Outstretched

American Summer

Lazy afternoons

spent lying in a hammock

far from shrieking bombs.

The Decision

I decided to leave you.

I told myself I didn’t need you. Enough is enough, I said. Goodbye, I’m off. Sure, you said. I screamed at your smirking face, and slammed the door behind me.

They came to me, eyes wide and mouths open. They asked why you had hurt me, ears wagging in anticipation of the tongue-wagging to come. I told them that I was the one who tried to hurt you, so that you never could. They did not understand and walked away.

I needed you. I was afraid. Afraid of being hurt, afraid of being betrayed. Afraid that I would not be able to heal myself again. Children show their scars as medals. Lovers show theirs as secrets. I hide my scars and nurse them in the hope that they will heal someday. You healed mine, but you could have torn me apart like a razor blade digging into the soft skin above a vein. So I decided not to wait for my blood to drip. I decided to leave before you ripped me into shreds.

Time passed. I threw out every reminder of you from my heart, leaving it strangely empty. I attempted to fill it with yet more emptiness. I focused my brain on words and lines and pages, I read novels and lived poetry. I sweated through rugby and climbed steep hills. I kept my hands busy with guitar strings and tuned my mind to their music. I was an actor acting a role in a play. I smiled and danced and flirted with a dozen pretty faces and soft hands, liking all, wanting none. I blotted you out of my thoughts. I pushed you from my dreams into my nightmares.

Although you never asked me to explain, I justified my decision again and again in my own private court. I’m only protecting myself, aren’t I? You don’t need me anyway, do you? How much longer would I have had till you left me, anyway? Isn’t it safer that I be the one to leave? I’m happy. I’m proud. I need nothing and no one. I have a life! The words compelled me to repeat them till they lost their hollowness.

In the echoes ringing through the empty chambers of my heart, I heard your voice. I shut my ears, turned my back and took another dose of my sleeping pills. I taught myself to be strong and independent. I forced myself to find calm in solitude.

I don’t need you. Or anyone else.



Aeons later, my strength breaks and the façade cracks. I crawl back to you and call your name. Come to my cold bed tonight and make it warm. Smile for me. Fill me with your body and your love. I gasp your name between ragged breaths.

You look at me with infinite understanding - you saw it coming all along. I realize then that I am the spider you chose not to crush. My locks fall apart and the walls crash down. My fists unclench slowly in surrender. Stripped of all pride and pretense, I lie naked before your truth and beg for your mercy.

In a broken voice, I repeat endlessly, shamelessly, “I love you.”

The Last Poem Ever Written

This is the last poem ever written.
Tonight, when the machines hum and lights glare,
poetry shall softly fade away; the ringtones
shall hasten to bury it in their blare.

This poem shall lie in your arms, and shall
caress and warm You through the cold twilight;
then slowly allow itself to be killed
in the smothering vacuum of the night.

This poem is a message to your heart;
a ransom note covered in cutout scraps
of letters torn from the pages of loss,
forming shapes of pain, exposing your gaps.

This poem is not a prayer for help.
This poem is not a soft fearful cry.
It is a gift; not to your cruel thoughts,
but to the wind. I promised I would fly.

If you hoped that this poem was a torch,
a brave banner, a final call to arms –
Stop. This is a song of defeat and death.
Lie still, turn numb. No need for the alarms.

And don’t pretend that this poem will live
on forever as a valiant symbol
of the resistance you always dreamed of.
Like you, all shall surrender and grow dull.

And tomorrow, during the mindlessness
and routine, you will remember this poem.
My poem. You will remember making love –
yes, to the last poem ever written.

Behind The Glass Wall

Bijoya - whose?

Who is Durga? The slayer of demons? Or merely the mother of four other great gods? Who does SHE want to be — nurturer or destroyer? Maybe the answer is lost in the swirling river current every Dashami...
Durga came to my neighbourhood too, many times. The idol was so beautiful, with large dark motherly eyes and long curly hair. But the shining weapons and fury in her movements told otherwise. She was like a tiger — graceful and deadly alike. Durga IS powerful. She is the goddess of the universe. She killed many demons and was untamed - until she got married. After that, she just raised her children quietly until they became famous gods themselves.
It’s all mythology, I know. But I wonder if she really wanted to get married. Maybe she was happier being like an eagle, deadly but free. Maybe that’s why she keeps coming back to Bengal, where her husband is just a tiny picture on the wall. Where people see only Durga as all-powerful. Not as wife of Shiva, mother of Ganesh. Where her identity is her own.
I went to watch the immersion. I wanted to say goodbye. They took the idol in a barge out to the middle of the Hooghly River and then lowered her beneath the current. The beautiful ornaments floated away, the vibrant red dress became wet and clingy. I stared in shock as the paint on her face too began to dissolve. Her lips smeared like red lipstick after a night out. Two dark tears rolled down from her wet eyes. Her sculpted features gave way to a misshapen brown. Was the goddess mere ‘human clay’ too? The last thing I saw was the deep brown eyes looking back at me, saying a silent goodbye.
As I watched her go, I fancied I heard a strange cry somewhere on the wind. Strange, because it was a shout of triumph. Then I understood - Mahishasura had won. The goddess was now helpless and tamed. I wondered what Dashami was really the celebration of - the death of a demon or the death of a warrior. Maybe only the river knows the answer - that is why she weeps and carries Durga away as fast as she can.

Seeking Power

I got drenched to the skin yesterday night. Drenched, dripping wet. Pounded by bullet-like drops, buffeted by winds like a sail. The elements raged round me. The pure cold water seared my skin and chilled my bones. The water ran down my face and bare arms and legs, cleansing me of all civilization. And then it washed away all thought. And finally it stripped me of emotion itself, leaving nothing but a clear sharp animal instinct.

So I broke into a run. I ran and ran and ran, trying to outsprint the wind itself, as the sea splashed the quay on my left and the sharp salty tang of its smell masturbated my nostrils. And the wind roared in my ears, straining against me, and I strained against myself, pushing my muscles till they screamed in delicious agony, pushing until my body attained the beautiful ache.

And then, all of a sudden, I stopped dead and threw my head back. I raised my graceful bare arms to the heavens, in a gesture not of supplication but of triumph, of glory. I screamed deliriously at the torn-open sky. The rain continued to jab my body and then trickle down in little streams. The wind added its irresistible voice to my barbaric yawps echoing out across the storm-tossed waters of the bay.

And then I fell silent. I closed my eyes and took in the smell, sound, touch, even the taste of the tangy spray on my welcoming lips. I reveled in the power and glory of the moment.

And then I opened my eyes, let out a feral scream, and took off again in a blur of motion, arms and legs pounding against and with the insistent rhythm of the rain, oblivious to all thought. And all of a sudden, in a surge of wild uncontrolled power, like a spark let loose, I threw my arms wide open and leaped into the sky.

I was flying.

Almost.

I was happy yesterday night.

Departure

I see you lying on your bed and wondering why I am not lying beside you. You curl on your side and wonder why I left a hole in your heart the callous way I did. No, not a hole – a gaping abyss forced open, stripped bare of the love we once had, and hung up to dry in the sun. Didn’t I promise to be there for you? Aren’t I still there for you? Am I?

When you look up at the stars and wish for my warmth by your side, I will be there. When you stand on a lonely cliff top and want to express that feeling of power, I will be there. When you sit on a bench silently watching the sun set over the lake, I will be there. But when you lie alone in your bed, wondering where my hand is, you remember that I am not there. And you realize with a start that I was never really there, not once in all the times I promised.

You think I lied to you. I lied to myself. That is why you never caught me red-handed.

Keep asking those questions. Light a cigarette, I know your hands get lonely without me. Pour yourself a drink. Or two. Or three. Walk over to the mirror and stare at your haggard reflection. Look at the spot above your shoulder, that empty patch of air where a laugh should have been. Yes, I know, I am sad too. But I left, as always. I leave. Again.

Suddenly you scream in rage and throw your glass at the mirror. Smash, crash. A million sparkling tiny fragments, reflecting your demented howls a million times. And the tinkle echoes a laughter never forgotten. You drown it with your feral howls. That’s when you look up and see me standing by the door, bleeding from cuts made by flying glass. You open your mouth to say something, then close it. I merely smile, and slowly turn away. With all the grace I can dredge up from my broken body.

Sleep on your side. Toss and turn tonight, the bedclothes will remain blank. Despite all your attempts to fill it with flesh, it will remain empty. You curse me and tell yourself you will never love again. Then you realize that I have won, so you promise instead to guard your love the next time. You swear that no one will touch your heart so deep again, and you painstakingly rebuild your walls and retreat behind them. There you will remain.

Selfish I may have been, but I preferred my loneliness and self-centeredness. I wanted your love, but I did not deserve it. And no one deserves me. I will grope my way along my own private path.

And you learn. You get over it. You move on. Only sometimes, you wake up screaming in the middle of the night and wonder why I left you.

Someday you will understand the truth. I never left you. I was never there.

My South Park Alter Ego

This is ME!!!!

mwahahahaha!!

Elegy On The Death Of Meaning

Words swirl around this emptiness
Like falsely cheery sparrows circling
A dull leaden grey sky, devoid of light
And awaiting a sun never-rising.

The water it stands stagnant –
Not silvery clear, not sharp and brisk,
No insistent urge in its liquid surge.
All safe and still, no rushing risk.

The clouds gather above the wasteland
No character, no form, no power,
No promise, only a hideous heaviness
That blots out all hope for laughter.

Death Of A World

The butterflies flutter in the meadow beside the rabbits. Such sweet helpless fragile beauty, hanging by slender threads in the darkness of the swiftly onrushing midnight.

A sudden blast rips apart a restaurant. People fall, bleed, flee. Flames and shrapnel everywhere. The darkness is upon them.

A group of friends come out of the cinema hall laughing. They take a swig from the bottle they clutch and burst out giggling, holding onto each other, wishing they never need leave. The sunset colours the sky vibrant orange and shades of Ferrari crimson. The clouds slowly gather, but they goof off in blissful oblivion.

The falsely cheery electric chandelier lights up a table set for a family dinner. All around it they sit, grins plastered on their faces, making small talk, chewing delicately, there and yet not there. The storm clouds hover above the roof.

The girl looks up from her strokes at the swimming pool. The sky has burst open and sheets of rain engulf the little pool. She stands in the water and lifts up her arms, feeling the power of the drops searing her bare skin like bullets and pummelling her upturned face, revelling in the liquid glory drenching her senses.

He sits alone in his bedroom, the door shutting out the outside world. He is focused solely on his guitar, on the purity of the notes and the harmony of the chords. His music transports him away from his dull reality. It gives him wings. It is his escape.

Someone sits before her computer, headphones on and fingers flying. She finds support and friendship in the ‘virtual world’. She hides before the glare of her screen, masking her loneliness and revealing her heart to a bunch of pixels and yellow smileys.

The boy buries himself in his textbooks. The arcane concepts and ideas draw him in. He turns his back to the window and bends eagerly over electrophilic aromatic substitution. The owls' hoots rent the dark night outside in vain.

And they lie on their beds at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering why they feel so empty. What went wrong? What have they lost? What must they find? The questions whirl in their heads like puppies chasing their own tails, round and round. The disdainful cat sits on the windowsill and licks its paws, occasionally smiling its all-knowing Cheshire grin.

They are all zombies in their world. Dead. Devoid of feeling and emotion. The walking, talking dead.

I live in this world too.
I am dead to these things.
I am dead to the world.

I come alive only for you.

Who Is To Blame?

“FORTY-TWO KILLED, FIFTY INJURED IN TWIN BLASTS,” screamed the headline on the TOI website. It shocked me beyond words. Sure, Hyderabad has always had some religious tension, hardly surprising given its Muslim population. But it was always the safest, calmest place I knew. And those bastards ripped apart Lumbini gardens and Gokul Chat – they didn’t even care who got killed! What an utter disregard for the sanctity of life… it would make anyone sick to the core.
The bombers used RDX – a simple explosive millions of high-school students across the country know how to make, at least in theory. That’s a chilling thought – life is so frighteningly cheap. A bunch of chemicals, a single twisted thought, a fuse in my hand – and I could send a dozen lives spiraling out of control. What’s there to stop me?
What, indeed? People blame the government: they say there should have been more security, that Hyderabad was a simmering stew of religious resentment waiting to boil over. That’s pointless. Is the government supposed to post guards at the door of every eatery all over the country and check that people aren’t bringing in bombs? Even if they check arms and explosives dealing (which they haven’t really done either), RDX is relatively simple to prepare even on one’s own. No, you can’t directly blame the government in this manner.
The keyword here is directly. The government set up the tension and unrest which indirectly led to this. It’s no coincidence that the rising blasts and terrorism is simultaneous with an increasing recognition of religious and caste differences, minority support and playing off different factions against each other. The government’s casteist and fundamentalist policies only serve to continually remind people of their differences rather than their unity. We’ve all heard the arguments over the OBC/ST/SC policies a million times, hopefully I don’t need to repeat them. Let me just state my stand: I don’t believe that any sort of ‘difference’ should even be recognized in the constitution besides economic ones, except of course where we’re actually celebrating our freedom and diversity to be whoever we want to be, with no discrimination whatsoever. The government continues to waste time worrying about how many Muslim leaders we have, how many minority caste leaders, cries bloody murder for the smallest ‘politically incorrect’ sentiment expressed and accuses its opponents of being fundamentalist and oppressors. Small wonder then, that such intolerance and discrimination is uppermost in the people’s minds. I’m reminded of the lyrics of ‘Across The Lines’ by Tracy Chapman: “Little black girl gets assaulted, ain’t no reason why/Newspaper prints the story and racist tempers fly/ Next day it starts a riot, knives and guns are drawn/ Two black boys get killed, one white boy goes blind… Choose sides, or run for your life. Tonight the riots begin.” And so it goes. Fundamentalist tensions and casteist policies = quick easy blasts = potential devastating massacre on the streets of Hyderabad. Can you hear the terrorists laughing in glee at how easily we fall into the trap? And can you see the politicians mouthing useless words of meaningless sympathy?
There was a time when politicians truly believed in their duty, and that the troubles of the country were their responsibility. As a child, I heard about Lal Bahadur Shastri resigning as Railways Minister following the train derailment at Ariyalur, and I simply couldn’t believe that a politician would do such a thing. The present apathy is so deeply ingrained! Today can you even conceive of any minister doing more than ‘expressing condolences for the bereaved’, let alone resigning? A friend of mine noticed my agitation and remarked ‘u still get shocked it happens so often’. All too true… we have seen so much tragedy and intolerance and utter senselessness that we have become numb. Yes, comfortably numb – what can we do except warm our asses anyway?
So I decided to move on and find out what was happening in other cities. In Mumbai, action has not yet been taken against the Shiv Sena leaders indicted for the famous 1992-93 riots. All they can do is talk about it. Here’s a clear example of politicians being responsible for this mess, and yet they are beyond justice! In Bangalore, a woman committed suicide after workplace harassment. And yes, she had approached the State Women’s Commission for help earlier. In Kolkata, some parents demanded that a primary school should expel the HIV+ kids there to keep their own children ‘safe’. And in Delhi, there is a heated government debate on whether to lower the drinking age from 25 to 21. Isn’t that farcical? A person can drive, vote, even raise a family at 18, but is too young to drink! As if anyone even takes that law seriously! Hm, perhaps the parliament had nothing better to do with their time and resources? The government is wasting its capabilities on non-issues, or worse still the wrong issues entirely, instead of focusing on things that matter. How can we worry about the drinking age when such a large percentage of the population lives below the poverty line, in constant hunger? What is the point of even discussing this on here when so many millions can’t even write their own names, and are consumed by deadly ignorance and superstitions?
Obviously such people vote for whoever can solve these issues for them, short-term. Who can blame them for being more interested in their bread and butter than a nuclear deal? The parties exploit these feelings and come up with promises which will garner them votes. The downtrodden simply feel grateful that someone is even paying attention to their voice. This power is a heady feeling. How often have you felt that parties these days are more interested in merely forming a government and holding on to it, as opposed to actually solving the problems of our country? And you and I are average apathetic middle-class citizens, already having given up on the government, content to let them have their way as long as they don’t affect our lives directly.
Well, let these blasts rock you back to the reality of our situation! That could have been you or your loved ones sitting at that restaurant that day, a victim of all the chain reactions resulting in the death of democracy. Don’t let this end like all the others: “Little black girl gets assaulted/ Don’t no one know her name/ Lots of people hurt and angry/ She’s the one to blame…” Don’t let this sink back into obscurity, wipe off the blame onto someone else, preferably someone obscure, and sit back with a clear conscience. The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines democracy as ‘government by the people’. Yes, I would point the finger at the government, and of course sadistic fundamentalists everywhere, but we’re also part of the reason. It’s not separate from us – it’s our country, our responsibility too. We can write and express our views, join protest groups, get into government, start NGOs, work within our individual capabilities to eliminate the root of these problems – ignorance, intolerance and fear. I believe in the potential of India. No country is perfect. It has to become perfect.

Ruminations Beside A Ticking Clock

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The clock ticks you ever closer to death.
A moment spent doing nothing is a moment forever wasted.

You’re reading this? Good for you. You will hear things you should know before you die.

Come on, sit by me. Have a drink. Tell me about yourself.
No, dammit! I do NOT want to know your job or salary or how many cars you own or how many women you’ve fucked. Don’t you know anything about yourself?

Tell me, what do you fear?

Cockroaches? Ha! They’re just little brown creatures on wings. Are you afraid of flying, then? Or are you just afraid of everything that’s different from you?

Do you fear lies? Mistakes? Do you hate being wrong? Hey, who decides what’s right or wrong anyway? Who decides what truth or reality is? It’s all in your head. You’ve invented your own fears. Even Satan and Hell are all in your head. You can choose to live without them anytime you want – IF you’re brave enough.

Are you a coward when it comes to pain and suffering? Then you’re becoming wise, my child. That is indeed a powerful fear. But what about the others who suffer every minute, every day? Do you ever think about helping them? Oh yeah, I see – you can’t face your fears, even when they’re happening to someone else.

Do you fear the ultimate, then? Death? But if you don’t want to die, then why do you pray to go to heaven? Being alive is a state of mind. You can breathe and still be dead. Poets ‘live on in their work’. Fearing death is the first step towards it. Bon voyage, mon ami.

Are you afraid of me? (maniacal laughter) Because I told you things you didn’t want to hear? Here’s one more – I pity you.

Go on, run away. Hide your head under the pillow. The monster in the closet will come to get you tonight. Just wait until the clock strikes twelve.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Portrait of a Flight

ssssssssssssssssssssssssss Peak.
ssssssssssssssssssstip of the
sssssssssssss top, to the
sssssssssssto the
sssssssssup
sssssssright
You climb

You stand at the edge, the ledge
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssteetering sss a ssss bit.
ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss just s little

You laugh and let out a WHOOP, a barbaric yawp.

You take a leap and Fly,
ssssssssssssssssssssssfalling…
sssssssssssssssssssssssssfalling…
ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssfalling…
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssfalling into the a
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss b
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss y
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss s
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss s

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss splat

Longing for Cursed Treasure

His tall silhouette against the sun
Draws me irresistibly closer.
He turns, and speaks to me.
My heart flutters strangely (shut up!)

Dark hair, dark arms, dark eyes.
Eyes that bore a hole into my soul
And see me for who I am, and what I'm not.
His sardonic smile flickers in and out.

I steady myself (stop it!) and listen
To strange ideas, piercing insights,
And incredible tales beyond imagination.
My intellect thrives on his.

The force of his personality
Is a vibrant inescapable magnet.
He lives dangerously, on the edge.
Someday he'll drag me over with him.

Oh! but I hate him, I hate him!
He stands for so much that I'm not.
(Damn him! I passionately wish he was in hell!)
He also stands far, far away...

Then he turns, and walks away.
I long to call out, reach out, anything!
Instead I stop and ask myself
"What is wrong with you, you fool?!"

My Experiments With Haiku

My latest attempts at haiku:

The fighter planes flew
Low over despairing homes
And dropped gifts of death.


The student bends low
Over his pile of books, his
Back to the window.


The once-mighty hawk
Now lies still with broken wings
Beside the black stream.


She picked up a book.
A Bible, welcoming her.
She threw it away.

At The Station

I was waiting for the subway train.
A crowd of young people rushed in
On their way to and from busy work;
And even younger people, too,
With far more urgent destinations.
I stood, and they buzzed around me,
Waiting impatiently for
The slow train to dash in there.
I heard sighs of relief when it arrived.
They embarked, and it sped off like a bullet
Shooting them nowhere at all.
I turned, and hobbled away with my cane
Back upstairs to wait at the tram station.

Drowning

You cannot breathe:
Suffocation.
Water around you, water inside you,
Hair streaking wildly behind you.
One shaft of sunlight
Pierces the murky depths;
Swim towards the rays,
Cling to a fading hope.
Kick, kick.
Stroke, push.
Kick, kick.
Muscles on fire.
Break the surface in a glittering shower,
Gasp for air – take in a mouthful of water,
Thrash around in desperation – will you live?
Water around you, water inside you,
Hair streaking wildly behind you.
Arms and legs too heavy to move.
All said, all done.
You sink back down...

Hack To Pieces And Tear Asunder The Bodies Of Mine Enemies

My axe is wielded high over you
Poised to rip your intestines apart;
For I am the beautiful arrogant Cybele
Orgasmically pleased to savour your heart.
My crimson knife sculpts your chest,
Exposing a fear-pale airless lung.
I demand proof of your devotion:
Emasculate yourself and your young.
Offer your magnificent corpse in my service
- Grandiose funeral prostitution behold -
Your luscious skin perforated in place,
Ornamented with barbed wire of gold;
Sacrifice your ruby teardrops;
In royal thorns, enrobe yourself;
For you are my demonic priest
Sworn to suffer, pledged to myself...

Paean to a Putrid Piscean

Vegetarian-flavoured haiku...

A dish of sushi -
Long limp noodles and raw fish;
And a wasted life.

The Illusion Is My Truth

I stare at the passengers, but see
None of the myriad people before me.
I see a land locked away in my memories
And a sudden smile – in my dreams I see.
But the fantasy is so real, so vivid.
Why should I ever let go?

I know the absurdity of life,
That I am happy… SO HAPPY!
And the hurt tears my insides,
The pain rips apart my body.
Like the survivor of a shipwreck
I still cling to what I know.

I have so much to give, so much
Love to offer my beloved.
My helplessness mocks me
“What have you received?”
I still give my shadow smile
My phantom hand touches the same.

And they kiss and then they laugh
Those pairs on the train never part.
I alone shut my eyes, I lean back
And a tiny flicker grows in my heart.
No wind can blow out its glow.

But no wind will fan it into flame.

The Function of MY Mind

I finished my maths test early and got bored. Thought I'd post this on here to show you just how idiotic I can be.

Honour to thee, O flawless functions!
Thy straight and squiggly lines like hairs
Wind like a snake around my neck
And haunt my worst nightmares.

O functions! All thy domains, each
With its unique range, hath combined
To create doodles so dastardly
That all peace is driven from my mind.

I. Hate. Myself.

I can't remember the last time I felt so unwanted and worthless.
Possibly I deserve to be cast away.
Possibly it's time someone made me feel this way.
They say, pride comes before a fall.
I've told myself ten thousand times that I will never trust again.
Yet I do so, ten thousand times over, through the pain.
Why should I?
Remind me not to. It is safer.
It is a well-known fact that anaesthesia is a drug which causes no pleasurable sensations.
But anaesthetized people cannot feel pain.
That is all that matters.

...and the rays of darkness chill my fevered soul and protect me from your harsh light...

The Lone Wolf... And Me

The midnight breeze blows around me,
Trying to chill me to the bone.
It does not know I am already ice.
My pale fingers chill the wind itself.

I sit still on my lonely log.
A lone wolf howls at the moon.
His haunting cry seems to echo my thoughts.
“Why have we been driven to seek this place?”

Far from voices, far from humanity,
Far from the cage of civilization.
Here where I am the queen, where
I control none and none controls me.

The moon bathes me in her cold flame.
The shadows are the dark dagger in my hand.
I will not face the false cheer of the sun.
Take me, O dark night, don’t let me fall…

The wind is still mercilessly cold.
The Sol is gone, Luna returns to find
A lone silhouette still sits on the log.
And a wolf howls its funeral keening.

The Legend Of The Forest Queen

This lonely landscape holds a story
Of love and longing, despair and defiling.
The ancient oaks guard their secret sorrows
And the wind still whispers its poetry.

He came through the forest, sword in hand,
Stalking a deer with feline grace
He was made to conquer, his savage cry
Reigned supreme in that isolated land.

Then the boughs parted to reveal a glade,
The throne of the woodland princess.
Her limbs were slender twigs in moonlight,
Her smile was the silver stream in the shade.
The hunter gazed in rapt wonder
At the ethereal beauty before him.
She, too, was caught by human passion.
There they bound themselves together.

He could not bear to let her fire pass into smoke.
He stayed; he built them a house, a wooden lodge,
His great axe hewed the ancient ebony, while she
Wept over the stump of the once-mighty oak.

Ah, but their love was great and deep!
Arms entwined, souls embraced, passion
Permeating every fibre of their beings…
The nymph had never such joys reaped.

She neglected her age-old kingdom’s call.
Like her wards, she too had found her mate.
But the love she found was not in her fate.
Her pristine realm showed signs of pall.

Blood besmeared the mourning willow,
Remnants of the kills for his appetite.
The corpses of mutilated trees lay around,
Foul flecks defiled the clear stream’s flow.
The untouched landscape cried in pain,
What blasphemy, what sacrilege at his hands!
Ancient nature writhed under man’s fleeting touch.
She knew that man, too, must pass like the rain.

She watched him fall.
His graceful body taut in a plunge
From the cliff to the abyss below.
She watched him fall.

Then the spiritess returned to her oaken throne,
But her smile is forevermore broken.
Pearls of infinite sadness wind their way
From her hollow eyes down her cheekbone.
Around her, the woods revived, paid the cost.
But the lonely moon even now stands watch
Over the desolate stumps, the still-black waters
And the dirge of a thousand sunrises she lost.

Helpless against Fate

The love songs lied. They say, “I would walk a thousand miles, I would swim across the ocean, all for you.” Here is the terrible truth: it is not so simple. Love stories don’t always have happy endings. What do the boy bands and pop princesses know? What do their dumb inane ‘omg lol’ fans know? Nothing. Nothing that matters, anyway.

The ocean seethes in turmoil, reflecting my emotions in its grey-green waters. Overhead the sky darkens, the scarlet sun swathed in shrouds of silent grey. The gulls wheel and dive, emitting their cries which pierce my heart. I stand solitary, still as a statue, as the wind wraps itself around me and whispers a tale of loneliness and sorrow. Suddenly a shaft of crimson light pierces the clouds and turns the water bloody. I am afraid.

I know where you are, across that vast expanse of waves which separates us. My heart aches for you, longing to see your smile, hear your music, touch your hands, feel your warmth pressed against mine. And the bitter knowledge that it is not to be is like a poisoned dart. I need you, but I am helpless. I can neither get you nor let you go. I hang in the void with only the wind.

As I watch, a black oil slick slowly spreads across the pristine waves, polluting them with its foul aura. The inky stain blots out the ripples and sparkles of the water below, deadening and stilling it. So, too, my heart is like the waves.

The tears threaten to wash away my fragile defenses. I know how you feel about me; you have already given me more than I dared hope, and for that I am fiercely happy. But I still feel empty, incomplete. I do not want to own you, nor do I want to belong to you. But I do want us to be part of each other, a symbiosis. Am I being selfish? Am I asking too much of fate? The answer lies hidden in the wind’s murmuring…

The pale ghost of the full moon peeks out above the horizon. Time rolls on like the ocean… will it someday break these barriers? Will you wait till then? Will I wait till then? I know not which way to choose, nor what lies ahead. I can only hope…

Life - Beginning To Perk Up

At last! Life's interesting.

Rugby matches are better than I expected. Or rather, just being in a stadium and yelling my lungs out is better than I expected. The rugby... nah, didn't understand much, and I don't really care. The Hong Kong Sevens Tournament was a good place to be, though. However, my attitude towards the 'sport' of rugby is pretty much summed up by this wisecrack "Rugby is played by men with odd-shaped balls".

After the match was even better. I finally got my chance to be 'evil'. I wasn't too evil by anyone's standards, but I took my first steps. It's important to break out of that cocoon, isn't it? A first time is always a first time. And yes, it makes other first times a lot less scarier. Stepping from the known into the unknown is incredibly satisfying after you've actually done it. The only disadvantage is that the unknown loses it mystery and romance... in essence, its 'unknown-ness'. Getting back home at nearly 11 for the first time adds to the heady feeling. Yes, I'm a teenager, and enjoying it!

Home's boring. Especially if you have guests coming over for dinner. Especially especially if you are expected to entertain their kids. Here's where I was proved wrong. The son of my mum's colleague turned out to be a metalhead, the first one I'm meeting IN Hong Kong. I was almost ecstatic. Time flies far too fast when you're discussing metal in a state of near-euphoria and relief. I'm heading for a gig someday with him, for sure. And yes, I owe him bigtime for introducing me to South Park!

Oh, and I'm heading for China proper - Shenzhen - in a couple of days to do the 'tourist thing'. I'm in no mood to actually live there, but travelling is good. After all, there's a lot of places to see, I might as well start just across the border. And hey, you get cheap pirated DVDs there! So... China, here I come! (oh, and Metalhead's coming with me - atleast I don't have to worry about being bored out of my wits!)

Yep, Hong Kong's not too bad after all. I'm living life in the moment at last. It's no use resisting the winds of change, is it? In fact, flowing with the current can be pretty exciting at times. Now all I need is for a typhoon to blow me away...

What else do you expect?

Yes, hide under the bed at night;
The men with guns will get you too.
Cry and wonder what you have done
To deserve the death around you.
Among the empty shells of houses,
Watch the black fighter planes overhead.
Hear the bombs crashing around you
Seeking more company for the dead.

Be woken up by a soldier at dawn.
Hold your child close in pure fear;
And have her brains blown out anyway
In your arms – this you must bear.

Let your clothes be stripped from you.
Let your things be burnt in unholy fire.
Let the men use you as they wish.
Let your own spirit be a stretched wire.
A wire which can’t hold the tension,
A wire which longs to snap and break.
You cannot escape. You cannot flee.
Any hope of safety is all a fake.

A magazine flutters on the ground –
Happy people, smiling at some party.
They don’t care. They don’t want to care.
Wait for the fighter planes silently.

And The Clock Never Stops

I sit alone in a crowded classroom, watching the clock hands move ever closer to eternity, ever so slowly… It’s eerily silent, only the scratching of pen on paper and soft sighs. No one speaks – they are all absorbed in their work, the way a stalking lioness concentrates only on the deer before her. I alone sit with my mind wandering, flitting restlessly as a butterfly does. I can focus on nothing; nothing seems to be important; nothing else matters.

Little memories flit through my head – sharing phuchkas on the pavement in the middle of a rainy day, laughing over a punishment for some particularly diabolical prank, guitar jamming sessions instead of doing classes, an encouraging smile during a scathing lecture, a shoulder for my warm tears to bury themselves in… Now the tears roll unheard, unseen, unchecked. Those days are all in the past now, and there they will remain. The sooner I realize that, the better.

The clock continues its slow march on. Damn, will the bell never strike? At least it doesn’t stop… just as life never stops. Life moves on inexorably, like the tides. And people must move on, too, unless they want to risk being picked up by the relentless waves and dashed against the rocks. The past is every moment other than the one you’re in right now. I remind myself not to stay stuck in it forever, I can’t live my life on rewind.

Of course things aren’t the same – what did I expect? That I could be caught in that same snapshot of me laughing by the lake, in a freeze-frame for all eternity? The film keeps moving, the actors mouth their lines, and the script plays itself out. I need to break away from the script, I must create my own space. But I know that if I do, I must stand alone. Do I dare losing even the pale shadows who keep me company through the lonely nights?

No one ever won a lottery without buying a ticket first. And all lottery winners live on hope – the hope that someday, someway, things will work out. Things must work out. I can live on faith, until things seem right again. I’ll wait for it until… RING! There goes the clock, at last. The faces look up wearily from the sheets of paper, and a sigh of relief passes through the room like a breeze. It’s time… to move on.

Still Searching...

I sigh as I settle down to write again. I wonder why my life feels so empty. Wait – let me check over my shoulder again. No, not there. Not yet. Not now. Then where? What is it I’m searching for?

I wander the streets with my hands in my pockets. The cold wind whips my face, stinging me and making me gasp with the joy of pain, with the joy of being alive. But the hollow wind reminds me of my own gaping emptiness, howling like a lone wolf before the moon. I don’t want the constant loneliness. But what am I searching for?

I wander past the two-storey wood houses. People laughing, talking at dinner tables and mowing lawns. Are their lives really as neat as those square patches of lush green grass? A kid runs out and tramples a freshly tidied flower bed, kicking up clumps of earth. He laughs and waves at me. I laugh back, then immediately feel achingly sad for him. For I know that he, too, will walk my path someday.

Now I head past the office blocks. Great ugly lumps of concrete, snarling at the grey sky like a bulldog without its lunch. The only building I like is the steel and glass skyscraper, rearing up into the sky like the jagged claw of a prehistoric dinosaur and ripping the sky apart ruthlessly. But the people inside do not notice the birds swooping past their windowsill. They exchanged the thrill of the wind on their wings for the golden cages long ago. The most pathetic thing is, they think they’re happier than the birds. I walk on, I know that I’ll feel even lonelier in a crowd.

Finally I reach the lake. I sit on a mossy boulder at the glassy edge, and trace every needle on the reflection of the pine tree. I’m slipping away into a quiet solitude, when it’s suddenly broken by a harsh sound. I hear a silly feminine giggle behind me, as the female is embarrassed at being caught with the male wrapped around her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here,” she says and flees for a more private spot. Then again, who ever knows I’m here? For a moment, I intensely wish to be that female. At least she knows what she wants. At least she doesn’t come to the lake all alone.

The loneliness grips me again. Desperately, I ‘sound my barbaric yawp’, again and again. But every echo makes me feel smaller than ever. I’m still waiting… I still don’t know why. Is it for a what? Is it for a who? Is it for you? I think I see you calling to me from the depths of the lake. Yes, I know you are calling. You will give me the peace I need, won’t you? I’ll join you in the lake – right now. Take me away… far away…

The Scarlet Sail

See the scarlet sail on the horizon,
The blood-red waves surround it,
Dancing before the crimson fireball
At the world’s last known limit.

Onboard, amidst the slender rigging,
The tall, billowy sails up high,
There, on the time-worn planks,
The Forsaken Crew walk by.

The men belong to a bygone era –
Last of an ancient dying race,
Their kind vanished centuries since –
They alone transcend time and space.

The wind whips their long locks,
Their faces are as cold as the sea,
Their sabers are as scarlet as their sails,
And their eyes hold unsolved mystery.

They roam the ocean’s expanse alone,
Bowing to none but the zephyr’s will.
The ghostly galleon will never be seen;
For those who do, it spells great peril.

The scarlet sails still embrace the gale,
Still attract the bull like flags of red,
The carved figurehead still stands tall,
Pointing to newer adventures ahead.

Now you may think you know everything
In this age of internet and KFCs:
But someday yet you will realize
The scarlet sail still stirs the seas…

Across The Lines

I’m breaking my prison walls tonight:
My destination’s across the lines
To the places no one dared to go.
No patience, no taking things slow.
I’ll no longer ignore these signs;
I will rise to reclaim my right.

Now is my time – I’ll wander free
Across the lines, where none have gone
See the eagle overhead – that’s me
Being everything that I can be
Out there somewhere all alone
Scripting my dreams into destiny

I won’t fade into the background
Nor live in my own fantasies
Across the lines my kingdom waits
For me to take control of my Fates
To wrest my demons into peace
And banish my fears underground.

In that place, all is MY power
Across the lines only I exist
Nothing can haunt my cares there save
Hopes resurrected from the grave
Then I’ll breathe life into the mist
Of desires with renewed vigour.

So close, still trying to reach
Across the lines, where I belong
To escape from the glimm’ring shadows
Away into the darkest night’s glow
Until tonight, I’ll chant my song
An anthem to the lines I’ll breach.

Reclaiming Eden

Sunshine pours through the leaves,
Rippling and filtering to where I stand
The graceful green grass greets it
And I laugh and reach for your hand.
Do you see the butterflies today?
They flit past as a living rainbow
And I rush to seek their pot of gold
Come join me – you will, I know!
The flowers bloom in their delight
The willow branch bends for me
The lake beckons me impatiently
We part its surface in ecstasy.
So we go, leaping like does,
Back to the fields once forgotten
There in our own secret haven
Rediscover our seventh heaven.

Being Different? Or just being Me?

In honour of my first post, I'll describe MYSELF for the unwary (yes, yes, I know there ARE better things to describe; forgive me this once)

I am a melting pot of contradictions. I am like no one you’ve ever met before. Never imagine for a moment that you can predict me, the quicksand just might shift under your feet. There, I have shown you the warning sign.
I pride myself on not being “ordinary”. I am driven by a desire to be different. I’m the round peg in a square hole. I’m the misfit, the rebel. I cannot be restrained by your rusted chains. I’m the one who will break out of a stereotype the second you try to fit me into it.
I am the kind of person who would jump off a cliff without a parachute just to see what it feels like. I want to experience all that this world has to offer and more – I will drink life to the lees. I have no fear of death, except that it would cut short a life full of golden chances. I’ll live when I’m alive, and sleep when I’m dead.
I am not a flashing diamond, gloating in its own glory. I am not an emerald, clear and still as pond water. I am not a ruby, bleeding drops of red for reasons left unsaid. Instead I am the sapphire, the colour of the blue sky high above.
I’m not fond of rules. I have no respect for the status quo. I live my life the way I want to live it. No matter what they may say, life isn’t a game. There are no second chances or turns. So don’t waste your breath telling me how to play. I do not stay in my place simply because I don’t know what that is. And I don’t care to know either.
The one and only reason I ever do anything is because I want to. If someone else said I should do it – well, that was purely coincidental. You cannot tame a rearing stallion.
Do not seek to hide me in a shroud of harsh light. I am illuminated by rays of darkness. The blazing candle that I bear leaps up in tongues of shadows, engulfing you in its ice-cold flames.
You can like me, disagree with me, quote me, argue with me, trust me, disbelieve me, praise me or detest me. The one thing you can’t do is ignore me.
I am not one of your self-proclaimed messiahs. I am not the devil’s advocate. Nor am I the innocent fallen victim. I am simply the silent scarlet snapdragon in the Garden of Eden, observing and waiting for my turn.
I do not stop to think before I speak. Civilization demands that we impose layers of distortion to hide the heart’s truth. I reveal the thoughts chasing themselves around in the maze of my brain in the naked light of day, because I would rather be a savage than be civilized in today’s age. If you prefer to hear the words slanted, I suggest you continue your search elsewhere.
I realize that I am the only one like me. That does not imply that I am the misfit. It merely means that I am the trailblazer.
I may be happy in my own private world, but I know that something is very wrong in the world I share with you. I may not be able to put my finger on a single cause, but I still seek the answer. For I am Prometheus, bringing you the divine fire.
I notice events around me that shouldn’t be happening. The worst of them is that nobody cries out to protest. I strain my voice, but I find myself strangely silent too. I promise that someday, I will make the difference. Even if I have to swim against the current to rescue the human race from drowning.
I am crazy enough to believe that I can change the world. But then, the crazy persons are the ones who do.