Ruminations on the road

road stretched far and wideacross the open spaces connecting different cultures like a bridge, dusty and tarred like the cover of a book unused taking people on journeys to unknown destinations. approach nearer, horizon moves further on an endless stream as the human mind with the occasional bumps, downs and heights.

life thrived on both the sides unconcerned about this path of gravel and sand highway maybe, much rather way to heaven or hell. men went on their trivial existence women regarded as the lamp of the house, patronized birth, marriage, and death. an urchin hurried home, on a cycle eager to reach before the outpourings of mother earth from up above. lovers on a bike couldn’t make it stranded, they were left to drench away all the lies and guilt that comes free with the package of love.

rain has stopped awhile the atmosphere is now calm, serene, quiet. sky looks like a palette of colours spread unevenly with an added tinge of mystery. clouds brim with the reactions of the creator to the doings of mankind yet afraid to pour its heart out like the fear of a child in confiding a secret, to a friend who might turn a traitor.

‘tis a sight wonderful, not to the five senses but to others unexplained, the pristine beauty of nature unraveled to the human eye in all its glorious nakedness volumes of paddy fields flanked by mountains, the color of sapphire, palm fronds with limbs raised upwards in a prayer begging for just what’s necessary, nothing more, flocks of crane in deep conversation with bulls, human figures with spine bent, scattered to remove the worthy from the many.

nature is pregnant with meanings it is not clear as the pure oyster in the seashell but beautifully cloaked like an invisible stranger who reveals identity only when needed. it even gives meaning to the absurdities of life, the masks people wear, their hollow empty hearts and terminal voids in their lives.

cars overtake cars in a mad race, speed thrills but kills. slacken speed to crawl like an earthworm to gaze upon beauteous forms erected on the ground beneath our feet. precious time is not to be wasted on mechanical life ‘tis a vicious circle, routine, habit, addiction leading man to a life fruitfully wasted. breathe, feel life at its best the intoxicating smell of mud, after the first shower of rain the wafts of beauty laughing loudly. listen for the ditties played by rivulets and bamboo trees, amorous chirpings of birds gliding in the sweet scented air. behold colours of emotion not found in any painting or colour box, the true essence of living expressed in its heights. surroundings echo the cries of freedom, spread out wings and fly high, low through the balloon clouds maybe even to the doors of heaven. abandon yourself at will, redeem thy sins get purified by a dip in the Ganges. world suddenly will seem magical, fresh, new reborn again quirking with innocence, love, hope.

millions arrive at destinations everyday crossing horizons across the road. not real destinations as they seem but masqueraded beauties fooling even the sagacious human brain, that believes what it sees and sees what it believes.

roads are for journeys, not for destinations. but destiny may take pity on you and provide you a glimpse of such a journey which elevates you to destinations otherwise unattainable.

Tremors in Pain

Toppling over my mindIn the ocean of grief Contemplating the words Of agony and ecstasy. Consolidated phrases Writhes my skin Shrivels up my soul Into dungeons dark. Sweetness thy know not Looming clouds above Huddled into a corner Folded into one. Trepid feelings mount Taking a toll Of the hub Plunging it to trance. Comprehend the minuteness Of mind gone astray Suffering turmoil in the midst Of unfathomable ardor.

mazha tulli

ഭൂമിയുടെ പൊറിഞ്ഞ വെയിലില്‍സഞ്ചാരിച്ചു നടന്ന മാനമെ നി എവിടേക്ക്പോയി അലിഞ്ഞു വോ. എവിഡെന്നോ വന്ന ഒരു മഴ തുള്ളിയുടെ നന്ന്ജ വിണ കണ്ണുനീര്‍ തറിയില്‍ അന്നജ സ്നേഹമായ്, പോരാ ത്നലായ്‌ നീ മാഞ്ഞു. അരികില്‍ ഒരു തി നാലാം ആളി കത്തി പടര്‍ന വിരല്‍ തുമ്പില്‍ സ്പര്‍ശിച്ചു ഹൃദയത്തിന്റെ  കോനയില്‍ മുഴുകി ഇരുന്ന ഒരു വേദനയുടെ കമ്പില്‍ തട്ടി. ഹൃദയമേ, നീ തളര്‍ അരുത. പ്രപന്ജഥിന്തെ ഒരൂ കോനയിലും നിന്‍ വിശാല മനസ്കഥ കാട്ടിയാ വെളിച്ചതിണ്റ്‌ നാണയങ്ങള്‍ഒഴുകി തിരിഞ്ഞു വന്നു ചെരുനാതത്‌ എന്ന് മാറില്‍, എന്ന് ആധരത്തില്‍, എന്ന് ആത്മാവില്‍ ഒടുവില്‍ എന്ടെ ചിധഭസ്മഥില് ആണ്.

Translation:

After wandering in the tortuous heat

Spawning the earth

Cloud, where have you melted away?

Like a raindrop that came from somewhere

You became the wet teardrop

The shining love, the warmth in the shade

That rolled away into oblivion.

Nearby, a tremendous fire spread,

And reached the chord of a

Pain stored away in the darkest corner of your heart.

Oh heart, do not tire yourself out

In every corner of the Universe

The light beam from your kindness

Has lit bubbles that flow and finally come and reach

My body, my head, my soul

And in the end,

My body of ashes.

Alone

Image

This photo is taken by my friend and photographer, Hari Menon. I got introduced to Hari a couple of years ago and since then I’ve been an ardent fan of his photography. Hari has something special about him. His photos speak. They really don’t need captions or words. I’m always fascinated by how he does this. Another thing strikingly particular about him is his simplicity. For a man of his stature, he is extremely humble. We have never met in person but that doesn’t change anything. We still connect like long lost old friends.

Hari’s photos always inspires me to write something. This particular photo above inspired me to write these lines:

He glanced to his right

Moist eyes, a runny nose

Inside a cauldron of wounds.

 

Someone behind the window

Looked at him in amazement

Suspicious of the content

Discarded him as you would

An old newspaper.

 

No one walked along, except

A tiny ant.

He crawled up the yellow bag.

The man watched him climb

Thinking,

A mighty fall awaits him.

 

The ant kept him company

On the weary days when he sat waiting.

 

The train never came,

it never does.

The unseen whip

Time strikes the whip unseenWith no mercy shown Or no remorse borne Out of the living serene.

Ruthless the lash Once unleashed To sorrows bequeathed Fails on a flash.

Consumes the core Devoid of being Yearning fr(/l)eeing Languidly ignore.

Sorrows telltale Ambivalent retentions Constructed on pretentions Eluding timescale.

Remembrance portrays A deficit mourned In silence scorned And an epoch betrays.

The living linger Almost involuntarily A life unworthily Fading in wither.

Banal the cry Aching the soul’s purgatory Searching for a fortiori Within a respite sigh.

Surrender the munity To become elated again For even the wren Knows life’s fleeting unity.

Tie up the wandering seconds Together in the now For when all else bow These ease the pain’s presses.

When time then strokes the whip unseen Gather your friends and foes alike For whither or not time’s rustic hands strike A few moments of grace convene.

The wait for the cat

The search began at 13.45. In the hot blazing sun, I went around and around Roaming the premises of Park La Brea, calling “Leo”.

He did not respond, If he was hiding He knew it too well Maybe he was underneath the bushes Or, beneath a canopy Sunbathing, ruminating When his next meal would be.

I texted C, I was late. Though at that point I did not know I would be this late.

I called the neighbours None picked up. I was on my own in this, Like many other times.

The clock ticked on, He must be getting hungry, Or so. I am 2 hours late, This could cost me a home.

What do they think? These black things. Strutting about, their tails held high Oozing poshness.

Beckoning the world To their command, Their willfully yielded eyes.

Eight futile hours later, He swaggered along No remorse in his eyes Not an eyelid batted Sat on the porch, Waiting for the door to open.

He walked in Straight to his feed, Ate a little, Drank a little..

..and walked straight back out.

I slept 51 years on a make believe bed

I slept 51 years on a make believe bedIn the end they let the air out of it The bed spiraled down to the size of a pea Took all my baggage along with it. The baggage now buried 20,000 feet under the ground beneath her feet Gathered moss and grew roots. A seedling sprouted with its head held high Reached up for the vermillion sky Through the dirt and grime, it fought its way up The surrounding baggages tried to shun the growth Pull down the seedling gasping for breath It fought valiantly, a fight for all seedling baggage.

History

The crisscrossed roads met,A jagged edge, a corner of respite. The earth had worn, Many a tales of weary travellers The color the soil was blue, A mixture of happy cyan tales, Some magenta dark, despair ones. The core emanated a stench Not an odour, a kind of recollective narrative. To remind you of the histories Those written and unwritten Those with a past and no future.

Random

I boarded the bus, not conscious of the milieu inside. I tapped the metro pass and found a place to stand at the far back corner. I tried reading ‘Love and Garbage’; it was too crowded to concentrate. I closed the book, held its soul in my hand for a while and put it back into my bag. Random thoughts flooded in, my concerns about apartment hunting, conferences, cats, money, bills and home. Then it dawned, everybody around me would be thinking of comparable things. What is the probability that there is at least one other person in the bus who is thinking of the same thing as me right now, wondering what everyone else is thinking about!

Dust.

Why do you do this to yourself? Create dust out of a lover,

An enemy out of a friend,

Sprinkle hurt over love

Bring tears to a happy eye.

Why do you do this to yourself?

Make boundaries,

Close limits,

Cut edges on dreams,

Bring down a sand castle.

Why do you do this to yourself?

Imagine locations,

Wander callously,

Dream in never ending recursivity,

Bring filth to the pure altar.

Alone we came

Alone we leave

The in-between is but a flux,

A chaotic permutation and combination.

They could have been you and me.

They were just sittingIn an idyllic corner of a street In the warmth of a car Held together in the momentary escape A conversation provides. They could have been you and me, Our faces, our thoughts Our aspirations, our dreams.

Boom

A tiny pull of a trigger Cost two lives, A world of dreams collapsed The earth stopped a little.

They did not know it was going to end This cosmic comedy

They did not know it was the last meal This strange supper

They did not know it was the last visit To the abode of books

They did not know it was the last few words This melancholic conversation Under the pitter patter Of last night’s drizzle

They could have been you and me, Our last supper, our last words, Our broken dreams, our futile lives.

Misc.

Misc. 1.You give of me In subtle tones Passionately colouring your soul. Before black and white Now the colour of my heart.

Misc. 2. Centuries have passed, in memories of you Strange now it feels Of lives in remembrance forty tiresome years of searching for the taste of nectar Symphonies of pain, fading out in sorrow.

Misc. 3. Packs are jumbled, Odds levelled. In this mighty ocean, A small grain of dust Meets another small grain and there is a thunderstorm.

Misc. 4. A single word remain on my lips Accept it as your own and give it a language A new one, born of your blood and soul Let the new language be your dreams and my hopes Let the language be you and the word me.

Misc. 5. Inside your cocoon I reside Warm in the love of your broken heart, Trapped in your web without wings to fly My face, a shadow of your flightless soul.