In my dreams he does exist

Dreams.. the fuel for motivation

I dream of a life with different days;
I dream of a life with different rhyme
I dream of a life in which he prays
I dream of a life in which he is mine.

I dont know who you are,
I know that you exist.
Ich warte nur auf dich
I wait only for you.

Inspired by a Rammstein song.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IB8gVc4xij0
 

True Love

They marched away in single file,

how many i will never know.

And though they had moved over a mile,

I knew they had far to go.


Slowly all I could see was a blur,

the fog set in real thick.

But still unable was I to stir,

though in my mind I was moving real quick.

All that remained was a little dot,

my soldiers had marched away.

It really did seem like a lot,

to command myself to stay.

To prevent myself from running after them,

somehow I was numb.

The setting sun looked like a gem,

I stood and watched it, dumb.

Soon they were far out of sight,

I stirred from my dreamlike state.

Only to find I was feeling rather light,

happy at any rate.

And the voices came back in a flash from the past,

as I stood on the lush green grass.

And then I realised that time passes fast,

but the memories, they amass.

I turned slowly and stopped with a start,

one soldier remained.

One lone beautiful memory in my heart,

from the many I had gained.

He explained that the others had passed on,

time had taken them away,

And yes, most of them had gone,

just him, he had decided to stay.

He was with me, this lone sweet memory,

the remnants of a bittersweet rhyme.

And all I could see was exquisitely pretty,

the pain had almost gone with time.

All that remained is a love so strong,

I wanted to reach out and explain.

And I know in my heart I am not wrong,

true love is not without pain.

Decisions

For all those times in your life when you really wish for something, hope, pray with all your heart that He grants you that one wish, here’s a story worth reading.




She sat in the dark corner, knees folded to her chest. Weeping. Does it always have to be like this? Do I have to be hurt at the end of it? Why can’t there be a happy ending like there is for all my friends? What’s wrong with me? Do I do something wrong? But what? She thought of all the beautiful times they had had. The movies, the walks hand in hand, the stolen kisses. She cried some more.


This time she had had enough. One more heart break. One more finality. Her wish was not to be granted. They say that He does what is best for us. Can so much heart break possibly be good? Cant be.


She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t take it anymore. Is life always full of pain. Pain in love, pain at work, pain at home from seeing the people she loves go through tough times. What could she do? Suicide? Maybe. But how? Pain wasn’t her way. Besides wouldn’t that just cause her family more hurt? She couldn’t hurt them. But she couldn’t bear to live this way either. Option one, suicide. Option two, get a new job, a new love.. not likely….





Analysis: noun,

1.

the separating of any material or abstract entity into its constituent elements ( opposed to synthesis).

2.

this process as a method of studying the nature of something or of determining its essential features and their relations



A word that’s probably the cause for some of the most deranged brains in the world. Is it a liberty to have the time to think? Is it just better to keep busy with work and ride over all problems that way?

Anyway, the story continues: She couldn’t really think, nor figure out what she should do. She loved him but he had behaved badly. And even if she were to blame for any of the accusations he made, she surely wasn’t to blame for them all. Besides, the nature of the accusations was inappropriate. There was something ‘nasty’ about them.


She had borne them for over 4 months now. Aching and crying every time he made the accusations and lost his temper. Feeling hurt yet loving him enough to forgive him time and again.


He called and announced that he would be coming to visit her. He said he loved her n that he was sorry. She forgave him again and once again dreamed of a happy life with him like they had before. They made plans, they were happy. But it happened again. Cold and nasty accusations. She was close to breakdown. But they made up and she forgave his nastiness once again.


The arrival date got closer and a work assignment required a minor change in plans. But she was happy. She was confident that he would understand and also that he would agree to and be happy with the alternate plans which would give them some more alone time.


But she was wrong.


He raved and ranted. She tried repeatedly to explain. But he would not listen. As always, it was only about him. Suicide crossed her mind again. She was tired and wished he would understand.




Understand: –verb

1.
to perceive the meaning of; grasp the idea of; comprehend.





He did not understand. And suddenly, the accusations started again. Dirty and nasty as always.

She couldn’t take it anymore. Just a few days to a special occasion and how could he possibly behave like this? How could he hurt her so much again and again. Even if he had felt hurt by anything she did, it was once. Why hurt her in this way so many times when he knew it cased her pain.

Her family loved her, they understood, they tried at least. Suicide was not an option. She had to go on. Without him. Without the pain he constantly brought her. He had to go. And then, in that instant, she realized that it wasn’t her. It was just as God meant it to be.

Ammonia Avenue - A continuation of questiosn

The twists and complications of the human mind are fuel for a lot of controversy. We are each different, each unique and each beautiful but we each have a dark side too.

“Is there no sign of light as we stand in the darkness?

Watching the sun arise

Is there no sign of life as we gaze at the waters?

Into the strangers eyes”

In a recent conversation with a friend i realized that most of us meet the right people at the wrong time or the wrong people at the right time. Such is life.
Love seems to become more n more elusive and complicated as we age. Expectations increases.


‘And who are we to criticize or scorn the things that they do?

For we shall seek and we shall find ammonia avenue”
Can we, with all our personal diversity ever find someone to fit the grooves exactly? Or do we need to file the edges down and accommodate.
Is love and marriage synonymous with compromise?


“If we call for the proof and we question the answers

Only the doubt will grow

Are we blind to the truth or a sign to believe in?

Only the wise will know”
Then again, isn’t our own company enough to pass off as companionship? Or are we in our hearts looking for a hand to hold?


“And word by word they handed down the light that shines today

And those who came at first to scoff, remained behind to pray”
I admit today that I’d love to be held. Love to be held close and love to be loved.. And for all those who believe love is a sham or an illusion, i guess you have never really known what it is to truly give love.


“When you can’t hear the rhyme and you can’t see the reason

Why should the hope remain?

For a man will be tired and his soul will grow weary

Living his life in vain”
He assigns all of us a purpose before we receive a physical form. Mine is to love people. To bring a smile or a laugh.. To take away a little pain, to give hope. And so, with outstretched arms i wait to embrace anyone who is willing to be loved.



“And who are we to justify the right in all we do?

Until we seek until we find ammonia avenue”
Is this the right path for everyone? Is it necessary for everyone to find their purpose? Why do people change? Why is it acceptable when people’s belief systems change in the blink of an eye? Yet, everything we do is right according to us. Even if it isn’t, it is the choice we make and we manage to justify our actions

‘Through all the doubt somehow they knew

And stone by stone they built it high

Until the sun broke through

A ray of hope, a shining light ammonia avenue’
And stone by stone we build these walls until we block out even the few that matter. We shield our souls and feelings believing that exposure will cause more damage. We don’t trust, we don’t see, we stop feeling.
And then when we are sure that all is lost, He makes the light shine through. He sends us a miracle that changes it all. The acceptance of that change is a choice again… those who grab that hand get a second chance. Those who don’t slowly crumble right from the core.

nature

Dappled in different shades of green,

with lots of dots of blue, pink and yellow,

The generally imposing mountain side,

today seems so much more mellow.

Rivers of blue and diamond drops,

rolled down the side in streams,

And every single way i looked,

was like a scene right out of my dreams.

Powdery blue, but pregnant with rain,

the clouds seem ready to burst

To continue their job of feeding the streams,

that they have for so long nursed.

Ever loving is she and forgiving too,

for we have been nasty and mean,

By littering here and dirtying there

till the earth no longer seems to have a spot clean.

I pray every day that this mercy continues,

that we can be spared a situation so dour,

while battling on to make it known

that its all bout the birds and the bees and the flower.

Us

As I lie in the darkness, alone with my head,
These thoughts haunt me and I am so scared.
But so prisitne are they, in every way,
That my eyes film over and my soul is bared.

They cut through the darkness, these sounds so loud
I know not what to do but hide.
But how can I hide these beautiful thoughts
Of you, and of me, by your side

give me the acceptance

When it starts to bleed again, the eyes cannot but help accompanying it, turning each red drop to the scathing liquid, that flows out.

Of all that is lost, and the only amongst those i wished i still had.

It aches and begs for acceptance.

It is not asking much, i know that.

And yet each drop burns my cheeks and rips my heart and rips my heart apart, just a little wider.

Please take away the pain,

Please give me the only acceptance I want. I can fight for the rest.

But i cannot fight anymore, for the one thing I think is perfect for me.

Loss

Sometimes the people you hardly know, manage to touch, impact and mold your life in great ways.

He was one of them.

Only a year of brief interaction and he has left me with a vision and a mission

I saw myself and deemed myself capable, through his eyes.

Dear God, Please keep him happy.

Big pink cherubic face, with the most beautiful grey eyes. a voice that boomed with authority, yet so gentle.

John, i miss you.

R.I.P

None...

I closed my eyes. To fade away,
was the top priority
For in my heart i was very sure
That hurt was not for me

When things go wrong we sit and think
That He is being unfair
But what we do not realize is that
Our grief He tries to spare

How much of pain would be enough
To break a person’s back?
How many tears, how many sighs?
Till all he can see is black

The day does come when we are embittered
And do not want to see
That all that He really does want to do
Is protect you and me

Bye

it hurt as the rain drops
slid down the glass window
in sync with my own tears
for saying goodbye is always the hardest thing to do

memories are built and last
but letting go of an attachment so deep is hard

how does one say bye to everything
that they have built around them
and pick up and move
and try to nest elsewhere

the new may be happy and full of surprise
may be beautiful and fresh
but those memories keep coming back
and rolling down as tears

is it the desperate want for being in the known
or just the fact that the heart makes a connection
oh why is it so difficult
to say bye and move on

FAIR / UNFAIR ??

This morning as I scrambled out of bed I wondered why things r so unfair. Couldn’t I have had a headache n stomach pain some other day? A whole day of work awaits. Unfair!!

I managed to drag myself through the morning routine and finally locked up the house and walked out. I didn’t have to walk much. Right outside the lane an auto driver saw me carrying a big box and ran up to me asking where I wanted to go. Relieved I told him where I had to go and haggled about the price. I walked to the auto and just as I was about to step in I noticed a little boy sitting in the back seat. At first I thought, n I might add a tad irritated, that it was just one of the neighbourhood boys playing the fool. But as the auto driver got into his seat I realized this boy was going to sit there.

I got in with the box dividing the seat into almost perfect halves.
It was only then that I realized that that the little boy had some sort of problem and the driver was possibly his father or a relative.

It is at times like this that the lack of understanding of the language really bugs me. I tried to attempt a conversation with the broken bits I do know. The driver suddenly asked if I was from Bombay. I replied in the affirmative. He started talking in Hindi like someone who found a comrade. He told me that the sweet little child was his son… mentally retarded since birth.

My eyes filled up. Such a sweet face. Gentle and kind, unassuming, loving and half contorted with what seemed like paralysis. He slowly slid his frail body closer to the box, leaned against it and gave me one of the sweetest smiles I have ever seen. I smiled back unable to think of anything else to do.

As we moved on his father talked about the time he was in Bombay. I couldn’t get my mind off the boy. I asked if they had tried to put him into a special school at any point of time. I looked on through the rear view mirror as his face dropped. He nodded and said that they had tried many schools to no avail. The boy was unable to walk, talk or do anything by himself. He needed continuous assistance and attention. The father further went on to tell me how he had taken his “jigar ka tukda” to the to ENT surgeon in town and was told that the boy would be absolutely ok (speech and hearing) if he underwent surgery. But others discouraged him saying the doctor was talking rubbish.

This funny unease swept over me. I felt like my heart was being tugged at as I listened to the auto driver talk and watched this child, so innocent and completely enamored by the sights and sounds around him.

I had to do something, and I did. Never in my life have I seen such a true show of gratitude. Tears flowed freely in place of the words that were caught in the throat.
I didn’t feel like a hero, I didn’t feel like a saint. I felt tiny and wondered what was truly unfair in the larger scheme of things?

And through it all, the index finger of the little boy’s left hand always touched his father as though to ratify the connection..

QUIET

Its quiet here, I’m all alone,
There is no sound at all
But of the rise and fall of my breath
That seems to fill the hall

The click of the switch,
The knock at the door
Stir me from my lost stupor

I rise, or do I?
I do not know, my legs don’t seem to move
I stare at that spot on the wall
Where the images are bright against the white

I need to pull myself away,
I need to open the door.
Coz I can hear someone out there,
He bangs the door even more.

Dragging myself with dreamy eyes,
I manage to pull open the bolt
That seems like its welded shut

Its dark outside
My eyes unfocused,
I cant really see very well
I try hard to unclutter my mind and focus at the task on hand

And then I see him
Old and wrinkled with the bluest lovely blue eyes
His wrinkles seem to ripple like the waves
“yes” I say and stand and stare at the unusual man

“Some water please child” he says to me
Im too transfixed to react
“water, child” he says again
I silently obey like in a trance

I quickly pour the water out, into a tall glass,
And run back as though
He were a bright magnet and I an iron fly

I extended my hand with the glass, still too stunned to talk
And our fingers brushed as he took the glass
COLD, colder than ice

It sent a chill up my spine
As my eyes truly opened for the first time
Because to this day,
I have never known anyone alive to feel so cold to the touch

“Thank you young one” he said
Gratitude in his eyes
And noiselessly drank the water
While my mind strained to make sense

He put down the glass on the threshold
Stood up straight and looked me in my eye
He grabbed my hands in his
The chill filled me anew

“Calm down sera, I mean not to scare, the child of one I loved
But he sent me here, just to check,
That his beloved grandchild was alright”

“Who?” I demanded with more strength than I felt
“Tell me who you talk about.
For I have never heard of you,
Let go of my hands its cold”

“Dear one, he still sings for you,
The songs of your childhood
Those very verses that gave you
The name you chose for him”

It dawned on me who he spoke of
It had to be none else
And tears filled my eyes again
For I missed him the most

“He loves you child, even now
He thinks of you all the time
And longs to carry you in his arms again
And let you drink out of his glass of wine”

I sobbed uncontrollably, my face in my hands
My body shaking as I collapsed
The tears would not stop
Of the beautiful memories, of the loss

I finally looked up my head filled with thoughts,
To ask the man what else he knew
But to my dismay and utter shock
He had disappeared

I ran to the banister
My first thoughts were “he’s a ghost”
But I saw him walking far away
As I ran onto the road

Am I supposed to laugh or cry?
At the memories that flood my mind?
Of the beautiful memories that fill me up
Of the loss that changed my life..

Questions

Sometimes, it’s hard to tell whether I am actual alive or not. I look into the mirror and wonder who that person is. It couldn’t be me.. Is that what I look like? Really? Is this the flesh that enshrines my soul?

Things come and go, shit happens, and all that remains the same is that I'm still breathing. The lungs fill and empty, day in n day out without a rest. What would it be like for them to rest? Are they not tired like I am?

Why do these things happen? Why do I feel like I have been hit by a truck and run over by a road roller? Is it the way life is? Does everyone go through the anguish and pain that I go through? Or is it different. My heart aches for the millions who starve and millions of others who are victims of atrocities that are unimaginable. But selfish and oh so human that I am, it hurts more to see the ones I love in pain and causing pain.

I do not believe that it is possible for someone to feel pain without causing some too. And thus each and every one of us is the cause of pain at some point of time or the other. Does my elevated level of grief make me a trouble causer? Or are some people just destined to feel more hurt… “sensitive human beings” as they are called….

I never have been able to figure it out, maybe I don’t really want to. My heart aches from loss.. of people, of things and of the slow but steady, and very apparent degeneration of some of the people I love.

At first I prayed. I asked why? Then I requested Him to please intervene. But He didn’t… was it His plan? How can it be? How can He bear to watch one of His own children, His own creation unleash upon itself the effects of the BAD?

I have been asked how it is possible for me to label a thing or action ‘bad’, when bad is so subjective and opinion riddled.. “It’s simple” I said. “Bad, to me is anything that causes harm in any way to the people around or to the person himself, often both.”

Was I destined to loose? Not the trivial battles of examinations or jobs, not the menial little bits, but to loose the people I love, in one way or another, to disease or drugs or alcohol or sometimes just plain unexplainable loss of love on their part.

What is love? Isn’t it meant to be something that remains forever? It may vary in form and intensity but isn’t it the true fibre that binds us, to ourselves and others?

Who is a selfless man? One who forfeits his possessions or valuables for others? He can maybe even give the lives of his dear or his own, but what of those who love him? Doesn’t he hurt them? Doesn’t his attempt at ‘martyrdom’ or ‘sainthood’ steal from some a part of themselves?

And thus for every such ‘martyr’ and ‘saint’ there are the sufferers, who live, they have to live, with a part of their souls lost.

I cry. It’s a physical pain. For what can you do but ache to see someone you love knowingly take their own lives apart.
I was a crusader. I fought, I screamed, I begged, I cried,

I broke…..

Into a million little fragments, too far destroyed to ever be put back together.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chequered with woven shadows as I lay

Among the grass, blinking the watery gleam,

I saw an Echo-Spirit in his bayMost idly floating in the noontide beam.

Slow heaved his filmy skiff, and fell, with sway

Of ocean's giant pulsing, and the Dream,

Buoyed like the young moon on a level stream

Of greenish vapour at decline of day,

Swam airily, watching the distant flocksOf sea-gulls, whilst a foot in careless sweep

Touched the clear-trembling cool with tiny shocks,

Faint-circling; till at last he dropt asleep,

Lulled the hush-song of the glittering deep,Lap-lapping drowsily the heated rocks.

-- William Allingham

Confusion

Leave be the things that make no sense and journey on my friend,

in insanity we get embroiled and our souls we forget to tend.

The Feather

Light as the air that it travels on,
Beautiful in the detail that constitutes it,
It flits by the little girl as she reaches out to grab it.

On her palm it rests, barely
With fascination she raises it to her eye,
and with awe and childish breathlessness,
She sees a reflection of the sky

Enamoured by its beauty,
Its weightless sublime magic,
She stares and smiles and absorbs


And then there came a gust of wind,
Or maybe it was her breath,
And carried with it the little feather
In circles and spirals of dance

A smile, a sigh of happiness, maybe just a little regret,
But joy, oh yes, so much joy, for the image that will remain forever.