REBATE

I don’t know what to say
For the pieces that just don't fit in

No matter how much I try

May be I don’t get the right ones

I try n find my way

Through the labyrinth up and down

But don’t know which is right

All seem like mirrors in betray

I trust you, you all so much

And then you make and break it

What container do I hold?

That pours the water through holes

And I carry it with me everywhere

Filling it with self again

But nah, it perforates, precipitates

And I make the mistake, to delegate,

To entrust upon you

Rather you all just walk through

And let it disintegrate

While I rebate

My good deeds

In expense to your misdeeds upon me

Again n Again n Again.

WorDs of EYES

They say ‘Eyes are windows to our souls’ .Well, indeed they are. And I am not telling this because someone said so but because that’s how I peeped into some souls, straight down into their hearts.

There are dark brown eyes, chocolate brown eyes, light brown eyes, amber eyes, cat eyes, green eyes, blue eyes even white dilapidated eyes and of course the fake lenses eyes. But does the color really matter much? Does that tell if the person is truthful and trustworthy? Not Really…

A beautiful kid, with blue eyes that seemed to shine emerald when he would be angry, turn to blue when he was sad and reflect  the vibrancy of the sun in daylight, was a friend of mine when we were kids. A few years later it turned out that the sweetness with which I am describing his eyes right now met with a contrast to his character that had degraded with time, the color of his eyes still shined sapphire at noon.

Petite amber eyes that hung on this little boy’s face seemed like sparkles of the morning dew over the blades of grass. With the twinkle that lingered in his naturally chocolate shades, he could make many hearts skip a beat or maybe even two. But alas, his stories only ended in betrayals.

Yet another pair of green eyes, more of cat like, one look and a godly figure would seem to appear before you with a gaze that strong, that it could affix you to stay and watch him blink a million times softly again and again and again. What could be worse that these playful eyes wore the mask over a playboy.

Brown eyes, darker than the color of mud, mysterious, mystical puzzle in every way. A gaze that could follow you and hypnotize you that very instance, clutch you in its vision like a snake grabs hold of its prey. And as with every struggle of prey the predator gets a stronger hold over it, so do those beautifully carved out eyes as they catches a glimpse of yours.

I don’t know how I determine the underlying feeling behind recognizing a person with a gaze in his/her eyes, but here are some moments when I find the reflections of the sweetest souls floating over the eyes of the few.

Dark brown are they. I see them almost every day. There is a sense of softness and patience in those pores that I doubt I have seen anywhere else ever. Tender to the others around, like a tendril to a climber, like a warm feather over the new hatchlings, the vision in between melts wherever they look, making the course seem softer and milder, even if it is not.

Innocent and gentle, they are the color of mud. Big, large places they occupy as they control every expression on her face and pour out the deepest of emotions from, if any, ever made corner in her heart. You know her stages of sensitiveness, anger, playfulness, worry, fun and truthfulness.  You know she is pure and though quite judgmental yet so herself and not even a mist of fakeness surrounds the curves of her eyeballs.

White, reflecting in morning light, clearly giving signs of a cloudy vision of cataract, she gives the hints of worry, stress, sleepless nights and more clearly fear. There is weakness in her vision, her gaze not too strong. When you meet her eyes, you see them distantly looking into yours, lost in thought of some distant world or fear of the consequences of the present. Her rings of iris, as if trying to spread apart with time and trying to fade off into the white area, so much wanting to meet its serenity and tranquility. Her tiring gaze with half shattered hopes, as if tired of making a clay pot over a wheel that turns out into a bad shape, with every hard spin she tried to give it . Her eyes, swelled in their sockets, out of the tears that makes the rest of the space. Her once beautiful, lovely eyes seem to now plead for the freedom of the beneath trapped soul.

Thoughts ~ Me To You

Thoughts ~ From Me To You

I have thought upon it many times, that how you open up my mind, swiftly similar to how you arrive out of nowhere. There is a dam that I hold, and hold on. It lingers in my mind like ripples in stagnant water, round and round yet static, It- the Thought Process. You know what they are called? The floodgates or levees, yes, you turn around their levers, before I know and then it comes out, vividly and beautifully, the way I want it to, so that I myself can understand it one at a time. It brings me to a higher plane that makes me realize how extraordinary I am, in a bunch of average minds roaming around me. With that plane, I wish not to come down, but you see we need to fit into this world, to get through it. You must have heard that saying, “When in Rome, do as Romans do”. Yes, now you get the word ‘fit’ relevant in context to what I said.  

This conscious talk about the subconscious has a tremendous affect at the backend, which we don’t realize now but we know, we know about its effect. Within the senses, when you are and you reach to a higher level of realization about the things around you, it is when you achieve the mountain called ‘oneself’ from where you can control things your own way

.

The mountain, it reminds me of the story. I am glad the stone I wished to fetch from the impalpable heights is now resting in my fist. I am the proud owner of myself. A sense of gratitude dawns upon me as I reach here at this time, on this line, in this paragraph and I wish to express it through some more words. Thanks for allowing the windmills run, the turbines twirl, and the gears shift. (I don’t know how to put it up in a more mechanical way so as to explain it.)

Rocks seem to become pebbles; waves seem to freeze and get the definite shape I want and something numb inside the head seems to rise up like an albatross with almost stretched wings. VPN- virtual private network is not just an anonymous networks term anymore while I look down at the world, so lame and baseless, floating over an abyss of its own, almost ready to fall down.

Everything is measurable, even the flow of thoughts, with the beam-balances of the controls that we have over it. Some we use to build our gifted powers, some to degrade us ourselves. They are dangerous, that is why dormant in all but few, who are capable of controlling them. They make us and sometimes even break us apart, but they are a part of us and we live through them.

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Crabbit Old Woman

"Crabbit Old Woman" By: Phyllis McCormack

What do you see, nurse, what do you see?

What are you thinking, when you look at me-

A crabbit old woman, not very wise,

Uncertain of habit, with far-away eyes,

Who dribbles her food and makes no reply

When you say in a loud voice, I do wish you'd try.

Who seems not to notice the things that you do

And forever is losing a stocking or shoe.

Who, unresisting or not; lets you do as you will

With bathing and feeding the long day is fill.

Is that what you're thinking, Is that what you see?

Then open your eyes, nurse, you're looking at me.      

I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still!

As I rise at your bidding, as I eat at your will.

I'm a small child of 10 with a father and mother,

Brothers and sisters, who loved one another-

A young girl of 16 with wings on her feet,

Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet,

A bride soon at 20 - my heart gives a leap,

Recalling the vows that I promised to keep.

At 25 now I have young of my own

Who need me to build a secure happy home;

A woman of 30, my young now grow fast,

Bound to each other with ties that should last;

At 40, my young sons have grown and are gone,

But my man is beside me to see I don't mourn;          

                           

At 50 once more babies play around my knee,

Again we know children, my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,

I look at the future, I shudder with dread,

For my young are all rearing young ones of their own.

And I think of the years and the love that I've known;

I'm an old woman now and nature is cruel-

Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.

The body is crumbled, grace and vigor depart,

There is now a stone where I once had a heart,

But inside this old carcass, a young girl still dwells,

And now and again my battered heart swells,

I remember the joy, I remember the pain,

And I'm loving and living life over again.

I think of the years all too few- gone too fast.

And accept the stark fact that nothing can last-

So open your eyes, nurse, open and see,

Not a crabbit old woman, look closer-

See Me.

 Crabbit Old Woman is a poem written in 1966 by Phyllis McCormack, then working as a nurse in Sunnyside Hospital, Montrose. The poem is written in the voice of an old woman in a nursing home who is reflecting upon her life. Crabbit isScots for "bad-tempered" or "grumpy".

A writer’s Random

A writer’s random :Thoughts

A small bud somewhere in a hidden garden emerges from slumber, in the quest to bloom. When it is still a sapling, still too tender to climb up on its own, it seeks support. And the climber sapling spreads its hands and feet in search of that invisible stick that will lead it to greater heights. Like a blind person the fragile green grabs hold of anything that comes in its way and commences its pursuit. The baby bud has now started to open up. At the pinnacle, it blooms into a beautiful white flower with fragrance that invites the buzzing bees to lick up the sweet nectar from its belly.

A night, dark and dense, holds in itself the secrets unknown. A new moon might be even more mysterious. Unknown where the next step would fall, a traveler passes through a forest. The sound of a cricket echoes from everywhere. The dry leaves beneath her feet grumble in some strange sound. Pitch darkness and nowhere to go. A wolf moans somewhere far away. The jungle is awake even in the slumber of the night. “Where to look for the way?” She asks herself and looks up for the heavenly help. A smile dawns upon her face like the morning sun. The sky glitters with the tiny diamonds and one among them the brightest, to the North pointing her where to go. The help is granted and she is obliged.

                                                                       

He waits for her patiently, but she doesn’t turn up. He waits again, impatiently, she still doesn’t. It aches somewhere deep in his chest, but he won’t shed the pain, he carries it. She comes up and says something extraneous, irrelevant. He is just happy to listen, happy to see the curve on her lips stretch into a beautiful smile, happy to wait to just see that smile sit gracefully on her face. The wait is over yet it remains forever, indefinitely. There is some beauty in uncertainty, the rest is fear.

                                                                       

                                                                    A tiger strays in the wild. Hungry and blood thirsty it looks around for its prey. The big bulging predator eyes are in a search. No it is not its killing instinct; it is its growling stomach that demands for food. A fawn jumps around his mother’s hind legs playfully, knowing little of what is going to happen next. The tiger crouches behind the tall grass, its sharp eyes fixed upon the little life. A swift plunge on the prey, without giving even a warning such are the skills of this hunter. Without a daunt, it leaps and in one go grabs the fawn like a timid toy. Its jaws strangulate its neck with each passing second and the life that was still left inside struggles to get loose. The heavens cries as the mother sees her child getting ripped apart while the blood satiates somebody’s thirst and the flesh fills its stomach. The dust settles down and the red waters take away what is to be given back to the mother earth.

The inception of life, the deeds or karma, the hope in survival and reparation after destruction that’s all this is, we and everything around us.

Freedom From All

Waiting behind the silhouette of days

Passing each with a silence on tongue,

That the soul lying within denies,

Struggling and eager to dance and sing

What reclaim did happen alas

That world being free has cut its wings

And so it slithers under the ground

Hoping to sprout when the spring begins

Dense smoke suffocates and blurs

The similar paths it had walked before

And now that the time has changed again

Nothing but air can be gripped and bore

Peeling the scars that have dried and shred

The new skin beneath though fresh and pure

Darkens with the tans of time

That nowhere seems to aid and cure

With the bodily flesh and a beating heart

The cluster of nerves tangled in art

The intellectual self resting in skull

Can all this sustain within a soul so dull?

Thus it peeps, sometimes looks too far

In search of the final call

May be freedom from the fearsome fall

That has ruined it once and for all

And the Sun shone again

The sunshine bore outside the window, twinkling like gold against the grey clouds. It seemed as if heaven had descended upon earth after a long time. I wanted to go out, endure it, and feel the warmth on my skin. Before I could complete the surreal thoughts, somebody put down the curtains.

Something had shaken within me. I knew not but there was a disturbance, more like a ripple.

The sun dimmed its strength, hid somewhere behind the clouds. The golden light slowly faded. The white artificial light above my cubicle shone brighter now.

The mind drifted again and this time to the room where I was few minutes back.

“Where do you see yourself after seven years?” the question lingered on in my mind for some more time.

It was a simple question from one of our trainers in office but somehow the past and present lay naked before me as a question mark. What have I achieved till now? What has become of me? Was it what I wanted to be? Was it how I saw myself 5 years back? As if a tong was vibrating inside like a siren, an alarm system telling me that it is high time now, decide your path, decide your goals.

I was still aimless like a hollow log and I walked with a blurred vision. I wanted somebody to guide me and was in a thought that somebody would eventually pop up and show me the way. But nothing of that sort seemed to happen. I was stuck, restricted with my own mist of thoughts.

The sun shone again, across the clouds, cutting through the corners of the curtains. Its rays were now peeking through the gaps rather it forced through the crevices in between two curtains. It had made its pass through and now shone into the room with all its glory. The light just over my head shone in shame before the gold glow.

I took a long breath and suddenly my mind got cleared of all doubts and clarity settled in. The literal space had impact on my mind, deep within, from veins to nerves. I wanted to relive it, push through the crevices a little hard. May be a tone brighter, that was all it required, I required.

I saw the sun shine with all its might and I went out to live the moment.    

Yeah! The Same Four Years Folklore

I knew not what bound us together, despite all odds including those quarrels, perspective differences and long term fights. Insults and sarcasms being the part of daily talks, didn’t bother us much, after all we belonged to the same side of coin. Yet whenever we thought it was the last of times we would be together, it suddenly turned out that both of us had an invisible elastic rope tied between us. The farther we stretched, the closer we would get when it pulled us back. The four years of troughs and crests laid a cemented foundation that neither of us knew would stiffen with time. And as my parents say, “There is a reason why people enter your life and leave when the purpose is done.” Some reasons surely turned out well as time passed yet I believe it’s a lot more than fulfilling a purpose or supporting a reason. It is more about building an unbreakable kinship and I guess there is no exit made to it yet.

This journey, yea the same four years, going through the best and the worst together, if not then at least equally would be righteous to say it. Standing for each other and even against each other at times was a part of this traversal. From making the worst foes to shifting with the best friends, we are finally static.

For someone who knows all your weaknesses, it is dangerous to stand face to face with that someone but it is equally amazing to know how much that person loves you and cares for you despite knowing you all. Whether it was strangulating each other with respective weaknesses or lifting the spirits up to bring out the best in the other, we never stood back in any of these deeds. It turned out to be a raw friendship, more of natural and intense in all aspects. From ringing the bells of anger and skeptics in our parents to making them proud and content, we did it all, yet again together.  Sometimes it makes me laugh when I think of all the mischievous deeds we enacted, and got screwed. But isn't there the most of fun in doing what is forbidden?

I wish I could make a movie out of the golden years that just passed by and watch it over and over again. I wish that the time that is yet to come brings with it more of such lively moments and unforgettable times. And since this fable of ours hasn't ended yet, I wish to write more, about us, about our ‘deeds-done-together’ as we move ahead in time and create beautiful memories.




Yea, Thats real blood guys, don't freak out, just one of the crazy stuffs we did..:P ;)

The 'U' Turn

Globe trotters, the van reads from behind. Petit pupils in single bright colored attires sit beside each other compactly. A pair is into game with no rules, no equipments, and just four hands clapping each other repeatedly. Chattering and laughing follows unceasingly. I look at the school van from my office cab.

                                 The transformation in time is clearly visible, the difference being that I sit in a vehicle where even the engine feels guilty of roaring out too loud. People look out of their windows contemplating over the possibilities and the impossible of their made up life. Some carry expressionless faces while others have their eyes closed shut under the weights of their inadequate sleeps.

The van and the cab each have their own destinations. One is jingling with joy and the other just trying hard to reach where it is supposed to. Passing across the traffic signals seems like counting the minutes of delay to reach the place of work. The cab zooms across the minutest space available to drop its passengers on right time. Meanwhile the van cheers up, as the road swells. Seems none of the little travelers get bothered by that.

As the end of the day, what workers get is money while globe trotters gain knowledge, and something else which they don’t realize but former do.   You always tend to notice more of what you don’t have rather than what you have got.

The traffic is at its peak in the morning hours. There is a mini race at the U-turn between the traffic coming and the one cutting a U. Horns blare all over the road. People click their tongues and make sounds of frustrations creeping in their heads as the time runs ahead of their pace. Everyone wants to rush forth together where the space is only for few. Vehicles vibrate with power, the sleek ones making their way out somehow.

Here the road diverges, the van takes a soft turn while the cab rushes ahead reaching 60 in one go, horns following its every move.

It is sad and happy both that the little pupils don’t know what they are heading towards, only the time does and now even I do.