A tragedy

The infinite, 

multiplying possibilities of childhood, 

being chased forever,

by the whittling years,

are dead men 

now.

Their ghosts however

return, without fail

to haunt the undeniable

now.

maple syrup

There are things that for no apparent reason, get indelibly etched in your mind. The factoid ( if it is indeed a one ) seems to achieve no apparent purpose sitting there. Like maple syrup.

It was like this. Way back in eighth class, Nondi was yammering away. Nondi was the name affectionately given our geography teacher. He walked almost as if he had a limp, his whole body leaning to one side and almost a swagger. Well, at least he must have thought it was a swagger. And I don't, to this day, know if he really suffered a limp, but being kids, and with the amazing cruelty that kids are so easily capable of, we named him Nondi. And i digress.

It was geography time and Nondi is yammering. I then recall that he asks us, to name that which is used as an alternative to sugar in Canada. And some one from a bench behind me, shouts out maple syrup. And that's it. Maple syrup makes itself a constant companion to my life thereafter. I can even recall the way Nondi was standing as he posed the question to us.

Now at four or so in the morning, as I sit unable to sleep and with a ringing headache (quite the bastard) I think of maple syrup.

free falling

Exhaling, I lean back. Nothing fills my head, a white noise really, a blend of many babbling thoughts. The noise soon fades and my mind floats away. Staring ahead, I try to blink away fleeting ghost patterns that haunt my tired eyes. Shaking my head, I jerk back upright, trying to clear my head off a fog that is fast threatening to overwhelm me. But the sudden movement only serves to pitch my head forward and I am too far gone to resist. "Just two minutes", I promise myself and lay my head down on the table. Lingering I try to remember something. Something I had promised myself just a moment before. Something, something ...

And a sudden "But only in their dreams can men be truly free. 'Twas always thus and always thus will be" flutters in from somewhere, a dying sputter of a thought. But that is the last and I am pulled in. Pulled into a free fall.

Life's like this

Life trundles along the gray plateaus of the daily, avoiding the dark and sunken valleys of despair and missing the tall shimmering hillocks of happiness. There is a path that it follows amidst these, on this endless gray sea of slate. The path which for the most part is by itself, is intersected every once in a while by other paths and more often than not, takes sharp turns into the aforementioned valleys. Life has to be careful, for there are never any signposts put up in advance, to warn it of such things. "Conniving sod!" it says, its irritation directed towards the one who designed all of this. Surprises almost seem to be built in - a feature, instead of a bug.

And every once in a rare while, along the dusty path, are glimpses of what-may-be's. Having stopped now, at one of these, it pauses to look upon the what-may-be. And a moment later it ambles on, wondering about mirages.

A good day

The day wears on and I am witness to a brilliant sunset. Red fills the universe of my sight interspersed with a flaming orange. An orange at war with the red fighting for space and winning in bright streaks. This sunset, I think, should be a fitting start to the end of a good day. But I pause and wonder at what the remains of the day yet hold for me. While the magnificent spectacle plays on, granting me front row audience to a cosmic dance, manifestations of which fill the sky up ahead. Amidst such beauty, I am filled with a longing, not quite sorrow, that a good day is past and is never to be mine again.

this soldier

A common foot soldier I am and I wield the pen. I was not always a soldier. I was once a common man, looking in from outside. Looking in onto the plain white, afraid to step in. But this battle is a free for all and so I was given my pen and asked to go forth and conquer words. Lay siege to adjectives, capture verbs and bring down paragraphs, sonnets, verses and prose.

Glory and literary acclaim, supposedly await me. Lines such as the pen is mightier than the sword are concocted to help me along. For inspiration I have a whole range of masters. From mere Knights to veritable Gods. People whose prowess with words, words are insufficient to express. Masters and mistresses of form, wit and dialogue, of satire, of drama and powerful intellect. Weavers of new worlds, builders of kingdoms, spawners of demons and dragons. As a foot soldier I look up and upon them and to their victories, legends that I strive to emulate, as I try to shape these words to my ideas.

Are the words there first or are the ideas ? I do not know. They are both at the same time. Without words, I do not know if I would have ideas and of ideas I do not know of any other kind. And yet, once the idea and the words that make it appear, I am able to discern a difference and make the idea be of other words, better words perhaps. More lucid words. Ah lucidity. Every moment on the battlefield, I strive to make my verbs and nouns and prepositions be where they are meant to be. I try to fashion vehicles for my thoughts and emotions, vehicles which will transport and deliver, without much ado to themselves. I do not often succeed.

Millions fight this war. The war remains the same, though the battle has spread to newer arenas, away from the traditional paper and away from the pen being the only weapon. A universe now exists composed of letters, words and lines uncountable, immeasurable. And in this immensity, a common foot soldier, I plod on. Oblivious to the tumult of humour, satire, poetry and prose around me, I am busy in an attempt to leave behind the only things about me that will remain. My body will perish, memories of me will fade, but my words, they will be about. That I was once. That, borrowing from Whitman, I existed, life went on, and these here were my verses.

Particularly weary, I realize that the sun has set on this days battle. So I clear a space on my desk and lay my pen down.