Enchanted

One of the few things noticed while walking in a maze,
Is how earnestly the next turn is beseeching you gaze,
Although you already know this isn’t any race,
Yet, you fervently want to just get out of the place.

You told me I would know no silence, as long as my fury was at war,
Choiceless, I knew that withholding it would cause my heart to char,
I tried hard, but found no other way, except to release,
Because sometimes, fighting is the only way, to peace.

You told me life wasn’t worthy, without potential for a dream,
But mere dreaming is not easy as life makes it seem,
So, for yours to come true, I wouldn’t spare myself the knife,
Because sometimes, death is the only donor, to life.

You told me I would never know thirst, unless I drank some wisdom,
But analysing cause and effect seems a little too weird and random,
So, to learn more on you, I had to force my identity off the ledge,
Because sometimes, ignorance is the only reason, for knowledge.

You told me, every work I spoke, was time spent not listening,
But how could I relegate my ears to keep forever hearing,
So, to hear more from you, I decided to mute myself for the magic,
Because sometimes, silence is the only voice, for music.

You told me, everything I saw, was only my version of reality,
But it was unbearable to believe, that every fact has duality,
So, to save you the pain, I resigned myself to the untruth,
Because sometimes, lie is the only face, for truth.

You told me, from this point on, we would have to go our own way,
But being together for a lifetime, I ran out of things to say,
So, to let you have your own way, I could surely despise myself somehow,
Because sometimes, hatred is the only companion, to love.

This one is for the Mirror, stemming as it does from some very intense experiences. How often do we see a conflict between the choices we have, and the choices we wish we had? When life leaves you with only one path, and it is not one you are willing to be nudged along, it often takes the diametrically opposite reason, to make you walk down the path. Not because you love the path, but because the path is the only destination for your love.

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Maudlin

Sometimes, however angry at you, the world might seem,
You need to understand, it is just a way of letting off steam,
Although snapping back might relieve the pressure causing the flow,
You might agree, that it is easier to instead defuse it with a guffaw.

Other times when people seem to just run out of patience,
You need to understand, they’re just weary from having no options,
Given that impatience is not the simplest quarry to head-on tackle,
You might be surprised, that it can easily be disarmed with a cackle.

Often when the world seems to be drowning in its own sorrow,
You need to understand, it’s because they don’t believe in tomorrow,
While it may seem simpler to just cut the moroseness in half,
You might not believe, that it can instead be denied with a laugh.

When people grow tired of keeping up with every struggle and travail,
You need to understand, they are merely hoping for respite to prevail,
However rational it might feel to choke it without room to wriggle,
You might be unaware, that it is more fun to disable it with a giggle.

There are times when things are grim enough to be labelled bleak,
You need to understand, this is courage not encouraged enough to speak,
Despite knowing you can disperse the depression, by spreading it thin,
You might concur, that it can instead be disfigured with just a grin.

Most days, when people abuse you, in an effort to apparently redeem,
You need to understand, they unconsciously suffer from low self-esteem,
Assured though you are, that reciprocation will force it to buckle,
You might already know, that it can be dismantled with a chuckle.

You wonder why the world doesn’t acknowledge life in its every breath,
You need to understand, it is too preoccupied running away from death,
Cliched though it may sound, that this keeps happening all the while,
You already believe, every battle in life, can be fought with a smile.

This one is dedicated to a Beacon called the HBO movie Wit. It merely summarizes the essence of the movie, a zest for life. One that is only recognized by those who appreciate how little they have left of it.

Sleeping Buds

Looking around at their cousins taking in the sun,
Life for flora was definitely a whole lot of fun,
All they had to do, was bide their today as a bud,
And tomorrow would show the magic that grew from mud.

Swaying along to the lilting tunes of the breeze,
Proud of the persistent visit from the bees,
By morning, they too would wear the colours of blossom,
Spreading the fragrance that rose from their bosom.

At the crack of dawn, a dozen people came silently,
And plucked them from their future thrones, violently,
They showed no guilt, no remorse, only the boredom of the chore,
Their fatigue, the only indicator that they had to do a lot more.

A clinical snip cut off a thousand dreams in a single instant,
Into the truck, with every moment, their home grew distant,
Wrapped along with a thousand brothers of a dozen colours,
They wondered if this was the only reason for the existence of flowers.

To be taped together and cast into a shapely vase,
While a guy waited nonchalantly for his lass,
To bear the unabashed, if only momentary, gushing of the woman,
Before the talk moved to important things, things that were human.

When there were no more guests left, to come and stare,
Their wilted figures were too much for the waiter to bear,
So they landed up unceremoniously into the trash,
End of story, a thousand lives terminated in a flash.

Only one thought was on their mind, as they finally closed eyes,
What would happen to their siblings at the next sunrise,
Ones who were innocently sleeping with dreams of tomorrow,
Unknowing, that theirs too would be a journey of sorrow.

This one is for the one of the most important Beacons of them all, Veturi Sundara Rammurthy. Words are insufficient to describe what he has contributed to my life, and hence suffice it to say, i am forever indebted to him.

This is also my personal belief on flowers. Flowers were made by God to be seen on plants and enjoyed, not killed and planted in vases, like tigers in a zoo. Sure, a hundred thousand get to see the tiger at the zoo, people who would never have got to the jungles, but do you think the tiger likes it one single bit. Atleast animals have PETA since they can growl/howl/scowl/cry. Flowers have nobody.

Every time someone passes by a bouquet, they exclaim at the sheer beauty of the flowers, and then go their way, probably because that is all the flowers mean to them, some nice looking toy to look at for a moment, and get going with life. They see my complete disinterest in the flowers and ask me if i hate them. The truth is unfortunately very far from it. I love flowers, but not as corpses to fulfill a girl’s fantasy, not as objects to admire after killing, not as useless rot the next day. Even the previous day’s newspaper has some resale value the next day, so people preserve them despite the information no longer being useful, flowers, well that’s another story.

So enough of rambling, i just don’t like flowers away¬† from their plants, period.

Sunset

For that moment, I really believed everything fell silent,
Or maybe, the engrossing moment made my ears feel absent,
Because, once the spell broke, the world echoed with its sound,
As if in celebration, of this fantasy that came to ground.

Going back to when we came, to sit at the end of land,
Watching little shells emerge, and disappear into the sand,
As one wave competed with another, in a desperate bid to stand,
But forced to fall on their knees, as if by the flick of a wand.

Teasing you, tempting you, you know not, but they beckon,
Always watching out, for someone to embrace, you reckon,
Atleast to humour them, you decide to wade, a few feet in,
Hoping to see their quenched desire, turn into a grin.

But time wasn’t shy, to drag you a few more feet,
It had decided it was high time, you two did meet,
And there I stood, following footsteps that led nowhere,
Knowing that yours had stopped right now, right here.

The sun begins to go down, on another day so grand,
As I watch, the finality of it all, failing to understand,
The quest of the sun for another world, a new found land,
Abandoning this world, to darkness’s ever-forgiving hand.

But the waves can’t wait, to wash them away,
To cover up the fact, that someone came their way,
Helpless, I sit down, staring, trying to rearrange the sand,
Oblivious to the fact, that things are already out of hand.

The emptiness beside me, is only on the sand,
For, are you not there, forever holding my hand,
Looking into my eyes, while our feet get wet,
Pleading with us, to stay, until after sunset.

Another one for the Gazebo, about the days that are lost. when lost ones are found again, in another form.

Sad Cypress

A few years ago, they took me away, cuffed and chained,
Only doing their duty, they knew not how much it pained,
Days, weeks, months I have sat, staring at the bars,
Awaiting the day to fly and converse with the stars.

Alas the bulb above my head tell me neither day or night,
And the minutes seem like an eternity to ponder my plight,
Of ever leaving this room, my hope has lost all sight,
Atleast they offered me a few hours of this artificial light.

None would listen, they wouldn’t believe that I was innocent,
I should be ashamed they thought, I should be repentant,
They were shocked at the lack of remorse on my face,
Knowing not, that this ignominy is more than I can face.

They parade me around, an apprehended dangerous criminal,
And my chances of walking away are sealed, almost minimal,
Standing in the dock, of the portals of law, supposedly called justice,
This was my last chance, and I really hoped I could do it justice.

Sadly all they believed was evidence, one given by circumstance,
It confounded me about why they denied truth a chance,,
It finally came down to my word against the evidence,
That was their value of my life, a gamble with providence.

They questioned my testimony, my character, my credibility,
And separated from it, every shred of believability,
There I stood, spoken, unheard, untouched, ravaged,
Following their orders, hoping my soul would be salvaged.

Alive, alone, death seemed the only one who was proud,
The only one unafraid, to call me its friend, aloud,
But God knew, and I knew, the difference between justice and reality,
And that knowledge was my compass, in the journey into infinity.

This one is for the Beacons, dedicated to Agatha Christie. The title is from one of the episodes of her detective Poirot’s serials. Somehow the moment I read the title, it reminded me of a lot many things that I used to dream about. And surprisingly, although it might seem odd, one of my childhood influences that left a lasting impression on me, namely, Tolstoy’s “God sees the truth but waits”, had nothing whatsoever to do with this one. The relation to that struck me when I was typing this post. But come to think of it, it does seem more and more like a versified form of that.

I always used to have this idea, probably from reading too much of Robin Hood, and such other stuff, about what I would do, how I would behave if I was imprisoned wrongly. Somehow all my life(even today) I keep getting this fantasy idea of myself as a vigilante after getting released for some crime I didn’t commit etc.¬† But thinking practically of a scenario where I couldn’t get out to do all that superman, batman stuff, this was what I could come up with. Maybe this is the way it will be.

Cinderella Man

You are struck by one, and then another, blow,
Perhaps a result of lettings things to go slow,
In retort, in return, a harder punch you try to throw,
Feeling it sailing across, you begin to get back the flow.

Those that back off, are the ones that get knocked out,
Those that fight back, are ones who will finally walk out,
They wipe off the blood, and get back on their feet,
They carry their scars, and their next opponent meet.

If everybody backed down, right after the first punch,
This world would be populated with a losing bunch,
If everybody gave in, to their every weakness,
Nobody would even know, the spelling of success.

Every victory is, but, a seed,
For a new quest to eventually sprout,
Every obstacle, a parasitic weed,
Growing up on a nutrition of doubt.

You decide it must be plucked out, weeded,
But failure is not the one to stay uprooted,
It twines its roots deeper into the mind,
Its branches spread out, to forever remind.

But to those for whom failure is merely another event,
One that repeats for those who only choose to lament,
With everything vanquished, there is still another weakness,
One that refuses to get over its special human fondness.

Despite the successes, the one battle all must lose, is death,
Only the victorious have the luxury, to neither lose or conquer,
But nobody is really a victor, until their last breath,
There are always battles to fight, weaknesses to conquer.

This one is dedicated to James J. Braddock and Sukanya(both fighters in their own ways). Initially Vijay anna was waxing eloquent about this movie, so i decided to see what it was all about. And needless to say it was worth every pirated minute i spent on it.

In every corner of this globe, in every walk of like, we see people who refuse to die out, who refuse to spend an eternity wallowing in mediocrity and decide to stand up and make sure their point is heard(mera number kab aayega?). Such people are more often motivated by the results of failure(whose very thought in their minds are unimaginable) and the future that it portends.

It was to this end that Mohammad Ali one said (am paraphrasing) “In a fight between equals, only the person who knows what it is to lose(the fall back into mediocrity and most certainly deprivation) can come up with the winning punch”. Although this is a breed that can never die out, wish it would spread at a faster rate, but that again can only be done by fate.

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