The gun shot a hole through the night.
The stars cried at the waste and the violence of it all.
Didn’t you know?
The world is full of hate.
There isn't any reason for it.
It happens all over again.
See the kites fly on a white background.
The planet is divided.
A world lost somewhere in time.
See the rainclouds gather in close.
Faces, images, names, memories all blur.
Three years have passed since my universe bled.
There's words and names I can only say in my head.
It happens to be Mark Twain’s birthday. Apparently there is nothing that cannot happen today. Happy Birthday to you.
PS- Yes, I still whine- a LOT. And okay, a funny post the next time.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Sickle Moon
Witches, trolls, goblins and faeries danced in ritualistic movement around a fire as dragons looked on. The flames were outlined against the starry night sky and wisps of smoke escaped into the air. As fleet- footed elves hurried into the clearing, the bugle blast of Dawn could be heard on the horizon. Summer had begun.
Persephone would soon come back to middle- earth. Demeter was beside herself with joy. Flowers were blooming. Birds were chirping. All the other things normally associated with a much awaited happy ending were afoot. Messengers had been sent to all the kingdoms. There was to be a ball. Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Rapunzel and every other princess of yore, now all matronly queens in their own right smiled.
Yet, deep down in the very pits of Tartarus, Hades was fuming. First, he was banished from the Olympus all because he had tried to (very cleverly he might add- if only that big oaf Ares hadn’t opened his mouth) steal centaur technology. How was he supposed to know that the damn geniuses would build an encryption that even THEY couldn’t break? Weren’t all maniac hackers/ programmers supposed to leave at least one back door open for a re-entry?
Anyway to punish him for his (“so-called”) transgressions, the Council had first chained him to the rocks to be picked apart by vultures-that was back when he was in his titan avatar, Prometheus. When that wasn’t enough, they had banished him from upper and middle earth altogether to guard over the souls of the damned! He gave a hollow laugh.
The last few millenniums had seen increase in the hostilities. When he had captured the girl, (my- what a new-fangled name she had!) direct negations had been opened with headquarters up above. Lineage and family was all in its place, but honestly all these joint family and weird relations who kept popping up on his screen just gave him a headache.
Of course, the wrath of his bigger and betters (ha-ha) in Olympus was not contained that easily. Poseidon had let loose his fury in a spectacular display of nature that had all but wiped out a nation of the middle-earth. How fragile these humans were! Running about trying to explain everything through their “gawd-help-us-it’s-the-end-of-the-world” theories. Nostradamus had been the worst among them.
Anyway, the girl had escaped. She had guts; he had to give her that. Of course, he had sent Cerberus after her, but how many roads can a three-headed dog take, especially when the middle head is whiny and mean?
On middle earth, a kid collapsed as Hades moodily snuffed out his soul. The MMORPG that he was wired in to, suddenly went haywire, giving rise to more fatalistic theories.
The coin flipped. The butterfly flapped its wings. The proponents of the chaos theory watched astounded (well they were dead technically, but still, ghosts you know) as with a single dice roll the Gods changed the path of history. For they were playing for high odds. And they were not averse to cheating. The only question was, who would win?
PS: This is how I perceive and make sense of the world around me. If you read between the lines, look a little deeply, you will find that a little of what happening around the globe (especially in my country) is reflected in the story. Call it an allegory if you will.
PPS: I hasten to add I am an atheist, yet mythology in every form (especially Greek) has always fascinated me.
Persephone would soon come back to middle- earth. Demeter was beside herself with joy. Flowers were blooming. Birds were chirping. All the other things normally associated with a much awaited happy ending were afoot. Messengers had been sent to all the kingdoms. There was to be a ball. Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Rapunzel and every other princess of yore, now all matronly queens in their own right smiled.
Yet, deep down in the very pits of Tartarus, Hades was fuming. First, he was banished from the Olympus all because he had tried to (very cleverly he might add- if only that big oaf Ares hadn’t opened his mouth) steal centaur technology. How was he supposed to know that the damn geniuses would build an encryption that even THEY couldn’t break? Weren’t all maniac hackers/ programmers supposed to leave at least one back door open for a re-entry?
Anyway to punish him for his (“so-called”) transgressions, the Council had first chained him to the rocks to be picked apart by vultures-that was back when he was in his titan avatar, Prometheus. When that wasn’t enough, they had banished him from upper and middle earth altogether to guard over the souls of the damned! He gave a hollow laugh.
The last few millenniums had seen increase in the hostilities. When he had captured the girl, (my- what a new-fangled name she had!) direct negations had been opened with headquarters up above. Lineage and family was all in its place, but honestly all these joint family and weird relations who kept popping up on his screen just gave him a headache.
Of course, the wrath of his bigger and betters (ha-ha) in Olympus was not contained that easily. Poseidon had let loose his fury in a spectacular display of nature that had all but wiped out a nation of the middle-earth. How fragile these humans were! Running about trying to explain everything through their “gawd-help-us-it’s-the-end-of-the-world” theories. Nostradamus had been the worst among them.
Anyway, the girl had escaped. She had guts; he had to give her that. Of course, he had sent Cerberus after her, but how many roads can a three-headed dog take, especially when the middle head is whiny and mean?
On middle earth, a kid collapsed as Hades moodily snuffed out his soul. The MMORPG that he was wired in to, suddenly went haywire, giving rise to more fatalistic theories.
The coin flipped. The butterfly flapped its wings. The proponents of the chaos theory watched astounded (well they were dead technically, but still, ghosts you know) as with a single dice roll the Gods changed the path of history. For they were playing for high odds. And they were not averse to cheating. The only question was, who would win?
PS: This is how I perceive and make sense of the world around me. If you read between the lines, look a little deeply, you will find that a little of what happening around the globe (especially in my country) is reflected in the story. Call it an allegory if you will.
PPS: I hasten to add I am an atheist, yet mythology in every form (especially Greek) has always fascinated me.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
The Fates
When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
[William Shakespeare, Macbeth]
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
[William Shakespeare, Macbeth]
Monday, March 7, 2011
Heaven’s Eyes
Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.
It’s been a long time. As I sat by the river that day I let the ripples wash away my memories of you. And all of the many yous there have been in my life. I’d really like to say that you are irreplaceable but I’d be lying. And now everything’s different.
The wheels of the bus go round and round. I’d love to be wrong about what I think I’m thinking. If I’m wrong, I win. Though, the truth is, I’m not sure it works that way.
There are so many stars now, that you it seems you can almost reach up and touch them. They are like little holes in the floor of the sky.
I did a lot of new things this past month. I went for a walk in the rain. I got soaked from head to toe. It did me a world of good. I am exploring what little this place has to offer.
"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."
[Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities]
This thing is sucking the life out of me. It’s left me with so many regrets, that I feel like I’m drowning in a whirlpool of misgivings. I need to get out of here. I need to put to right the many wrongs that I committed these past few years.
I started writing again. Not random blog posts but a story. The last thing of substance that I wrote was a play. I feel a certain sense of release when I see the pen flowing over paper. The lines forming. The words stringing out to form sentences which are a part of you.
I forgot to say something else and I couldn’t fit it in so I kept it all to myself.
It is a pleasure to burn.
CLAT is like a huge beacon and a cloud of darkness on the horizon. How can one thing be both? I wonder if I’m any good at what I’m doing? What is to become of me?
What if I’m something, something like you, something like a beast, something like a bird, something like an angel? Something like that. That’s what scares me the most.
It’s been a long time. As I sat by the river that day I let the ripples wash away my memories of you. And all of the many yous there have been in my life. I’d really like to say that you are irreplaceable but I’d be lying. And now everything’s different.
The wheels of the bus go round and round. I’d love to be wrong about what I think I’m thinking. If I’m wrong, I win. Though, the truth is, I’m not sure it works that way.
There are so many stars now, that you it seems you can almost reach up and touch them. They are like little holes in the floor of the sky.
I did a lot of new things this past month. I went for a walk in the rain. I got soaked from head to toe. It did me a world of good. I am exploring what little this place has to offer.
"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."
[Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities]
This thing is sucking the life out of me. It’s left me with so many regrets, that I feel like I’m drowning in a whirlpool of misgivings. I need to get out of here. I need to put to right the many wrongs that I committed these past few years.
I started writing again. Not random blog posts but a story. The last thing of substance that I wrote was a play. I feel a certain sense of release when I see the pen flowing over paper. The lines forming. The words stringing out to form sentences which are a part of you.
I forgot to say something else and I couldn’t fit it in so I kept it all to myself.
It is a pleasure to burn.
CLAT is like a huge beacon and a cloud of darkness on the horizon. How can one thing be both? I wonder if I’m any good at what I’m doing? What is to become of me?
What if I’m something, something like you, something like a beast, something like a bird, something like an angel? Something like that. That’s what scares me the most.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Iliad
I’m no stranger to heartbreaks.
Hello again.
I’m still running from your memory Julian, and I’m still so scared of what you did to me. What if I made you up? Why, why did I imagine such a future? Repeating, not willing to give up, I’m such an idiot. Since you have left, I’ve been so alone in this tedious town.
I’m terrified of dreaming. What if my dreams wake up and I cease to exist? How can I deal with living, breathing people when I’m afraid of the invisible? It’s much scarier to deal with real people.
Today I saw the sun embracing the moon as we came back to the hostel. If I do bid farewell to this place in April, I shall miss the view the most.
Yesterday I cried in class. It’s been so long since I’ve had to struggle so hard to keep the mask of calm impassivity plastered on my face. And the façade somehow slipped. Yet, when I went for lunch and there were the normal expectations, I was back to acting.
How many roles do you play in life? What if you play a role within a role?
Words have always been my links with the world outside when I felt torn asunder or completely clueless. To cry because there is something you want to do and to cry because you can’t find it or do it. Which is more painful? The only thing I can say is even with all the words I have now, I can’t stop my tears.
It's never too late to realize your dreams. That’s what they all say. But, what if it is for me?
Yet, my favourite quote from my favourite verse remains:
“The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n”
[John Milton- Paradise Lost.]
Of course, as usual, I think too much.
And of course, as usual, I’ll go back to saying “everything's fine" and bottling it up.
Hello again.
I’m still running from your memory Julian, and I’m still so scared of what you did to me. What if I made you up? Why, why did I imagine such a future? Repeating, not willing to give up, I’m such an idiot. Since you have left, I’ve been so alone in this tedious town.
I’m terrified of dreaming. What if my dreams wake up and I cease to exist? How can I deal with living, breathing people when I’m afraid of the invisible? It’s much scarier to deal with real people.
Today I saw the sun embracing the moon as we came back to the hostel. If I do bid farewell to this place in April, I shall miss the view the most.
Yesterday I cried in class. It’s been so long since I’ve had to struggle so hard to keep the mask of calm impassivity plastered on my face. And the façade somehow slipped. Yet, when I went for lunch and there were the normal expectations, I was back to acting.
How many roles do you play in life? What if you play a role within a role?
Words have always been my links with the world outside when I felt torn asunder or completely clueless. To cry because there is something you want to do and to cry because you can’t find it or do it. Which is more painful? The only thing I can say is even with all the words I have now, I can’t stop my tears.
It's never too late to realize your dreams. That’s what they all say. But, what if it is for me?
Yet, my favourite quote from my favourite verse remains:
“The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n”
[John Milton- Paradise Lost.]
Of course, as usual, I think too much.
And of course, as usual, I’ll go back to saying “everything's fine" and bottling it up.
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