Rhythm of Similes and Metaphors

On thinking while about art and creativity, some how, I have this feeling today, that writing is more tougher art to master that the other forms for painting and music. Though, I just love the trio together-the three instruments, music, words and colors. And I guess, I am with the trio, while I share my thoughts. Why I make that claim is, for the simple reason that the writer does not have the other mediums apart from only black inked words, to stimulate the sensitivities. Essentially, say to describe a setting, there are no colors that can be filled, no back ground music, to provide the metaphysical high. Even visually the image of the setting has to be filled with only words to fill the void that lies in the ordinary image of this world. There is no quietness that can be provided to express the music in silence that perhaps occupies every heart beat. There is not a smile of child in front to provide the joy of innocent ignorance and perhaps the laughter to every heart in the world. There are no billowing cold winds to be felt on a silent morning. And often the oft described image of snow capped mountain peaks reflecting the moon beam is buried too deep in the human imagination to be brought forth, in one instant, in a silent moment of reflection. And it is not easy to bring forth the craving for a tear in an otherwise quite day, and equally difficult to imbibe the pain of holding it back at its rightful point. 

But there is a simple practice that one can perfect and still get away being the writer who, is perhaps born indifferent to the deceit of this world. Well, to have the connection one that strums the heart or burns it in flames of passion there is always a -setting, in may be black and white, or with all the playful colors of life in the flora and fauna. And there is an analogy; flora and fauna- just like two lovers riding through the valleys, swimming across the blueness of oceans. With their wings free spreading like open arms with a longing stretched over ages- to have the void filled with the beauty of his starry universe. Say, the setting-it could be the very basic like a heart-beat. One, which forever, is to be preserved and yet is simply forgotten into obscurity; for, everything could rest, come to a still, but to living, to keep going, every life has to have a rhythm of its pulse, for each moment that defines the very time of its presence. And there could be an analogy comprising one that of the last stream of that scarlet of blood, freeing and liberating from the last heart beat. The analogy is not the setting of blood running down, but that of a life parting itself from the only thing that held it tight. 

And a string of words just need to swim deep into your choice of setting and across an analogy of a simile and a metaphor to describe the hidden irony of life. And maybe then words might help hear some music or even hear the rhythm of heart-beats float like music through deep recesses of silence. 

Project Pathos- 7

For I know, you’ve found me,

And I know,  your reason here
the wretchedness of grief finds me.
to me you come to bury your coldness
the apathy of wailing silence
to find joy from
death of your sorrows.

Will you be able to carry my weight?

The weight of my darkness

Would you have the courage

To dive into me, without a thought

Without a desire

Knowing well what is in store

Is empty obscurity

Of humanness and the divine

Living or the dead

But I will know, how to keep you alive

By demanding

And I shall demand, of every thing

That you have within

To keep you alive,

To keep you dead travelling

To beyond

Without hope, without desire

And I’ll speak to you,

And I shall sense you

Hear thoughts by your smell

Let me tell you again

I hate the smell of fear

Fear of the unknown

And the wise man will

Tell you the escape from me

Is from within your fear

And wonder you shall about the unknown

That is me and

You shall be free

And liberated from me

For I detest the faltering steps

This tunnel shall seize

And you’ll have the blinding light,

Light all around

And I this your very darkness

Shall part you, forever.

And remember I had nothing to offer you.

But I was the other side.

P.S: Darkness

Project Pathos-6

Today, we travel into tomorrows night,
yesterday we had slept for todays dawn,

each day into this mist-laden horizon,

a dream is cherished, a memory foregone.

The First Funeral

A strange subject to choose. And why would I choose it, I don’t know. Have just visited the first funeral, cremation of my life. May be that could be the reason?. May be, I am actually indifferent, trying to kill time, thinking about it. Coz, in all aspect, I don’t really think, I knew this man. He was to me, I guess an elderly gentleman at office, that’s what I would think of him. An acquaintance, so to say, who, I believe, was never selfish with me, rather, quite mannered and I know, with kind wellbeing at heart. Not that this is to create melodrama about it. But I guess, it was at his funeral pyre, when people who knew him, look at him in hindsight, every one sounded quite genuine, about his good nature.

Well, to get on with business, this gentleman was a colleague, in his 45’s I suppose, who would I guess, go out with a cup of tea in this hand, with no qualms whatsoever approach a new guy, exchange niceties and have introductions exchanged, and then get on to do doing his job. And every one admitted till date, that he was diligent like none other and may be a little too much. And I guess, he served our organization for more than 15 or may be more years. Leading a very disciplined life, both professional and personal.
As for mine and his exchanges, mostly I remember, me and my colleague returning after smoking, through the corridors, and he would meet us and without fail, smile and frequently tell us to quit smoking. At the lunch table, everyone would pull his legs, coz of his discipline, chastity, regularity, abstinence from all the vices of smoking, drinking and non-vegetarianism all through his life- till date. And he would smile and smile, and occasionally try to fight back. But never I found him loose his soft spoken composure.
It was today, I came to know, from the fellow colleague, who since his last two years of stint in Mumbai, has being coming along with his sir , Dhaval Bhai. Regularly, he would pick him up from their fixed meeting point and drive down to office. So, I was told, Dhaval bhai, would carry Parle G packets, or may be something else, and at signals, give it out to children. Once in a while, he would carry little fodder and feed the calves near the turning of his building.
As for leading a personal life, it was only today that I was told that his schedule included, getting up early morning 5 o clock, do yoga and meditation. For 10 days in a year, he would go to Mount Abu and attend some meditation course. In today’s day, many of my age might be tempted to mock at it, but in my opinion he considered this as a part of his disciplined life, as if with complete confidence in right things to do.
Well, to me, it all today seemed like a listening to stories of Parsi Bawaji in hay days of Mumbai, who are fanatically regular about the morning tea and bun and the news paper and firm believers in a decorm and order of life. Almost, picture perfect.
Well, Dhaval bhai, died in his sleep in the morning. It was a heart stroke, he didn’t cry, and there was no one around him in his final moment. He had attended, a conference call yesterday till 7, went home, had dinner and went to sleep. He was not found awake till morning 7-8 , till his brother a little concerned with the irregularity, went to his room and found him at rest- forever.

They declared it was stress related heart failure.
By the way, I didn’t mention, he was never married and had chosen to stay bachelor. Sometimes, at his bachelor hood, people would pull his leg , in off course good humor at lunch table. His parents had expired long back. He was not survived by any immediate family , just three brothers. It felt quite sad, that he actually didn’t have many people around him, one might say thats “good” in a way that one would not have to be burdened with worries about family. But I guess, dying alone with no one at funeral , seemed a little sad also.
For his term in company he had many good stalwarts. One person, on his retirement age, who sits next to him, our favorite Parsi sir, stood tall, in his French beard, a little stooped, and I remember him telling out, “ Brilliant death for a wrong age” . By the time, the cremation stopped, I was pretty much silenced by the cremation of a body with such strong flame going to ashes. Then our sir said, “ Chalo, its all over”.
It was quite shocking news in the morning when I had entered office. Within 12 hours I suppose, one person , an identity just went to oblivion- whatever one might call it, dust to dust , ashes to ashes, but in the end just evaporated.
As for me, I just wrote it coz I felt like writing it. Life and death are always mystifying, will remain so, as long as we are human.
P.S : Pray he rests in peace.

Project Pathos -5

Time, I have been with you
This long and so much less
To build upon a life
Full of lies

And I have walked the road
All alone and with a few
For a long journey
to an end where it all dies

Music, I have tried to write
A sweet note, a small rhyme
For a song
I could keep on your shrine

Love, I have tried to gain
Into sadness of your eyes
For the reflection
Of dreams which beguiled.

P.S: Gist.

Project Pathos- 4

On these streets I have traversed many times,
Behind the corridors the days were spent yawning
Waiting for the weekend evening to dawn

Now the years have flipped by
And moments have stretched, grown old
It’s something to do with memories, so, now I am told

There was moment, across the road,
A coffee corner, where the youth used to stroll,
Now it s busy corner, fancy cars parked for fancy grocery store

From few miles ahead, you can smell the sea
Hear her roar,
it is still the same and better than the musk, I am asked to adore

Further ahead, the minarets stand over the islet
Isolated from the crowd of land, peaceful abode in the sea
By its side, its now crowded
I can hear over the voice of ocean,
the lovers, the old, gossiping, whispering, talking loud
and here and there a few lost in thoughts, I am sure
wondering of times that used to be.

PS: Haji Ali

Project Pathos- 3

Reasons to these songs,
Words of hope, deep despair
Standing in the midst of clouds
Trails of dancing threads

Touch me at heart
With Pieces of broken glass
Something for me, something sweet heart
The shining glitter, something to last

Reasons to these times,
Colors of red, bows and arrows
Racing purpose into the dark
masking the deepening sorrows

Touch my mind
With twigs of feathers
Sweet dreams, sweet dreams sweet heart
Slip the whiskey, pour this night to my jaded jar

Reasons for my substance
Colors of blue,
Swim into the air to the crimson hue
Waking up to a child’s curious glance

Seep into my heart
With some flowery thoughts
Sweet hunger, just raise my pain
Let me hear the whispers of dreams
Sleepless or sleeping or may be just slain.

PS: Images.

Project Pathos- 2

Do you feel liberated
Burning free yet again
Tell me honey in this night
How do you taste the salt in the rain

Tell me how does it feel
Does it feel the same
Oh baby in the shadows
Can you see the names written on sand

Oh can you hear
Hear the sound shrieking out so so loud
The sun light
Trying to breach, breach this mist to touch
Only to touch your sweet hands.

Oh did I tell you
I had no one to blame
I had no one to blame

PS: Eternal Sunshine.

Project Pathos - 1

Dance so I think
Let s dance, but to whom,
Should I link
Is it you tonight,
Or my joy for losing you

Hear the guitar playing
In to the thundering skies
Soft Swing to the flute
Playing into these,
These glittering eyes.

Seducing to this morning
As the dawn embraces the cold night
Sound rising with a gentle touché
on the piano scales
the lasting sweetness of lips
it Holds the moment tight.

A moment is passing
Don’t dare leave me darling
Breeze is flowing wild,
Into the silence,
Rambling waterfall of memories
Into this dark night.

P.S: Dusk and the deep willows.