Children of the wilderness.

The sun is shining
Flowers are blooming
Cold winds have stopped
Darkness has dropped
Bit by bit
Step by step
Inch by inch
Tree of life is spiralling.
The birds chirp a melody
Carmine red paints itself through them
Their canvas is a sky.

Rip!
 What was that...?
A befitting tear cutting through the canvas.
Behold the broken wings of the birds..


Crash!
What was that...?
A sledgehammer penetrating the tree of life...
As it spirals down to its death.

Slash!
What was that ….?
The knife edge on his tattooed wrist.
The Carmine blood running down his slit.


Phew!
What was that...?
The deliberate wiping of sweat from her brow
As the wine she silently sips
With Carmine red painted lips.

Perhaps this is not the
Mood of the day.
Perhaps you expected something
Light and Gay.
But, hey
Never keep poetic license at bay.

The vehemence of darkness

Darkness has a sinister trait, it lurks and waits for the right opportunity to seize you. When it does, it leaves you reeling with shock, fear and a dread that can carve out any semblance of normalcy. To resist it and to change it is an ordeal. An ordeal that is a shadow of that monster. Then of course, there is a sliver of a grey hope, even that grey hope is a mere sliver.

The walk in this wilderness seemed to be never ending, it shrouds and shrieks, it threatens and looms, it devours and consumes.. all at the same time. Yet the feet move, a pace they find, a pace that lifts them momentarily from those clutches, each step is steeped in a despair so ominous and agonizing, footsteps transform into an eeriness that is endearing...   

Projector turns on..

A curious child was watching a film on a projector, the beams of light reflecting on the giant screen were holding him enraptured. He was thoroughly submerged in these pictures, the world being created in front of him felt more than real. His lines between reality and surreal were blurred. Not for a moment did he let himself want to leave this alternate reality.  The bliss of living in that world came to shatters when the lights went out, his train of imagination, his chain of surrealism, everything was shattered. He was left in a state of profound stupor, in a second, his reality had been pierced with an agony. The projectionist understood his conundrum, explained to him, "use these images from your mind and relay them at another realm. Witness the projections, drop the veil, live the images, stop resisting what is flowing through nature, do not resist the thoughts, become them, accept them and feel the insurmountable loss dissolve." 

The boy listened with rapture.

Conversations with nobody...

The unfinished lines in his mind, scatter across the landscape of emotions. Sometimes there is a finality in the  unspoken and the unwritten. The power of these words can resonate with those who live by the unspoken!

Some of us may travail in pain oblivious to the role of fate. It's through these difficult experiences one tries to find the strength. Some people find a life in a death. And some die with the dead. Grief knocks when one is most unaware. Sitting in a cab, looking out of the window, the rainbow dashes in a hurry, the rolling drops from the eyes are held along gently and are melted in the palette.

The mighty winter

Thrust of winter pushes against the spirit of the birds.
One of them decides to use up all its glory might and fly out.
Leaving the mighty winter miffed.

Even though the winter is miffed,
It secretly admires the courage of the bird.
The will, hope, love and strength to stare at the mighty winter, bites the frigidity of the mighty winter.

"Bite the mighty
Or shy away from it slightly
Dust the fears off
And take the flight lightly"

The return of the Sun

Looking up at the sky, made the child's heart dance to a joy, a joy unfelt by an adult, the kind of joy that reflected his feelings. With this new feeling, a new determined resolve to capture all the butterflies, he ran towards the beach.

"This is the way one should live, leave everything to destiny, the moment that one is in goes so un-lived as the moment's essence is lost by thinking what does the next one entail."

"plant a sapling... and nurture it to witness how it spirals into a tree of life." 

Why do we forget to live like children, losing everything with our minds, the prism of tears were his alone and the quest to find the meaning of life had gripped him."

This is a post that marks the return of skidding thoughts and remembrances.
Until dawn and till dusk...

Death and Time

There is a feeling of emptiness, an emptiness that cannot be replaced with anything. The fields are marked dry, the winds have stopped blowing, the air is as still as a sleeping child, any moment the child can wake up. With these half-baked thoughts, the shepard wakes up and finds himself lying next to dead sheep. The sheep have no understanding of their state. And the state of the shepard is as bad as those of the sheep. He looks at them, buries his face in the darkness of his palms, the darkness is not enough to shut him out from the pain. "The pain will wither away", he says. He picks up a shovel, trudges along with it and chooses a spot to do the inevitable. A moral epiphany makes him conscious of what he wants to do. He wants to bury himself with them, but he won't. His heart is still beating. He is aware of his thoughts, he will transcend, the incongruity in his mind and heart may never go, but time will heal them and him.

After listening to this, Time tells Death, "there is no distinction between you and life, you are another form of it."
Death quips,"how do you know all this."

Time ruminates, "the credit of my philosophical musings goes to you, as you are my muse."

The ebb and flow of existence

A night passes along with a certain lament, dawn is waiting to swallow the lament and spew it. Lament is wistful, embittered, tries to resign to fate but fate always has other plans. lament is caught in a vortex of emotions. It gives in to fate and says, "break me from the shackles of mind, help me be with hope, love, happiness and comfort, change my core, my being, the very essence of what makes me.. change the meaning of who I am."

Fate doesn't say a word. It embraces and gives it succour. 

With these thoughts, a day can begin. Now, this day can have a therapeutic effect. One goes on living a life trying to find a purpose. A purpose from which one can derive strength and the will to live. The question is that,"does one know for certain that the purpose that one seeks will end the pain and angst of living." Life and death are interchangeable at some level. One can live like a dead man or be a dead man..

Fate, finally laments,"what transpires is in nobody's control, drop the leash, live free and die free."    

The wind blows, the rain pours and time watches!

With the grey skies controlling the rain, squeezing it a little, sloshing some, the sun skidding in somehow and again being threatened by the hues of the sky...

From a distance, I am smiling at the shenanigans of these forces above. This will pass, the rains will pour themselves out today, then the greyness will dissipate, the skidding rays will overcome the gloom.
Nothing will stay, only I will be here even after all is over. I will be a witness to everything, blatantly, non-judgemental ly, unaffected ly, enchantingly, unbiasedly...