The Other Me is You

Saturday, September 19, 2009

All too often it seems that writing fiction should be easier. After all, laying bare the feelings of our crazed minds is not something that everyone loves to do. Yet  that is precisely what I seem to find easier. To imagine is a probability that is beyond. But to replicate the reality of a conjoined mass of thoughts is easier for me. Everywhere around me, at work and at play, at home and away, people clam into a towering tree of silence, their thoughts wreathed around them funereally, masks of enchantment clouding a desperate wish to live a life they believe they love.

And I see myself a spectator in this throng of nakedly disguised emotions. I can see the longing in a person, the desire of a want that is never to be in another, the desperate bid to be happy in some others, the human need to belong in most of them, the urge, the pity and the pathos all combining. And I can feel it as my own. That is the rub. I know not where I end, and the others begin. I feel like I feel the feelings of the world. And somehow, when I write all this, I know that this is not all mine to write. In a way, I write the other. That other is not me but you.

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Material World

Monday, September 14, 2009

Here I was, on the Net, this vast compendium of information. Pages and pages of all the thoughts that passed through minds. Pages of all the information on earth compressed into bit pieces and megabytes. Images of all the pictures that move through our minds. Affixed forever on the white backgrounds of metallic moments. Resting in reams unwritten. Repose for cemeteries of words. Buried in a place that does not exist. This Net. Invisible. But true. An interconnection of an unconnected universe.

And here amidst all the junk, all the garbage, all the wisdom, all the power lies this online experiment. Wikipedia. An encyclopedia. Open to editing. For anyone. The power of all this information. A people movement for the ages. And it was here that I came in search of advertising slogans. For that moment, a chore became a delight. I glanced through all the slogans. Hundreds of them. Cars. Perfumes. Sunglasses. TVs. Burgers. Chicken. Jeans. Beer. Cola. Sweaters. Shampoos. Cameras. Phones. All these things that make our lives. That move our lives. That are our life. We work for these. We live for them. They formed a little poem all by themselves. Here, I didn't have to write them, even. They just arranged themselves into our lives. All I had to do was to cut them to shape the life I know. Like jigsaw puzzles. Anyone ever tried selling life for a song? If my life were to be a slogan, what would it be? What would yours be?

Life fitting into pieces
Cutting into words
Piecing images
Life is business
Life is sell.

Sell. Market. Change. Your life.

An IDEA can change your life-

Boundless

Going beyond the call

It's all within your reach

Listening. Answering

Reach out and touch someone

Your true voice

Your true choice.

Make the most of now...


To be what you are takes nothing. It is our life...

Stay Connected

Express Yourself

Be inspired

Imagine

It's so simple...

Life is. Simpliflying. Mesmerising. Life is all about trying.

Keep exploring

Keep Going

Think Different

See what the future has in store

Turn On The Fun

Life is Fun. Frolic. Pain. Misery. Life is. Boredom and melancholy. We are life.

Who are you?

Where you at?

Where do you want to go today?

Think

It's all inside

The power to be your best

And you're done.

Life though is never done. Whirlwind of changes. Seasoned in time. Fated with destiny.

Because life is not a spectator sport

Because life's complicated enough

For Life Ain't no reason to go anyplace else

So tough, it's beautiful...

Do You Dare?

Just Do It

Live richly

Reach Higher

Don't Give Up a Thing

It's time to fly

Unlock the magic

Why not?

Because I'm worth it.

Because life is worth it.


The world of business. And the world of poetry. Material soul. Who ever said they didn't match?

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Memories

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Memories. Memories. Memories. All we have. Synapses of cells. Connecting the neurons of what we know with what we don’t know.

My memories. My memories can fill a sieve. I sift through the cells and wander through every little path I know and traversed through these years of life. 30 years they say, is too short a time to live. To understand. To know.

Yet, it is not too short a time to be. To float in the skies for each day of our minds. To grasp the tender weeping willows of pain. To merge our kisses with ice.

Heaven knows not a sweeter pain than sorrow. The hours of happiness are tinged with the bliss of ache. Swift and smooth to endure these last rays of the setting sun. In darkness to walk the rims of an unfinished life.

Seasons dripping like paint down a still easel - Autumn to shed the remorse and regrets of past thoughts -Winter to submerge the icicles of dawn, bitterness of a scream echoing down the valleys and buried dungeons of memories-Spring to counter the promise of darkness-Summer to rain arid the dry mouths of life creeping in. Till the circle turns…and the sieve bends, till the mind can no longer hold and we slip into the last glimpses of memories unfinished.

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Self

Monday, September 7, 2009

I woke up to a sea of mirages,
Morning dewed and
Happiness slewed
Through the dense foliage of a mind
That knows not what it seeks.

A desert of waves,
A chasm of moods
That seek their way
Through blind words
That play their tunes
On music that hears it not.

I lost. Miserably.
Despairingly.
Lost the power of love
Lost the laughter of magic
Lost myself.

I lost peace; surrendered to pieces
Thwarted joy and embraced despair

 ........


Yet I know I have not truly lost
That the sea was not an inversion
Of a cruel play of images
Which never fitted into the surface


I had stamped my self
Prodded it with disgust
Loathed it with revulsion
Yet I loved it no less.
Yes, loved it no less.
My self has an other
A beautiful other.

That other is my self.
How much more could I loathe?
How much more could I despise?
Without loving it all the more?
Yes, without loving more.
Within me I am without
And I know what I am without.

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Beyond

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Circles of sandpaper trail across
All the pieces of life I own
The yawning gaps of
Churning memories
Leaving their scars
Across the interned
Remains of the soul.

Thousand forms of dusk
Part brittle tender husks
Mellowed in wine of the past
And cherished in the seed of hope
Through the dark jagged river
Flowing green through my mind.

A mind that runs its walk
On avenues of paved desires
Wearing the leaves of experience
With disdain and despair

Yet casting a net of light
Gentle and masked
Behind these caves of dark
Are all the suns of our lives
Shadows of laughter
Crystal constellations of warmth
Reminding me through
Through and through
That life is
Beyond the mind
Beyond the soul
Beyond.

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Movement

Thursday, September 3, 2009

It was a small night. Whispers of a moon passed her path. Above, the stars gentle as they were, seemed too far away. She didn't know why she was walking. Or where. It seemed a world away from the lights of the city she had grown up in. Yet, here she was. The lanterns of the resort seemed further away now. The laughter there aching away into a vast emptiness. The rustling of the leaves no longer scared her. Instead, she oddly felt comforted. She welcomed the non-beingness of human beings.

All too long in her life, for too too long she had awakened her life to death. To the fakeness of living. She didn't know if this walking would lead towards life.Perhaps, life itself didn't exist except in the mind. It didn't in her mind anyway. She had had it. A life of love, hate, anger, despair. Tiredness. For what all of it? To achieve some normalcy? It didn't seem right - this normalcy that others crave was to her just an invitation to surrender. She preferred not surrender - she wanted to fight the paths that others seemed to think was destined for her. Life passed before her, kissing her toes. A childhood where nothing exceptional happened except people dying. First her grandmother. Then her brother. Ouch, that had hurt. But not hard enough. It was more a stunned disbelief. That bugger was lucky enough to get away with it. But other times it was a sense of what if. A remorseless adolescence. Turns and twists of weird friendships. None aching their sense on the heart long enough. And then, boy, you had to grow up. Big time.

A different country gave her happiness. For a while. She had lost and gained. Again. And again. Till she thought she had no more to lose. Nothing to gain. Her life was defined by another soul. Mating its path into hers. Leaves touch her. Ah, touch, how she had longed for it all her life. The sweet drooping caress of a loved one. Slender roses of showered kisses. Life gave too much of it though. It was a sickening sweet that condenses those moments to a melted memory. The waves were closer to her now. Seductive. Calling. Feet wet. Toes trickling the sand. She had thought love was to keep. But its cobwebs were all that were left. Dancing waves now passed her ankles. The moon still looked just the same. The stars just the same.

Only her life was changing. And that was how it always was. It is always your life that you change. Conversations merged. People shouted in her mind. All those passions. All those logical reasonings. Nurturing a love she had had invited her to surrender. But that love had surrendered to other. Torn to shreds, she knew she couldn't connect her mind to that wonderful space between thoughts. Those touches that connect. If life taught her that she ought to be logical, and practical, she was. Surrender. Surrender. Yeah, this was practical. Good bye cold ice memory wrapped in moth balls that consume themselves by the flame that consumes her. Upto her neck now. Her feet no longer touching ground. Water water water. She didn't feel free. Nor happy. Just dead. Just dead when the last wave passed over and water sucked her last breath. She had surrendered. And the rest was all a sea that remained. The moon was just the same. The stars just the same. Just.

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Rage

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Set to carve a wave
I chose a sickle
The harsh metal cruel to touch
Glinting in the razor sun
The mask eye of wisdom drawn

Clasped I the sickle
Curvaceous wood embers
Slanting against withered skin

The wave rose
Rose to the heights of
the mind's sky

The sickle slashed the air
Swooped down smiling at the end
The wave faltered trembled
Skin splashed salt
The heavens shook in sight

The sickle swung
The wave rose
The twain met

I lived.
The sickle shivered.
The wave lay cut.
Water flowing at my feet.
Ego. Rage. Peace.

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Expression of soul-shocked awe and horror at life

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