Morbidities

going under.
drowning,
in things broken asunder.

glimpses of a horror,
beneath the facade.
far and away,

away from what once was,
all bright and blue and true,
I am going under.

what does it feel like to fall from grace ? Or if nothing as dramatic, to be really unfotunate. I mean really. Like what happens in our indian soaps and movies where the protagonist is beset by tragedy after tragedy.
what about perosnal ruin ? Absolute helplessness. A slow decay. Roaming among the ruins that once was your life. Beyond the point of no return. Ever so definitely towards that certain inevitability. When all that is left a vague memory of the life that was. So vague that, that the pain that was always there from the start of the decay, has dimmed to dull throbbing. Pain at remebering things as they were, now just a dull ache.

An empty shell to be put six feet under.

Some grace in human tragedy ? I think not.
*shivers*
That shit is only for the movies.

Blur

In our headlights, staring, bleak, beer cans, deer's eyes
On the asphalt underneath, our crushed plans and my lies
Lonely street signs, powerlines, they keep on flashing, flashing by

And we keep driving into the night
It's a late goodbye, such a late goodbye
And we keep driving into the night
It's a late goodbye

The words are from 'Late goodbye by Poets of the Fall'. This is what Winamp dished out just now. I have it playing randomly from over 10gb ( uh.. a *lot* ) of songs, and am often pleasantly suprised by what is in that dump.

A quick query and Larry and Page tell me that this song also featured in Max Payne.

Its been a long hard day at work, and the song captures the moment beautifully. The confused muddle of thoughts, ideas left half finished, images of the day whizzing past, snippets of conversations, snippets of code, reminders, laughs, frowns, and the fatigue. That ever present fatigue that is pulling me ever so slowly, a strong definite caress, one that does not want to be ignored.

Sleep, is all I want.

And as I slip into the twilight zone I am reminded of Going to Sleep by Herman Hesse ....

My yearning desire
Will receive more kindly,
Like a tired child, the starry night.

Hands, leave off your deeds,
Mind, forget all thoughts;
All of my forces
Yearn only to sink into sleep.

And my soul, unguarded,
Would soar on widespread wings,
To live in night's magical sphere
More profoundly, more variously.

Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's a heaven for ?
- Robert Browning

Indeed.

a fighter called Siddharth

If you will click on the title it will take you to a rediff news article about a guy called Siddarth. Siddarth has crebral palsy. He is 24. Oh and he also has a degree in economics with distinction. A person suffering from cerebral palsy has his motor coordination affected and his control over his muscles is lessened. But the mind remains normal, and in Siddharth's case exceptionally brilliant. This is akin to being imprisoned. Think about it, living with a disability, all the misconceptions, the biases, the judgements, the stares, all the while having a fine mind tick inside you.
I crib and complain about life and then once in a while I come across something like this, someone like Siddarth, and I am silenced. Kudos to him, and his parents.

In this sewltering mass of humanity, among the idiots, and the masses of the faithless, people like Siddarth go a long way towards setting right a skewed balance. They inspire, and remind me that things like hope do exist in real life.

balance.

to enjoy something,
but not be swayed by it,
to notice and raise an eyebrow,
but not a furore,
to take a hit and hit back,
but not rage,
to rise above daily banalities,
and yet remain passionate.

Balance, something one strives for, and so hard, but rarely achieved.

Dead poets society

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race and the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life! Of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here, that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse." That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

- Dead Poets Society.

Thanks to Vagaries.

monday morning.
chaos is in the air,
magic is loose ?
ground zero.
the midst of life,
and other surreal statements.

Is it ?

Endless inanities
come my way,
is this my fate ?
after eighteen years of toil,
to sit at a regular job.

looking up

there be masters,
work of theirs I admire,
spending days in vain emulation.

realization hits me,
few have talent born in them,
the rest, like me, work towards a zenith,
to be called masters,
one day.

In response to muh mate, this

Such rage,
Twas our saviour once.
Doth it make sense to quell it now ?
Is the world a fairer place ?

Humbled

I have a friend. I gained new respect for this friend today, as I stumbled upon something. Wanted to pen it down before I loose the moment.

This person belives deeply in something. I am at the other end of the spectrum. I have argued with this person incessantly, tried logic, reason and what not. But conviction holds this person in a death grip. I am left bewildered.

And, I havent come across another person with the patience, candour and faith in ones ideas that this person has. Especially the patience. Not just with me, but with other ..um .. brethren.

KUDOS to muh mate. I take my hat off to thee and hope that someday I grow up to have the patience, fortitude and open mindedness that you have now.

Sigh

Born out of a quiet desperation that I still indulge in sometimes. An old one this.

I am tired,
Tired of rationalising,
Tired of trying to find a purpose.
Things seem too vast and too complex,
Self-doubt plagues me.
Where am I heading ?
What if all that I am about and have been is a charade?
How will I know ? How will I know that I know ?
Circles, I am tired of them.

Sometimes a road less taken is that way for a very good reason, so said a wise man.
Ah, if only I could see a road, any road.

This is not a poem, but it is a musing.

I look out the window, and its a lovely day. Theres a slight dampness in the air, from recent rain. Its not too bright or too dark. All the leaves on the trees are a fresh green and everything about the outside is just right. It would be lovely to sit in some open air cafe, with a good book or a pretty girl.

Instead I sit here typing this.
Apr. 7th, 2005 @ 11:55 am

Insanity comes calling,
Among all the things that are broken and falling.
Throwing the towel in seems easy,
Braving the chaos not so.

The first two lines came as i was riding back home from work. Insane really, couple more years of navigating traffic in blore, and I'll be just another statistic.

This came after a day of doing nothing but reading stuff online. Hope my manager doesnt get to this.

All day long I stare at words,
All day long I dream of words,
All of the day is gone,
Another day is gone.

Musings

Inspiration comes at the oddest of places and moments. It might be when I am navigating the chaos that is Bangalore traffic or when I am on the pot.
Frustration later. More specifically when I pen down my thoughts and they dont look as grand as they did in my head. I am sure they were grand. Ahem! But to convey that grandeur to you, the reader, ah that is an art.
This blog at blogger, will be an attempt to (hopefully) become an artist.
And hopefully get that booker. While I am there, I would also love some pictures of pigs that fly.

So Jakespeak-Musings will be a listing of my attempts at writing poetry, or free verse, or whatever. Welcome.

People are born but to die,
And they take their living between slow.

Was inspired by one of Theodore Roethke's poems to write the above.