Thoughtful Ties

When bitterness becomes stronger than even blood-ties, the slightest gesture showing some thought behind it moves you strongly. I had long stopped hoping for such thought to be directed my way. Yet, I was touched today. Maybe it is rather sad that I was. Perhaps those who take certain kinds of love for granted will never understand why. Still, it felt good. I really hope that in the moments when I am almost paralysed by angry despair, I remember this moment and feel heartened, however slight that feeling is.

Shy Words

My world is no longer a flurry of poems
Or songs sung sweetly to many sunny Springs
’Tis neither a lark’s lore of furious flight
Nor the spiralling heartbreak that descent brings —

Although pale pages lie waiting for sorrow,
Tearful outbursts and laughter to fulfil them,
The Sun shines on, unmindful of tomorrow,
Its beams sewn surely to Eternity’s hem.

The rains claim their place amidst parched pliant ground,
My heartbeat echoing every raindrop’s sound,
Yet as panes grow misty and my senses numb,
My soul stiffens slowly and the ink stays bound.

Within and without, with grief or without doubt
My lips rest their case with an unuttered sigh —
Drifting clouds pass by, the sun scorches the sky,
Leaves glisten with dewdrops, yet my words stay shy.

Verse Fest

So last night, as it is quite obvious from the posting time of my last post, I had trouble sleeping. Not surprisingly, I wrote of my plight as a status update on Facebook. This is what ensued:

Silver Skylark I write haiku when I can't sleep. :P
{17 hours ago via Mobile Web}

Tito: {Name changed for security reasons}
..Reading that, it makes me weep

Counting seven, must it be
You've one extra dont you see? :P
{16 hours ago} 

Silver Skylark: {that is me, LD}
Hark! What sound goes there?
Of sixes and sevens you speak!
Curled in darkened lair. :P
{16 hours ago}

Tito:
that was random..that you know
did i get it?..dont think so..

but pardon you..that i may
sleep doth come by end of day.....
{16 hours ago} 

Silver Skylark:
I could not count, so it seems
Outside, the silver moon gleams
Retire, friend, as day comes
Morrow's song, another hums.
{16 hours ago}

Tito:
Now that torrent downloads done
New moon shall i gaze upon

Vamps and werewolves shall i see
So with this rhyme, off i'll be :)
{16 hours ago} 

Silver Skylark:
Lycans rise as darkness falls
Gaze upon unguarded walls
Yet may sleep set your mind free
Of dangerous poetry. :P
{16 hours ago}

Tito:
lol..im watching a movie! :P
{16 hours ago}

Silver Skylark:
Go watch it, you Edward Cullen fan! :P
{16 hours ago}

Tito:
HAH! i made you break your count
While I secretly kept mine XD

And I watch for Jacob Black >.<
{16 hours ago}

At this point I must say that the 7-syllables are maintained if I remove "Edward" and that "lol" cannot be counted as a single syllable. :P

Silver Skylark:
I did not hear those words sad
Lest the Heavens strike me mad
For that sword thrust I'll get back
While you drool at Jacob Black.
{16 hours ago}

Kaz: {a.k.a. Prince Kazarelth}
You two are crazy.
There's no haiku that I see.
Sleep or New Moon, guys?
:P
{9 hours ago}

Silver Skylark:
These aren't the haiku
That I posted in my blog...
For Facebook to show. :P

That was a haiku...
The rest, seven syllables
Of a Rhyming fest. :P
{7 hours ago}

'Nuff said! xD

A Dream

Wings brushed shut my eyes
Wondrous pearls gleam before me —
Silver pierces night.

Dead Poet's Honour

Is poetry only about the structure and meter of verse? Is it only measurable by the importance of its objective? Or does it have a deeper meaning, or a deeper purpose — which is the true expression of the nuances of the poet’s soul? Throughout the history of the written word, there have been parallels drawn between life and poetry. And many have argued that poetry is, in fact, a watercolour painted in honour of the iridescent hues of life.

And life is more than following the herd. It is more than speaking the minds of others instead of yours – it is more than passing judgement upon your fellow souls if only because others before you have done the same. Life is yours, and so are all the perceptions, beliefs, thoughts, fears, prayers and joys that come with it.

Today, I watched “Dead Poet’s Society” again. I would not go as far as to call it an “intellectual” film, mainly because my mother, who falls asleep while watching all “intellectual” movies does not do so for this one. However, the central theme reflected in this bittersweet tragedy — the struggle to find one’s own voice amidst the raucous roar of conformity, is one that is truly understood in all sincerity by very few indeed.

The honour in keeping one’s word, in fighting for one’s beliefs and ideals until the very end, being true to oneself — these were qualities cherished and admired greatly, until even a few years ago. However, I do find myself asking if that is still the case today. There is such a thing as a “false” code of honour, wherein one can simply claim that one is ethical and sincere and get away with acts of stealthy treachery as long as enough people get swayed by the glamour and grandeur of those claims. The trick is to convince enough people, through words alone, that you are honourable, and they won’t notice it when you are all but that. As long as the crowd is with you, it hardly matters whether you stay true to your proclaimed ideals or not.

It is here that those old notions of honour come in conflict with the new. The truth is that we are compelled by the strength of life within us to survive even a shark tank... or at least try to. So can those who go with the herd to achieve the show of strength necessary for survival truly be condemned as shallow? And should those who adhere to their ideals and ethics of honour and principle regardless of the herd be admired for their depth of character or be dismissed as simply stupid?

What would your answer be?

Unfinished Tales

Oh indeed , I have been there and back again several times in the last year, but as my days are marching ever-so-steadily forward, I have been ignoring this little spot in cyberspace which provided me with much comfort and solace during tumultuous times. It is a pity that I have almost grown out of the very thing that let me hold on to dear existence in the past.

Nevertheless, I do promise to those of the Old Glorious Penguin Army Days who still come by that I will finish my unfinished tales. There shall be little fillers once in a while, and when I am inspired enough or have the time to write down all the images I see, there shall be posts: proper ones like there were earlier. Although now, hopefully, they will be a lot less angst-ridden and speak of my many blossoming interests.

I have been meaning to bring about drastic little changes to this thought-nest of mine... The first of these would be a link to my Twitter profile. Anonymity isn't as important to me now as it used to be, so I might as well be known for what I do. :P I tweet a lot. So stalk me... oops! Sorry, follow me if you'd like @LucidDarkness

Now for a few good updates on what I've been upto:

1. Salt imbalances make me sick. Seriously. And the summer heat is not helping one bit, oh no!

2. W.B. Yeats has become a constant companion at bedtime.

3. Chocolate cakes are the very best! I have taken to baking them with much enthusiasm!

4. Songs from Anime soundtracks are currently on my Music HotList. Jappo pop/rock songs are actually amazingly addictive!

5. Turning Two is Terrific!

That's all folks! For now at least. :) 

Agony

So picturesque was the Durney house and the scenery before it that onlookers felt as though nothing bad could ever happen there. 

The Durneys were a family of three — a pair of working parents and their angelic little son. So sweet was his face and so cherubic his temperament that Nature felt it to be an abomination for him to dwell anywhere but in Heaven. The Durneys, however, spent ten whole years without any knowledge of this.

The wind would whisper loving words to the treetops it caressed and miniature dust-storms would waltz silently for the watching fronds, and yet, the joy and peace of the Durney home lay undisturbed, much to the envy of their neighbours.

“Oh, they are the luckiest people living!” Mrs. Rahn would exclaim, observing the Durney homestead as she did her dishes. “Have you seen their darling little boy? He’s a constant source of pride to them!”

And yes, little Tuval certainly made his mother proud. This sensitive little boy had the soul of a ripened poet trapped inside his small frame. He saw vivid beauty in the most commonplace of sunsets and his mind would soar high and free with every breath of life he drew in. He took whatever he saw and created poetry with colours. Perhaps, deep down he felt the insistent pull of life calling upon his soul to live deeply in the moments it could stay earthbound. It is a pull that so many of us, jaded by the harshness of life, have become impervious to. Yet, for Tuval, it was what let bright wide eyes stare out in wonder and delight at what they saw everyday.

“Come now, Tuval,” his mother would coax, “You must show me what you painted today!”

The boy, brimming with the modesty becoming of a bashful bride, would lower his eyes and curl his lower lip before shyly pulling out his latest masterpiece. His mother would smile widely at him, and this small symbol of motherly commendation would be enough inspiration for another day.

Leaves would change their colours and their abode, from branches to a dusty ground, and Tuval would paint their changing expressions for his beloved mother.

However, Nature preys upon the innocent, and none can save such from its unyielding grasp. Tuval Durney had not long before Nature added his soul to its collection.

It broke his parents’ hearts, especially his mother’s. A child can know only so much love, but with Time snatching the hours away, Tuval’s parents showered an anguished burning love that only a soul smoldering with sorrow could understand.

Raindrops worked their magic weaving coloured lines across the sky. Sunlight filtered through leaves making little rivulets shimmer and dance. Spectacular sunsets graced the evening horizon. Birds flew back and forth, chirping with the urgency of life — the life that cancer stole from Tuval. And the boy, who loved the world more than the world could ever love him, was too weak to hold a brush.

His mother sat by him through those long dark hours. She would cradle his frail frame and hold his head against her heart, wishing desperately that there was something she could do to lessen his pain. Sometimes, when Tuval’s breathing evened out, she would let a tear or two slip through her tight defence. The time she had to shower a mother’s love upon her precious child was limited and so she would spend all of what she was given filling his days with the sweetness she had hoped to endow all her life.

Night had fallen and the darkness had surprised them with its early arrival. The soft but still audible beating of Tuval’s heart was the only sound that could be heard. Mrs. Durney had been resting against Tuval’s bed, when she was suddenly stirred into speaking.

Tuval had awoken and was staring intently at her. The child’s body, already being devoured from within had taken further beating from all the strong medicines and futile surgeries. There was a turn for the worse that evening and his father had gone off in search of the nearest doctor.

“Mother?” he asked.

“Yes, my love? Is there something I can do?”

“Yes,” he replied quietly.

“Tell me, darling!”

“I’m ... scared. Hold my hand please? I think — I think it’s time.”

The dawn found Mrs. Durney standing near their boundary gate, staring blankly through tearless eyes. It was here that Mrs. Rahn found her when she stepped out for her morning walk.

“Lara! What happened?” she asked, worriedly. “Is Roy back yet?”

“My baby... my baby...” was all Mrs. Durney could murmur.

Heart Song

Kiss me as gently as you would the morning dew
Hold my head softly with your palms,
Contentment never felt so free from qualms…

Contempt of Love produces the finest of verses,
But I would sooner have my art be hurt
Than have the song in my heart be curt.

Raindrops on my Soul

Last night the wind sang loudly and gaily blew notes of rain into our lives. The roaring chorus of thunder defied the darkness and gladly welcomed the illuminated sky. And with the earth smelling divine, heaven seemed just another raindrop away.

My day had had its ups and downs, its laughter and stretches of silence. There could not have been a better manner in which it blended in with the morrow. 

It is moments like these, stolen furtively from the hands of Time, that show me how beautiful life can be. A few moments earlier that night, I had been regretting the clumsiness of my tongue. The sudden shower showed me how a torrent of pure emotion is often all that is needed to put one's soul at ease.

Tonight, as I recall the drenched glory of midnight past, I feel that I may find expression again. My words may yet reveal what my heart has been longing to disclose, and I may find peace once more.

Duty

The clock read 4 o’ clock. Lei put down her book and got up. It was time to go. She drove to the hospital, her mind unnaturally calm, unexpectedly clear. It was ironic, perhaps that a dying man, who deserved nothing but the loneliest of deaths would have the one person he hurt the most during his lifetime by his deathbed. But that was how life was to be and Lei had learnt a long time ago to stop questioning why things happened the way they did.

It did not take her long. It was as though Fate had cleared up her path to that final chance of a confrontation.

The old man was lying sunken and shriveled in bed. It was almost as though the bed had begun its task of swallowing him whole but had decided that he was unpalatable at the last moment. And yet, the sight of his broken body, already halfway there on its journey into the next world, was enough to make Lei hesitate for a moment and compose herself before she walked into the room.

Her father stirred at the sound of feet which were driven by his blood.

“You’ve come,” he stated simply.

“You had asked for me,” she replied.

“Yes, I had. But I never expected you,” spoke Lei’s father, snubbing her even with his last few breaths.

It took all the composure and resistance built up over the years for Lei to not react. She had expected as much. The old man had never bothered with much affection in her case, reserving all his love for her younger brother. Again, she ignored the irony of her brother canceling at the last minute saying that he had to stay home to make his son study for tests – the same brother whom the old man doted upon, and spent all his evenings teaching.

“You had asked for me,” she repeated, a little louder this time.

“Well, you will have to do,” he said.

“I guess I will,” said Lei.

The old man sighed with all the strength left in his lungs and said, “I’m dying.”

Lei kept her voice as steady as she could when she said, “I know” although her eyes almost betrayed her.

“I may not even last the night.”

The doctors had told her as much. They had even added how the cancer that had spread from her father’s lungs to almost all his major organs, had miraculously spared his brain, leaving him lucid enough to speak and endure all the pain. Yet, he did not have much time. All those years of smoking had ruined his body and it was fed up of putting up with the abuse.

“But you are here, so sit by my bed. Sit by your dying father.”

Lei was already there before he had asked. Perhaps it was the haze brought on by all the morphine in his system, or perhaps it was only that he was blind to all that Lei did, but he seemed to not have noticed. His first born held his frail hand firmly but gently in hers. It was how he had held her when she was born, but the roles were now reversed and his life was at its end and not beginning.

She stayed silently sitting while her mind returned to the past. She tried not to, but she kept thinking of the times when the old man had blamed her harshly for the most trivial of things. He had called her the worst person imaginable, a selfish and despicable human being when she, as a ‘responsible’ nineteen-year-old had given in to temptation one day and single-handedly finished that chocolate bar in the fridge, meant for the whole family. Her brother, on the other hand, had been let off with the gentlest of rebukes when he had stolen the money given to him to buy medicines for his mother.

Her father would always make his displeasure known whenever she, back when she was financially dependent on him, had to spend his money. He even disapproved of her spending the money that she earned the way she wished to. He had refused to speak to her on the day she had moved out of the house. She had lost the phone-number that he had asked her to write down – an act which could only have shown how disrespectful she was of him, and he had been upset. 

Her father had always denied the possibility that he, who was always fair and always just, could ever have hurt her in any way. And after all those years of steadily weakening ties, Lei had learnt to live without his love and with the hurt. 

But for all the times she had vowed not to be there when her father died, here she was, holding his hand, waiting for the end to come.

“Why was I never good enough for you? Why did you hurt me so much?” quivered Lei, when the silence became unbearable.

“Why! That’s not possible. You were always hurting me!” he croaked.

And those were his last words to her.

Her husband was waiting for her at the hospital entrance. She was pale and wan and he only had to look at her to know that the old man had passed on. They were both quiet as he drove her back home.

“Why did you go alone?” he asked, once home.

“It was something I had to do,” she said.

“But I would have gone with you!” he insisted.

“No. I needed to do this on my own.”

He did not question her further, but held her close. It wasn’t long before she was weeping copiously.

Let's Jive

Date: 09.01.2010
Time: 9:50 p.m.

Come my love, let us take to the streets
Savour laughter and joy as seasonal treats,
These arise from the sprinkling of harmony sweet
Oh can't you hear those happily pattering feet?

Come sway with me darling, and twirl me around
Let us lose ourselves to this gaiety we've found!
What wondrous lights and sounds I can feel —
Oh I'm so certain these will make my head reel!

Come come my dear, don't be shy I'm here
See how easy it is to cast away your fear,
Embracing this brightness as you hold me tight
Oh what a lark it is to dance away the night!

Come along my sweet, we have dawn to greet
Carry on till the rays grace the place where they meet!
Let us glide, let us float, let us swivel, let us soar
Oh how daintily the world waltzes on the dance floor!

End: 10:05 p.m.

North Wind

Time has been moving forward the way it always does — through both serene passages that let it flow calmly as well as turbulent stretches of wayward storms. Yet, in essence, it remains ever steadfast and ever unchanged. I have grown to believe that nothing that time brings with it, or takes away is something that one absolutely cannot live without. There is always something that is enough to keep you going, if only you look hard enough.

It is with that peace of mind that I have been living out my days. Truly, even if it were in my power to do so, I would not trade this hard-earned hard-fought serenity for all that I have lost. I have, however, been able to enshroud myself in a translucent cocoon that lets me see outwards into the hearts and worlds of people I know without giving them the same luxury. It helps, in a way, for I would not wish them to see me when I weep without tears or exult without laughter. Perhaps I have borne a mask for so long that it has stayed with me out of sheer habit, yet I cannot give it up, especially now.

This new year has indeed carried seeds of hope and happiness with it. And I would like to plant these and nurture what grows with all the positivity that I can muster. There are people in my life who, though few in number, can help me triumph over any adversity that I might encounter. For them, and for all that they do for me, I would like to be sane enough to return the favour whenever the need arises. To do so, I would have to, like a very dear Soul Friend says, wake up with a smile on my face every morning come what may.

Happy New Year everyone! May the seeds of hope and joy be planted in your worlds as well, to blossom beautifully with every passing day!

"Are you Winter?"

Date: 28.11.2009
Time: 10:20 a.m.

I asked for you the moment you were gone
You stayed back awhile, pondering perhaps,
Only to come laden with the hopes of Spring —
A return as short as season itself
Which so readily gave way to Summer.
I still asked, “Are you Winter?”
The scorching sun burned me in reply.

The year rolled by and I waited,
Waited for you to show some signs of existence,
Some signs of your return?
I had almost forgotten the feel
Of your electrifying touch on my skin —
How I’d feel your presence with every gusty wind
That blew across from you to me!

You made a woman wait, or hush!
Am I even a woman, or just a child who never grew up?
A child, who never stopped loving the warmth
That arose within as a rejoinder to your chill?
There are no snow-covered peaks where I live,
Yet I have terrace-tops from where I can sing,
Sit on a water tank, and be glad of the joy it brings.

I should have liked to jump delightedly
From one terrace-top to another,
Soar and exclaim the news of your arrival
Feeling nothing short of sheer bliss!
But we men and women have become unkind
For our terraces no longer entwine
And our buildings grow apart as do our hearts.

Winter! O Winter! Are you back as they all claim?
Sweet season, will you suffuse your characteristic cold,
While the heat of a warm heart still remains?
Will you bring those warm hearts closer or make them colder still?
But answer me, first, pray, “Are you Winter?”
Or are you just a figment of my dreamy soul,
As you were when I asked last Spring?

Winter! Love! Let not my passion drive you away —
It is through passion that I was born,
And only the most fervent passion that grips my soul
Can be the one which makes me die!
Stay, please! And love me the only way you can,
Surround my soul with your coldness
And let me thaw your defences from within.

Let me admire you in all your glory —
The glory of a landscape touched by your light,
Frail and dry from the outside, but teeming within with life,
I will become that little girl once again
Who would glide gracefully in the air,
Immersed in happiness that only a child can know,
Singing of Winter, in a land without snow.

End: 10:55 a.m.

A Window to my World [VIII]

It would have been fun, and a departure from what I usually do when writing, to start this post with a quotation, but I truly cannot remember any at the moment. I've always been good at remembering the gist of things, never caring much for the exact words that people say (unless I absolutely want to, that is). Ah well, it works for me.

In any case, it has definitely been a while since I did one of my Window posts and today's amusement and (almost?) misadventures definitely merit a mention! Of course the day did start with The Curse of The Clumsy Hand, "wherin doth sit the dread and fear of" semi-blindness caused by a slight redness in the eye, which lead to me not wearing my contacts and fumbling for my sunscreen and accidentally dropping the container, incidentally made of glass on the floor. It had a lot of sunscreen left and I was rather heartbroken.

And then, while en route to college, an ambassador came and hit our car. I have a nagging illogical suspicion at the back of my head that this occurred because of my presence inside the car. Seeing how accident prone I have been throughout the day, I wouldn't doubt it. From the fact that I have posted here you can tell that the accident was nothing major... for us, at least. The poor car now has a rather badly battered bumper. I don't know why, but I feel very sorry for vehicles that suffer accidents. I remember once when I had been riding my bicycle and had had a speeding motorcycle take a turn from the wrong side of the road and collide with me, I was more saddened by the deplorable state of my much adored bike than the numerous cuts and bruises on myself. Oh and I also remember being annoyed at onlookers for peering at me as though I were bacteria growing on a petri dish... and waiting for me to cry, which I didn't! Ha!

I had fun at college today. Classes started a period later than usual so we were free to loll about in the canteen. It was there that I found myself getting increasingly obsessive about Tunir maa. Now before you start wondering about my inclinations, let me clarify that Tunir maa is a hit single from Bangladesh — with peppy "keora" music and rapping to boot! No, this is not a joke. It has one of the most profound lyrics possible — the tale of a young man (who happens to be a bit of a loafer but who are we to judge?) waiting to be noticed by his Lady Love, who has been disdainfully "dating marchhe"-ing other people but not noticing our young lovelorn hero...

And so, he embarks on a quest to win over his Lady Love by singing a "keora" song to his Lady Love's mother, promising her supari and paan, while dreaming of taking his Lady Love to a place where ice-cream and jhaal muri will be cheap. Now did I not tell you that it is profound? Thankfully the said protagonist was not pursuing me, since my mother most certainly would not have been swayed over to the other side by promises of supari and paan and the poor guy would have had to start singing sad simpering songs to convey his rejection. What a pity!

Now I cannot remember much of what happened during classes, owing mainly to the fact that I was terribly hungry throughout the day, but I do remember PB untying the knot at the back of my T-shirt (much to my embarrassment and displeasure) while I was walking towards the first class. And yes, she and RD and also threatened to molest me several times during the day! PB even went as far as to untie that particular knot yet again in the Metro station while we were returning home. Now while I have no qualms about my harem ladies being available to me whenever I require their services, I do not quite enjoy being subject to molestation on their part.

Another thing which had had me really intrigued was that I'd noticed Moods condoms being sold on the streets for the very first time. That this is a rather sad fact which proves me to have the maturity of a six-year-old was brought to my notice by Kaz, who very casually mentioned that condoms are sold everywhere and that I am a baby for noticing this for the first time. Let's just say that the thrill of knowledge and insight that I had experienced upon learning that condoms are sold by vendors who sell chocolates and deodorants and cigarette lighters was unceremoniously squashed. In the words of the KazMan, "Hey people do it, you know? These things are sold everywhere." When I offered to venture that I had seen them being sold in medicine shops, I was faced with an amused condescending chuckle. Why is it that boys always know so much about these matters?

However, as the evening draws to a close, I feel the contentment that a stomach filled with satisfyingly sumptuous masala corn (made by me) can bring to the soul. I am not even tempted to spoil my mood by being annoyed at the laundry lady for botching up the job of ironing a new top of mine. All is well when your stomach is full, it seems, oh yes! Tune in till next time, folks, it's LD out for now!

Road To Wonderland

Date: 07.11.2009

Time: 10:25 p.m.

Fairy tales had always been such an important part of my childhood! Now don’t get me wrong, I am well acquainted with the rituals of reality to know that they are far from true. However, I always did have a world where I was free to be free and that is a choice I am grateful to have been given.

I believe it was my grandfather who first introduced me to the magic that lay in stories —where the rules of the real world did not always have to be followed. Monkeys and crocodiles could have meaningful business transactions just as easily as you and I, and you could always tell the antagonist apart from his or her cold calculating laugh. There were rules, yes, but most of the time, these were simple and more importantly, followed. You knew that the truth would triumph in the end, something that is in stark contrast to what happens in real life.

But then, I digress. What made me pause and wonder this evening was not how the world of fairy tales and children’s imagination lived by its ethical code, but whether I, given the right time and place, would also be able to offer another new soul a chance to discover the joys of the magical world that I loved so.

I was lucky enough to have people at home who would read to me as a child, people who would not think twice about letting text books lie unattended while letting me pore over brightly coloured skies — some of which were painted on paper and others painted in my mind. A good bedtime story was not just a way to get me to fall asleep, but the path to a mind that stayed rich and open while I dreamt of faraway lands. And not surprisingly, it was not long before I would spend many an hour by myself, lost in beautiful worlds yet to be seen by my eyes. These were worlds where I was free to decide how people laughed, how they saw life and how they cried. I loved it. I still do.

Yet, when I recall how everything started I can’t help but marvel at the charm that the talented storytellers of my early days possessed. To take a child and weave a whole new perspective for her to immerse herself in is no mean feat! This is especially true if the specimen concerned is one like me, with the tendency to get much too easily bored… and distracted.

I wonder then, if I will be able to carry on this fair tradition when my time comes. Will I remember the stories my grandfather told? Or will they be erased by time as I grow old?

End: 10:50 p.m.