Wednesday, November 28, 2012

When there's too much to handle...


When dreams blaze in technicolour,
And smells get too thick,
When hands can't stop shaking,
And gaze flies too quick.

When sound starts to shatter,
And eyes start to tear.
When heart beats a-flutter,
And breath is no cure...

Drive a stake into the ground
And strike up a tent before the sound.
Find your center, find your source...
Still your breath, be no more hoarse.

Deepen your breath,
Drill into your mind.
Gather each moment,
Boundaries unwind.

Steady each dream,
Focus each curl.
Study each dream,
Until it unfurls.

Follow each sound,
To its very last peal.
A chorus might hound,
Ignore its appeal.

Let softness seek you,
Be caught not in the chase.
Let twilight entice you,
Fight not for its grace.

And suddenly you will find


Mist floats around you,
Sounds lose their edge.
Figures fade to stillness,
Thoughts lose their sludge.

Life can be wielded
As a weapon to be honed.
Or seen as a gift,
To be embraced, enthroned.





The Jumblies by Edward Lear

Another hilarious poem I wanted to share...

The Jumblies 

They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And every one cried, 'You'll all be drowned!'
They called aloud, 'Our Sieve ain't big,
But we don't care a button! we don't care a fig!
In a Sieve we'll go to sea!'

  Far and few, far and few,
  Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
  Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
  And they went to sea in a Sieve.

They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
And every one said, who saw them go,
'O won't they be soon upset, you know!
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
And happen what may, it's extremely wrong
In a Sieve to sail so fast!'

  Far and few, far and few,
  Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
  Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
  And they went to sea in a Sieve.

The water it soon came in, it did,
The water it soon came in;
So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat,
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
And each of them said, 'How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our Sieve we spin!'

  Far and few, far and few,
  Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
  Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
  And they went to sea in a Sieve.

And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.
'O Timballo! How happy we are,
When we live in a Sieve and a crockery-jar,
And all night long in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail,
In the shade of the mountains brown!'

  Far and few, far and few,
  Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
  Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
  And they went to sea in a Sieve.

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
To a land all covered with trees,
And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,
And a hive of silvery Bees.
And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws,
And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton Cheese.

  Far and few, far and few,
  Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
  Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
  And they went to sea in a Sieve.

And in twenty years they all came back, In twenty years or more,
And every one said, 'How tall they've grown!
For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
And the hills of the Chankly Bore!'
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And every one said, 'If we only live,
We too will go to sea in a Sieve,---
To the hills of the Chankly Bore!'

  Far and few, far and few,
  Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
  Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
  And they went to sea in a Sieve.

-- Edward Lear

A compilation of nonsense poems by others...

Hilarious nonsense poems:



One bright morning in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight.
Back-to-back they faced one another,
Drew their swords and shot each other.
One was blind and the other couldn't see,
So they chose a dummy for a referee.
A blind man went to see fair play,
A dumb man went to shout "hooray!"
A deaf policeman heard the noise,
And came and killed those two dead boys.
A paralyzed donkey walking by,
Kicked the copper in the eye,
Sent him through a nine inch wall,
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all.
(If you don't believe this lie is true,
Ask the blind man -- he saw it too!)



Anglo-saxon riddle:



A moth ate some words -- it seemed to me
strangely weird -- when I heard this wonder:
that it had devoured -- the song of a man.
A thief in the thickness of night -- gloriously mouthed
the source of knowledge -- but the thief was not
the least bit wiser -- for the words in his mouth.


A poem by Christopher Isherwood from his Poems Past and Present:



The common cormorant or shag
Lays eggs inside a paper bag
The reason you will see no doubt
It is to keep the lightning out
But what these unobservant birds
Have never noticed is that herds
Of wandering bears may come with buns
And steal the bags to hold the crumbs.

Source: Wikipedia

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

A grand symphony of gears, tires, and tar

It's silly fare
I want to share,
The song that's in the air...

Of shiny gears
And metal rears
A symphony debonair...

My ride is bright,
smooth, adroit,
She flows through troughs and crests...

She's cherry red
And velvet felt,
With her, I have no frets...

Her gears are smoothly oiled,
Her clutch is light to heel,
She gallops at the least request,
And moves as in a dream.

The traffic hops and rears about,
There's no reason all around,
But with my car, a manual drive,
Hope for roads abound.

The symphony of tar and tires
The philharmonic joys
Of morning woes and cursing throats,
Abound on every fork.

But the point lies
That when the tide
Rises, falls, or cries...
I listen and learn
And then in turn,
We flow into the miles...

She talks to me,
A whisper, a sigh,
She sings a breathy wheeze...

And with each note
I do respond,
With gentle pressure or release

And she does dance
And so becomes
The mistress of my fate.


Friday, May 4, 2012

Simple Gifts (A Shaker song...)

'Tis the gift to be simple,
'Tis the gift to be free
'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gain'd,
To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come 'round right.

'Tis the gift to be simple,
'Tis the gift to be fair
'Tis the gift to wake and breathe the morning air
And each day we walk on the path that we choose
'Tis the gift we pray we never shall lose

I don't think I have taken the time to put the song into written script in my blog before. If there was one song that really influenced me, it is this... 

Thursday, April 5, 2012

slave to the body?

I have come to a sorry conclusion about myself... Whereas I used to pride myself on being led by my mind and my thoughts, I now realize that somewhere along the way I fell into a stagnant pool. It looks as though, at this current stage, my body: it's aches, pains and moans, are taking the lead. The conclusion came crashing on me as I sat and bemoaned my tired state, my stomach cramping and curling in on itself, and my feet aching when I stepped away from the bed. And this is nothing new... But, there must be a way to overcome it - to not let my physical self be the commanding officer in the battle to win my soul. I have started a new diet, a new exercise program , but they fell by the wayside the moment my system complained a few days back. But, thinking back on things, I realize that it might have been the better option to push through the tiredness and gently bring my system on track. So, henceforth - that is the plan. Any day which sees me solely horizontal or seated for most of the time will be remade with a walk, a swim, or some continuous movement - no matter the condition of my body... for a slave to the body - I shan't be anymore...

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

THE Question...


There is a question that has hovered beneath the surface of my brain for the longest time... I cannot recall who or what seeded the question, or when the first drop of its essence seeped into the exposed corners of my mind. All I know is that the question exists within me now, and has become a part of the mould that characterizes the innermost parts of me.

The question is simple, easy to reword, easy to understand, beautifully suited to compose lyrical stanzas from... The answer, however, is frustatingly abstract. In moments of drowning thought, I think that the answer will forever be out of reach... like the most luscious fruit that induces an outpouring of saliva, hanging just out of reach of the highest jump that one can make with the help of the most advanced technology known or unknown to us.

Why do we live? What gives us, puny wasteful humans, the right to existence? Why were we given such a wonderful brain, such amazing self-healing systems? What is the reason we strive to drag in each breath and survive another day? There must be something we are all searching for - some goal, some accomplishment, some knowledge that is beyond us - that pushes us to continue our evolution...

But the question is forgotten... it lies in the shambles of the gutters that we race past each day. It hides in forgotten corners, covered with cobwebs and rust. It is no longer brought out to the light of day, each day, lovingly polished, twisted this way and that, to see the light refract and reflect off it's seemingly impenetrable, mirrored surfaces. It is lost to us...

We run through each day - for what? We wake weary in the morning, robotically fuel ourselves, drive or ride the long long way to work (even if it is one road away), work... or rather... slave away at the same set of rules, create new innovations that do the same thing faster, as though by doing it faster we use the time gained to do something precious, go home, argue with our partners, shout at our kids, laugh a little but oh! forget the laughter in the minute worries that fill our meaningless lives... the small worries, the little doubts, the light stains, and the requisite sorrows, they have grown so large these days! Survival is taken for granted, we have more time on our hands than ever before, health is easy to come by with the swallow of a pill, the sunsets and mountains are plebian and meaningless... we search for monetary growth, career growth, personal growth through social elevation, we want our kids to prosper - how? with enough money so they want for nothing material...

Life has lost its meaning - in the search for money and security, the little joys are lost - the small worries are more important. And at the end of the day, what does it mean to have a bigger house, have clean floors and dishes but minute issues blown so big as to smother the joy away... what does it mean to save and save or spend on shoes and clothes and accessorize until the brain becomes a rusty disused organ which creaks so loudly when we are suddenly pulled out of our comfort zone that we fear to think about controversial subjects anymore - that we dismiss the abstract because we are so used to each line and curve being defined by those gone by before us - that we are unwilling to move out of our comfort zone to face new challenges in our thought processes or habitual needs...

Now, when the question surfaces, I am wearied, I fear the time taken away from my normal duties, from my regular activities... as though life can be seen through the microscope of my daily routine. I fear it as it will lead to disruption and arguments. I fear it because I desire it - I desperately seek the answer without conscious thought. I search through pages of fantasy, where the question is portrayed in each character's struggle, in each moment of change, in each turning of the page... I run away into the book and submerge to seek and find... But it's not external to me - this answer.

The answer is my religion. Not my faith, not my hindu upbringing, not my education. The search for the answer sets the path under my feet, makes me believe in karma, and dharma. It challenges the antennae that don't stop quivering in me, no matter the stagnation of my career or the mundane requirements of a new household, no matter the fights or the material gains that accumulate as part of my life's experiences... It fuels the heart beat and polishes the brain... It makes me believe in good and evil, makes me hunger to rewrite my philosophies in new words each time, makes me desperate to debate and reword, and pursue... always pursue...

We all need this. We need to get out of the stagnant corners of our lives and seek. We might be in Kali Yug, when the material things are so much easier to obtain than the philosophical, so much so that even the sages have given us the easiest path to moksha. Just do the Satynarayana Puja, they say... Just listen to the Krishna leela - and you will attain moksha - that divin freedom from the cycle of reincarnation. How is that so? It is not known. It makes me yearn to wait for the cleansing waters to drown us so that we are brought anew into a fresh universe, so that we can see with the eyes of our heart - watch the turtle bring the mighty vedas out of the water, tremble with excitement to see one of the great sages, instead of an actor, breathe in the pattern of the pranayam knowing that each breath is unlocking another mystery of the universe within ourselves without knowing exactly how, treasuring our lives so much that the question is the most precious thing to us...