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Posts Tagged ‘rest’

There’s a suitcase in the hall.

And emptiness will soon occupy it.

Something which kept me immobile,

quite undecided to test the wind

or its aged leafless trees outside

 

where the silent pavement beckons

and my own shadow as a companion.

How should I, in the permanence of seasons

would not be keen to grasp the clues

that promises were never made to last?

 

I thought I could be strong enough.

I thought I would not have a glimpse

of that leathery box which collected

my yesterday’s dust of missed chances

that dried up in the passing of years.

 

I thought I could forget the barrenness

of autumn’s leaving another space

which I tried to fill with the leaves of days.

Un-withered, but soon became faded letters

that I will be keeping in this humble suitcase.

 

Memories of old coming back to me now.

I will turn the knob to open another door,

and walk into another painful journey

of beginnings. Never ending days catching

the falling leaves as remnants of moments.

 

And when the falling snow in the winter comes

and rest on the branches of those leafless trees,

like the way I carry the weight of my suitcase.

I will try picking up the pieces again and slowly

survive another night without the moon nor the stars.

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Imagine yourself playing the part.

The melody in a slow tempo

touching the white bones in mine.

The blank spaces glide

filling the staves into octaves

where rhythms of silence

are aching to be heard.

 

The approaching train

in locomotion slowly halting

to a rest and the muse

steps out in a sudden hush.

Whose inspiration reminds me

of the autumn breeze

that shifts its weight

among the rustling of leaves.

 

The sounds in the pavement,

and the trickling of the rain

drops of minims, crochets,

semibreves and quavers

into unfamiliar serenade

awakening the restless

in the night’s peaceful embers.

 

I remember the beating pulse,

the sharp pause counterpointing

the pace and the careful movement

of that forgotten harmony

smoothly entering my soul.

 

When all love was just a dream

and tonight I hear applause

thundering under my own skin.

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There will be a single spark of light.

But not from the stars. Because even them,

they have shied away and have forgotten.

Here, only from my birthday candle

casting shadows waltzing the wall

and the chilly wind whistling a tune,

sending wisps of wishes, for tonight.

While the rest of the world snoozes

in its deafening silence. Getting used

with the normalcy of tragedies.

And in their lukewarm sympathies.

In the quiet corner of the city, littered

and battered of the rain-drenched

images of chaos and shattered hopes,

on the table a bowl of rice

and a can of sardine. In a color

charcoaled space,  I breath as a man

determined to celebrate my existence

among the ruins with this twist of fate.

I shifted my gaze from the table

to the broken windows and watch

the passing of the storm clouds

in the evening sky. I am happy

but no sound of laughter. Hearing

the incessant drop of water

from a leaking roof.  Contented

among the shadows. Decided

to bury the hatchet of what is past.

Gathering what’s left after the storm.

As I dream of patching the tattered

and pock-marked walls, then hide

the traces of mud  in fresh white paint.

Believing nature has a way to let people

start anew. De-cluttering my life of things

that entangle men of never-ending want.

Until now,  when I had less.

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The walls are coarse to touch, hard and steely,

it was a challenge not to see but to feel with our fingers

sharp points that will prick a skin and bleed. By then

the grave of the earth has avenged its loss. The stair

is a winding wonder of wooden realm. Forest scent

permeates like sweat staining musk to the olfactory.

Curtains we plucked from the fibers of the grass

that exist  in some temperate savannah, polished

and handwoven by the nomads of Siberia.

The glass came from the silicates we scoured

from the rivers of Babylon, coal-fired in a furnace

by a hundred men impoverished with ten cents an hour.

And the floor is a polished limestone quarried

from some majestic mountains of the Far East. White,

cold slab, for our feeble feet resting on a tombstone. The chairs

are fabricated in hides separated from the meat of animals

domesticated and cultured for a trade in an African jungle.

We commercialized the organic in the will of the greedy generation

crazy for the avant garde. We are fond of collecting. Prized.

Natural. Unique. All, for the sake of a want  that cannot be satiated.

And at a cost, we hunger for more as we build our little kingdoms,

looking for some definition. Until we find that there is no more left

of the skin of the earth, we have stripped of its clothing

to cover our shelters.  Unless we travel to the moon

digging kryptonites to embellish facades of our own vanities.

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Today, he waits

at the station, searching through

the window panes. And soon

he’ll run along, chasing

shadows to his past.

 

The train became a home

to a lover. A wanderer of days-

exiled to traveling distances.

An evacuee amidst

the maze of constant strangers.

 

A thought, he is keeping-

of a woman he lost.

That last glimpse returning,

as she boarded a train-

happily blew him a kiss.

 

But she never came back.

He hopes while staring into the horizon

daydreaming. As life pulling apart

the images of her face.

He never rest.                        

 

Recording the miles-

a solitary journey, he keeps

a knapsack filled

with tear-drenched tickets

by his side.

 

Tomorrow, is a beginning

of another lonely day,

running along with trains.

And pay for a small token-

sojourning memories.

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How would it be nice to take just a year out of your
lifetime to do or to live out a life you are not accustomed to? I am beginning to contemplate about this idea for
quite sometime and it struck a chord if
there is any rationality on it. These days, I am feeling like a tight and
overstretched rope, mechanically doing things day in and day out. As I am trying to figure it out if there is any sense about my existence and
how would it correlate to what they call a passion for life. 

I told a friend, that sometimes I wonder, how my life would
have been if I am to lead another set of pattern in my life’s circumstance? What if the direction that I have taken doesn’t lead to where I am right
now? Will it be something that is
fruitful? Will it be something of a wreck? Will it be something for a thrill?
Will it be something that I will have to wallow in tears? Will it be something
that is worth taking the risk?

Whatever. I have no
qualms for trying it out, because the more I calculate the risk of failing, is
the more I am taken aback. As to this is
not to mislead you from thinking if
indeed I feel somewhat depressed, down-trodden, directionless, worthless,
miserable or stressed out. Sometimes. But I could not say that I am in a
complete failure. And that is only my perception. 

My friend is right when he told me that I should be
thankful, that I have a shot to have a rather peaceful, and relatively smooth
ride existing. With a career and a job that pays well, with a set of
credentials that is something to be proud of and for one thing, that I am not
a liability to this society. What more could I ask for?  

He pointed out that maybe whenever I failed to meet some of
my life’s expectations or a programmed set of goals I have for the future, I tend to temporarily stop. And yet,
I would be isolated again and taking hard time thinking another set of actions
or plans to maneuver back again to the same path. It becomes an unending cycle
and a struggle of getting back. That is
why, according to him, that I tend to becoming too hard upon myself.  And it appears to him that I am rushing too
much to be fulfilled this early on of all aspirations that I am dreaming of.

He said, maybe its time to stop completely and let loose. And if I think, that I have to go on and seek
some diversion from these patterns of living, I should do it soon.

He observed, that he didn’t perceived that I am pondering
about this and he didn’t have any clue until it is I who will open it up to
him.  I told him, that I felt that
somehow this life’s path is not the one I am hoping for. ( I know, again I
should be thankful and stop saying this. But for the sake of honesty, let me
articulate). I  believe that the greatest mistake for a person,
is to do things they don’t want to do. Living a life all along, that they are so unsure of and drudgingly
keeping it because of other people’s
expectations and the obligation to help the family.

I always believe, that we should not be constricted to live
our life to the fullest, which is both fulfilling and exciting, and thus give
us sense for living. And this one year, I need to step my foot forward into a
territory that I had never dared to cross. Into something, that is life
changing and to something that will reveal the real me. That will eventually lead me into something
greater, bolder and braver.

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