Scribbling some Stray Thoughts

I was a zombie in that lighted fair...the poles and arches adorned in light reminded me of the silk cobweb drenched in the morning dew.A sudden warmth brought me back to consciousness.My beautiful child looked like a wide-eyed wanderer...I shook her fingers, she looked up at me and with the enthusiasm of a one who had spotted El Dorado, Lucy sang.."London bridge is falling down,my fair lady.."
I strained my ears.In the chaos of this big chaos, I thought I heard my favourite song.Yes,that surely was the song...my finger tips were already dancing with the stimulii..I surely heard the song.Now high..now low..so the wave did flow.But did I really hear it?What if I didn't??Yes, the "no" has already stopped the song..it's moving away from my mind.What nullity had I succumbed to..
Walking down the stairs step by step in a little fury, I saw the cinematic clipping of the running rail-road...one bar after another..running so fast.God knows why it drew the thought of death to me..
Like the many disagreeable noises, the sound of the crying infant wrenches the heart somewhere.Then, I would rave about in violent uneasiness trying to pacify the soul of that howling mite.
I laid back on my pillow failing to gain any peace.I still had my spects on.I opened my eyes again.The dirty corner still stood.A wave of anger and suppressed pain at being disobeyed crashed against my heart.Tomorrow ,I'll fire that stupid,lazy maid.
I see the multitudinous ocean of human faces from my window..".we have so much of body that there is no room for soul"...who said that??...."all bending down-wrist by wrist,feet by feet marching towards the ultimate Fall.
The old pair of slippers worn over years still going strong.The feet were practically imprinted on them...as though the ghost of the wearer still claimed them.
Rimless,crystal clear spects.She said she had kept them with special care.They were special..but in which way I couldnot understand...strange little philosophies humans adhere to...
Thick, yellow candles with "ave maria" sketched across in blazing red...
After our jig, we found the 'basti' people dancing madly, on the other side of the compound wall..this part took a curious pleasure in their little fulfillment...and we dancing within our sophisticated four walls and blind legalisation of our sentiments mocked with sarcasm at the jumping fools.
Standing on the balcony, she checked the shadow of her earthly form that the full moon had cast...engulfed in self.Pitiable,little narcissist.
He was a regular beggar in his threadbare coat.

Wildflower

for my dear child Ann
lil brunnete...child of the wild winds n cold rains..but she is soothing to one that needs her. Sleeping in oblivious calm she is in her native land :a strange land of overwhelming paradoxes..of stark white and blatant black. There she is among her playmates...whirling around in splendid circles that blaze and scare, and touch and move.She laughes, and I am glad she does so. Does it frighten you, you bony man, you old fossil?To me it is a spark of joy, of wanton playfulness, of terrible power, of burning magic, of covetous dreams, of wildflowers, of bounding leaps...
Vigourous and vindictive, but not vapid. Her eyes spell out quaint queries, and man might shamefacedly stare or stoop to it all. None is answerable. So true. On a bitter winter evening, sitting lonely on a cold couch she looks out to see the multitude of nothingness, of waste and silent clamour. She sings old songs of lost alleys, long forsaken by her fellows. She counts the taps of the nude tree branch against her window pane and thinks of what others are doing right at that moment in their homes, neighbourhoods,lanes and countries. I leave her there among the silence of a dying day to ponder and argue and laugh and talk. But I do not leave empty handed, I have a little light that I borrowed from her...little but enough for me. Her gurgling laughter and evocative silence let's my soul expand and breath.
The last I see her in absolute whiteness...dancing in the garden daisies...her little fingers played with the air and an invisible tune found its way to the denizens of her world, of which I had lately become a part. It was the laughter of some ethereal creation of God. I know not what pleasures lay in that mid-summer morning, among few swaying daisies and honey-drunken butterflies. She seemed to be in a trance..she swirled in grace...the aura caught her. I danced too. Her frenzy was contagious...End the scene with light hearted mirth and such soluble sentiments.
Even today, that aura is inviting, the music is flowing, and the dance is being danced...but it is out of focus for me...Ann has moved away, she has moved ahead... giving all she has to a someone different...ages part us. Still, to me she is that child of dreams, almost unreal...she is the sky and she is the abyss, she is the song and she is the singer, she is the lyre and she is the music...she is storm and she is tranquility. My little doll of binaries. She stands forever between me and time...the world is behind me, and God behind her.

Hiding in the Late October Shadows

I scribbled..and scratched off my lines...

Pondered on for some honey-dipped words

Singing of golden old days of lethargic sing-song..

But, my vanity got the better of me..

Looked out and the rest was ..oh but

A well-defined blur..and they said..

That my eyes were failing me..

Or triviality had welled..from the shaky,shallow

Awareness of the self..

Huh..if only i could laugh..

But there is more to that than fragmented

Tug-of-wars..than winning in this wicked child's play..

Many aeons far..i had promised to fight this..

But,now hiding in the late october shadows..

I hear the cacophonic truce beating at my doors..

And lo..where's my vanity..my pride..my protector

Nowhere to be seen..while i crouch in dimmed desperation

To be rescued..by time..man...or that god..

To go back...amidst the snowy curtains..

Lover's embrace..or mother's lap.

Far from this wordy world...n sleep

They are all dying..with days

But I donot give up on

My unheroic pursuit..

For my touchstone...

Who needed a heaven,if this world was bliss..?

In the sheets of silence..