Beauty of waiting

Driven to the edge by a figure of man and God,

my life had been a long drawn relations of waiting for-

as early on I heard that it can be key to many doors,

but it is a maze that keeps pulling you in the same direction.

Man has made a Divine Comedy out of it,

an abomination for ultimate stasis,

an icy condition,

sit, see into the mirror of nothingness-

Unreflective.

Staged a meta-theatrical,

while waiting to wait on miss waitwell,

outside an ent specialist’s chamber,

or before a flight, even on the journey.

Did you see fear in a handful of dust now ?

It suits a hero to halt mid air,

and consider life from another space.

My cold green tea

Design of fancy leapt up my monotonous life,

enthralled by tiny words on the screen,

subtly made tea gets colder in a chinaware,

and patience lingers over the organic delight.

A thrilling lightness forms the Asian brew,

a sip more calm my neurones every time,

with every page it turns all raw and brisk,

and tunes me with the eastern humid clime.

It keeps up with my vagrant soul and mind,

accompanied diffn’t cities and isles,

as fresh as a downpour on a summer noon,

refills my heart with jubilance and vigour.

A few seconds in Paradise

I arrived at the bank of a river,

promptly recognizing the scented air

from a time I crossed it on a train,

when we dropped a coin each in her boosom,

and made a wish as it is largest and wrathful of all.

Something in me wishes to never depart,

that believes in our harmonic union,

the toil of existence has cast a rebounding spell,

but Aerial guides me back to her ruggedness.

In the blisses and kisses of her touch,

withstood melodic burst of sensations,

whom can I love more if not She,

like a Hart shot by Eros with his golden bow.

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

je suis arrivé au bord d'une rivière,

promptement reconnu l'air parfumé,

d'un temps traversé dans un train,

nous avons laissé tomber une pièce chacun dans sa poitrine,

et fait un voeu car il est le plus grand et le plus courroucé.

Quelque chose en moi souhaite ne jamais partir,

qui croit en notre union harmonique,

le labeur de l'existence a jeté un sort de rebond,

mais Aerial me ramène à sa robustesse.

Dans les joies et les baisers de son toucher,

a résisté à l'éclatement mélodique,

qui puis-je aimer le plus sinon elle,

comme un cerf abattu par Eros avec son arc d'or.

Note: word to word translation from Google.

Against monochrome

He spread words to enforce his will,

an effortless knight in a shining armour,

masked motley mechanic moving awhile,

craving multiplicity, yoked to his class.

Waits for the perfect absence and pretence,

melts trifling voices to create enigma,

ignorance coupled complainant rules,

treads an icy path to fabricate it on the canvas.

Subject of a modernist poet personified,

no pain, no suffering, a pair of music pocketed,

guileless but courageous to master an art,

counts such labour as Lucifer’s ethical return.

Highlighted life lead from time to time,

an atheist who worshipped God in black and white.

Father

Iron clad heart that shields us all,

eternal stream of belongingness,

he taught me to aim for infinity,

and live like a soldier, fight battles every day.

Tall and sage, after his Aryan blood line,

wrathful and fierce, the mountain healer,

all ties cut from the electral chord,

I make us tea, but he thinks differentially.

I am anxious to rise and walk behind him,

Oh sometimes I misrecognized his aural voice,

now I comprehend his longer absences,

effective silences and growing moustaches.

He is the changing god, dedicated Buddha-

an uncompromising will, idealized by the Supreme.

Of strangers

Credits: PicsArt & Realme, a stranger, my memory

Lost and found so many,

no windshield to wipe their memories,

acquainted afresh- on train, on a flight, at the sea et all,

point of reference; necessity to know and love thy neighbor.

They aren’t harbingers but a prelude to anotherness,

bring their thoughts and feelings into our lives,

for a minute we are transported to an unfamiliar world,

walked with a fellow sailor towards a singularity.

Few left with a ring on my mind,

the way a beautiful line from a novel affects,

dissimilitude of absences have graced my life,

We are trans-versals that can never meet again,

I am stuck at an overture, a prisoner of my own freedom,

now finding strangeness in everything familiar.

Taste of Life

my amateurish best

Life is structured in the form of water,

abundant and scarce at the same time,

fierce and lovely in a day,

tasteless yet fulfilling and quenching.

Life is the lover of the body,

couples chained together incessantly,

each wearing to impress the other,

swiftly woven thence narrated lyrically.

Not all can grasp a sonorous rhythm,

for it demands isolated experiences.

The taste of life is gritty and bland,

walled rubble and ashlar masonry,

rugged, blanketed with a halcyon spell-

broken and awoken by the echoes of bell in the valley.

A review of the series Two and a Half Men S1

• 

  Credits: Wikipedia

The original production of CBS Two and a Half Men is filled with physical, observational humors and witty-word plays. The trio Charlie Sheen, Jon Cryer and Angus T. Jones lighten the screen and makes you want to return to it all over again. Like F.R.I.E.N.D.S it begins with a divorce only here it becomes a central theme around which the lives of the characters revolve. Early on, the viewer is convinced of bursting into senselessness in a well adjusted and systematically framed setting. Charlie, the elder brother loved to live a baggage free life when his brother Allen and nephew Jake come to stay with him and change his life for the good. Charlie is shown cross with his mother and wills to give up his liberty and free space to save Jake from her. The word suffocation is played with in three different contexts in the first episode in a shifting scene sequences. The character of Rose is introduced as the clingy and mysterious woman who lurks around the house and haunts Charlie.

The next best thing is to anticipate the presence and gradual growth of Angus T. Jones throughout the series. Half way through the first episode he is able to create an aura of his character in the mind’s eye of the spectator. The smooth delivery of dialogues with a relaxed attitude to whatever goes around him wins our heart in one go. Out of every people one can trust Jake to keep calm in any situation unlike his naïve father who tends to lose his temper in slightest crisis. Evelyn, even with small screen times promises not to bore the audience with a traditional grandmother’s role. The series provides an adequate doze of sentimental drama amidst the domestic comedy of Harper’s. The moody and carefree character of Charlie doesn’t look for a Dickensian resolution, in fact helps to lighten and sometimes singlehandedly fixes Allen and Judith’s problems. But the season ends with Charlie shown to be reading into god’s signs and Jake could be considered the reason behind his Uncle’s reconsideration of his vasectomy surgery.

All I want to ..

I want to go over there,

to get lost in the crashing sound of waves,

where I can feel the cold breeze from the sea,

like Arnold once spent a night at the Dover Beach.

I want to see the cities of light and dream,

breathe steely air of the distant isles,

walk over aged bridges and narrow streets,

to visit a famed cathedral that is more than just a history.

I don’t want to,

alight the journey before witnessing the wild,

not perceive all I dreamt and ideated,

keep living the facade formed upon the screen.

Pondering

#unthoughtful #experimental
#writingforitssake #history

‘The war saved my life’ says Wittgenstein, or a documentary which quotes him explicitly. To think about this utterance, one is struck with the most stupid question as for whom could a great philosopher have fought against in the war. History books give me a one line answer for the need of a war like this. But the above statement confirms my fear of mankind’s requirement of violence and horror to equalise the existence of love and hope in the world.

Just like defining beauty and furthermore aesthetics is a tricky business so is the meaning of right and wrong at a time of warfare. It dispels the thinking process for a while but sometimes that’s all you may need for your inner peace. We are all individually at war with the world since we are born, except for a few moments when we prioritize other’s wishes and wants before ours as when in love. What I try to assert is that at the time of an actual war the sense of ourselves shifts, as at the real moment of action, however planned and thought out, it happens without our consent, and before one knows what he is in for, the scene and atmosphere is permanently changed.