I never want to see anyone, and I never want to go anywhere or do anything. I just want to write.”
- P. G. Wodehouse.
- P. G. Wodehouse.
October 21st, 2011
What is needed is, in the end, simply this: solitude, great inner solitude. Going into yourself and meeting no one for hours on end—that is what you must be able to attain.”
- Rainer Maria Rilke, on being a writer.
- Rainer Maria Rilke, on being a writer.
October 13th, 2011
Thoughts of a solitary man
Ugly Lines
A placid stream
picturesque, pretty, pure.
Suddenly, there are lines
dark, deep and shattering.
Ugly creases
on a calm face.
Turbulence.
Life would
never be
the same again.
Paper boats, they two.
Two paper boats
- brown and cream
wobbling gently
down the stream.
They always
touched - albeit
too gently.
Came along
the little boy
the master who
made them all -
showed a handsome
big, bright
red paper boat.
The cream one
moved on.
Chemistry.
The brown paper boat
stands alone.
Pause button
A press
that chokes;
The needle
sinks - its
venomous tip
piercing
a point in
running time.
The truth
that came in
as the pause button.
Fabric
No, I haven’t
stopped;
I do
weave across
but..
the colours
criss-cross;
the pattern
clearly mocks;
and there are
tricky knots.
Ugly, this
fabric of Life -
that I,
the solitary man,
weave alone.
A Glowing Candle
I know you now.
Not the way
I knew.
You wouldn’t
come back.
No, don’t.
I am working
on the knots.
in the light of
the glowing candle
by my side.
It’s called hope.
And this..
is what I call..
Revival.
September 20th, 2011
Absence - a small story
Read it on my story blog here.
September 17th, 2011
I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do something that I can do.
- Helen Keller
- Helen Keller
September 16th, 2011
Child, a passing thought
My honey, my fresh dew my angel face. Gentle as a flute note so lovable as the deep cheer of a violin. Do you know - your laughter of an hour ago trickles even as you sleep curled - innocence dripping? The very innocence that nails in place the wavering guilt of my heartless admonishment. When you wake up you’ll make it seem, like it’s all a closed chapter. Like a whistled tune the shameful past will dissolve into nothingness. Ma, you’ll call soon looking through sleepy eyes, hug, kiss and laugh Painting rainbows in my soul. And my heart like ever will leap and bounce with the joy of a butterfly bouncing off the flowers of spring! My honey, my fresh dew my angel face Gentle as a flute note so lovable as the deep cheer of a violin. I won’t tell you for you may not understand. Or for you, it wouldn’t even matter. Hence, words pour spewing resentment at my damned attitude. Words pour blackening paper - the colour of regret speckled with heartfelt tears. And they say - Sorry, sweetie.
