They say patience has its own reward, all you have to do is wait for the star to fall…the sweetest of all stars…the sweetest star.
And as I gently look at you, I believe that the reward holds true, save that the wait resembles eternity and we get hysteric!
Years had passed as I waited for the sweetest star…years might have passed for others as well and years would for others to get the reward of their virtue; the sweetest star, that dearest one. Their pursuits, like mine, will finally come true…sooner or later! Once they succeed in holding the star that fell, they’ll be radiant and rise to majestic heights of delight and bliss…
To my sweetest star, distance never seemed a curse as it now does. However, I believe that distance makes a heart grow fonder of the presence…its essence is more cherished than those which we easily get…or that is what I wish to believe just to console my heart that aches for your presence…console my eyes that continually waits for your way…that hopeful presence…
I recall your sound and cherish your pictures that I have with me…those that are the dearest to me despite the distance that withholds our embrace…and a tender kiss for which we both long…
I fall back to the ground for I am half way to joy…the star is miles away from me and the remaining journey is more the eternity. I realize I could fall prey to further hurdles that could change my course…or she could fall prey to some obstacles that too, could change her course…that I however do not wish to believe.
The consequence, I do not wish to imagine…how helpless would I be as I, in futile, rust all my strength to make it up to her…or how helpless would she be when she does the same. How would our virgin emotions react when the other, still by some tides is pulled away as one stretches hands for the other to hold it?
Despite joy, I am further pushed into uncertainty. The conditional query of “what if”, a possible hypothesis could hold true in the future, and the future, is uncertain and beyond our grasp…
I retreat from these thoughts which I believe are ill…I compel myself to believe so, at the least. My joys cannot be pushed to eternal sorrow, and grief just when I’ve held the sweetest star…the very star for which I’ve waited years…
However, I am a free man and therefore hold the right to dream, and I dream a dream which I will, with all my might will not let go…
“I dream of our togetherness, a world where it is just you and me, our joy…I dream of holding the sweetest star and never let go…protect her, love her, shield her from all the pains that attempts to reach her…I’ll stand before you, without any doubt…
They say let destiny choose its doom, but now that I’ve held the star, I’ll make my own destiny…turn heaven and earth just to make you mine.
And if I fail to hold my sweetest star in the ensuing years, patience, although will have its reward, the reward will, however be of pain, sorrow and miseries which succumbs human faith, joy and love into a pit of black hole!
About Me
- Pratik Rimal
- Kathmandu, Nepal
- Ever since I first started to write my first poem and article, I've loved to write. I continue to learn to write. In doing so, I let my feelings, thoughts, and emotions run wild and let people know what I intend to say, what I want to say. For me, writing is a creative expression to express what we never can say by speaking... Your readings and feedback are always important to me. Therefore, I wish that you'd write to me. My email address: pratik.rimal@hotmail.com Cell: +977-98511-42610
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Travellers!
We all, indeed are travellers destined to an unknown journey. Although at times, we tend to know our path, hindrances, those temporary and those permanent obstructs our way and strengths and we fumble in confusion to take another step or two.
We are frequently interrupted by pain, sorrow, solitude, rights and duties. No wonder we will never be entitled a free man who travels with a forgotten past, subtle yet, deceitful present and an uncertain future!
Forgotten past, I exclaim: another added story in a series of stories that is far from those who dominate history, and therefore are far from being heard...another child rises a young man who never knows how he was, when a child...another man with wrinkled skin who wishes to forget his past of an existence that was ignited by a series of losses that befell him as a child, a young man, and that now haunts him as he is old...
A forgotten past of grievances, regrets, success that reached stardom and quickly dropped down...a forgotten past as she attempts to recall their first kiss, his proposal, his love which she believed would last for eternity, but was snatched the moment they had married...a forgotten past of joy when both had merrily held the other's hand and watched the sun surrender to the night...
A subtle and deceitful present of uncertainty where success becomes a plot where one compromises all his joy, and where failure provokes a success...a deceitful present where joys of togetherness crumbles as one sees the inner soul of that person...
A deceitful present where one newly sprung life is snatched while others shed tears that intruders are indifferent to...a deceitful present where anonymity is regarded a virtue while vices entitles itself as certainty! A deceitful present where life changes its course from prosperity to emptiness...from abundance to vaccum...a deceitful present where one, despite profound love falls for his Beloved in sparkling tears that fails to end, and that along its flow promises to sweep away joy, save agony, pain, loneliness, and.......ETERNAL TEARS...
An uncertain future of a traveller determined by the very present of betrayals...a future unknown...
An uncertain future of a traveller that hardly is determined by the present...a certain future of mystic fragrance of joy...a future of eternal longing of a presence that was once a present...and that now is a forgotten past and which is traced to none save himself in tears...a story that will never be heard or narrated...that will remain all to himself until he forgets to breathe...or when a breath forgets his life...
Indeed, we after all are travellers with a forgotten past, who live in a deceitful present with an uncertain future. Our stories are yet to be told, and to be heard. Yet, it will never be narrated, nor will it be heard for when we know it's time to be told, our breaths never inhale...
Monday, September 21, 2009
Moving ON …letting go a past with a story to tell
Time and tide waits for none, they say. Maybe this is what strengthens the notion of moving on despite the emotions that believes time has stopped!
Moving on…or letting go of a past is tiresome for many because underneath it hides our joy, togetherness and love. However, in it also lies pain and sorrow for life is full of experiences; the good and the bad. The former strengthens and helps us to move forward while the latter teaches us lessons that will further aid in our development.
Since the beginning, we’ve held on to the past and the hope of future is forlorn. Present is terrified of the gone days and petrified by the ensuing hours which slowly, but steadily changes to years! yet, the history ails us in a longing despite the joy or the pain as we, in every second of our breath wish to revive the past…correct the misfortunes and continue the joy!
We are reluctant to let go of the heydays and yet we have to for life moves on…sooner or later, we will have to accept and acknowledge the yellow light that will soon be replaced by a troublesome light of green! This is where we cannot stop despite our unwillingness…however, neither can we retrace our steps for there are hindrances which in euphoria were either ignored or forgotten!
Perfunctorily, we walk forward…wandering and wondering about the gone presence! Our hearts and minds continue to drift in memories while our feet travel a journey we never longed to walk alone…
In a flick of second, we recall, our life had turned topsy-turvy. The incident for a hiatus had successfully made our feelings desert us…the sojourn had seemed to take an eternity to reclaim joy…
However, a sea is never thirsty for it quenches the thirst of others, and yet, neither its depth nor its abundance fades. It continues to remain the same, reliving the past to eternity! Consequently, people continue to quench their thirst while the abundant sea continues to help them in their act…
Consequently, we, like the time move forward…no matter how reluctant we be for He knows best…we are His puppet and yet are allowed to choose our own destiny…even when we, despite our strong impulse fail to make one…
Thence, leaving the past, cherishing the moments, we move on…for a while, this journey maybe harsh but after sometime, it will be cherished because every chip and crack has its own story to tell…and although the folly of human minds with its ignorance tends to hinder destiny, it however is foretold…we thus, with a melancholic smile let go of the past and move ahead with a story to tell tomorrow!
Moving on…or letting go of a past is tiresome for many because underneath it hides our joy, togetherness and love. However, in it also lies pain and sorrow for life is full of experiences; the good and the bad. The former strengthens and helps us to move forward while the latter teaches us lessons that will further aid in our development.
Since the beginning, we’ve held on to the past and the hope of future is forlorn. Present is terrified of the gone days and petrified by the ensuing hours which slowly, but steadily changes to years! yet, the history ails us in a longing despite the joy or the pain as we, in every second of our breath wish to revive the past…correct the misfortunes and continue the joy!
We are reluctant to let go of the heydays and yet we have to for life moves on…sooner or later, we will have to accept and acknowledge the yellow light that will soon be replaced by a troublesome light of green! This is where we cannot stop despite our unwillingness…however, neither can we retrace our steps for there are hindrances which in euphoria were either ignored or forgotten!
Perfunctorily, we walk forward…wandering and wondering about the gone presence! Our hearts and minds continue to drift in memories while our feet travel a journey we never longed to walk alone…
In a flick of second, we recall, our life had turned topsy-turvy. The incident for a hiatus had successfully made our feelings desert us…the sojourn had seemed to take an eternity to reclaim joy…
However, a sea is never thirsty for it quenches the thirst of others, and yet, neither its depth nor its abundance fades. It continues to remain the same, reliving the past to eternity! Consequently, people continue to quench their thirst while the abundant sea continues to help them in their act…
Consequently, we, like the time move forward…no matter how reluctant we be for He knows best…we are His puppet and yet are allowed to choose our own destiny…even when we, despite our strong impulse fail to make one…
Thence, leaving the past, cherishing the moments, we move on…for a while, this journey maybe harsh but after sometime, it will be cherished because every chip and crack has its own story to tell…and although the folly of human minds with its ignorance tends to hinder destiny, it however is foretold…we thus, with a melancholic smile let go of the past and move ahead with a story to tell tomorrow!
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Fallen...an act of crime
“What are you talking about?....why? What have I done?” a girl in her late teen was screaming hysterically at around 1 PM to a man.
The bustling traffic of Putalisadak had prevented her scream to the crowd. No one had heard her voice.
All of a sudden a screeching scream was heard. Then from the room, a man walked out and disappeared in the crowd.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Act of Terror: A Girl Brutally Killed. Suspect At Large
Kathmandu reporter,
Kathmandu, Aug. 15
A girl who has been identified as Pragati Thapa was brutally murdered on her flat at Putalisadak.
“The murderer is at large and we are trying to catch the culprit,” Police Inspector Ram Kumar Adhikary said.
“I cannot say a word…” said the father, Rajendra Thapa as he consoled his wife.
The locals were outraged with the act.
“How ruthless a person he could have been,” Sita Shah, a local exclaimed.
The deceased hailed from Nepalgunj and lived with her parents. The incident took place when her parents were out to work.
--- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On hearing the death of their daughter, the father, Rajendra Thapa and mother, Srija Thapa were deeply shocked. While the father was consoling his wife, she wept bitterly, rejecting that Pragati was dead “No! she’s not gone!...She’s NOT DEAD.”
The only time she finally convinced herself of her beloved daughter’s demise was at the funeral…the time when her body was burnt to ashes on the bank of the Bagmati River and left to flow with its current.
Mr. Thapa was in deep sorrow. He had finally burnt her little girl’s body. He sat still; staring at the burning flames of the pyre while friends and relatives extended condolences. He remembered his little girl…how he had raised her on his arms…how the family had lived happily until this fateful day. He wished to run…stop time and save her child from the murderer and yet, he couldn’t. After all, time once gone would never return…like a river, it flowed on a one way direction with no provisions to turn the course! Despite it, the only thing that kept people alive in the minds were that of memories…and the father was reminiscing those very heydays of his only child…
…he remembered her screams, laughter, how they had celebrated their birthdays…the picnics…and yet, on the sight of the burning flames, the memories too burnt to ashes.
From then on, the couple stayed silent throughout the days. Both ached for hearing some words…both fought to speak but nothing came. The only time they spoke was to have dinner. “Dinner is ready” the wife would say and the husband came in silence. There was nothing more to be heard. Both missed the girls’ presence, her laughter, her voice…and yet, nothing was to be done.
A week later, news following the girl’s death came. It said that a suspect was held. However, the police did not disclose the identity. The news was followed by a huge protest. Civil societies condemned the death and demanded prosecution of the accused if the suspect turned to murderer. However, failing to prove the accuser’s involvement, the police released him and sought apology.
The civil society continued to pressurize the police to find the culprit. The search intensified. Interrogations were conducted...
“I was walking down the street of Putalisadak when I saw a heavy man walking nervously. He stared here and there in fear of being caught by someone. There were some stains of blood on his white shirt. He was trying to hide it,” a person who had come to the police station to help said.
Finally the culprit was being narrowed down…
The inspector was listening intently to the speaker. He lit a cigarette, took a puff. Then he called an artist and asked the speaker to describe the man he had seen.
“He was stout and had half bald hair. He wore spectacles. He had an oval face with some cuts on the right side of his forehead”… the artist was sketching a portrait based on the description being mentioned… “he had black eyes and had a cut on his left.”
The painter showed the sketch and the man confirmed that he was the person.
The police thanked the man. They departed. Then, Adhikary along with his dozen men went to the very place of the incident.
The scene inside the room was of silence and solitude. Grief and somber sounds of clamoring steel glasses were only to be heard. Time seemed to stop. Motions seemed to take eternity to complete an action. Only when the mourning couples saw the police did this silence break. The intruder was unexpected. His appearance came as a subtle surprise. The parents’ faces were sulky, etching nothing but sorrow. They stood upon his arrival.
The inspector observed the surrounding. The room was spotless. On the walls hung photographs of the once happy family whose joy had been snatched by an omen. Then his eyes stuck on a single portrait of a beautiful girl with a smile that was hard to ignore. She had those mystic eyes that spoke of depth…
“Yes inspector, have you found the culprit?” the worried mother queried.
“Yes we have” the inspector said.
“Where’s he? Who’s he? I WILL KILL HIM” Mr. Thapa spoke in rage.
Hearing the words of the father gave the inspector a hunch of how he loved his daughter. He had a second thought…there was silence.
The officers cordoned the father and held him on his arms.
“Mr. Thapa, you are arrested for the murder of your daughter, Pragati Thapa.” The inspector said.
Upon hearing the words, Mrs. Thapa was struck by lightening. Mr. Thapa’s face etched fear and he started screaming frantically,
“WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? YOU’RE INSANCE. I CANNOT KILL MY DAUGHTER! I LOVE HER!”
The mother’s head turned from the intruder to her husband, back and forth. She had lost her words. It was as if her world was falling apart. She finally gathered some words and said,
“Sir, you must be mistaken.”
“No ma’am. We are not” the intruder assured. Then the officers escorted Mr. Thapa while his wife stared still to the closing door and began to cry hysterically…
In the station, the pretences of Mr. Thapa was taking a different turn. In the beginning he was rejecting the deed but later in agony, his face hardened and admitted the crime.
“She had some to know of my affair with a woman. She was threatening me that she’d tell her mother. I loved her very much. I was infuriated. There was knife in front of me. I cut her arms. She began to bleed and cry…. “Why? What have I done?” she was saying…then I strangled her to death.”
The news reached to Mrs. Thapa and the culprit was behind the bars. She had no emotions…had nothing to say.
All of a sudden her world had really fallen apart into irreparable fragments…the spring where she had lived happily was just an illusion. Underneath the spring was autumn…the seasons of solitude!
The mother then woke up. She relieved those gone moments in tears of agony and loneliness. The world to her had never looked so strange till now. She felt as an alien to her surrounding…alien to herself and the bonds that were termed as relationships. After all, this futile earth had nothing to give apart from snatching things…
She forged a letter and hung herself.
She had finally ridden herself from the pretences of eternal autumn to the sound realms of bliss. She had departed to the state of eternal happiness…far away from the bustling world…far away where human minds could never intrude the merry cadence of voices that sung in delight…
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Father turns Culprit. Mother commits suicide.
By Rakesh Shaha,
Kathmandu, Sep. 20
After a month’s long intensive search for the culprit of Pragati Thapa, the police has finally caught the deceased’s father as the murderer.
Rajendra Thapa had ruthlessly strangled his daughter after she threatened him to inform her mother about his affair with another woman.
“Thapa had murdered Pragati in order to maintain secrecy about his affair,” Inspector Ram Kumar Adhikary said.
Adhikary, along with his team of a dozen officers had finally narrowed the murderer by the help of a person whose identity has not been disclosed.
“This is insane,” Sita Kayasta, a mother of two exclaimed.
“This happened in movies…not in reality…” said another woman in total shock.
The relatives were unable to utter a word.
Despite the triumph, another grief struck the relatives of the deceased girl. Upon hearing the news that the fatherhad killed his own daughter, Mrs. Srija Thapa, the mother committed suicide. Before that, she forged a note which read,
“…the world is strange. Nothing is as subtle a surprise as the truth itself. The reality is pain striking and we are perfect strangers. What we see…what we believe is just an illusion. Underneath hides numerous pretences. Life never was meant for this…it was meant for love…
My husband had loved his child dearly…but now, I doubt if he did so…nothing is certain now…I doubt my existence and the existence of the world itself. Someday the world will fall apart and we will start afresh…a world of love and joy…with no pretences and pain save merry cadence of voices that sings in delight to the eternal spring…
The cause of my death is my husband.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The death of Mrs. Thapa reached Mr. Thapa and he stared still. He was unable to speak…he felt nothing…
The bustling traffic of Putalisadak had prevented her scream to the crowd. No one had heard her voice.
All of a sudden a screeching scream was heard. Then from the room, a man walked out and disappeared in the crowd.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Act of Terror: A Girl Brutally Killed. Suspect At Large
Kathmandu reporter,
Kathmandu, Aug. 15
A girl who has been identified as Pragati Thapa was brutally murdered on her flat at Putalisadak.
“The murderer is at large and we are trying to catch the culprit,” Police Inspector Ram Kumar Adhikary said.
“I cannot say a word…” said the father, Rajendra Thapa as he consoled his wife.
The locals were outraged with the act.
“How ruthless a person he could have been,” Sita Shah, a local exclaimed.
The deceased hailed from Nepalgunj and lived with her parents. The incident took place when her parents were out to work.
--- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On hearing the death of their daughter, the father, Rajendra Thapa and mother, Srija Thapa were deeply shocked. While the father was consoling his wife, she wept bitterly, rejecting that Pragati was dead “No! she’s not gone!...She’s NOT DEAD.”
The only time she finally convinced herself of her beloved daughter’s demise was at the funeral…the time when her body was burnt to ashes on the bank of the Bagmati River and left to flow with its current.
Mr. Thapa was in deep sorrow. He had finally burnt her little girl’s body. He sat still; staring at the burning flames of the pyre while friends and relatives extended condolences. He remembered his little girl…how he had raised her on his arms…how the family had lived happily until this fateful day. He wished to run…stop time and save her child from the murderer and yet, he couldn’t. After all, time once gone would never return…like a river, it flowed on a one way direction with no provisions to turn the course! Despite it, the only thing that kept people alive in the minds were that of memories…and the father was reminiscing those very heydays of his only child…
…he remembered her screams, laughter, how they had celebrated their birthdays…the picnics…and yet, on the sight of the burning flames, the memories too burnt to ashes.
From then on, the couple stayed silent throughout the days. Both ached for hearing some words…both fought to speak but nothing came. The only time they spoke was to have dinner. “Dinner is ready” the wife would say and the husband came in silence. There was nothing more to be heard. Both missed the girls’ presence, her laughter, her voice…and yet, nothing was to be done.
A week later, news following the girl’s death came. It said that a suspect was held. However, the police did not disclose the identity. The news was followed by a huge protest. Civil societies condemned the death and demanded prosecution of the accused if the suspect turned to murderer. However, failing to prove the accuser’s involvement, the police released him and sought apology.
The civil society continued to pressurize the police to find the culprit. The search intensified. Interrogations were conducted...
“I was walking down the street of Putalisadak when I saw a heavy man walking nervously. He stared here and there in fear of being caught by someone. There were some stains of blood on his white shirt. He was trying to hide it,” a person who had come to the police station to help said.
Finally the culprit was being narrowed down…
The inspector was listening intently to the speaker. He lit a cigarette, took a puff. Then he called an artist and asked the speaker to describe the man he had seen.
“He was stout and had half bald hair. He wore spectacles. He had an oval face with some cuts on the right side of his forehead”… the artist was sketching a portrait based on the description being mentioned… “he had black eyes and had a cut on his left.”
The painter showed the sketch and the man confirmed that he was the person.
The police thanked the man. They departed. Then, Adhikary along with his dozen men went to the very place of the incident.
The scene inside the room was of silence and solitude. Grief and somber sounds of clamoring steel glasses were only to be heard. Time seemed to stop. Motions seemed to take eternity to complete an action. Only when the mourning couples saw the police did this silence break. The intruder was unexpected. His appearance came as a subtle surprise. The parents’ faces were sulky, etching nothing but sorrow. They stood upon his arrival.
The inspector observed the surrounding. The room was spotless. On the walls hung photographs of the once happy family whose joy had been snatched by an omen. Then his eyes stuck on a single portrait of a beautiful girl with a smile that was hard to ignore. She had those mystic eyes that spoke of depth…
“Yes inspector, have you found the culprit?” the worried mother queried.
“Yes we have” the inspector said.
“Where’s he? Who’s he? I WILL KILL HIM” Mr. Thapa spoke in rage.
Hearing the words of the father gave the inspector a hunch of how he loved his daughter. He had a second thought…there was silence.
The officers cordoned the father and held him on his arms.
“Mr. Thapa, you are arrested for the murder of your daughter, Pragati Thapa.” The inspector said.
Upon hearing the words, Mrs. Thapa was struck by lightening. Mr. Thapa’s face etched fear and he started screaming frantically,
“WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? YOU’RE INSANCE. I CANNOT KILL MY DAUGHTER! I LOVE HER!”
The mother’s head turned from the intruder to her husband, back and forth. She had lost her words. It was as if her world was falling apart. She finally gathered some words and said,
“Sir, you must be mistaken.”
“No ma’am. We are not” the intruder assured. Then the officers escorted Mr. Thapa while his wife stared still to the closing door and began to cry hysterically…
In the station, the pretences of Mr. Thapa was taking a different turn. In the beginning he was rejecting the deed but later in agony, his face hardened and admitted the crime.
“She had some to know of my affair with a woman. She was threatening me that she’d tell her mother. I loved her very much. I was infuriated. There was knife in front of me. I cut her arms. She began to bleed and cry…. “Why? What have I done?” she was saying…then I strangled her to death.”
The news reached to Mrs. Thapa and the culprit was behind the bars. She had no emotions…had nothing to say.
All of a sudden her world had really fallen apart into irreparable fragments…the spring where she had lived happily was just an illusion. Underneath the spring was autumn…the seasons of solitude!
The mother then woke up. She relieved those gone moments in tears of agony and loneliness. The world to her had never looked so strange till now. She felt as an alien to her surrounding…alien to herself and the bonds that were termed as relationships. After all, this futile earth had nothing to give apart from snatching things…
She forged a letter and hung herself.
She had finally ridden herself from the pretences of eternal autumn to the sound realms of bliss. She had departed to the state of eternal happiness…far away from the bustling world…far away where human minds could never intrude the merry cadence of voices that sung in delight…
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Father turns Culprit. Mother commits suicide.
By Rakesh Shaha,
Kathmandu, Sep. 20
After a month’s long intensive search for the culprit of Pragati Thapa, the police has finally caught the deceased’s father as the murderer.
Rajendra Thapa had ruthlessly strangled his daughter after she threatened him to inform her mother about his affair with another woman.
“Thapa had murdered Pragati in order to maintain secrecy about his affair,” Inspector Ram Kumar Adhikary said.
Adhikary, along with his team of a dozen officers had finally narrowed the murderer by the help of a person whose identity has not been disclosed.
“This is insane,” Sita Kayasta, a mother of two exclaimed.
“This happened in movies…not in reality…” said another woman in total shock.
The relatives were unable to utter a word.
Despite the triumph, another grief struck the relatives of the deceased girl. Upon hearing the news that the fatherhad killed his own daughter, Mrs. Srija Thapa, the mother committed suicide. Before that, she forged a note which read,
“…the world is strange. Nothing is as subtle a surprise as the truth itself. The reality is pain striking and we are perfect strangers. What we see…what we believe is just an illusion. Underneath hides numerous pretences. Life never was meant for this…it was meant for love…
My husband had loved his child dearly…but now, I doubt if he did so…nothing is certain now…I doubt my existence and the existence of the world itself. Someday the world will fall apart and we will start afresh…a world of love and joy…with no pretences and pain save merry cadence of voices that sings in delight to the eternal spring…
The cause of my death is my husband.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The death of Mrs. Thapa reached Mr. Thapa and he stared still. He was unable to speak…he felt nothing…
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Stars Fall Down
Those mystic voices run deep and wild within me. My wait of an angelic figure came as a subtle surprise. With her presence, the long happiness has come as an eternal euphoria for every time I hear her voice and see her smile...laugh, my heart and soul pounces in high spirits; longing her presence.
Distance has always been a test of time calling for togetherness. The longing of her presence makes my life worth living...every single day. The crowd had never looked so familiar for I see her face everywhere...that sweet sounds of smile and those eyes when it squeezes in joy...who would dare to cause her pain?...trouble her with sorrow, and blanket her with grief and melancholy? No one, I say for above her, within and all over her lies a shield of my love, warmth and affection; armoring her against the worldly sorrows and its brutality. The pain which tries to penetrate her, I shield in joy for I cannot see her in pain. All I want and wish for is her joy and smile. And while shielding, as I look behind, she gently smiles...the pain never touched her. So I smile, forgetting everything save her and her beauty.
The charm of mortal life, since her arrival has been joy, thoughts and longing of togetherness...a wish to be always behind her and protect her...maybe life after all gives us a second chance. And with your arrival, I now indeed believe that it sincerely does for our heavenly father cannot be heartless, as he instilled us with hearts of love, trust, faith, compassion and joy! Indeed, the creator cannot and never will forlorn his child until he has handed him over to someone else...someone, who he has looked and found the best of his creations. And it is YOU, that someone who is to accompany me to a journey of togetherness along with eternal joy and love.
With your presence, everyday has its purpose. At the end of the arduous day, I have its own sweet reward...and that reward is you and your presence. In achieving the very reward, I work at day with all my strength...remembering you, visualising your smiling presence where ever I go...Then, I stare at your image...the very image of yours that I have with me...
Therefore, some nights, I stare at the stars, perplexed at the thought of the very object, wondering if it could fall down to earth in mortal armor. The dark night thus tends to show me ways as I get confused...stranded amongst people and intellect...
Time tickles in joy and passes with a melancholic song. The hollow cry of penetrable sounds from the wild beasts underneath the moonlight alerts me of your hopeful presence...and I am waiting...
Distance has always been a test of time calling for togetherness. The longing of her presence makes my life worth living...every single day. The crowd had never looked so familiar for I see her face everywhere...that sweet sounds of smile and those eyes when it squeezes in joy...who would dare to cause her pain?...trouble her with sorrow, and blanket her with grief and melancholy? No one, I say for above her, within and all over her lies a shield of my love, warmth and affection; armoring her against the worldly sorrows and its brutality. The pain which tries to penetrate her, I shield in joy for I cannot see her in pain. All I want and wish for is her joy and smile. And while shielding, as I look behind, she gently smiles...the pain never touched her. So I smile, forgetting everything save her and her beauty.
The charm of mortal life, since her arrival has been joy, thoughts and longing of togetherness...a wish to be always behind her and protect her...maybe life after all gives us a second chance. And with your arrival, I now indeed believe that it sincerely does for our heavenly father cannot be heartless, as he instilled us with hearts of love, trust, faith, compassion and joy! Indeed, the creator cannot and never will forlorn his child until he has handed him over to someone else...someone, who he has looked and found the best of his creations. And it is YOU, that someone who is to accompany me to a journey of togetherness along with eternal joy and love.
With your presence, everyday has its purpose. At the end of the arduous day, I have its own sweet reward...and that reward is you and your presence. In achieving the very reward, I work at day with all my strength...remembering you, visualising your smiling presence where ever I go...Then, I stare at your image...the very image of yours that I have with me...
Therefore, some nights, I stare at the stars, perplexed at the thought of the very object, wondering if it could fall down to earth in mortal armor. The dark night thus tends to show me ways as I get confused...stranded amongst people and intellect...
Time tickles in joy and passes with a melancholic song. The hollow cry of penetrable sounds from the wild beasts underneath the moonlight alerts me of your hopeful presence...and I am waiting...
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Blind …a question of faith and perception
Last night, on my way home, seeing two blind accompanies made me think twice of the world we perceive. It also kept my confused faith on someone I know not…someone who is to guide a way for sometime.
The existence of world has always been viewed by those who see. Consequently, it has been explained and interpreted by them and only them. No wonder, long time ago, Bard said, “beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.” However, I now query, does that “beauty” lie in the eyes of the beholder when they fail to see? And when they fail to see despite their strong impulse to look the colors of the world, the shades and the sun for once in their lifetime?
We, the visually gifted ones can differentiate the visuals and give in judgments. With our eyes open, we can know who to rely on and whom to avoid. However, those blind-men and women cannot. They can only give judgments based on the sounds which could be a mere act of generosity, when in fact, it could be an act of shrewdness!
Try to close your eyes for an hour as you do your activity and look how quickly you open them even when you stumble a bit. Now with this experience, assimilate with the blind who have never opened their eyes since time we cannot imagine. Those blind, who could have enjoyed nature do not know what nature is like…the spring, the autumn, wild beasts that rules the forests, the soothing sound of the river…
Indeed, I have no experience of really being blind. However, I have virtually imagined their pain by acting as one, if not for an hour or day, at least for few minutes. There, I have stumbled and fell…and one stumble triggered a fear of a wound next time. So I opened my eyes, never closing it again.
And when I had tried to correlate the experience, I could not keep my faith in someone because I feared their judgment!
However, the blind constantly put their faith on someone who come for their help. And when someone helps, they probably do nothing but pray that the aid means no malice and is there just to help!
Bard, you went wrong to your statement. Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder…what about those who fail to see? What is their beauty? Is it blindness? Or is it continuing to keep faith on someone she or he doesn’t know?
No wonder, the world is created by only those who can see!
The existence of world has always been viewed by those who see. Consequently, it has been explained and interpreted by them and only them. No wonder, long time ago, Bard said, “beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.” However, I now query, does that “beauty” lie in the eyes of the beholder when they fail to see? And when they fail to see despite their strong impulse to look the colors of the world, the shades and the sun for once in their lifetime?
We, the visually gifted ones can differentiate the visuals and give in judgments. With our eyes open, we can know who to rely on and whom to avoid. However, those blind-men and women cannot. They can only give judgments based on the sounds which could be a mere act of generosity, when in fact, it could be an act of shrewdness!
Try to close your eyes for an hour as you do your activity and look how quickly you open them even when you stumble a bit. Now with this experience, assimilate with the blind who have never opened their eyes since time we cannot imagine. Those blind, who could have enjoyed nature do not know what nature is like…the spring, the autumn, wild beasts that rules the forests, the soothing sound of the river…
Indeed, I have no experience of really being blind. However, I have virtually imagined their pain by acting as one, if not for an hour or day, at least for few minutes. There, I have stumbled and fell…and one stumble triggered a fear of a wound next time. So I opened my eyes, never closing it again.
And when I had tried to correlate the experience, I could not keep my faith in someone because I feared their judgment!
However, the blind constantly put their faith on someone who come for their help. And when someone helps, they probably do nothing but pray that the aid means no malice and is there just to help!
Bard, you went wrong to your statement. Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder…what about those who fail to see? What is their beauty? Is it blindness? Or is it continuing to keep faith on someone she or he doesn’t know?
No wonder, the world is created by only those who can see!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Expiry of Feelings
It’s been so long that I’ve tried to write something…wished to write something. Despite it, in every attempt, I’ve run short on feelings. I now am startled. It is as if I’m a living dead person, doing every human activities save feeling emotions.
Ever since I started writing, I had so much to write about. I wrote about love, anger, hate, war, life and so forth. However, these feelings have now come to a standstill. I wonder why. Was it that I wrote so much that I now have nothing to write about? Or is it that after feeling so much, I’ve stopped feeling anything now? I fail to know the answer.
Despite being unable to answer my queries, I am sure that the questions should not hinder my emotions.
The world is full of brightness and joy. There are so many things happening…so many things to write about. Secrets of the earth are yet to be unraveled, the nature; still to be felt. Then, how can I not have anything to write about?...when in front of me lies a whole new world from my perspective?
Life is a journey of endless emotions. There’s pain, joy, sorrow, love, lust, hatred, tears, smiles, hopes, dreams and so forth. So long one lives, one will feel these emotions. Even the toughest cry, strongest surrender, weakest strive, and the failures succeed. Then, how can I not feel?
Emotions are the very things that differentiate between an angel and human. Angels know everything from birth. Consequently, they do not feel. However, human beings learn things in their journey and they do not know all; and will never do. Therefore, they learn, internalize, feel and act.
I am no exception to the latter because I am a mortal being. I am learning and will continue to learn and then add to my perceptions, feel and act accordingly.
Like everyone, I’ve learnt human emotions by assimilating synonymous deeds first from my parents. I learnt to cry when someone does wrong…smile and praise when someone does well, laugh when one cracks a joke, feel angry when someone hurts me and that like.
When for the past two decades, I’ve learnt to feel, how can it briefly come to a halt? How can it abruptly come to a hiatus when I have so much to do, feel and cope; day after day? I fail to answer because in search of the answer itself, I’m writing this article.
Is it the expiry of feelings? Has my feelings and emotions completed a tenure of its existence like medicines? The very medicines which after its expiry can never be renewed? I certainly agree that after the validity, one cannot consume the pills. I also argue that before its expiry, the same medicines are replaced by new ones so that people don’t suffer…so that in its lack, one may not risk his or her life.
I argue, if life-supporting systems can be reproduced to larger and larger amount, why can’t life-giving systems; emotions stay until death one day blankets our dreams, desires, love, and aspirations and feelings itself?
I fail to know the answer. Yet, despite the expiry of feeling which I hope is just for short, the writing now does solace me and leaves me restless…
I most certainly feel that it has served its purpose, pouring down confusing thoughts off my mind…the mud of muddy water, I feel has now gently started to settle…a vision seems to upraise…my heart is starting to feel again…words are taking shape…the expiry of feelings…has its validity renewed?
Ever since I started writing, I had so much to write about. I wrote about love, anger, hate, war, life and so forth. However, these feelings have now come to a standstill. I wonder why. Was it that I wrote so much that I now have nothing to write about? Or is it that after feeling so much, I’ve stopped feeling anything now? I fail to know the answer.
Despite being unable to answer my queries, I am sure that the questions should not hinder my emotions.
The world is full of brightness and joy. There are so many things happening…so many things to write about. Secrets of the earth are yet to be unraveled, the nature; still to be felt. Then, how can I not have anything to write about?...when in front of me lies a whole new world from my perspective?
Life is a journey of endless emotions. There’s pain, joy, sorrow, love, lust, hatred, tears, smiles, hopes, dreams and so forth. So long one lives, one will feel these emotions. Even the toughest cry, strongest surrender, weakest strive, and the failures succeed. Then, how can I not feel?
Emotions are the very things that differentiate between an angel and human. Angels know everything from birth. Consequently, they do not feel. However, human beings learn things in their journey and they do not know all; and will never do. Therefore, they learn, internalize, feel and act.
I am no exception to the latter because I am a mortal being. I am learning and will continue to learn and then add to my perceptions, feel and act accordingly.
Like everyone, I’ve learnt human emotions by assimilating synonymous deeds first from my parents. I learnt to cry when someone does wrong…smile and praise when someone does well, laugh when one cracks a joke, feel angry when someone hurts me and that like.
When for the past two decades, I’ve learnt to feel, how can it briefly come to a halt? How can it abruptly come to a hiatus when I have so much to do, feel and cope; day after day? I fail to answer because in search of the answer itself, I’m writing this article.
Is it the expiry of feelings? Has my feelings and emotions completed a tenure of its existence like medicines? The very medicines which after its expiry can never be renewed? I certainly agree that after the validity, one cannot consume the pills. I also argue that before its expiry, the same medicines are replaced by new ones so that people don’t suffer…so that in its lack, one may not risk his or her life.
I argue, if life-supporting systems can be reproduced to larger and larger amount, why can’t life-giving systems; emotions stay until death one day blankets our dreams, desires, love, and aspirations and feelings itself?
I fail to know the answer. Yet, despite the expiry of feeling which I hope is just for short, the writing now does solace me and leaves me restless…
I most certainly feel that it has served its purpose, pouring down confusing thoughts off my mind…the mud of muddy water, I feel has now gently started to settle…a vision seems to upraise…my heart is starting to feel again…words are taking shape…the expiry of feelings…has its validity renewed?
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Life ...smoked by the immortal God
“The disappearing smoke of a cigarette,
Ashes of a human life,
Smoked by the immortal god,
Who creates does destroy,
What is for eternity, stays for long!”
The disappearing smoke of a cigarette…life is a thread of fate. “One and only life” is what we perceive it to be. It is a sleep and a forgetting…or forgetting of a sleep…awakening from a slumber nap to a sleep of eternity where wholeness is never thought of.
…ashes of a human life…indeed, as we smoke a cigarette, what remains are the ashes on the ground which later is wiped out of its existence by external forces. Although we wish to prove its former existence, we consequently fail because the fragments of cigarette can never be joined again; although new ones can be made from new material. The only way of showing its former existence is by those ashes which lies on the ground but is soon to fade away. Like it, the existential identity of human life has never been answered satisfactorily. A flux of opinion always sways between philosophers. Although some explanations of existence is persuading and seem more real than other, explanations relating “once upon a time” existence of human life is not. The only thing to console us remains in the fact that “once upon a time, s/he lived”. Because the proof of their existence has been swept away like that of the cigarette, they seem like an illusion. The ashes of our body for sometime remains, but with time, will fade accordingly.
…smoked by the immortal god/Who creates does destroy…whenever questions of existence or queries of which we cannot answer comes, we surrender everything to God saying he created this. It is an easy way of escaping by the help of sophistical philosophy (for the simple fact that it cannot be challenged). Indeed. The one who creates does destroy. Consequently, the god who gave us life in turn does take it away from us. In the beginning, we are like a newly brought cigarette of different brands and taste (as one individual is different from the other), which god starts to smoke. Accordingly, our life shortens. Our impression lasts on the pace He is smoking and blowing out the smoke. As a result, some live longer while some fall prey to untimely demise. In the end, nothing remains of our former existence and glory save the ashes to show that we once lived. We become another name in the history.
...what is for eternity stays long! ...and yes! What is for eternity will always stay. “The eternally good…the first cause”, like Plato said always remains. Then, what is eternal in human life; one may ask. With reference to my previous article, I once again say that it is the soul. “…god did create something that is as immortal as him. He created something that has undoubtedly withstood time…traveled the world by drifting in the air to re-live once again; giving life to another mortal body. He created the “Soul!” A soul that is as immortal as him” (from: Quest…what did God create?)
Soul is the very thing that god cannot smoke as it resembles thin air. Like the smoke of a cigarette that disappears in the air every time we smoke; our soul is no different.
Every time god shortens our life, our soul escapes little by little and disappears in the environment. Consequently, although He smokes our body in mere pleasure, He fails to smoke our soul.
Then, the soul which is eternal stays for long…
It is like the air that we breathe and yet cannot see or taste. We accept its shapelessness and do not bother it. Likewise, god too doesn’t bother our soul.
Therefore, what is for eternity, stays forever.
Ashes of a human life,
Smoked by the immortal god,
Who creates does destroy,
What is for eternity, stays for long!”
The disappearing smoke of a cigarette…life is a thread of fate. “One and only life” is what we perceive it to be. It is a sleep and a forgetting…or forgetting of a sleep…awakening from a slumber nap to a sleep of eternity where wholeness is never thought of.
…ashes of a human life…indeed, as we smoke a cigarette, what remains are the ashes on the ground which later is wiped out of its existence by external forces. Although we wish to prove its former existence, we consequently fail because the fragments of cigarette can never be joined again; although new ones can be made from new material. The only way of showing its former existence is by those ashes which lies on the ground but is soon to fade away. Like it, the existential identity of human life has never been answered satisfactorily. A flux of opinion always sways between philosophers. Although some explanations of existence is persuading and seem more real than other, explanations relating “once upon a time” existence of human life is not. The only thing to console us remains in the fact that “once upon a time, s/he lived”. Because the proof of their existence has been swept away like that of the cigarette, they seem like an illusion. The ashes of our body for sometime remains, but with time, will fade accordingly.
…smoked by the immortal god/Who creates does destroy…whenever questions of existence or queries of which we cannot answer comes, we surrender everything to God saying he created this. It is an easy way of escaping by the help of sophistical philosophy (for the simple fact that it cannot be challenged). Indeed. The one who creates does destroy. Consequently, the god who gave us life in turn does take it away from us. In the beginning, we are like a newly brought cigarette of different brands and taste (as one individual is different from the other), which god starts to smoke. Accordingly, our life shortens. Our impression lasts on the pace He is smoking and blowing out the smoke. As a result, some live longer while some fall prey to untimely demise. In the end, nothing remains of our former existence and glory save the ashes to show that we once lived. We become another name in the history.
...what is for eternity stays long! ...and yes! What is for eternity will always stay. “The eternally good…the first cause”, like Plato said always remains. Then, what is eternal in human life; one may ask. With reference to my previous article, I once again say that it is the soul. “…god did create something that is as immortal as him. He created something that has undoubtedly withstood time…traveled the world by drifting in the air to re-live once again; giving life to another mortal body. He created the “Soul!” A soul that is as immortal as him” (from: Quest…what did God create?)
Soul is the very thing that god cannot smoke as it resembles thin air. Like the smoke of a cigarette that disappears in the air every time we smoke; our soul is no different.
Every time god shortens our life, our soul escapes little by little and disappears in the environment. Consequently, although He smokes our body in mere pleasure, He fails to smoke our soul.
Then, the soul which is eternal stays for long…
It is like the air that we breathe and yet cannot see or taste. We accept its shapelessness and do not bother it. Likewise, god too doesn’t bother our soul.
Therefore, what is for eternity, stays forever.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Effective Speaking
Unable to speak or communicate effectively, many people undergo emotional conflicts. These conflicts constitute of anger, hatred, and other negative emotions. Of the large population, only few express themselves in words; either as letters, articles, poems or other forms of literature. Contrary to it, the overwhelming denizens of the world speak to communicate. Moreover, speaking is such an acquired habit that even those who write’ and write the finest; speak.
Although writing is bliss to reflect emotional attachments or conflicts, few people understand the theme expressed in these words. The majority fails. The case is even worse in expressing our emotions through poetry and fictional works because the intended message in it is cryptic. First of all, one doesn’t know if that piece is meant for him/her. When the emotions are expressed in fictional works like short stories, one actually believes it to be of complete imagination. Moreover, one has to go into depth to understand these aims which tend to be subjective or objective. Furthermore, to understand these messages, the reader has to reach into the author’s life. S/he has to understand why the writer wrote this piece, on what circumstances, is it pure fiction or accidental, did they have a similar encounter, when; and most importantly, what was its consequence. Only then can a reader grasp the intended; not the “possible” meaning. Majority fall short to this understanding. That is when speaking comes into effect; and most precisely, effective speaking.
Although speaking is inborn, effective speaking is an acquired trait. Therefore, one can speak about anything, but s/he cannot speak effectively about the subject.
Here are some of my personal tips to communicate effectively:
- Contextualization: On whatever topic you are talking about, contextualizing events from your personal experience or human history is very important. This is the first step to effective speaking. It helps to grasp the attention of the audience. Likewise, it also helps to intrigue them with questions like what happened, how, when, its consequence and so forth.
- Drawing examples: A theory is a theory. Its validity is likely to expire overtime. As a result, your listeners are likely to take it lightly. This is when examples come handy. Support your topic with examples. These examples could range once again from history, personal experience and those things which you’re heard of.
- Stick to your opinion. Don’t sway: remember, when you prepared on a topic, you had made your blanket cover. Stay with it. Don’t sway here and there. This shows your inconsistency and reflects that you aren’t well prepared.
- Give counter-arguments: When you speak of something, there is bound to be counter arguments. However, on giving counter-arguments, if you start to support it and criticize your own topic, you are axing your own knee. Remember, you are giving anti-thesis to show the possibility, but precisely, weaken it by your arguments. For it, once again, you have to cite examples from the aforesaid aspects.
- Stay firm to you conclusion.
- Appreciate the queries if they seem valid: However, do not take it as a truth. View it as a “possibility” for the simple fact that truth is subjective. Despite the seemingly validity, stick with your own logic and intellect. Remember, they are asking their questions, but you prepared the material.
- Say “I don’t know” or “I’m not sure” if you don’t know. You’ll influence your audience with your honesty.
- Thank them for providing further insight on your topic: You have to express your gratitude when someone tells you something out of the blue. The insight will be useful next time.
- Don’t make your speech blunt or dry: Both diminish the attention of your audience. Present them artistically and with sound eloquence.
- Say. Don’t argue: Remember! You haven’t mastered the subject. Moreover, even if you have, the feedbacks could be a possibility; those which you haven’t had thought of.
- Apologize: Some examples are conflicting or tend to disintegrate the audience. Be very careful of this. therefore, in this case, say “I’m sorry for the example I provided or am about to provide…but this is what this says.” This will help to bar disturbance from the audience on the views or examples you expressed. However, be careful not to give personal interpretation. Relate it to the thesis or antithesis and the trend or validity of the example.
- Give reference: Intellectual Property Right (IPR) is very important. Always give credit to the person who said certain things. How did you come across this information? In which form (written or spoken)? When and so forth.
Having drawn the twelve tips from my personal experience, I do hope it will work with you. Try applying these tips if you find it useful. You could find some change in effective speaking. Well, BEST OF LUCK!
Although writing is bliss to reflect emotional attachments or conflicts, few people understand the theme expressed in these words. The majority fails. The case is even worse in expressing our emotions through poetry and fictional works because the intended message in it is cryptic. First of all, one doesn’t know if that piece is meant for him/her. When the emotions are expressed in fictional works like short stories, one actually believes it to be of complete imagination. Moreover, one has to go into depth to understand these aims which tend to be subjective or objective. Furthermore, to understand these messages, the reader has to reach into the author’s life. S/he has to understand why the writer wrote this piece, on what circumstances, is it pure fiction or accidental, did they have a similar encounter, when; and most importantly, what was its consequence. Only then can a reader grasp the intended; not the “possible” meaning. Majority fall short to this understanding. That is when speaking comes into effect; and most precisely, effective speaking.
Although speaking is inborn, effective speaking is an acquired trait. Therefore, one can speak about anything, but s/he cannot speak effectively about the subject.
Here are some of my personal tips to communicate effectively:
- Contextualization: On whatever topic you are talking about, contextualizing events from your personal experience or human history is very important. This is the first step to effective speaking. It helps to grasp the attention of the audience. Likewise, it also helps to intrigue them with questions like what happened, how, when, its consequence and so forth.
- Drawing examples: A theory is a theory. Its validity is likely to expire overtime. As a result, your listeners are likely to take it lightly. This is when examples come handy. Support your topic with examples. These examples could range once again from history, personal experience and those things which you’re heard of.
- Stick to your opinion. Don’t sway: remember, when you prepared on a topic, you had made your blanket cover. Stay with it. Don’t sway here and there. This shows your inconsistency and reflects that you aren’t well prepared.
- Give counter-arguments: When you speak of something, there is bound to be counter arguments. However, on giving counter-arguments, if you start to support it and criticize your own topic, you are axing your own knee. Remember, you are giving anti-thesis to show the possibility, but precisely, weaken it by your arguments. For it, once again, you have to cite examples from the aforesaid aspects.
- Stay firm to you conclusion.
- Appreciate the queries if they seem valid: However, do not take it as a truth. View it as a “possibility” for the simple fact that truth is subjective. Despite the seemingly validity, stick with your own logic and intellect. Remember, they are asking their questions, but you prepared the material.
- Say “I don’t know” or “I’m not sure” if you don’t know. You’ll influence your audience with your honesty.
- Thank them for providing further insight on your topic: You have to express your gratitude when someone tells you something out of the blue. The insight will be useful next time.
- Don’t make your speech blunt or dry: Both diminish the attention of your audience. Present them artistically and with sound eloquence.
- Say. Don’t argue: Remember! You haven’t mastered the subject. Moreover, even if you have, the feedbacks could be a possibility; those which you haven’t had thought of.
- Apologize: Some examples are conflicting or tend to disintegrate the audience. Be very careful of this. therefore, in this case, say “I’m sorry for the example I provided or am about to provide…but this is what this says.” This will help to bar disturbance from the audience on the views or examples you expressed. However, be careful not to give personal interpretation. Relate it to the thesis or antithesis and the trend or validity of the example.
- Give reference: Intellectual Property Right (IPR) is very important. Always give credit to the person who said certain things. How did you come across this information? In which form (written or spoken)? When and so forth.
Having drawn the twelve tips from my personal experience, I do hope it will work with you. Try applying these tips if you find it useful. You could find some change in effective speaking. Well, BEST OF LUCK!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
On Rich and Poor
A rich isn’t born rich, but a poor is born poor. The world since the first human settlement has been divided into this very group; one the employer, the other, working class hero.
Amongst the children born in wealthy families, I’ve seen a number of cases of misconceptions, the major being that they are rich or wealthy, which in fact, they are not. I refute this form of perception. I firmly hold the opinion that they aren’t rich, but with sheer luck of being born to rich parents became one. What if they were born to the poor? Therefore, indeed, they are but just the children of rich parents.
There is a huge difference between being rich and being the children of the rich. The former came to their position with their toil, while the latter, as stated above were, by chance born to the parents who on their hardship became rich.
With several encounters with the children of rich, I have come to know how majority think. First of all, they take everything for granted, which once again, they aren’t entitled for. Having being brought up where all their wants are fulfilled the moment they ask for, they consequently lack what real life seeks for: compromise and hard work.
Unlike the poor, they haven’t have had to compromise on their wants. You ask for it, and you get it; as if you fully deserve what you ask for. Consequently, they lack dedication to work, hard working, and self-earning. As a result of this, they believe life is easy. However, they do not know how hard it is, how strong ill-fate torments other people, and so forth.
I ask them not to display the wealth of their parents. It is not yours. It is theirs. I ask you to go, fill the vacancy posts with out source to get a job, earn and then show your money, no matter how small it be, because it is yours. You earned it with your labor. Your money deserves your pride. Only then will you know what life is: of hardship and struggle, dropping off your job applications, earning, saving and compromising your needs for the ones you love.
I lean to the poor because although I come from a middle class family, I undoubtedly can relate to them. They have everything which children of the rich, most of the time tend to lack. The major is the real glimpse of life, despite the fact that they have a more pessimistic approach to it. They have grown in hardships and compromises. Since they know the hardships, unlike the rich, they aren’t scared of it. After all, it isn’t the first time they are facing it. They never give up. However, the children of the rich, on the first sight are scared and thence surrender. My poor friends, wealth doesn’t make someone rich. Wealth comes and goes. Your wealth is your life that you live with dignity, self-respect and self-esteem. It is a misconception that only the rich have these qualities.
Rather than believing, “end of the beginning,” I opt for “beginning of the end.” With this belief, I support the poor. The beginning of their end is the crumbling poverty to the rise of prosperity. Charles Dickens was never wrong when he said “survival of the fittest.” Yes, only those rise who are not just fit, but the fittest in terms of mind, body and soul. Remember, a lotus is born in dirt and swamp!
The eight Oscar winning movie of 2008, Slumdog Millionaire just proves the beginning of the end of poverty. In it, a guy from the slums wins millions. Of course, one could criticize the movie as being far-fetched, detached from the reality, a fairy tale, like Salman Rushdie does, but I see the possibility. “Why? Can’t a poor be wealthy?” I ask. “where has it been written that only the rich will be rich, while the poor will always dwell in poverty?” Like the poor who has a chance of being rich, the rich also has an equal possibility of being poor. After all, it takes a minute for life to turn topsy-turvy.
Therefore, I ask to you, the children of the rich to wake up. You’re parents property aren’t rightfully yours. You’re not rich. You are, once again, I repeat, the children of the rich. I urge you to learn the reality of life. “You go, get a job, save, earn, compromise and be rich.” Only then say with pride that you are rich, because you’re earned it, and therefore deserve it. Then will I finally be content and convinced. However, until then…you’re just the children who were luckily born to the people of rich.
Amongst the children born in wealthy families, I’ve seen a number of cases of misconceptions, the major being that they are rich or wealthy, which in fact, they are not. I refute this form of perception. I firmly hold the opinion that they aren’t rich, but with sheer luck of being born to rich parents became one. What if they were born to the poor? Therefore, indeed, they are but just the children of rich parents.
There is a huge difference between being rich and being the children of the rich. The former came to their position with their toil, while the latter, as stated above were, by chance born to the parents who on their hardship became rich.
With several encounters with the children of rich, I have come to know how majority think. First of all, they take everything for granted, which once again, they aren’t entitled for. Having being brought up where all their wants are fulfilled the moment they ask for, they consequently lack what real life seeks for: compromise and hard work.
Unlike the poor, they haven’t have had to compromise on their wants. You ask for it, and you get it; as if you fully deserve what you ask for. Consequently, they lack dedication to work, hard working, and self-earning. As a result of this, they believe life is easy. However, they do not know how hard it is, how strong ill-fate torments other people, and so forth.
I ask them not to display the wealth of their parents. It is not yours. It is theirs. I ask you to go, fill the vacancy posts with out source to get a job, earn and then show your money, no matter how small it be, because it is yours. You earned it with your labor. Your money deserves your pride. Only then will you know what life is: of hardship and struggle, dropping off your job applications, earning, saving and compromising your needs for the ones you love.
I lean to the poor because although I come from a middle class family, I undoubtedly can relate to them. They have everything which children of the rich, most of the time tend to lack. The major is the real glimpse of life, despite the fact that they have a more pessimistic approach to it. They have grown in hardships and compromises. Since they know the hardships, unlike the rich, they aren’t scared of it. After all, it isn’t the first time they are facing it. They never give up. However, the children of the rich, on the first sight are scared and thence surrender. My poor friends, wealth doesn’t make someone rich. Wealth comes and goes. Your wealth is your life that you live with dignity, self-respect and self-esteem. It is a misconception that only the rich have these qualities.
Rather than believing, “end of the beginning,” I opt for “beginning of the end.” With this belief, I support the poor. The beginning of their end is the crumbling poverty to the rise of prosperity. Charles Dickens was never wrong when he said “survival of the fittest.” Yes, only those rise who are not just fit, but the fittest in terms of mind, body and soul. Remember, a lotus is born in dirt and swamp!
The eight Oscar winning movie of 2008, Slumdog Millionaire just proves the beginning of the end of poverty. In it, a guy from the slums wins millions. Of course, one could criticize the movie as being far-fetched, detached from the reality, a fairy tale, like Salman Rushdie does, but I see the possibility. “Why? Can’t a poor be wealthy?” I ask. “where has it been written that only the rich will be rich, while the poor will always dwell in poverty?” Like the poor who has a chance of being rich, the rich also has an equal possibility of being poor. After all, it takes a minute for life to turn topsy-turvy.
Therefore, I ask to you, the children of the rich to wake up. You’re parents property aren’t rightfully yours. You’re not rich. You are, once again, I repeat, the children of the rich. I urge you to learn the reality of life. “You go, get a job, save, earn, compromise and be rich.” Only then say with pride that you are rich, because you’re earned it, and therefore deserve it. Then will I finally be content and convinced. However, until then…you’re just the children who were luckily born to the people of rich.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Thoughts …the face of hurting reality!
An abstruse feeling has been causing restlessness within me I wonder to relate and yet stay puzzled by the waves of emotions that drowns me in depth…never allowing to swim across.
Fate or destiny? I wonder the tempest. Was it my destiny to drown or was it my fate that made me drown? In sheer confusion, I ask to myself, was it a matter of chance in destiny? or was it a second change of fate that was entitled upon me? The answers could vary and I wouldn’t stick with one because of the damage it could inflict on my existence. The answer of my query, unlike the tossing of a coin stands still, with equal possibilities that enables me to identify myself in a crowd.
The thought of being in her arms in the scorching heat of the sun calms me down. The thought of her presence in the serene nights of loneliness without light warms me from within. The longing of her presence, wherever I go…never departing me like my shadow until one fine morning…is what I think of.
The ethnocentric feeling of her existence has made me life individualistic. The impulse of the thought, “I am the world and the world is me” seems profound with her arrival. My feelings are one side of the coin, but what about the other? The side of reality that we both live in? I cannot abide to the bitter realism. I long to escape it…detaching myself from the world and rising to the unity of the super conscious; the very unity where reality doesn’t bite.
The final scene of Mahabharat strikes my mind and I easily feel I can relate to it. However, unlike the dog that Arjuna wishes to take to the heaven, it is her that I wish to take away in the sound realms of bliss.
The conflict between my ego and id takes shape. With the decisive factor now in tension, I let my conscience be my guide. With my conscience and morality in play, the confusion ends and I stand affirm to what I wish; the thing that I most probably cannot have, but what I wish to have…what I could still have.
Yet, last question pounds again. Are we both the destiny of the other? Would the societal constructs debar our accord? They say, let destiny choose its doom. But cannot we choose our own destiny? After all, we never find our destiny until we are in the middle of the path; the path that someday will cross and walk along…
Fate or destiny? I wonder the tempest. Was it my destiny to drown or was it my fate that made me drown? In sheer confusion, I ask to myself, was it a matter of chance in destiny? or was it a second change of fate that was entitled upon me? The answers could vary and I wouldn’t stick with one because of the damage it could inflict on my existence. The answer of my query, unlike the tossing of a coin stands still, with equal possibilities that enables me to identify myself in a crowd.
The thought of being in her arms in the scorching heat of the sun calms me down. The thought of her presence in the serene nights of loneliness without light warms me from within. The longing of her presence, wherever I go…never departing me like my shadow until one fine morning…is what I think of.
The ethnocentric feeling of her existence has made me life individualistic. The impulse of the thought, “I am the world and the world is me” seems profound with her arrival. My feelings are one side of the coin, but what about the other? The side of reality that we both live in? I cannot abide to the bitter realism. I long to escape it…detaching myself from the world and rising to the unity of the super conscious; the very unity where reality doesn’t bite.
The final scene of Mahabharat strikes my mind and I easily feel I can relate to it. However, unlike the dog that Arjuna wishes to take to the heaven, it is her that I wish to take away in the sound realms of bliss.
The conflict between my ego and id takes shape. With the decisive factor now in tension, I let my conscience be my guide. With my conscience and morality in play, the confusion ends and I stand affirm to what I wish; the thing that I most probably cannot have, but what I wish to have…what I could still have.
Yet, last question pounds again. Are we both the destiny of the other? Would the societal constructs debar our accord? They say, let destiny choose its doom. But cannot we choose our own destiny? After all, we never find our destiny until we are in the middle of the path; the path that someday will cross and walk along…
Mortal Immortality
Life is always clueless. It takes an unexpected turn when least expected…when happiness that we long to last forever turns to euphoria which slips away too quickly. Thus, we all wish to hold our happiness…stop time although we know, we can never win it. The quest we set upon ourselves is too far to reach. We slowly get old and our energy fails us…our concentrated vision goes frail…stirs with age. Yet, time continues to rule us till it snatches our breath for the last time…never to breathe again.
Life is a flux controlled by time. Its rage I wonder if we could feel…hearty stay in patience while it spreads like slow poison every time we breathe…every second we live? No, I say for it is the only thing we ere to win…conquer…defeat making it un-spared for its cruelty.
Life we all reluctantly acknowledge is too short…like a dream. Despite the short stay, there are things we’ve created that makes our existence seem real to the prospective generations, while at the same time, it shares another small part of the Earth’s two and a half billion year old history. Those created materials range from earthen vessels, arms and ammunitions, transport means, technologies, inscriptions, and the most important of all; words, pen, and paper.
However, despite it, there are the limitations of human immortality through words. Of the global population, only those who impress their feelings, perceptions, thinking on paper have a chance of breathing or smelling the joy and fragrance of mortal immortality.
Life is a flux controlled by time. Its rage I wonder if we could feel…hearty stay in patience while it spreads like slow poison every time we breathe…every second we live? No, I say for it is the only thing we ere to win…conquer…defeat making it un-spared for its cruelty.
Life we all reluctantly acknowledge is too short…like a dream. Despite the short stay, there are things we’ve created that makes our existence seem real to the prospective generations, while at the same time, it shares another small part of the Earth’s two and a half billion year old history. Those created materials range from earthen vessels, arms and ammunitions, transport means, technologies, inscriptions, and the most important of all; words, pen, and paper.
However, despite it, there are the limitations of human immortality through words. Of the global population, only those who impress their feelings, perceptions, thinking on paper have a chance of breathing or smelling the joy and fragrance of mortal immortality.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Walking Tall …a note to life
Life is as sweet as it is painful. The more is joy as there is sorrow. And yet, despite it, life is poignant, and it is the very smell that the short stay makes us breathe. In this interval, we walk a many steps…growing with it; as we leave behind our crawling days and walk tall in the years that it follows. Walking tall, we cherish many a moments and regret a few that fuels us with guilt every time they are remembered. When life is meant to be cherished, I say, why reminisce those down times and repent our deeds which now are a part of the history? Love is what you are to cherish, and with it, the fine days of friendship which are and were full of funny talks, pleasant thought, and trustworthy bonds.
Life however is not just to be taken as a source of amusement, wonder and awe. It also should be taken as a learning stage for indeed life is a colossal university without any prescribed text books to study. It is a school where one learns as they do their deeds. It is the ultimate test of our conscience, morality, perspectives and differences in order to survive the harsh course time overpowers us, making us frail as we scream in agony, surrendering with a white flag saying, “Oh! Stop it, it’s too much. I can’t take more of it!” And yet, you’re white flags, no matter how many you show matters. It is your test, and you have to pass it, and there’s no way out. In universities, your exam time would end in a few hours, but not here. One is constantly put in to test. Probably that is why Charles Darwin said, survival of the fittest!
Life is full of deeds, categorized as either good or bad. There is no “middle” deed that carries equal parts of good and bad; balancing the latter with the former. From the good deeds, we get encouraged and try best the next time as well. Contrary to it, from the bad deeds, we learn not to repeat those actions again. It is from the latter that you are to learn the most. After all, one just didn’t say that “failures are the pillars of success!” If the former were to be the truth, one would have rather said that “achievements are the pillars of success!” The drawback of the aforesaid statement is that, were it to be true, one would never learn, and life, undoubtedly would have one in vein! Shedding of light more on achievements, to me, would reap in people more pride than making them humble enough to confess and apologize the wrong doings. I have never learnt a thing from my formal academics than this informal school of experience has taught me. Despite the turbulent times I’ve faced time and again, never has it been futile. I have learnt something now and then and it is this very essence that has made my life worth living. In spite o the poignant smell, it amazingly instills a charm of itself. With the ensuing years that I have been living, the poignancy has lured and attracted me the most by it’s poignant charm! No wonder I exclaim at the thought of life in joy for I know, this is the only life I have and will ever live. I do not know if there is life after death. However, I wish it be for this life isn’t enough for e to do anything. Moreover, it is not enough for me to write for endless hours praising its glory that I now have started to admire!
I love my life for it has given me many things I otherwise wouldn’t have been entitled for. Of most, it gave me my parents and sister whom I love the most. likewise, it also gave me my friends, who are dear to me, and a girl I love dearly, someone I never wish to au revoir. Moreover, it also gave me creativity and words that has now helped me praise it, along with my sincere note to thank life and God as well for giving a soul to my body by which I now live my life. I love my life and everyone that are a part of me because I know, and thus I believe that without them, I wouldn’t have been who I now am, and without me, neither would they have been themselves because everyone aids the other; making them or destroying them.
Life however is not just to be taken as a source of amusement, wonder and awe. It also should be taken as a learning stage for indeed life is a colossal university without any prescribed text books to study. It is a school where one learns as they do their deeds. It is the ultimate test of our conscience, morality, perspectives and differences in order to survive the harsh course time overpowers us, making us frail as we scream in agony, surrendering with a white flag saying, “Oh! Stop it, it’s too much. I can’t take more of it!” And yet, you’re white flags, no matter how many you show matters. It is your test, and you have to pass it, and there’s no way out. In universities, your exam time would end in a few hours, but not here. One is constantly put in to test. Probably that is why Charles Darwin said, survival of the fittest!
Life is full of deeds, categorized as either good or bad. There is no “middle” deed that carries equal parts of good and bad; balancing the latter with the former. From the good deeds, we get encouraged and try best the next time as well. Contrary to it, from the bad deeds, we learn not to repeat those actions again. It is from the latter that you are to learn the most. After all, one just didn’t say that “failures are the pillars of success!” If the former were to be the truth, one would have rather said that “achievements are the pillars of success!” The drawback of the aforesaid statement is that, were it to be true, one would never learn, and life, undoubtedly would have one in vein! Shedding of light more on achievements, to me, would reap in people more pride than making them humble enough to confess and apologize the wrong doings. I have never learnt a thing from my formal academics than this informal school of experience has taught me. Despite the turbulent times I’ve faced time and again, never has it been futile. I have learnt something now and then and it is this very essence that has made my life worth living. In spite o the poignant smell, it amazingly instills a charm of itself. With the ensuing years that I have been living, the poignancy has lured and attracted me the most by it’s poignant charm! No wonder I exclaim at the thought of life in joy for I know, this is the only life I have and will ever live. I do not know if there is life after death. However, I wish it be for this life isn’t enough for e to do anything. Moreover, it is not enough for me to write for endless hours praising its glory that I now have started to admire!
I love my life for it has given me many things I otherwise wouldn’t have been entitled for. Of most, it gave me my parents and sister whom I love the most. likewise, it also gave me my friends, who are dear to me, and a girl I love dearly, someone I never wish to au revoir. Moreover, it also gave me creativity and words that has now helped me praise it, along with my sincere note to thank life and God as well for giving a soul to my body by which I now live my life. I love my life and everyone that are a part of me because I know, and thus I believe that without them, I wouldn’t have been who I now am, and without me, neither would they have been themselves because everyone aids the other; making them or destroying them.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Creative Writing
“Write Creatively! You’re writing just dull”, many of us are likely to hear. Consequently, we all want to write creatively. However, as soon as we grab a piece of paper and pen, we start staring at it, puzzled; not knowing what to write. Some might put in a few sentences and just throw it away, while others might just sit and think “creatively” so as to write creatively.
Here are a few of my personal tips. I hope that it works!
Imagination is the key for creative writing. Creativity is unpredictable. Therefore, do not sit to write creatively. It takes shape when you are unconscious, or when you are least expected to create a creative idea.
Unlike essays and articles that you want to write for the university assignments or publish in papers, you do not have to follow a particular pattern for creative writing. For example, in college and university assignments, for essays, we follow patterns of three or five paragraph essay. We put in our arguments, counter-arguments, thesis, anti-thesis, and conclusion. Likewise, we also provide facts. Moreover, in them, we objectively portray the picture. We are less likely to give it a subjective interpretation for the simple fact that subjective interpretation varies from person to person based on cognitive ability. On the other hand, creative writing is free. You do not have to stick to a particular pattern. You’re the master of your own! You define the pattern and write accordingly. All you have to do is write what comes to you. Even if things don’t seen to get connected or convey what you intend to say for the first time, GO ON! Continue writing. In the end, your ideas will make sense. BINGO! You now know what to write.
To me, writing creatively is writing our emotions. If I were to write facts, I’d best write essays that are fixed in a particular pattern. I wouldn’t be writing creatively apart from writing new facts and data. We all go through a lot of circumstances. These could be pain, joy, sorrow, loss, anger, dilemma, regrets and many more. And to me, frankly, these are the very things that you are to put in your creative writing. This is the only basis that separates creative writing from university essay assignments.
Now that you intend to write what you are feeling, what you are going through, write it with a general touch, rather than insignificant subjective feeling so that the readers can relate themselves to what you’re going through.
Use ADJECTIVES and QUALIFIERS to show what you mean. They will beautify your work. However, don’t go OFF TRACK. However, don’t use too many adjectives as it may sound strange. Remember, it’s good if things are sweet, not if they are the sweetest!
Use SIMPLE WORDS. Do not use excess vocabulary as it easily irritates the reader as they have to look its meaning on a dictionary. That could be devastating because your reader might forget what s/he was reading until now.
Try poeti-fying your work. Give it a touch of poetry so that it becomes more beautiful. Instead of saying, “he gave her a rose saying I love you,” opt for, “With a rose that has been the emblem of love, he professed his love to her.”
Remember? The college essays had a word limit? But here, there’s no word limit. Indeed, there’s no limit to your creativity. You can write as much as you want. However, the length should still intrigue the reader to read more. The books of J K Rowling are fat. However, it didn’t stop people to read them because despite the thickness, it still had hooked the readers.
ACCEPT CRITICISM. Show your writings to your friends, parents and teachers and ask for their feedbacks. Based on the comments, work on your weak spots. Do not get harassed or demoralized for a few times because remember, you have just started to write! A child who has just started to crawl cannot walk and run all of a sudden. It takes time. Likewise, you also need time to write better the next time. Slow and steady wins the race!
Read, and read A LOT OF BOOKS. Doing so will improve your reading habit, and increase your love for books as well. Moreover, from the various writers you read, you’ll learn how to write and what to write.
However, most importantly, PRACTICE. And practice a lot because that is how you are to reach close to perfection. None of the best writings are best because of the subjective interpretation. It can be better than your previous works, but not the best. You are a better person but are you the best person?
Now what are you looking at? Go on! Start writing.
HAPPY WRITING!!!
Here are a few of my personal tips. I hope that it works!
Imagination is the key for creative writing. Creativity is unpredictable. Therefore, do not sit to write creatively. It takes shape when you are unconscious, or when you are least expected to create a creative idea.
Unlike essays and articles that you want to write for the university assignments or publish in papers, you do not have to follow a particular pattern for creative writing. For example, in college and university assignments, for essays, we follow patterns of three or five paragraph essay. We put in our arguments, counter-arguments, thesis, anti-thesis, and conclusion. Likewise, we also provide facts. Moreover, in them, we objectively portray the picture. We are less likely to give it a subjective interpretation for the simple fact that subjective interpretation varies from person to person based on cognitive ability. On the other hand, creative writing is free. You do not have to stick to a particular pattern. You’re the master of your own! You define the pattern and write accordingly. All you have to do is write what comes to you. Even if things don’t seen to get connected or convey what you intend to say for the first time, GO ON! Continue writing. In the end, your ideas will make sense. BINGO! You now know what to write.
To me, writing creatively is writing our emotions. If I were to write facts, I’d best write essays that are fixed in a particular pattern. I wouldn’t be writing creatively apart from writing new facts and data. We all go through a lot of circumstances. These could be pain, joy, sorrow, loss, anger, dilemma, regrets and many more. And to me, frankly, these are the very things that you are to put in your creative writing. This is the only basis that separates creative writing from university essay assignments.
Now that you intend to write what you are feeling, what you are going through, write it with a general touch, rather than insignificant subjective feeling so that the readers can relate themselves to what you’re going through.
Use ADJECTIVES and QUALIFIERS to show what you mean. They will beautify your work. However, don’t go OFF TRACK. However, don’t use too many adjectives as it may sound strange. Remember, it’s good if things are sweet, not if they are the sweetest!
Use SIMPLE WORDS. Do not use excess vocabulary as it easily irritates the reader as they have to look its meaning on a dictionary. That could be devastating because your reader might forget what s/he was reading until now.
Try poeti-fying your work. Give it a touch of poetry so that it becomes more beautiful. Instead of saying, “he gave her a rose saying I love you,” opt for, “With a rose that has been the emblem of love, he professed his love to her.”
Remember? The college essays had a word limit? But here, there’s no word limit. Indeed, there’s no limit to your creativity. You can write as much as you want. However, the length should still intrigue the reader to read more. The books of J K Rowling are fat. However, it didn’t stop people to read them because despite the thickness, it still had hooked the readers.
ACCEPT CRITICISM. Show your writings to your friends, parents and teachers and ask for their feedbacks. Based on the comments, work on your weak spots. Do not get harassed or demoralized for a few times because remember, you have just started to write! A child who has just started to crawl cannot walk and run all of a sudden. It takes time. Likewise, you also need time to write better the next time. Slow and steady wins the race!
Read, and read A LOT OF BOOKS. Doing so will improve your reading habit, and increase your love for books as well. Moreover, from the various writers you read, you’ll learn how to write and what to write.
However, most importantly, PRACTICE. And practice a lot because that is how you are to reach close to perfection. None of the best writings are best because of the subjective interpretation. It can be better than your previous works, but not the best. You are a better person but are you the best person?
Now what are you looking at? Go on! Start writing.
HAPPY WRITING!!!
Friday, January 23, 2009
Schizophrenia…longing the presence of my beloved?
I see a figure following me wherever I go. Lurking behind my shadows, creeping in the dark, the image sends a cold chill down my spine. I look behind, stand still for sometime to see the figure sometime soon. But I fail to see. I turn a circle and still fail to find that cautious figure who stealthily hides when I search for it. The illusionary figure haunts me daily and I cope it…I try not to acknowledge its existence and yet I fail. Should I tell about the imaginary image to people that are real and make a mockery of myself? A mistake that would be, I feel and thence conceal the thought all to myself. The image is so blur that I fail to know if it is a male or a female. Someday, I wish I could see and acknowledge its figure; either a girl or a boy.
I query myself. Why am I seeing this figure? or rather feeling it all around me? When I know it is an illusion, why can I not get rid of it in a flash? I fail to know and every time I try to answer it, I get troubled by a probable answer of suffering from schizophrenia! I retreat this thought and blame for my creativity as an artist. I have after all imagined majority of the things that surrounds me.
Everything that happens must have a reason behind it; a cause that always exists. With this thought, I ask to myself, why is this blur image haunting me? Do I long for its presence? Is it someone I know and care of? Is it a girl then? A male is unlikely to long for a male presence!
Thus, to console myself and comfort the haunting presence, I now imagine the lurking figure as my beloved. Consequently, the scrutinizing presence becomes calming and memorable. Then, I answer to myself; a fact so true that her image now fills my heart. Distant we are, yet our love is so deep that one longs for the other’s presence, a fact we have time and again confessed but yet, it had surpassed my mind by the fear that protruded my existence.
Thus, now I enjoy the presence, a sweet longing of my distant beloved. She now is with me, wherever I go, every where I go. Like my shadow that lives with me till the end, so does she, her presence, her love, charm and aroma that lingers in my breath, mind and heart.
I query myself. Why am I seeing this figure? or rather feeling it all around me? When I know it is an illusion, why can I not get rid of it in a flash? I fail to know and every time I try to answer it, I get troubled by a probable answer of suffering from schizophrenia! I retreat this thought and blame for my creativity as an artist. I have after all imagined majority of the things that surrounds me.
Everything that happens must have a reason behind it; a cause that always exists. With this thought, I ask to myself, why is this blur image haunting me? Do I long for its presence? Is it someone I know and care of? Is it a girl then? A male is unlikely to long for a male presence!
Thus, to console myself and comfort the haunting presence, I now imagine the lurking figure as my beloved. Consequently, the scrutinizing presence becomes calming and memorable. Then, I answer to myself; a fact so true that her image now fills my heart. Distant we are, yet our love is so deep that one longs for the other’s presence, a fact we have time and again confessed but yet, it had surpassed my mind by the fear that protruded my existence.
Thus, now I enjoy the presence, a sweet longing of my distant beloved. She now is with me, wherever I go, every where I go. Like my shadow that lives with me till the end, so does she, her presence, her love, charm and aroma that lingers in my breath, mind and heart.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Life oh! Life …a brief sojourn of human existence
Is there another life? Would I wake up again and find this all a dream? Will the somber sleep in the chaotic day be an illusion that I own? Will I wake up again to re-live my life, and with it, express my words and feel the emotions; a bliss to cope human misery? Would I hold her hands never letting it go? for I still remember the promise I made by holding those hands tenderly, but firmly, “Beloved, I won’t let you go, never”, and then had given her a warm embrace. Indeed, I long not to let her go but I’ve now come to know that life isn’t the way we want; but rather the way it wants.
Our life, thence is a brief sojourn of both joy and pain, of reverences and good deeds, or rational thoughts and illogical perspectives, of guilt and confessions; but fore-mostly, of life and death. We all consequently have to let go of the person who means dear to us. One just didn’t say without some reason that “promises are meant to be broken”, but I’d rather say, they are “made” to be broken by the two faces of human existence; life and death.
Had I not promised her that I wouldn’t leave you…that I will love you to eternity despite my short lived life? and now I reclaim, haven’t I broken the promise I made which I had once professed with utter truth and meaningfully? Or have I been “made” to breach my promise by my brief stay in this world? I take a second thought to reach a conclusion. I conclude, maybe we retreat our words at times, but it is life that makes us abandon it, at most. I never want to, nor do I intend to leave her with no one to guide her after my fall…The world is full of people, but there is neither affection nor warmth amongst them to console her after my demise. Who would be with her to crack jokes? To give her all the warmth and love she needs after my fall? To guide her the way? To be with her, just with her?
“Even if I die,” which we are bound to, “I’ll look down upon to you and see you with a smile,” I had not failed to say. But now I doubt my words. What is after life, I fail to know…and I guess no one knows. After my somber sleep to the eternal night, my human emotions will depart. The soul is supposed to live forever, but it lacks human emotions. So, will I really be able to see her…watch her every steps? I do not know.
All I wish is to revive my life. If only my wish were to be granted! But life isn’t the way we want; but rather the way it wants…
Our life, thence is a brief sojourn of both joy and pain, of reverences and good deeds, or rational thoughts and illogical perspectives, of guilt and confessions; but fore-mostly, of life and death. We all consequently have to let go of the person who means dear to us. One just didn’t say without some reason that “promises are meant to be broken”, but I’d rather say, they are “made” to be broken by the two faces of human existence; life and death.
Had I not promised her that I wouldn’t leave you…that I will love you to eternity despite my short lived life? and now I reclaim, haven’t I broken the promise I made which I had once professed with utter truth and meaningfully? Or have I been “made” to breach my promise by my brief stay in this world? I take a second thought to reach a conclusion. I conclude, maybe we retreat our words at times, but it is life that makes us abandon it, at most. I never want to, nor do I intend to leave her with no one to guide her after my fall…The world is full of people, but there is neither affection nor warmth amongst them to console her after my demise. Who would be with her to crack jokes? To give her all the warmth and love she needs after my fall? To guide her the way? To be with her, just with her?
“Even if I die,” which we are bound to, “I’ll look down upon to you and see you with a smile,” I had not failed to say. But now I doubt my words. What is after life, I fail to know…and I guess no one knows. After my somber sleep to the eternal night, my human emotions will depart. The soul is supposed to live forever, but it lacks human emotions. So, will I really be able to see her…watch her every steps? I do not know.
All I wish is to revive my life. If only my wish were to be granted! But life isn’t the way we want; but rather the way it wants…
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