The Man

"I was here from the moment of the
beginning, and here I am still. And
I shall remain here until the end
of world, for there is no
ending to my grief-stricken being.

I was,
and I am.
So shall I be to the end of time,
for I am without end."

'The Hymn of Man' - Khalil Gibran

Evergreen Neruda

"Perhaps not to be is to be without your being,

without your going, that cuts noon light

like a blue flower, without your passing

later through fog and stones,

without the torch you lift in your hand

that others may not see as golden,

that perhaps no one believed blossomed

the glowing origin of the rose,

without, in the end, your being, your coming

suddenly, inspiringly, to know my life,

blaze of the rose-tree, wheat of the breeze:

and it follows that I am, because you are:

it follows from ‘you are’, that I am, and we:

and, because of love, you will, I will,

We will, come to be.

('Perhaps not to be is to be without your being' - Pablo Neruda)
"I like it when you're quiet. It's as if you weren't here now,

and you heard me from a distance, and my voice couldn't reach you.

It's as if your eyes had flown away from you, and as if

your mouth were closed because I leaned to kiss you.

Just as all living things are filled with my soul.

you emerge from all living things filled with the soul of me.

It's as if, a butterfly in dreams, you were my soul,

and as if you were the soul's word, melancholy.

I like it when you're quiet. It's as if you'd gone away now,

And you'd become the keening, the butterfly's insistence,

And you heard me from a distance and my voice didn't reach you.

It's then that what I want is to be quiet with your silence.

It's then that what I want is to speak to you your silence

in a speech as clear as lamplight, as plain as a gold ring.

You are quiet like the night, and like the night you're star-lit.

Your silences are star-like, they're a distant and a simple thing.

I like it when you're quiet. It's as if you weren't here now.

As if you were dead now, and sorrowful, and distant.

A word then is sufficient, or a smile, to make me happy,

Happy that it seems so certain that you're present."

('I like it when you are quiet' - Pablo Neruda)

Ageless

"When your chest is free of your limiting ego,

Then you will see the ageless Beloved.

You can not see yourself without a mirror;

Look at the Beloved, He is the brightest mirror."

-- Rumi : 'Thief of Sleep' --

Sick..!!

Meera,

Grief affects us all in different ways - doesn't it?

Often I pretend and fake my self

into my fancy fairy tales

Still I grieve many a time

and honestly hope to meet you

in ... 'never land'.

Still I Rise

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops.

Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame

I rise

Up from a past that's rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise............

I rise........

I rise!

~ 'Still I Rise' : Maya Angelou ~

It was not Death, for I stood up.

"It was not death, for I stood up,

And all the dead, lie down-

It was not Night, for all the Bells

Put out their Tongues, for Noon.

It was not Frost, for on my Flesh

I felt Siroccos - crawl -

Nor Fire - for just my Marble feet

Could keep a Chancel, cool -

And yet, it tasted, like them all

The figures I have seen

Set orderly, for Burial,

Reminded me, of mine -

As if my life were shaven,

And fitted to a frame,

And could not breathe without a key,

And 'twas like Midnight, some -

When everything that ticked - has stopped -

And space stares all around -

Or Grisly frosts - first Autumn morns,

Repeal the Beating Ground -

But most, like chaos - Stopless - cool -

Without a Chance, or Spar -

Or even a Report of Land -

To justify - Despair"

~Emily Dickinson~

Beauty

This isn't beauty.

So to speak, nor good talk necessarily.

It's just It.

Some women' ll stay in a man's memory

if they once walked down a street.

~Rudyard Kipling~

Untitled

Meera,

I wish you a story with happy ending

And the wisdom to see that.

A Single Night

It was Monday, I remember. The sky had been cloudy since dawn. At ten, rain began to patter down gently. Seeing the look of the sky, the headmaster closed the school early. Large chunks of black cloud rolled across the sky all the day, as if grandly preparing for something. The next day torrential rain started in the afternoon, and a storm blew up. It rained harder and harder through the night and the wind blew more and more fiercely. At first it had blown from the east, but it gradually swung round to the north and north-east.

It was pointless trying to sleep that night. I remembered that Surabala was alone in her house. The schoolhouse was much sturdier than hers. I several times thought of fetching her over to the school-I could spend the night on the raised bank of the pond. But I could not bring myself to do this.

At about one or one thirty in the morning the roar of flood waters became audible- a tidal wave was approaching from the sea. I left my room and went outside. I made my way to Surabala's house. The bank of the pond was on my way- I managed to wade as far as that, up to my knees in water. I scrambled up on to the bank, but a second wave dashed against it. Part of the bank was about six or seven feet high. As I climbed up on it, someone else was climbing from the other side. I knew with every fiber of being who that person was; and I had no doubt that she knew who I was.

We stood alone in an island nine feet long, everything around us submerged in water. It was like the end of the world- no stars in the sky, all earthly lamps extinguished. There would have been no harm in saying something, but no word was spoken. I didn't even ask if she was all right, nor did she ask me. We just stood, staring into the darkness. At our feet, deep, black, deadly waters roared and surged.

Surabala had abandoned the world to be with me now. She had no one but me. The Surabala of my childhood had floated into my life from some previous existence, from some ancient mysterious darkness; she had entered the sunlight and moonlight of this crowded world to join me at my side. Now, years later, she had left the light and the crowds to be with me alone in this terrifying, deserted, apocalyptic darkness. As a young budding flower, she had been thrown near me on to the stream of life; now as a full bloomed flower, she had again thrown near me, on the stream of death. If but one more wave had come, we would have been shed from our slender, separate stems of existence and become one. But better that the wave did not come. Better that Surabala should live in happiness with her husband, home and children. Enough that I stood for a single night on the shore of the apocalypse, and tasted eternal joy.

The night was nearly over. The wind died down; the waters receded. Surabala, without saying a word, returned home, and I also went silently to my room. I reflected; I did not become a Collector's chief clerk; I did not become Court Clerk; I did not become Garibaldi; I became an assistant master in a run-down school. In my entire life, only once- for a brief single night - did I touch eternity?

Only on that one night, out of all days and nights, was my trivial existence fulfilled.

~ 'A Single Night' : Tagore ~

The Last Bargain

"Come and hire me," I cried,
while in the morning I was walking
on the stone-paved road.

Sword in hand, the King came in his chariot.
He held my hand and said,
"I will hire you with my power."
But his power counted for nought,
and he went away in his chariot.
In the heat of the midday
the houses stood with shut doors.

I wandered along the crooked lane.
An old man came out with his bag of gold.
He pondered and said,
"I will hire you with my money."
He weighed his coins one by one, but I turned away.

It was evening. The garden hedge was all aflower.
The fair maid came out and said,
"I will hire you with a smile."
Her smile paled and melted into tears,
and she went back alone into the dark.
The sun glistened on the sand,
and the sea waves broke waywardly.

A child sat playing with shells.
He raised his head and seemed to know me, and said,
"I hire you with nothing."
From thenceforward that bargain struck
in child's play made me a free man.

~ Tagore : 'The Last Bargain' ~