Where men run
Not from each for other
Not against each other
But towards one another, prisoners in each others arms, free forever.
Where I can run through a desert
Bare feet, bare soul
Towards nothing
Towards myself
Where souls aren't trapped in bodies
The body is invisible
The soul apparent
A smile, omnipresent
Where dreams are alive
And life is a distant forest
One that none venture into
Lest it pulls you inside.
Where I am one with nature
I am the elements
I am the rain that soaks me
The sunlight that burns me.
But I wake up once again, searching for a dream that lasts forever
And enter the doors that lead to the forest
I put on a smile and take solace in the night
Where I can once again burn in my own sunlight
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Friday, December 04, 2009
Poop
Ever wondered why so many people like getting their photos clicked? On a recent road trip I undertook, my friends were getting their snaps clicked at the oddest of places with strangely strong enthusiasm. On bridges, at gas stations, under bare trees, sitting on sidewalks, next to trash cans, near pooping dogs. Everywhere. What really goes on in someones' mind when they go click? Is it vanity? To show the world that they've been there clicked that? To capture that brief and not so spontaneous moment of supposed happiness? Happiness that they hope they feel a couple of years down the line sitting in cramped office corner suffering the tirades of an a no good boss?
On it's own, a picture of a bridge, a bare tree, a sidewalk, a trash can or even a pooping dog is potential art gallery material. But maybe it is indeed difficult for people to imagine a picture without themselves in it. The same way it is impossible for them to not be opinionated, to not be impartial or objective.Maybe it is impossible for some people to understand the beauty of a (ahem) pooping dog in itself. They just have to be in the frame - albeit with poop.
Or maybe I'm a cynic, and someday I'll get my own pictures clicked standing over the rubble of my own strange vanity.
Trivia - The word 'poop' and its conjugations appear four times in this post. Well, five times now. Ah - six times (missed the title).
On it's own, a picture of a bridge, a bare tree, a sidewalk, a trash can or even a pooping dog is potential art gallery material. But maybe it is indeed difficult for people to imagine a picture without themselves in it. The same way it is impossible for them to not be opinionated, to not be impartial or objective.Maybe it is impossible for some people to understand the beauty of a (ahem) pooping dog in itself. They just have to be in the frame - albeit with poop.
Or maybe I'm a cynic, and someday I'll get my own pictures clicked standing over the rubble of my own strange vanity.
Trivia - The word 'poop' and its conjugations appear four times in this post. Well, five times now. Ah - six times (missed the title).
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Pigeons
This thanksgiving weekend my colleagues and I drove down to visit Philadelphia and Baltimore. I in particular was looking forward to this trip with a lot of enthusiasm, not only for the thrill of going to a place where I had never gone before, but also for getting away from the vicious cycle of monotony and claustrophobia which I have found myself in for the past few years.
One of our places that we intended to and did vist was the Baltimore aquarium. In a now disturbingly regular trend of absent mindedness, I ended up purchasing one less ticket than the number of people on the trip. I realised this in the middle of a delicious panini and had second thoughts about leaving it halfway to grab another ticket. But common sense finally prevailed and I dashed out; the tickets were sold out minutes after I redeemed my reputation with the ticket that balanced both sides of the equation.
I decided not to go back to my lunch. Partly because I was sure the Panini would be in the trash can by then and majorly because I needed some alone time to grab a cigarette, explore the place around and give another half-assed shot to planning the rest of my life (yeah it's still WIP).
Sitting on a bench waiting for the show to start and for my colleagues to come out of the eatery with chicken-wing breath, I was flooded with a range of contrasting emotions. There was an old man sitting on another bench asking passers-by to drop some change in his hat - he clearly didn't like what he was doing and to be honest, I thought that he would definitely take up a job instead if he could.
A not so well-dressed couple came in to buy tickets but decided not to go ahead because they found it expensive. They smiled at each other, held their hands tighter and walked away leaning against each other ever so slightly. True romance.
A father came in with his daugter only to be welcomed by a sold-out board. While the daughter looked expectantly at her father with a hint of a teardrop in her eyes, he explained to her that they would catch the show the next day. (I hope they did).
With so many faces of helplessness around, one can't help but wonder if man is destined to a life of unfulfilled desires. A life of stifling compulsions, of hats with change and sold-out boards. Some have eyes to immerse themselves into and hands to clasp, others just have a hat to put back on.
How does one live with this baggage? Replace it with cigarettes and alcohol like many of us do? Replace it with God? I'm quite sure that processed vegetables rolled into a rizla and fermented potatoes and sugarcanes are not the way to go, as much as I am sure that God does not like playing second fiddle.
I then had a distraction that I am now most thankful for. A young girl cried out to her mother in a note of unadulterated joy that only her age is capable of- 'Look Ma! Pigeons!'. Leaving my intensly futile train of thought begind, I walked into the aquarium with my colleagues (their breath a cruel mixture of onion soup, chicken wings, pizza and spearmint. Yuggh!).
-
Halfway through the dolphin show I instinctively cried out in my mind 'Look, Dolphins!' A moment of disarming joy. At that very moment, I had the answer to my questions. I had found my pigeon. I hope to find one everyday. I hope to find one every moment.
One of our places that we intended to and did vist was the Baltimore aquarium. In a now disturbingly regular trend of absent mindedness, I ended up purchasing one less ticket than the number of people on the trip. I realised this in the middle of a delicious panini and had second thoughts about leaving it halfway to grab another ticket. But common sense finally prevailed and I dashed out; the tickets were sold out minutes after I redeemed my reputation with the ticket that balanced both sides of the equation.
I decided not to go back to my lunch. Partly because I was sure the Panini would be in the trash can by then and majorly because I needed some alone time to grab a cigarette, explore the place around and give another half-assed shot to planning the rest of my life (yeah it's still WIP).
Sitting on a bench waiting for the show to start and for my colleagues to come out of the eatery with chicken-wing breath, I was flooded with a range of contrasting emotions. There was an old man sitting on another bench asking passers-by to drop some change in his hat - he clearly didn't like what he was doing and to be honest, I thought that he would definitely take up a job instead if he could.
A not so well-dressed couple came in to buy tickets but decided not to go ahead because they found it expensive. They smiled at each other, held their hands tighter and walked away leaning against each other ever so slightly. True romance.
A father came in with his daugter only to be welcomed by a sold-out board. While the daughter looked expectantly at her father with a hint of a teardrop in her eyes, he explained to her that they would catch the show the next day. (I hope they did).
With so many faces of helplessness around, one can't help but wonder if man is destined to a life of unfulfilled desires. A life of stifling compulsions, of hats with change and sold-out boards. Some have eyes to immerse themselves into and hands to clasp, others just have a hat to put back on.
How does one live with this baggage? Replace it with cigarettes and alcohol like many of us do? Replace it with God? I'm quite sure that processed vegetables rolled into a rizla and fermented potatoes and sugarcanes are not the way to go, as much as I am sure that God does not like playing second fiddle.
I then had a distraction that I am now most thankful for. A young girl cried out to her mother in a note of unadulterated joy that only her age is capable of- 'Look Ma! Pigeons!'. Leaving my intensly futile train of thought begind, I walked into the aquarium with my colleagues (their breath a cruel mixture of onion soup, chicken wings, pizza and spearmint. Yuggh!).
-
Halfway through the dolphin show I instinctively cried out in my mind 'Look, Dolphins!' A moment of disarming joy. At that very moment, I had the answer to my questions. I had found my pigeon. I hope to find one everyday. I hope to find one every moment.
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