The stings of loneliness

An empty house with empty rooms
Cannot but blossom into a home

A gloomy morning, an omnipresent lull
This is not where happiness dwells

A lonely night lonelier than ever
Another futile effort to search for slumber

A hungry stomach that yearns the bite
Of glee, all else won't go down right

A wasted heart that loneliness stings
A wait for the smile the loved one brings

If I die young

Dedicated to my love!

One of our favorite songs ...

If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a, bed of roses
Sink me in the river, at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song

Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors and
Life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no
Ain't even grey, but she buries her baby

The sharp knife of a short life, well
I've had, just enough time

If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a, bed of roses
Sink me in the river, at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song

The sharp knife of a short life, well
I've had, just enough time

And I'll be wearing white, when I come into your kingdom
I'm as green as the ring on my little, cold finger, I've
Never known the lovin' of a man
But it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand, there's a
Boy here in town who says he'll love me forever,
Who would have thought forever could be severed by
The sharp knife of a short life, well,
I've had, just enough time

So put on your best boys and I'll wear my pearls
What I never did is done

A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I'll sell them for a dollar
They're worth so much more after I'm a goner
And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singin'
Funny when you're dead how people start listenin'

If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a, bed of roses
Sink me in the river, at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song

The ballad of a dove
Go with peace and love
Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket
Save them for a time when you're really gonna need them, oh

The sharp knife of a short life, well
I've had, just enough time

So put on your best boys and I'll wear my pearls

Tomorrow's the beginning of the rest of my life

Funny how life takes U-turns and drives you back to the place you were two years ago. Here I am working on a short-term project with the same team I worked with two years ago. And it feels like nothing has changed, well, except me. They are still struggling to stay awake on late nights to finish off their tasks, they are still missing out on so many new ideas to be thunk had they got any time to ponder, they are still surviving life instead of living it. And, I am, once again, inspired to write. I can still recall how I was sitting and writing another poem in the same bus and the same seat after leaving late from work following a series of late-nights. Of course, it's not all inspired by them. I've been listening to Pink Floyd all week at work :)


Yawns afloat, ideas drowned; a little fidget, a little filth.
Morning knocks at the door of the factory of myth.

The feisty tamers bash their cane.
Captives gear up for another day too mundane.

I peep into the castle with dreary eyes.
Soon as I enter, Faustus' soul won't suffice.

A furnace of free-will, a cauldron of hopes.
The key to the shackles, every lonesome hand gropes.

Make me laugh, make me cry.
Clip my wings, while I yearn to fly.

Don't stop, shoot darts before I can blink!
Walk me by the dump of reason, it stinks.

Stifle my spirit, while my lungs gasp.
No air to breathe, no belief to clasp.

Sit back and smile, I'll keep up the strife.
Tomorrow's the beginning of the rest of my life.


And here's the poem I wrote two years ago:
Maze

Reference: In the world of fiction, Christopher Marlowe's character Doctor Faustus sold his soul to the devil in exchange for power and knowledge

I am I, because you are you

It took a personality development session titled "Adventure in attitude" to make me realize how, sometimes, so many people are similar under the surface. Somebody has the same fears that you do, somebody has the same passions that you do. If we care to look beneath the surface, some things can weave most of us into a single piece of cloth. These things could be habits, likes, dislikes, feelings, situations. The list is unending.

It was during this training session, that towards the end, we were discussing assertion, and were asked to write a passage after reflecting on the line "I am I, because you are you". Finding myself at loss for words for a passage, I resorted to my usual way of expression - poetry. Here's what I came up with ...

I am your friend, I am your foe
When you watch my back, or plant thorns under my toe.

I am all ears, if you'd listen too.
Because I am I, and you are you.


I'd reason with you till the rise of dawn,
when the daemons of prejudice take your wisdom for pawn.

I'd take your whips, if I'm untrue.
Because I am I, and you are you.

I'd honor your thoughts, I'd honor your ways.
When you let me be, the sanity stays.

A bridge only makes sense, if it has sides two.
Because I am I, and you are you.

I'd trust you without doubt in blindfolds.
Once I'm sure you and I are connected souls.

Don't ask for more than respect in lieu.
Because I am I, and you are you.

Clamor

Yesterday if somebody asked me to classify noise, typically I would try to classify it based on different criteria: one being the source (e.g. human, machinery, nature - birds, water, etc.); another being quantitative attributes I can recall from my limited knowledge of physics (e.g. amplitude, frequency, etc.). But not anymore!

Today I learned there's only two kinds of noises: inside noise and outside noise. Outside noise is the noise that surrounds you; it originates from the world external to you. Inside noise is the one that comes from within you (well, not literally!). I would, any day, prefer outside noise to inside noise. Because, I know how to shut myself off from the outside noise, but I am still struggling to shut myself off from inside noise.

My mind has somewhat a multi-threaded architecture (pardon the software jargon). And it seems to have Professor Dumbledore's pensieve (hope the non-followers of Harry Potter won't mind this reference), where all my memories and thoughts seem to be stored away as threads. At any point of time, I might have more than one of these threads running continuously, hogging my brain (the CPU). There might, often, be context-switching based on thread-prioritization. Say, when I'm at work, I might be thinking about code, but the minute I'd step out alone for lunch, it'd switch to another thread (that might have been high-priority the night before).

At times I wish there were a room where I'd be able to shut the inside noise off as well by a mere jolt to the door. However, now that I've come to think of it, it might encourage me to confine myself to that room for longer and yet longer periods at a stretch. So, I guess I need to continue the hunt for the key to tranquility inside of me, so one day the whole world would be my room, and I could find my peace even in a deafeningly noisy lab.

Juxtaposed

Another stint with idle time, I had recently, made me realize I'm still no good at killing it; I mean, not if I don't have a modern-day addiction in the vicinity (a.k.a television, phone, computer, etc.). The first thing I yearned for was a computer. I did realize, though, that I'm a bit old-fashioned as well, because the second best thing felt like the book at my nightstand. I am one of those, to whom only a book can be a book - not it's printed copy, not it's soft-copy. I have tried even audio-books; nothing comes even close to an actual book.

Another weird old-fashioned streak in me, this thought makes me aware of, is my sincere liking for a coffee place in Connaught Place in Central Delhi. It's old and primitive; you can almost carbon-date it standing at its door, back to the years of black and white photography. The fact that it's located right across the street from an ultra-modern multiplex is enough to jolt anyone to the realization of it's juxta-positioning amidst the modern world, full of its flagship coffee houses, which are much too plastic in comparison to this humble coffee place.

The khaki-clad man at the kitchen counter (adorned with a khaki "neta" cap); the costliest coffee under twenty bucks; the potato fingers cut by hand and fried to home-made perfection (as opposed to the modern french fries cut in perfect cuboidals) - all shove you a step nearer to the accepting that civilization has complicated our lives. Coffee's not just coffee anymore, it's a choice one has to make from a sea of Lattes, cappucinos, mochas - not to mention the choice in sizes as well (Simple mathematics suggests that having 3 sizes, in fact, increases our choices three-fold).

Sometimes, when I wish to make life simple for myself and when there are too many choices to make, too many decisions awaiting a stand, I close my eyes and think of that coffee house. Sometimes, a cup of plain old coffee, potato fingers, a terrace swarmed by elderly reading their morning papers, a loved one by your side and a battered sofa make a perfect winter Sunday morning.

Yee-haw!

A country music video launched recently caught my attention today when I turned the TV on after a hectic day munching on my blueberries. It was a true "yee-haw" moment and I couldn't help but smile and laugh along as the lyrics hit my ears and the video flashed by. May I mention, it's very rare that I sit alone in a lonely house and laugh while watching TV (I do smile though, F.R.I.E.N.D.S is an obvious exception)! The video is as crisp as the lyrics (In fact, I recommend watching the video the first time, instead of just the audio). Without further adieu, may I recommend Blake Shelton's "Hillbilly Bone" (featuring Trace Adkins) - a masterpiece from the two hot'n'famous country boys. (On that note, I would also strongly recommend the movie "Beverly Hillbillies" - a hilarious comedy which shall tickle each of your 206 bones)

Talking about the song, a heart-hitting satire on the eccentricities of sophistication that cripples our society today is the butt of the joke here! Some of us have lost touch with the true us (minus the modern hullabaloo of table manners and public faces). Thus, our lives have somehow reduced to wrinkled peels from the plump, juicy, luscious peaches they used to be. In the singers' words, we all have a "hillbilly" bone deep down, and all one needs to do is get back in touch with it and all the fun would be back in our worlds! May we all find our "hillbilly bone"! Amen!