Metaphorically Speaking

End Program...

He stood alone in the penthouse. High above, away from the noise, the traffic, the people - away from everything. Everything that is except that nameless, sinking feeling that followed him everywhere, every waking moment of his life. He was done and he knew it. He looked around the hexagonal apartment - at its glass walls and fancy trimmings and as he kept looking the wall in front of him started cracking. Slowly like a cancer the crack spread throughout the fabric of the glass and then with a single tinkling crash the wall came tumbling down in pieces, the glass wall that had been painstakingly decorated with portraits of the people that had come to mean something to him in his fifty-odd years of existence. He looked at the walls to his right, the ones with the pictures of the places he had been to and the paintings of the artists he had grown to admire. The cracks spread outward slowly with a compelling inevitability and he watched in mute fascination as the places and the paintings came crashing down as well. He didn’t turn as he heard the walls behind him go down along with the shelves holding the things he had created that he valued most. Rooted, he turned to his left in time to watch the biggest of the walls go down, the one he had painted himself with his ambitions, his dreams, the places he had wanted to see, the things he had wanted to create. All around him in pieces lay his life while the sun played gently on his features caressing him, mocking him. The sinking feeling lifted. He smiled bemused at the forceful clarity with which the one thought in his head kept bouncing around. He walked to the edge lifted his arms like a diver and jumped.


Restart...

Coincidence?... I think.

You're Siddhartha!

by Hermann Hesse

You simply don't know what to believe, but you're willing to try
anything once. Western values, Eastern values, hedonism and minimalism, you've spent
some time in every camp. But you still don't have any idea what camp you belong in.
This makes you an individualist of the highest order, but also really lonely. It's
time to chill out under a tree. And realize that at least you believe in
ferries.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Wonder

World-mirror hanging daintily, fragile dewdrop, on the bottom of my window-sill
Spotlight from above, sun ray finds its way through cotton fluff
Wind instrument sighing, singing and rustling, green leaf on brown stem
Ballet artist pirouettes, caught up in the breeze, piece of paper on the wind

And I simply pass by.

Where is the wonder, I wonder?

The Outsider

Like bright sunshine on
A cold bleak autumn morning
stands the outsider.

The fading winter

Glorious sunshine

Runnels of melting snow

Spring is here

Haikus

Haikus are traditional Japanese poems arranged in three phrases consisting of 5,7 and 5 syllables each. Short yet powerful, they are in my opinion, one of the most expressive forms of poetry. The strength of a haiku lies in its ability to evoke with very few words a picture in the reader's mind. The more vivid the picture...and the more room there is for interpretation, the better the haiku! While Japanese haikus generally contain a reference to a particular season, modern day English ones often deviate from this rule.

This muse was inspired by Taruna's blog on the subject - so thank you to her! The ones below are arranged roughly in the order in which I like them. Read on and feel free to interpret!

1.
The entrances packed
Empty space in the middle -
Peak hour city bus.

2.
Speeding down the road,
Throbbing anger in my veins -
Deer in my headlights.

3.
Distant flash of red
hood, a silent scolding - you
should have held on, dear.

4.
Thin frost on spring buds -
Old man, young boy study each
other across years.

The Only Thing

There are some feelings that, the instant pen is put to paper, vanish like the soul of a dying man. And yet it is in our nature to strive unceasingly to express them. To what purpose, I do not know. Here's my latest, on one such feeling and I hope it conveys atleast a fraction of what it was meant to. As a clarification - the subject in this particular poem is unknown ;).

The Only Thing

The jingle of coins in my wallet
The crispness of a fresh shirt on my back
A plate to eat out of, a grand roof over my head
Of food, water and riches I had plenty yet strove for more
For hunger still gnawed and the throat remained parched
And nothing could fill me, quench my thirst or make me whole

The concern on the face of a close friend
The happiness of coming home to a pet
The pleasant chaos of the household, those journeys to faraway places
Of vibrant memories I suffered from no shortage yet searched for more
For the mind still felt empty as an overturned pot
And nothing could fill me, quench my thirst or make me whole

The tang of sea breeze on my lips
The happy tiredness from walking aimless miles
The fullness of a satisfying meal
Sights and sounds to last a lifetime I did witness yet thirsted for more
For the heart still cried like a baby for want of attention
And nothing could fill me, quench my thirst or make me whole

But the mind brims with happiness today
And the heart beats strong and true
For I found discarded, lost amongst all that I knew
The only thing that could never be fully known, never understood
The only thing that could fill me, quench my thirst and make me whole -
You.