could. The twilight made the place enchanting as the reddish yellow race of the Sun peeped through the leaves and branches of the trees.  Kids were busy in enjoying their most with the swings, climbers and the seesaw before their happiness ends up with the call for home works.  The wind was little heavier but soothing. I sat wondering how everybody else was happy except me though I was not sad.

An envelope slapped my cheeks, came flying from some corner of the park. Somebody has dropped it down as waste or might have slipped from their note or book, I thought.  It was not glued helping me to open it without tearing it.  I took out the folded sheet of paper from the envelope and could smell the aroma of rose when I opened it. The guy should have sprayed some scent after writing I guess. It should be a love letter, I thought. I was not wrong, the letter ended with “with love” and a heart-in symbol.  Should I read it or not, I didn’t know.  The handwriting was neat and perfect.  I looked around for somebody who should be in search of the letter.  I found nobody; everyone was busy with their happy life.  I then decided to read.

If I were you who were reading this letter, I would have crushed and threw the paper.

How bizarre to start a love letter.  I wondered who this guy could be, writing love letter when people don't even have a pen in their pocket.

But it is you, who could not crush anything with your rosy palms.

Aha! There he goes, brilliantly telling the lady to not to crush without reading.

I do not want anybody to encrypt my love, spread it in air and decrypt it to you to read that is why I choose the most ancient but lovable way to express my love – a letter.

Ancient! It was just a decade this technical chaos took over the love letters, anyways brilliant.

When there are many girls around you busy with their mobile phones in their hands, the day I saw you, you were sitting alone with your palms on your cheeks. It was not you for whom I was looking for but you replaced everything I was searching.  I wished you should see me at least by the corner of your eyes alike every other girl does. But you didn’t.  I learnt that that was not your style.  You looked straight into my eyes. I was not prepared for the spear from your eyes, my eyes stumbled.

Eyes stumbled! Mmm…

When my eyes waved to see the other girls sitting around you my pupil turned to you again and again.  Just like the wave from the sea, the pressure that pushes the water to the shore again and again, the something which I could not name, the feeling for which I don't have a name turned my eyes to you. I don't want you to move neither I want to move. You got up to walk away; angles do not listen to human’s, I know.  You walked like a slender vine. I wanted to whisper in your ears “Dear slender vine, catch me and roll me up.  I could stand by you for life long.”

Slender vine! A slim girl!

You walked only a little here and there crossing my eyes but with every glimpse I clicked a snap of your image and stored in my mind. You stuck to me and left me not from the day I saw you. Back home, next morning I was listening to a music which was soft and romantic.  I stood and danced slowly to the rhythm of the sound.  I closed my eyes and moved my legs; I opened my arms when the singer called for his lover for a hug.  There you come, in my arms.

Smart.

We moved to the music, I listened to the acoustic of your breathe.  The music grew more romantic kindling more romance in air. Caressing you kindled little lust in my body.  I held your hips, you grabbed my neck. We were moving our legs with chin in chin.  When your nose kissed my nose our breath mixed and our sprites exchanged. I let my soul get inside you and you left my soul with me. We hugged like broken parts of mirror which shows two images when broken and one image when fixed together.

Broken mirror! Wow that was a good metaphor.  And Sprites exchanged! A confession! Hope she do not picks up the exact meaning.

You whispered something in my ear; I said that I didn’t hear. You placed your lips over my ear and said marry me.  I didn’t know how I should react so I left it to my body and soul to react. I leaned over you shoulder and tears drenched your neck. “Leave me not for a while, for I could drown in longing and die” I whispered. You tightened your hug.

Oh! Oh! This is an unusual love proposal.

“Take me and never let me go” you replied.  I scooped you in my arms and started walking toward the light. I don't want to open my eyes for you could vanish from my vision.  But all this to happen I thought I should write. And that is why this letter is in your hands.  “Will you marry me?” will be a question but I don't want to ask you for anything; just marry me, we will walk towards that light. 
– With love…

No name at the end. 
Aha! How does name matters when the guy hands it over to his girl.  I folded the paper and put it into the envelope.  The next moment I saw a guy sitting at the other corner of the bench I was sitting. 

“Will she be impressed?” He asked me. 
“All the best”, I said and handed the letter to him.

Saturday, October 8, 2016

Miracle...

courtesy : 123rf.com
My will is to write on what I am willing to write.  I force not my fingers to write the words I do not want to read.  I force not my brain to think the sentence just to seduce the eyes that is going to read.  I write because I do not do any meditation.  The knowledge of stopping my mind to think is something I have not been taught.  I decided to teach it myself – I write.  I think of writing so that I think not of anything else.  I look at every letter as a girl sometime, as a child sometime, as a cloud, as a star, as a new born, as a teacher and what not.  Only few times I looked those words I write as words.  Never my mind said I am running out of words because all that it was filled with is just words, all that I didn’t recite.  More than the conversation with my fellow humans I converse with my mind, I watch and it dictates.  Not all time it is my dictator sometimes I proclaim the dictatorship and enjoy the difference of opinion between me and my mind.  I love when it disobeys me. When the thoughts are like slow moving water I stop it with a dam built inside and redirect it to the canals to flow through.  Not all time it is possible that the water flows in tranquil sometimes it rains heavily and the water rushes to the dam with its full force.  The use of cannels makes no sense then; it overflows thus avoiding the wreckage in the dam. What makes one to write is a mystery; the divine code of secret.  When that code is broken and the secret is revealed then that is the day of books; no more books will be published.  Not to all the eyes these are words but to the few, may be to the many, this is just the permutation and combination of words.  Those are the beautiful minds that calculate searches and researches.  For few these letters jumbled in order makes all sense.  They read it with their eyes but what they look at is not the words but the heart of the finger that wrote.  Those were the beautiful hearts. They read, smile and cry at the words for they know under what emotions those words are knitted.  They know under what pain those mistake in the sentences are made.  To write is not an art but a science.  The science of stopping the mind to think, the science of redirecting the thoughts to the way the heart like to flow.  To read is not a science but an art of deciphering the heart of the writer and the art of understanding the pain of the others wounds. It is the art of falling in love with the one that has never ever has appeared before their eyes, never ever spoke into their ears; the real love that everyone is foreseeing for; the unconditional love.  Till that unconditional, unbridled love exists in this planet there will be hands that knit the letters into words then into sentence in turn into book that warms the eyes of the readers. What really is a miracle; the rain of gold from the sky or the sprinkles of water? Tons of gold dropping from the sky will only create fear in the hearts but the rain brings happiness.  Is it not the rain a miracle!  I was searching for bigger things, a great miracle to happen so that I could pen down until I saw the little finger of a girl standing before me.  I could look at nothing else but her finger in her foot; so beautifully sculpted.  I thought it was a tiny finger but the time I took to adore the sculpture made me realize that it is of the size of this universe.  The nail it held were polished and decorated and at the tip of the nail as grown after the coloring so that it looked like a crown of a princess. She moved it like a wand putting me in trance.  The spell that that finger spelled made me stay awake but in a mesmerizing sleep that nothing else around me existed.  Could a little finger can make put me in such a state! I then realized, understood the meaning of the words miracle.  There exist no miracle in the air, it is inside.  Sometimes a little wand like her finger puts spells to provoke it. The ups and downs of those little finger where the speed breakers stopping my eyes to go up or down; mesmerization at its height. Slowly the wand moved from its position and came closer to me.  I don't want it to move for I might wake up from the trance and face the real world.  But it moved, came closer to me, crossed passing me and disappeared. Nothing could explain that enchanting finger than the words; thus it is here. 

Saturday, October 1, 2016

Unreachable...

courtesy : Pintrest.com
I could near her not though she is not standing at longer distance from me. She stood by the shore of a mighty sea. Like those waves from the ocean that come touches and goes back my unbridled love waves to her and comes back but touches her not. Not one I have seen in my life that of the girl that stood mesmerizing the ocean with her legs.  I could call her an angel but I would not do for she is above that.  There is nothing to worship in her for she is the worship of God himself.  It has become natural to become unnatural and artificial but to be naturally natural is why we are made for. Going against the law of the commune is accepted for the dogmas are made for the arrows that go in the direction of few pointed fingers.  Those fingers do not want any arrow to go in a different direction.  Those were the dogmas which act as a spell from the dark evil.  Even the dark evils are corrupted now and thus knowing not either to do wrong or stay quiet they left their wands in the hands of human beings.

She stood by the shore.  The waves that touches the feminine’s feet were to wash the camouflages thus to unveil the femininity. Terribly it failed for the roots of that femininity was corrupted.  But when it touched the feet of the woman that stood by the shore it cleansed the sanity of the ocean.  The hot day turned to cool twilight the sky bored its own face removing the mask of the light.  The breeze crawled on to her face like a baby crawling to its mother.  Nature knows the nature.

Not in the wardrobes her femininity exists nor in her walk it could persist.  It is in her eyes.  She knows how to look at a man as a man, know how to smile at someone without bringing any lust in their heart.  She has a rich aura that protects her from the eyes of the demons.  Acoustic of her voice could win the softest sounding lyre of this planet; no music could be compared for it is the hymn composed by the divine itself. Once it was a rarity that some creatures goes against the nature and dwells in the artificiality but now it is a rarity that some beautiful creation walks, smiles and lives the life of natures benevolence.  She is one such creation, the beautiful, made by divinity alike every other creation but decided to perceive the femininity that of the nature.

It hurts the mother earth when some so called feminine walks with their spikes in legs, intoxicates the air that we breathe with the chemicals they apply. Few, with there eyes, provokes everything that was hidden in the heart other than love of those who encounters. Not the mistake of the creator, not the mistake of the creation too but the malevolence of the material world. Even the purest of the pure milk is contaminated with the slow poison thus making more evil and gaining more materials.

The one I saw watching the ocean with love and compassion was the one those evil hands could corrupt not for she is the abundance of purity; such amount of evil is yet not found to contaminate it. She is a flower that has the perfume by its nature, a vain that has grown bearing flowers, a tender grass that drinks the dew drops in the night and waits for the sun to flourish it.  To hold such a flower in hands and cherish just one day and get back to the universal soul will be the dream of any.  To live in the flamboyance of femininity and make some real meaning to the days we live is any one’s longing; mine too.

I wanted to take that flower in my hand and feel the aroma of freshness, to feel the femininity in real, to realize the goddess of love that literature spoke. But there were few drops of poison spread in my hands also to pluck the beautiful flower and hold it in hand to dry is something for which my heart says no.


She is the epitome of the gender of love, the true femininity.  Now I remember reading somewhere “they are not equal to men! But above them”

Saturday, September 17, 2016

An Angel in Black

Courtesy : pinterest.com
An angel dropped from the sky when I was thinking nothing as I had nothing to think.  The world around me was a total empty space, an air filled vacuum that made me suffocate. A delusion I thought when I had nothing to gain, nothing to lose anymore.  It was the time my brain was white washed to paint it with something anew in color.  I was sitting in a garden filled with greenish trees and colorful flowers.  Not one leaf fell from the tree, not one flower revealed its aroma, every vain stood unsupported. I wondered if such a place really existed in this planet.  There was a sound of rustling water, I ran to see if in curiosity how different It would look than the usual rivers.  And when I went near there is no different but the water didnt touch the ground.  I underwent a head whirling moment to see all the usual things in an unusual way.  A bird flew out from the running water and sat on the tree.  Though unusual at least it looked like a bird.  I am not a bird it said reading my mind.  I am a fish it said.  There is nothing to afraid of the strange happening for I was ready to face the unseen, see the light that could even blind me.

Walk back to the garden the fish recited meditatively.  I walked back to the garden and sat on a park bench in the middle of the garden. The Sun bid farewell to the day. The moon shone brighter as if it has stolen the light from the lightning.   Then she strolled down on the virtual steps from the sky.  Her wings are open, it was in black.  I imagined angels only in white but she wore wings in black. Her face was lit like a moon. The oozing sound acquainted her stroll, it was not the sound of her walk but the stream of the blood in min my veins.  I stood from the bench when she alighted from the sky.  She looked deep into my eyes with loads of compassion.

She turned towards the moon to brighten up her entire body.  She was half dressed, covering only what she felt like unimportant to revel.  She grabbed my hand and walked gently towards the running water. After few moments of silent and peaceful walk we stood in the dry shore of the running water.  The sound of the running water was high blocking any other sound that could interrupt.  She walked near to the water, touched and said silent.  The fierce water calmed down and touched the earth.  The rattling sound disappeared and the river went in a deep trance as if tranquilized by her touch.

Then she turned to me.  I could see her half naked body.  Too her she is half dressed but for me she is semi naked.  The perception of an angel and human.  She took my face in her palms to look deep in to my eyes. Too deeper where your melancholy she said meditatively.  Her voice was smother and sweeter alike a rose petal dipped in the pure honey and fallen into my throat. There is no much vain in living the life she continued in her honey dipped voice life the life, cry until you could then stop crying and smile when you are finished.  Tears rolled down from my eyes washing the cheeks and dropped over the earth.  Smoke erupted from the place where my tears fell.  Keep the sins aside, you never know until the events unfolds itself and make all your sins to make sense, She said.  I cried. 

Embrace me, drop all your pain and embrace me.  Hug me for all your pain will get evaporated in to the sky.  You can only see stars in the sky standing underneath here, there are lot more than you imagine that could exist she said and opened her arms.  I entered her arms as if entering the pyre.  But she was not a burning pyre, her flesh was made up of air that I breathe, her softness was like the slow running river.  The clouds covered the moon making the brightness to dim.  Her caress was tender and soft as if hugging an enormous rose.  The mind was empty, with no thoughts, no future, no past, no present event just being is.  Are you an ambassador of God, the great soul himself? I asked.  She tightened her soft embrace and said No.  Nothing changed inside me; the reply that she is not from the universal soul didnt shake me.  Is she an angel from the dark world? So what! God created darkness alike the brightness.  I wanted to ask a few more questions on who she is but what difference will it make to me.  I just succumbed to her.  She moved a foot apart from me.  I know when my chest touched her bosom she could read what is running in my mind. She looked like it didnt bother her.  She placed her hand on my bare chest.  It was soft and cold as ice.  The hand went slowly into my chest, there is no wounds, no blood but her hand entered my chest.  She pondered for my wandering heart and found it.  I closed my eyes towards the heaven and she grabbed my beating heart. Placing her other hand over my shoulder she crushed my heart and released.  In a fraction of a second a pain spread all over the body, a shock in my spine, a shudder in my stomach, the blood flowed faster, my eyes blurred as if stricken by the lightning. 


The slowly the heart came back to its normal beats, the blood flown slower, everything was back to normal.  The leaves fell, flowers smelled, river flowed normally, the fish-bird jumped back to the river and the sun was back to light up the garden.  I walked towards the light.

Thursday, August 11, 2016

Modern Art


courtesy : Google Images

It is colorful everywhere around; blue in the sky and the sea, yellow in the sunlight, brown in the soil and tree trunks, green in the leaves and grass.  Different shades of race in the humans, animals and birds. And when it rained everything unhide its hidden colors.  The seven colors of the Sun, wet brown of the mud, bathed trees and trunks, and dark clouds.  Only human’s safe guards their original color until it rains in their eyes.

From the sky it all looks like an art of a child that played with all colors.  Few places looked liked as if the paints are wrongly mixed; later I found the original color was right but somebody has mixed has poured black and gray to pollute the picture.  Here and there it looked dirty after it was polluted but still the painting remains a master piece – Master’s piece.

A peculiar arrangement has been made to show case the art, to whom is something mystical.  We call it a day but it is the light pointed on the art to show the color with increased brightness.  We call it a twilight but it is the view of the picture in fading light; the changing red, orange and gray light from the sky.  We call it a night but it is an arrangement to show the painting in the white light of the moon.  We call it a no moon day but it to illustrate that the art looks beautiful even when there is no light.

O! My fellow beings, I know not the child who painted the picture. All I know is; to see the art you must look at it as a child that painted.  To appreciate you need not find the artist but find the art.  O! My dear humans, the art need not be corrected nor needs any changes, just do not add any color or erase any color from the painting.  The child that painted needs no appreciation nor praise, just appreciate the art and live with it in beatitude.  The extreme goal given for anything in the art is to stay alive until the child rethinks to modify and not to modify itself.  The more we modify the art the more we are provoking the child to repaint the picture.  And we do not know what that child will do.  Do not grow up and think that it is a child’s painting so that we could change. Sometimes he may white wash it, understand my fellow beings he is a child; you can predict very less about him.

O! My beloved beings that talk about unconditional love, if you think what you do to you children is unconditional love then laugh at yourself, it is all selfishness.  It is not what we show to our little children is unconditional love it is what they show to us.  We corrupt them with materials and money then unconditional remains but love disappears.


If you still think that the greater child that painted our planet could be mesmerized with the offering and money then close your eyes and light to the laughter of that child.  He does not know what you are giving.  He painted tress in brown and green but we are offering him the same in the form of printed papers.  What will he do with it? Whatever given to us is by him and whatever we are trying to give him is his.  O! My poor fellows, listen he is a child digging the mud and taking the diamond as offering to him will not please him.  No not grow up as an adult and bargain with him to he might seem to listen and act up to you but, for he is just a child, he might have a different plan once you settle down.  Be a child alike him, talk and play with him as a child then you would require nothing but the love of him.  This painting is already a modern art, what we see is just a minuscule part of his work.  Do not try and repaint.

Saturday, July 16, 2016

The sea and the wave...

Image courtesy : http://www.motaen.com/
When I start I do not know where I will end,
For only the starting is mine, rest flows like a wind.
Life or the poetry, it is just hidden from our eyes,
To blow the dust and unveil is what remains.

Every move towards next move is like archery,
Stop not though life sometimes shows treachery.
Tears are the pain of the soul; the colorless blood,
It is hard as a task to swim and get out of the flood.

To get out of the flood is not so easy but what really pains!
You will expect only pangs from the water whenever it rains.
When being rotten in fire you think you are gold,
But when molten by wrong hands you story will be untold.

Only the swords with the handles are good to fence,
Double edged daggers give you no defense.
Where there is love and when it is true,
There exists no reason to be shrew.

When you float in love there is no master or slave,
You need no boat for you will be like sea and the wave.
When you go far in to the sea away from humans
You will see Wales and peace at same time, to make you a shaman.

To blame or shame for the aches are not in love’s dogma,
For it is all the style of God to make life an enigma.
No proof that God exist, no proof that human will persist,
Happenings are not to resist, accept; then you need nobody to assist.

Life can be a journey but death can not be the only destination,
Love can be an oar but certainly not the boat, it is only an intimidation.
The force of love dies when you force to insert pain in the vain,

In fear nothing could last, when you realize it will be late to refrain.