Life and death

You search for yourself. Every day and every night and every moment of your existence is defined by this constant search. It is excruciating and hilarious but the search continues. The very essence of humanity, since its beginning, has been a constant search. Why? You ask me why? I cannot say for sure. I only feel it....feel it ever so often.  A search outwards and a search inwards – that is at the core of me. It is strange, in a manner of speaking, when these questions come to haunt me under the scorching sun of a mid-summer day or keep me awake in the folds of a cold, velvety night. What if my personal search is meaningless? Surely the greats have asked this very question and found a way to answer them, for they are immortalised now through their works. But I do not seek immortality. I wish to live my mortal life full of all the pleasures it has to offer and yet I do not wish it to be meaningless. Then why do I keep searching? I may have all that I need already – well most of it that I can afford. And yet there is this constant search....tantalizing, insinuating and humiliating in its omnipresence. I spend weeks and months defying it, looking the other way, keeping my gaze firmly on the real and struggling through the daily din. The din! Oh Lord the din! So much noise....so many wonderful distractions, luring and seducing with their naked arms – mere hints of what they can offer should I embrace them. And embrace them I do when I can afford their luxury. But then there are those horrible moments – the garish, brazen moments of epiphany when the searching mind rears its fanged head and thrashes about. Thrashes about trying to bite me, spit at my eyes, poison me with its sharp bite. A sure yet comfortable death in its cold, leathery vortex which closes in on me- a small prey in its vast reach. I find it when I suddenly find myself. An ingenious way of making its presence felt – showing me that my battle is fruitless. I keep it at bay through sordid daily chores, through shields of those I claim to care for, through the armour of society and duty and through endless hours of drunken debauchery. But it keeps finding chinks. It keeps finding me in the most unholy of places -the crisp pages of a book, the bright frames of a movie, the dulcet notes of the violin, the lilting lines of a poem and often the in the eyes of another. Let me be! I scream through the damp pillow covers and wake up in my own sweat and tears hearing its mad cackle. My own searching mind dares to mock me?! Give it a form so that I can fight it at least, face it head on – drag it into the pits of my inner hell and gnaw at its face like the animal I can be. I got what I wished for once, briefly, in what seems to be another life – but it cleverly disguised itself in the figure of a lovely one. One I could never touch except in love. One I could never pummel to the ground. One that simply would not fight fair, but one that dealt fatal wounds as I watched hopeless and helpless through tear-stained eyes. I picked myself up and let time do his thing. I was ready for another bout. Ready to face myself. But I couldn’t lift my hands. It was like finding myself on an open stretch of land in the middle of a gunfight armed with nails and knuckles. How poetic! Yet I prevail. I hug myself tight and I prevail another day. The progress is slow for once you have looked into your own Medusa you become a rare kind of stone. Not one described in the legends, but one kept secret from you during your growing years. I am that stone now, but water is my want. A stone shall drown in water eventually, inevitably. But before it does, it shall for one glorious, exhilarating moment float in its cool waves, rise gently towards the sky and welcome the warmth of almighty sun on its glistening face, free, weightless and childlike, before it begins to sink. I search now for that one moment. And then I shall rest in the depths of the one I search. That is my humanity. That is how I wish to die.

Epitaph

He was asked to grow up in order to survive. His choice took him to a better place.

A Life less ordinary

He squinted at the monitor as he picked himself up from the desk, fumbling for his glasses. The pixels sharpened as he put them on. It was 1:14 am. For a while, he blinked till his mind could gather itself properly on what the screen was displaying. It was her....unmistakably so. An odd tingling sensation ran through him as he clicked on the new email

“I thought all day on how I could reply to your email. How are you?”

He glanced at the time stamp on the email: 1:02 am. Maybe? One deep breath and his hands moved onto the keyboard

“I have missed you. I want to hear your voice. I want to hold you again...” he rambled on- his pathos, his pain and his vulnerability were poured into the email. His pathetic loyalty was now on the internet. In effect, his weakness was potentially accessible to anyone who cared. But he went on. He did not even realize when the cigarette was lit. As he leaned back into the filthy chair, he took the leash off his mind. It was a maddening swirl of black and white. The chime through the cheap speakers brought him back.

“I missed you too. But I couldn’t call you. You moved away so far so quickly. Please call me now”

After seven months, it surprised him how easily he remembered the number from the depth of his memories. The mind does work in a funny way. Quick moving thumbs and allocated spectrums led him to the first ring. Then two. Then that voice. The miles he had painstakingly put between them since that evening melted away in an instant. He found it hard to keep a steady voice. But neither could ignore the strain in the other’s voice. It was polite at first. Usual greetings. Niceties. Tick boxes. Time eased the conversation. They started interrupting each other, stopping awkwardly and laughing nervously. She was as inquisitive as ever - asking every minute detail. He was more than happy to let the voice carrying those questions wash over his battered sensibilities. He realised he was holding back some answers with a childlike hope that they would be answered in the next conversation and the next and the next. Surely this could not be their last conversation if that’s how she was laughing. He was sure he knew something about women by now. The passion in her voice was unmistakable. The lateness of the hour seemed as bright and breezy as a spring afternoon from Victorian literature. His smoking had gone up. This information brought an all too familiar reprimand and he smiled his first innocent smile in months. But then she had to hang up. The pain was back and it was later. She had a new job and needed to get up early. An unknown fear suddenly bared its fangs at him. The thought of her never calling back seemed to crash down upon him. She sensed the hesitation like she always did.

“Should I kiss you to sleep first? I will call you tomorrow morning you know that, right?”

Two statements – a storm in his heart. He laughed for a while. Yes! He wanted those juvenile kisses over the phone. He could never be too old for them. But he wanted to lay down on his bed first. Tonight he will sleep like he used to. Just as his face hit the pillow, he remembered not having closed the balcony door. She never liked being interrupted while she was busy planting those virtual kisses. He dare not stop her tonight. He smiled and started getting up from the bed, pushing down on the mattress.

An unearthly scream tore across his universe. Before he could collect himself, a monstrous force slammed him back onto his bed and forced his head into the pillow. His body fought with all might to hold on to the phone and turn back to face his attacker. He could hear her over the phone...concerned and angry for he had become non-responsive. He wanted to scream to her. But he knew what was happening. The burning sensation had already started at the usual point on his back. His mind was waking up to this cruel reality. He knew there was no escape and like all other times, this too would be an end. He started sobbing into the pillow where his head was still held firmly. He wanted to choke himself to death before facing his nemesis. With one last push and heave, eyes streaming silent tears, he pushed himself over the edge of the bed. The head hit the cold floor and the body woke up. He lay there for a while sobbing and howling hysterically. The phone had clattered away from his hand under the bed and the world was coming back into focus. He sat up and chewed his fist to drown the sobs. The cigarettes and lighter stared back at him in open mockery from across the rug. He grabbed both and stepped out into the cool summer night. The t-shirt now clung to his sweat drenched body. A cursory glance at the clock showed 3:00 am. As he lit up his cigarette, he knew his nightmare had just begun.

Despair

Those long debates and discussions often drain me. While at an intellectual level I feel enriched and vain, those debates do drain me of my emotions. I speak of despair and welcome objectivity and yet the simple act of looking at the moon with my nightly cigarette makes me feel wonderfully optimist and willing to live. It is perhaps a testament of how ordinary and meaningless our lives are that we still find joy and comfort in the vision of the full moon. And yet as a race, as a species we are restless, searching and asking. Not satiated by the boundaries of this world, we despair like refugees on it. Is it so hard to believe that we do not belong here? My friends seem to think so. They laugh at me and humour me. And I keep thinking; keep believing that we long for our home. A longing I know too well for having been uprooted several times within the boundaries of this world and society. This hunger that we have as a species, as humanity is, for me, a telling example of our status as tourists on this planet. The space and the worlds beyond beckon us all the while and somewhere in all the glittering rubble of this galaxy or the next is perhaps where home is. That is where perhaps we as a race are at peace and not curious. The search for it is the only justification I see in the wanton destruction that we have unleashed on this beautiful Earth. Who does that to his own home? 

Songs and Tales

Wishing rains, wishing clouds,

Light and fire dance about

A death of honour, a peace in death

A loving father shall not be kept

From home, from son, from life and lover

With amber shield he fought forever

No songs were sung, no tales were told

There was no glory to behold

He fought within and sought around

Cozy fires and steeds to mount

“Almost there” screamed the crowd

t'was too late for one so proud

He’d shunned the sword a wintry night

The shield he used to stop the fights

He saw the end,
smiled and turned

Holding tight the son and wife

Safe and sound in his might

He kissed the dame, he stroked the boy

Defying gods and their ploy

Lightning struck, white and hot

Cracking clouds, screaming taunts

One last sprint, one last push

The boy woke crying, the mother shook

They saw him burn, flesh and gold

No songs were sung, no tales were told.

The Lusty Witch

The head so low, the sight so high

Bewitching smile, twinkly eyes

Quick to laugh quick to roar

Scathing bite, scars galore

She rode the wind, calmed the storm

Scented breeze shroud the form

Rare a mind with lofty dreams

Makes me writhe in silent screams

Revealed so late, she parts in haste

Judas mind licks the taste

Velvet hands grabbed the knife

Rammed the hilt without a fight

She drove it deep, she gave a twitch

Forever mine the lusty witch

Azuro

Silent Azuro on waters deep

Anchors taut with mast so steep

A rebel crew dead long ago
Misty veils shroud the bones

Silent Azuro guards within

Treasures tall with ghostly sheen

Hearkens man with senses keen
One lusty witch, one frosty queen
Silent Azuro stands so still

Magenta rises from the depths

Krakkens lurch up and forth

Sharks bay blood in steadfast whorl
Tentacles and fangs abound

Clouds reveal the one profound

Silent Azuro turns so slow

Snapping chains, facing foes

Azuro creaks, heaves and sighs
Evil smirks in the nigh
Setting sun sets aflame
Mighty sails that felt no shame

A furtive glance up to the skies

Into the blue Azuro flies
Down the whirl, down the pool

Drowning beasts and friendly fools
He heard them cackle, heard them choke
As into depths Azuro dove

Krakkens freeze, all fangs but flee

Wood and blood was forever free

They sing no stories, they tell no lies

Wood and blood drown and die