philosophical me

Yesterday

Yesterday promised to be another day
 A day when all that I  see bathes in sun ray
A day when every sunflower fights for the touch of sun’s every ray.
But it was yesterday a forlorn souls last day.

The stream that kept my thirst at bay seemed to have run away
There was no garden to gratify my hunger
There was no jester to give me laughter
All I could I could see was snow and ice
But I felt like I was burning in some hot fire.

But my mind refused to surrender
It made me hear sound of some piper
Tricked that bliss lay in the lap of the musical whispers
I walked the road told by an ancient dreamer.

But ‘t was not a lie that I was engulfed fire
‘T was true that the lake was all snowy and people were walking on water
But the warmth of my body melted my road into water
The fire that was roasting me gave way to frost bites.

I grasped for breath
I prayed for air
But I  was no fish with gills
In a dreamy state I made my way to a distant paradise
And today I wait for a kiss of life to wake me from my slumber.

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Hobbies, life, Literary experience, philosophical me

Verse, blank-verse and converse

Although there is no cookbook for wisdom and knowledge, the same cannot be said about the intangible adjective called literate.  For all I can do or wish to do it is now forever etched into my gray matter that the 3 Rs – reading, writing and arithmetic make up the seven course meal called literacy. It is another matter that the gray matter is not gray and arithmetic does not start with an ‘R’ yet this is the very sequence of words I shall tattoo into the minds of any impressionable target that comes across me. Like most middle-class parents of their generation, my parents too thought that I should master the three R’s. I was in school.

The thing about school and blog is that language classes are much more easier to ponder over and ruminate then the numerical theories which I now believe to be the only absolute truth. Scientific theories come and go, Religions are born and buried but if one bird on a tree is joined by another bird, we have only two birds on the tree.The thing about language lessons is that we learn “Twinkle Twinkle little star” and “A for Apple” from beyond the time hidden in my subconscious by the mist of time.  This was my initiation to the world of prose and poetry.

As the years went by, poems changed from small songs to sonnets to blank verse. My English papers periodically had exotic sounding words like “iambic pentameter“. But the thing with poems which I have referred to as verse and blank verse is that I was never really sure if I had diverged from what the writer actually wanted to say. Most of the times , the safe approach was the approach of your teacher.  Even the neurons of time have failed to remove the veil of ignorance that envelops my understanding of words that I had once read.

Even today,some questions remain unanswered. Even today , I can’t help wondering if there is more to the poems than that meets the eye. Even today , I want to wax lyrical but indulge in mundane and intrinsic science called prose writing.

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