Why I have to wash my face :P

Note:- I know, I know, you don’t need to tell me- it is long. To be more precise, about 950 words. Thank you 😀

So with a self imposed mission of trying to break the ‘curse’ or the internal diaspora and integrate those fleeing parts, I sat down to  introspect and concluded that the reason for all that is simple- simpler than this sentence- some how my assumptions have been disturbed.

The effects are the ones which are surprising and not the cause in itself. For I have always believed that everything is based on assumptions. This very post, is based on so many assumptions-  that visceral sounds are assumed to mean such; that when written down, clarity will reveal itself again(albeit the nonchalant pall hanging over my gait) ;  that people do care enough, to read this ; the fact that I have adopted this language(or has the language adopted me?) to write instead of my native tongue; And a billion or trillion more, depending on your preferred currency.

But the point is assumptions are the base of life. They give the mind hard things to compare and accept or reject. The equation of life, is full of variables, and assumptions just about cement them to be more reassuring and constant. But that in itself can act against us. See what this whole business of letting your mind chose its basis to decide and follow(highly influenced and intoxicated by the world, in more candid terms by the adults and adult influenced peers when we are growing up) is that it tries to ab initio remove fear and guilt.

The twins are notorious enough to be the reason(in my humble views) for most of the events in the world. From having a hallo around your head to being fried in the devil’s oils(which flavour do you choose?) all are caused because of these two. And when assumptions are moved by forces stronger than themselves and when cruel reality(again based on other assumptions, nevertheless, supposedly) sets in, along come the twins, with kisses and words that bewitch you and send your hormones in all the wrong directions and steal your brain or it’s acclaimed human rationality.

So my assumptions were struck by a lighting, but fortunately I had bothered to stick a lighting rod out. But sometimes light in itself can lose to a sloth- when it enters a fortress formed by materials which have been hardened with fervour and self belief and not to mention assumptions that I am bound to not see a victory till I turn a new leaf(is it now?), it slows and crawls, but still doesn’t lose the pinch which it brings along, so what really had happened was that I was stunned(thanks to my own need to fend myself against the world’s ever altering assumptions) and now with a fine poem, I have but got rid of it.

But the optimism that I wont possessed has been shaken the most. The lazy bug, without the wonder drug(optimism) has turned lazier and has decided to stay and not vacate its place in the system, to expand. Though it isn’t all that compelling(like this pseudo style, heavily influenced I am sure by God(another assumption?)  knows what!) the bug is quite comforting.

But by writing that very sentence I have managed to sort out a paradox or two and at the same time, kicked the bug a bit, after all I know no one is going to bother to read this, at least entirely. Probably, one of my hopes that was dashed(with a red ink, memories of Tamil papers dawn) was my belief that I would be read and my blog garlanded with words of praise and I would make News and promote optimism and help in rolling the wheels of progress across the oblique course(s).

But that seems pretty stunted and in more ways decaying from neglect, being ignored more so, by those who can give it some spirit. Yes, I have said it, I black and with, well punctuated with commas and fullstops, I seem to lack a belief in people.

Once upon a time, I prided myself in hating humanity. But a sense of hope, that hate can morph into love, existed. But pretence has turned into the present’s love and as I pour my love into my belief about humanity’s greatness (and bits of shallowness and vanity) , the world in return seems to offer more walls than doors(but more doors than before, but being as astute as I am, I can see many other doors being filled with bricks, all red – the capitalist in me, mourns ).

The doors I am willing to take, because I have for a long time now, refused to honour fear and guilt, more than deemed necessary. Visitors are welcome, as long as they follow my dogma and yield to the imposed moratoriums and curfews. But are those the doors I want to take? This is a stark question, the answer, shall go unwritten, at least as of now.

Now my assumptions having been swayed by the lights and developments, are back to their old staunch selves. They again, wish to re-establish their command, having fought the wars with words, wisdom and weapons and have returned with better men and women and not to mention new ways and knowledge.

They face a struggle though, the throne, occupied by the prince, his highness the lazy bug, has to be won. How can you lull someone who is laced by reality and lives in a shell? Probably being a moon child and a crabby person, the waters hold the answer. So simply put- I guess I have to wash my face and get going again 😛

P.S:- why does wp, want me to rewrite this entire post in active voice? hmpf.

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A dead leaf

He held the dead leaf in his hand. Fallen from its plant, it was left to rot and fuel its own origin.

Or it could be picked by a wind. It can fly away from here, it can sail to the lands the winds choose and finally i might settle in a land of paradise, forever in a new joy or..

..or it might end up in a land as dead as itself. It will then stay there, till something swallows it or lifts it again. But one which is dead?

When it was alive, it was bound to its plant. It nourished it like its brethren , it was one among all, acting like how all expect it to. But is this what a passing eye feels but never the one held? Maybe it is held thus, because it chooses to?

But doesn’t one dream of the birds in the sky, at least when one is young and can race the clouds? Is it that dreams are meant to be dreamt but never sought in life? Is it just, is it fair to just die? Is this how frail all this is?

Is this a continuum, where the memories are buried and memoirs forgotten, sooner or later?

We strive for living, we fight for survival, we work together, we rebel, there are new beginnings , there are old endings, a fresh burst of air here, more heat there, one for all, all for one, will it be in the end, that we all will come alive, like actors talking a bow as themselves and being applauded for the parts we played?

Is this all a fantasy, these endless possibilities? Is our imagination a tool used to lead us from reality, which might shock the living out of us? What is living, if we are to die a baseless death? But isn’t this what we see and learn? How is this real? Can there be something bigger which we are a part of?

Is it love, that we die for? Is it misery that we live for this long? Do we all wait for the day, when we open our eyes no more? Is it that the quest we go on, offers no more, for the recesses have long outrun the excitement of the path, unbeaten?

Are words capricious fabrications, just to easy the pain of knowing the inevitable ? Is the mind there only to paint a vivid misery when in joy and a blunt happiness when in sorrow? Is the past only to be a seed for a morrow and today a retrospection where we dare to water that seed and tomorrow the day when the leafs do peek again, a visage fresh and innocent that the first brush with the polluted air does font it of earth?

So much for a dead leaf. What beauty can there be in the dead? For once dead all that remains is to rot. But when alive, all that remains is that we die. But when unborn, when a dream, all that remains is to brought alive. Call it optimism, call it human vanity, call it that I try to hide from reality and maybe it is true but I will dream anyway.

I may fail again and again. But I will pick up leaves again and in them see much more than what I need to. It might all be a soothsayer’s words, but at least there is hope of a better morrow. The plant may not remind us of the leaf, but the leaf sure does make you search for a plant.

I believe there are magic flowers, do you? Even if you don’t I do. I can feel them, hear them, see them, one day I will get to them. When I do, I will show them to you, I will not get angry or take pride for how can own that which is already owned, unless it is a meek being or I elude myself by calling it is a gift. When a leaf is plucked another one might grow, but there is more to be given for that to happen.

You can hold water in your palms but can we stop it from evaporating? Only thing left is to put to use while we still hold it.

A pleasurable moment

A pleasurable moment.
As the winds swayed the trees
longer and longer, as the roots
strained,the clouds circled
and smeared into a blinding 
rage of continuous cold rain.
From all directions
they culred and merged,
uniting and parting,
with feathery fierce
and lovable verse-
unification and ramification
of one in meloncany depression.

Water hallows life
and the raw substance
of purity, pertains
the presence within
to wonder fill the
mind-in awe,
in the superiority
of an ancient cycle,
one still so tenacious
and routine adhering,
as if it was its prayer
to expose the mindlessness
of humans and their
predicament and folly
in their creation.

At the top of the world,
at the vertex of a triangle
at the peak of a mountain,
within lies a joy
of profound silence,
lest the evil smile
of destruction ever bear
resilience.Neither place
not time matter,
as the rain incessant
ponders the earth
forever gullible ,
not solidified,even
by human imagination.
And on that ledge
open and exposed,
if one were to stand,
the belonging,
the attachment,
between earth and humans
can be felt,
where man can let the minds
flow through and listen
to the tunes of natures
way of beginning a new
chain of causing culvert
conjugation-the
beating down of the vary
and fueling the life of
the within mighty.

Yet all we see is
a blanket of destruction,
which moves in from
the high seas
and rides on winds,
bound in one horizontal
direction.The clouds
seem to be forces of mayhem,
the death God’s coveted
tool of justice.But
the only justice we forget
is poetic and that shall
preserve the truth
as much as the clouds their
swaying fruit-
as the drizzle breezes
on to the face and we
rush for cover
from the torrent that
shall follow.

For such is the nature-
for the sun might be hid
and earth might face a gloomy fit,
yet the gray darkness
is a reminder that none
is superior than the whole,
that the instrument’s
sound can be played,
only if the artist is so made
and the climate ready to hear
the beauty of the untold,
yet known,repeated in
just another way.

from a guarded place,
in between a populous race,
the rain still never fails to amaze.
Even as i face none of the worse
implications of the storm
which by some grace got made,
I can never but be at ease
that such forces exist,
which makes it worth being it.
Never can a joy be higher
than when in oneness with
something greater,yet such claims
are just sinister-for nothing
can be felt which isn’t.

The light shines the brightest

is pain sane or insane?

Is pain,sane or insane?

Well let me explain.Is pain a part of the sanity or reality or does it belong to the insanity in man? It quite tough to answer this.So let us analyze a few things.

When ever you see a picture which is gory(to you),you feel an instant pain.It pricks and all you want to do is just not look at it any more.This is pain too,isn’t it? It affects your mind and brings you to the harsh reality,that the world is not as sweet as it tells itself to be.

Now if suppose you are being tortured by someone physically,then you are brought to the reality ,i.e. that you are a creature who has a life,which someone else wants.When you are tortured mentally,you are brought to the reality that you are not invincible.

All of us are afraid of pain.Yes,all of us are afraid of it.Yet a few have the ability to withstand it.But before we go into that,what causes people to instigate pain?

The answer is simple,they can’t stand the pain within them,they want to let it out.The only way they have found to let it out,is by giving it out.More often then not,people with hard exteriors are really soft and insecure inside.

So why can’t people hold pain within themselves?That is the insanity of pain.When in pain,there are no rules.Everything is right.Your body and life are the prime focus.More often than not,we get intimidated by the fear of pain,rather pain itself.While it is true that we people have to let out pain,it is also true that we enjoy pain.All of talk of freedom,yet when someone controls us,we see a beauty surface in us.A high euphoria which inspires us.We suddenly feel alive.

So how is it possible for people to hold pain?Not a simple thing.The best way to handle pain,is by transferring it into something else.Energy is neither created nor destroyed so since pain too is an enegry,just transform it into something else,which might help everyone.

So is pain sane or insane?

you decide….

Thinking about my identity

What is the use? what is the use of this world?

It is always amazing,to know that we the significant micro(maybe even smaller) particles who make up the universe have some purpose and a life to live.Why i live my life,in a regimented way,going to school,supposedly learning things.What will it be like to be in another planet? What will I be,if i were in another planet.Would that planet too have death as we have?What is the big deal anyway of being earthling?

Think of the universe,as it is.I know it is too big to fit into my minuscule three dimensional imagination,but whatever little i can ‘see’,leaves me perplexed ,confused and in a dire need for becoming larger than life itself.Why how can something so big exist in the first place? When i was small,the sun was just ‘nature’ something which i was born into.It was a constant,to the mind which was ready to be tinkered ,it saw what what others thought they saw.The moon Always represented an old lady making ‘idly’.the beach was a place where something called waves lashed on endlessly and if i ventured into it alone,i would be eaten by it.My life was of prime importance to me.Being another heir of the mistake stricken ,unwanted humanity,survival was the instinct.

But as i grew up,i slowly realized,that things are different.In fact education does at least that much to you.You are told that we belong to a solar system and that the moon goes around us.The next time i saw the moon,i looked  at it as an entity who was moving around the earth.Now i am digging really deep to feel what i felt then.It is surprising that ‘life’ is so old.What are these memories? So are we a dream,a memory too?

Me writing rather typing,is an memory in more ways than one.Since i am writing i do not care what happens else where around me.Why would i react when i am content,why the moment will always be embedded in me,carved into me,for i am in tune with the reminiscence of the world’s making. Did we go to the heavens because earth never satisfied us? Why when did we realize that we were nothing more that illusive little creatures,who don’t know anything?

On earth everything has the touch of man,as it has of ‘god’.Almost all our fellow creatures,all the flora and fauna which were painted with the magic wand along with us ,have been cut,dissected,bisected,trisected and researched upon. We have arrived at the conclusion that we are the only ones who can think the best.We were after all the once who discovered the existence of God.

Our identity as human beings,has perpetuated from our predecessors.But deep inside all of us know that this is not our absolute identity.When we look at the sky and stare stars and suns ,we feel an old belonging ,the sight of home,after an hiatus to hibernation. Since we are the clever modern super humans in terms of an ever expanding brain and since we know about the big bang and such and such,we run a particle accelerator inside our cramped cavity,reproducing with a eerie contentment,what we feel is the origin of the universe.We revel in it for a few spectacular moments,we run the jocund clowns of happiness in us to such speeds that ecstasy is what we pronounce.We are all happy to be home,we wish to keep seeing our Gods for longer,but the ever severing mind,declares that you have to break the bonds,to live life and produce yourself to sacrifice for the betterment of man.You don’t want it.Who wants to move from home,after a long voyage?Who wants to travel,when travel is all he has done?Who wants to swim,when he has all the while swam?Yet since you are the mind,with a rhetoric puffed up displeasure you try to satisfy your real want with a chronic happiness ,which is at most momentary and small enough to displease the materialistic narcissistic in you and carry on with it.I am trying to write something and all the while i am thinking of the wonderous world,whose width widens my perspective.I am here and i am not.

What is my identity?Am i a lost sibling of a distant star,for whom if i am found,i will look the same as when i landed on Eden? Or have i crossed an Adam’s bridge,to burn all that was bad and mortal? Am i an entity for whom this body was a lease,lent by earth to write off her ever lasting loans?Or am i, simply an animal,a tainted beast,with the curse of thought and want of fantastical fantasies to suit my ill-tempered unbalanced mind?What am i anyway?

Yes,i feel lost.Yes i feel lost here too.Yet i can hear the world,but i can’t see it.I can hear the old song,but my eyes have grown used to this,so that the old song,is a poignant, nostalgic de -javu.i dream up lands,i build my castles.I am a man,a human,who has written tales upon tales with fairies and fun and frolic but i am also the man who writes edifices and breaths the voice of an enigmatic Satan,a suitable tool ,one sprung during my autumn,to sooth the God in me.yet i know,i do not need him,for i was the one who gave god a face,which he can hold high and i was the one who taught him to write,so that he can say what he felt.I lent a being bigger than me,i lent it not one but two identity,i created a juxtapose of the good and the bad,of light and night,of God and Satan,yet i fail at lending myself a single identity.I call myself the third.I am happy to pull the strings of the first too.Yet my fingers move without my knowledge in my sleep,they want home and what they see is that destruction can retrace me,to where i belong.

There is music playing in the background.The song is melodious.It is a classic,it breaths life into the creature,whose identity is his name and his music.Why what caused him to play and create music?Did he realize that if he struck his strings and quietened the world with symphonies ,he might be able to shriek out for his lost sibling?Or did he realize that when he played his music,he could be himself ,free and inheritor of freedom,the absolute transparent being,who could smile away adversity and sleep ugly to beauty? I am listening to his and with gusto summoning my aesthetic consciousness to appreciate his ballades.I try to feel the same joy he felt when his fingers were let lose upon the keys,to key in the codes of his disparity among humanity.But his code was always good,for such is the magic,of the hands who are at home,always,poor pathetic things,they can’t see nor hear,they are slaves whose only wish is to satisfy their master, as they feel that is their duty and destiny.

Movements.The breeze tickles the trees.Those gigantic beings let out giggles.Why among humanity their existence is varied.One day they are paraphrased as the basic need for the survival of humanity’s earth,the next day,they are cut by the very hands,oh! pathetic hands,they are the only ones who want to get us home.

If my hands know my home,then why don’t I?Should i close my eyes,for all eternity,so that the reality has a chance to roll the dice and bring me home to see its son?I wish i could,but i have a mind,who is a ardent appraiser of the rebellious me.I am torn by my hands,physically and by my mind mentally.I ask you both,i think of either home or heaven-hell only when i am felt free,to my peace.They refuse.I shut my eyes.The hands sway the puppets of infinity,they try to hail home closer.The mind eats into me,they ruthlessly try to disrupt the harmony and bleed my namesake into surrender,but they fail ,neither will give up,i am the used,i am the user,i am between myself.I am still wondering about me and my true reality,one thing is for sure,i will lose mortality when i find the reality,let it be soon.Mortality is lost,when sense of reality is found.

May the world be in peace.Home is not far away,the darkest night,is the last of winter,the coldest water is one before the hot.Let the world exist at it should,let every man reach his harbor and let every flight end at home,may the world be in peace,i go to sleep….

Door mats and handkerchiefs who serve humanity

Do we really need to care? What is the use of caring for others anyway? I mean what do i gain? All i ever get by belonging to society is security.For if i didn’t give a damn to things around me,my existence will not be noticed,even if it is,i will be a door mat for people to leave the dirt on.Not that caring gives you anything better,it only makes people see you as a handkerchief rather a door mat.

So what are you a door mat or a handkerchief?

If you are a door mat,you live life in a ‘why should i care?’ delirium always freaking out and just snubbing people and not giving a thought to the fact that the pathetic creature which is facing you has something called “sense” and that you might be hurting it.Now i cannot call these really door mats,for they are made of expensive things,but they still are door mats.All people do at the sight of these is smile,smile and smile,for they cannot do anything else.For they can’t afford to do anything else,they can’t buy them and walk on them and trash them.Their real door mat identity takes the dirt only when they leave.You see once the brand name goes,there is no difference between a Tommy and a road side Tee.People will swear and tear these door mats,even if they don’t feel it then and there.They will feel the rag and rubbish they have taken,someday when they have their faces against the society,stripped and raw and ready to get rubbished.We have another variety of door mats,the not so lucky door mats.These door mats get away with a few things.They all don’t care alright,but then they aren’t all that expensive.So while a few might admire them and their ‘cool’ attitude,dirty shoes are soon bound to stamp them and flatten them.

Then you have the absolute door mats.These require a little more space.Some washing and drying out in the sun will do them good.They have taken the society’s rubbish.In fact for generations they have been taking rubbish.They aren’t door mats because they chose to be,but because the society made them to be.They are door mats because rubbish gives them life,it gives them food.Who has time to care about others when you don’t have food? Not that i have faced this,but then ,even if i skip as meal (a meal and meal only), i become extremely frustrated and cranky. Now to think they have been hungry for generations,naturally they are not going to care.Why what is electricity to them and what are planes to them? These door mats are not happy at being door mats,but then who can help them? For after all they don’t care,neither for the world nor for themselves.We already have enough door mats don’t we?

Then the handkerchiefs.Ha,so you are one? Now while the door mats just take the dirt,handkerchiefs take a heavier load.They take the mucus,the sweat,the tears,the emotions ,the dirt etc.These things get washed more regularily that is the only difference.They get a larger variety of rubbish from within and outside a person.Why all they decided was that to be more kind and empathize , sympathize , care and love.Now surely they deserve better? But no ,all they get are loads and loads and loads of unwanted things.They are supposed to solve all problems.School students make them into soft balls for playing,people sneeze ,people cough,people sweat and a few just carry them around.these things fill into any shoe.For they are scared they will become door mats.They are happy that they live in the pockets and hands of humanity rather than the foot.They are at a higher level,that is all.They suffer for they care.

So if you are either a door mat or a handkerchief you suffer,for the dirt of humanity.Humans sure do pollute a lot.Both door mats and kerchiefs serve their purpose.Now if ever we are going to make humans pollute less,then the door mats and kerchiefs better stop talking their load of dirt.If they do,humans will have to clean up on their own.Who knows,being a lazy race,they might stop being so dirty and see that dirt is not needed.After all they do believe in ‘perfection’ and dirt never reflects cleanliness and perfection does it? Now when you do stop working all you door mats and kerchiefs what will you do?After all you need to engage yourselves into something right? I have an idea,try maintaining your perfection,make your homes more clean and green and well for your food,now that you don’t need to take dirt,take food-fresh,clean and cooked by mother nature.

a bunch of destinies

a bunch of destines,
all mixed up and matched
on a planet called earth.
threaded and stitched
and so complicatedly
woven that to repick
the knits,each and everything
needs to retrace its path.
yet as we move along,
we write more,
the words flow,
and brighter we glow.
in some places
we are all close,
in some places,
we are strewn.
every move we make
and every thought we
intake,we create
or destroy more love
and chaos.The balance
is so great,that even
to put a needle we
need another.While
a needle can pull
a thread,a destiny
can pull the needle.
yet everything
depends on the hand,
which decided to stitch.
if we the threads
decide to become the hands,
by changing our pattern
with our efforts,
then we can cause
what we want to.
chaos can rest, at least for a while.
we are all from the same ball
of thread,but what we are
and our path makes us different.
so brothers and sisters of me
a single thread pulled
by a needle,
let us become hands of action.
and at that, remember
we cause a reaction.
what is created will
face destruction.
so wear your self properly
and enjoy the tear .

p.s.:-i found a hole in my shorts 🙂

few reflections

what can life give,
unless we give life?
what can earth give,
unless we give earth?
what can the world give,
unless we give the world?

every seed we sow,
is what that grows,
into the trees which
satisfy our wants-
for every want
we need to sow more.

what we expect from life,
we need to give to life,
if we want joy,
we need to spread joy,
if we want peace,
we need to spread peace.

the world gives what you want
and you give the world
what it wants,the more
you ask,the more you give,
see deeper into what you want,
we are the universe.

life is nothing if there is nothing
to die for.unless our hearts
are drenched in love
and our guts filled with fear
and our minds with unpredictable
dangers,there is no life.

there needs to be a reason behind everything,
that reason we all seek.
few bother chasing the questions,
few try proving their non-existence,
few their existence,
few just blindly follow.

if nothing was there,
then why all this?
because there is all this,
why the belief?
life is just the moments
of freedom between
life and death.

it is a fantasy,
where we are own
villains and hero,
where we are god,
where we create the
forces,just to reflect.

i don’t know why i write,
nor do i know why i do anything,
yet there is a reason,
asking the question is all i bother,
the answers hopefully will bother
showing up soon.