Memoirs

A candle, flickering in the gentle breeze,
A smile, captured in an immortal freeze.
Tears, to wash the memories anew,
Faces, but none to her rescue.
She faded, wilted like the flower of the spring.

A letter, folded with a gentle crease,
The words, muffled in sorrow, a cunning tease.
Stories unfolded, each labeled untrue,
None to blame but alone like the morning dew,
She faded, with her, the lies untold.

A slit, cold drenching water, answers to her pleas,
A void, awaiting her, life does death frees.
Pain, slowly fading away as fear grew,
A gasp of fresh air, to the end her life drew.
She smiled, at the empty fate, a promise never to cry.

She was my soul, I wither as she dies,
A promise to never grow old, frozen in time,
As the autumn fades, ushering the winter of her life,
I wait, for this winter to tide my lies,
I watch the boatman carry my soul across.

The Litany

 Act V

The pungent smell of gasoline, metallic fumes reveling in back of the mouth with some searing human flesh; not exactly the aromas to knock you back into your senses. The seat-belt dug deep into my shoulders, as I hung upside down in my seat, with the fire melting the faux leather seats.

A click, a smash and a crawl.

Words easily describe the scenario, but those were the longest half an hour of my life, as I slowly crawled my way out of the burning wreckage of a life.

A long sigh later, I tried picturing the scene, piece by piece, memory by memory, memories with holes, but still memories. A gush of tears moistened my eyes, as a face flashed in one of those pieces. Blake, a name very familiar, a name familiar enough to make my eyes water, a name familiar enough to make my gut knot in disgust. He was family, and his face etched itself, as I faded into the darkness, un-beckoned to the distant sirens of hope.

 ...

"The mongrel died!!! What a shame".

A tear trickled down my face as I lay in the burn ward, surrounded by the pigs guarding my escape.


Act IV

Blake was lively that morning, a fresh plan of revenge, a fresh plan to give back to his fellow humans. "Kill two birds with one stone", he kept repeating to himself. He had it in him to make a difference, and he had been pretty hell bent on his idea of making a dent in the society. But, our world is our world. His dents felt more like a verbal jab to a self proclaimed righteous person. Uncomfortable enough to evoke a sense of guilt, but not potent enough to make them act differently based on the guilt. A guilt good enough to help build a resolve, but not powerful enough to keep the resolve. Blake was all talks. A saint at heart.

His ideals were weird, but somewhere I connected with him. The lives of others who suffered with him mattered more to him. He would give away his meal to the hungry, while with hunger he made his bed.

"We are just taking from the rich and giving our brethren what they deserve." His words were always filled with care, and that morning too. His self was motivated with the love for his fellow beings, who like him had been deprived of the life that they deserved.

The plan had been brewing in Blake's mind for some time.

We were given our own roles to play. I knew to drive, so I drove, as Blake rolled down the glass, and let the air breath a promise of new life.

He made us believe - stealing the heaven was easy, but, getting away alive was difficult.


Act III

 
"Pain makes devils out of the saints"

I had seen the change in him. I had seen the change as he buried each of our brothers.

"They take everything and give us morsels to live on, but we should endure, a bit more, we should endure."

Those were not merely words, but those were the words which changed him. Death added weight to these words.

We were a generation of the war, orphans of war, born fighting a war, a war of rights and wrongs. Not our war, but the war of the righteous, war of the saints - we were forced to believe that. The war of those who slept in their silken robes, while we slept with hunger as our companion.

"Peace is the time when the rich plot the next war", Blake would often say, and we were sick of this war, and sick of this peace. We wanted what we deserved. Our own heaven.

Blake was convinced he could bring a change, and we were to play a part in his plan. We were four horsemen of the Apocalypse, Blake often remarked.


Act II


I am the personification of death, I drive a hearse. My guide is our fate, a hand crafted map.

Blake rode shotgun, his arms resting on the rolled down window, the wind ruffling his hair.

Jeremy was the arms expert and Craig did what he was good at - "Intimidate", the war had made him tough.

The car rolled into the parking lot, as each of us took our positions. I was instructed to keep the engines warm, as the others disappeared into the womb of the greed.

Our target was the richest of them all. An oligarch who had made a lot of money selling weapons in the ongoing war.

Blake, Jeremy and Craig entered through the back door. Gun fire was expected, and I clenched the gas peddle with each pounding lead.

The battle was quick, and I heard the gunfire drawing nearer, as Blake and Jeremy exited the building. "Craig is dead, they killed him." I could hear Jeremy wailing as they entered the vehicle.

I drove like a mad man. I was justified in my driving. I drove like a mad man, as we were pursued by the minions of the oligarch.

The first rocket hit the rear wheels, reeling us forward, but the second was not so merciful. It hurled us over in the air. The ensuing blast engulfed the passenger side of car, and I saw Jeremy lashing out in pain as the fire snuffed the life out of him.

Blake smiled at me, as we were thrown up in the air. His gaze deep and painful, he wiped a tear that trickled down the corner of my eyes.

Act I

"Read it backwards, you will feel the pain I feel."  He said, as we crashed.

Soundtrack: https://youtu.be/1qKS51qh4OY

The Song of the Southern Wind

The Sun Spoke, 
The sweetest of the words,
That befell any ear before,

'Whom are you waiting for',
A shy smile, replied.
'A love I reckon',
The sun simmered. 

The clouds gathered,
A tale they longed to hear,
Of love, of longing, of the wait.

'Why the blush', the sun teased,
The smile gave way,
'Its a secret', she replied,
The clouds awed, women of the same feather.

The rain had a different tale,
'Who are you waiting for',
They chimed, a drizzle of words,

'Why don't you clear off',
She, rhymed the rhythm,
Rhythm of the thunder,
as it echoed through the clouds.

And as the rain parted farewell,
And the sun geared with joy,
And the clouds that dispersed with awe.

He stood, all in his glory,
Seven colors, majestic, royal,
Her blush gave way to joy,
And the southern wind smiled.

Disappear

The blue lillacs, dew drops,
Carry me on the winds,
Heed my call, Rain, Rain,
Walk my path, say what you will.

Morning chill, comfort my spirit,
Take me with the blizard,
Beckon, and see, Waves, Storm,
Walk my curve, see the world.

I wish to be lost,
I wish to be found,
Say no more O southern wind,
I wish to be asleep, in your arms.

I wish to stay,
I wish to leave,
I wish to be me,
Disappear, says my spirit.

Man with three shoes.

Follow the waters' trail,

Winding in the sun, 

Snakes of the brood, return,

Return to your home.

Who walks there?

Below the green ridge,

Blossoms, to the right, 

I see it pale old but bright,

The tree, rooted in my heart.

Who walks there?

I who have seen the stars,

And have traversed the sea,

I who have won the hearts,

And slain with mercy,

Who walks there?

The night of the future,

Light, I presume, fades.

Jades of the castles fallen,

Why should I wait.

Who walks there?

Its me who walks. 

Who waits by the willow,

Bloom my mate, spread your wings,

And ask, till your heart's content

But who walks there?

The Count's Wife.

"...And by the light stood a beauty so divine, that I wanted her to be mine"

"There should be a silver lining", I thought,
As I moved on, on the stony path uphill.
"Sire, would you mind camping up here",
Bellowed my guide, as his steps started to fail.

The gray of the sky was settling in, as we camped,
And the twilight soon faded into the night.

"Why doth thee wish to enter the castle?",
Asked he with a curious glister in his eye.
"I wish to meet the Lady of the house,
For I have heard praises of her beauty", I replied.

A moments silence, and a hint of fear in his eyes,
Shocked and shaken did he reply.

"Sire its not safe in the night, for I've heard screams,
Screams of pain and anguish, screams of revenge with blood lust",
"What happened to her?", I asked curious to my bones,
"Oh let the dead rest in peace", he crossed himself, as he replied.

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead,
A shudder of despair enveloped his being.

"I will pester thee till you speak,
For I am a man who doesn't give up on ease",
And after a long persuasion he broke, and he gave in,
"But I warn thee sire, thy shan't see the light of dawn if I speak".

The moon peeked occasionally from the clouds, hiding at times,
As my guide wiped the sweat on his forehead that divulged his fear.

"It was their wedding night, and bride was in her chamber,
As a party of robbers, armed to kill, invaded the castle.
The Count, a brave soldier himself, killed a many with his sword,
Until a scum hiding, drove his knife deep into his bosom".

He paused for a while, scared as before,
And then took a deep breath as he resumed.

"She was dragged out, her cloths ripped of,
And as each of the men took his turn, she lay there helpless,
And her screams were muffled by the wicked laughter."
He stopped, and looked around, scared by the presence of a being.

I could hear the winds howl, through the hollow mountain,
And the gentle splash of footsteps on the water.

"When they were done, they left, leaving her to die,
She crawled back to her beloved lover, as she died",
"Sire, that's the story I know, and I shall not continue,
For whomever has recited the tale, never lived to see the dawn"

The story had captivated me, or may have enslaved me,
For I kept pushing him, now offering money for the same.

"Why are you so scared?", I asked losing my patience at last,
"She is still alive, and haunts these mountains", he replied.
"Finish the story, or I shall take your life,
For I hate cowards, who live their lives in fear of a hearsay"

He had no choice, he thought, for he would die,
So he gathered up his strength, and pulled up his bags as he walked.

"Lets go to the castle and I will tell you the story en-route,
For I shall die tonight, either by your hands or by the Count's wife"
So we started our uphill journey and reached the castle in an hour,
An eery silence was all that left, as we passed the castle doors

The courtyard was flooded with the silver moonlight,
And the long shadows of the pillars that stood by.

"Here she died", he said pointing to the ground,
"And here she was born again, to vent her fury on men"
A light breeze whistled by, as I heard on to the story,
"None of the robbers lived to see the morning light", he said

The creaking of doors, sent chills down my spine,
As I listened to his closing lines.

"From that day on, she preys on men, who wander by,
To spend the night in mountain, but for us, we are locals here,
And she doesn't harm, for we bring her the men she wants",
He sighed and sat down by the stone pillar, gazing up at the stars.

There was silence, a gloom of despair,
Which was broken by a painful scream.

"She is here!", he screamed, as he ran for the doors,
But the doors closed upon him, as he fell.
I could see a faint light, as it slowly filled the corridor,
And by the light stood a beauty so divine, that I wanted her to be mine.

She came close, a beautiful smile adorned her face,
And that smile was the last thing I saw, as she took me in her hands.

An embrace covered my body as lust filled my being,
And I watched the poor guide, clenching his chest as he died,
She took me into her sweet chamber, filled with fragrance of rose,
She dimmed the light and I swam with her, as my eyes closed.

Her warmth was what I felt, against my body,
Her killer gaze was what I had missed, as she lay by me.

The night was about end, and with passion did she kiss me,
And as I kissed her lips, I felt the cold breath from her being,
And slowly I gave into her hands, losing my self to sleep,
A sweet sleep I had never known, as I slept forever.

The Story of the Night.

Long ago, there was no night, but just light,
And this light gave birth to an unending love,
A true love, that bound the Earth and the Sun.

They were together, nothing to separate them,
And their love was known across the universe,
Man was happy, for there was no darkness to fear.

There was a seer, who was enchanted by the beauty,
Enchanted by the beauty of the Earth, and he wanted her
But it was the Sun who stood in between him and his love.

His love turned to jealousy, and all he wanted was her,
He plotted days on end, plotted how to get rid of the Sun,
And one day he came up with a plan, plan to take his love.

The seer went to meet the Gods, "Does the human pray to you?",
"Does he come to you, praying for the well being?"
"Does he humour you with his thanksgiving?".

"He has long forgotten fear, so he forsakes thee",
"He has forgotten anguish, so he doesn't heed thee".
"Give him darkness, and he will come to you, you will see".

The Gods were impressed by what the seer said,
"So let it be, let there be night, let there be no light",
"Let the man fear me once again, and countinue to pray"

So came the night, and the sun was gone,
And the seer seizing the opportunity, pursued his love,
The Earth was frightened by the darkness, and afraid of the seer.

She ran to the Gods for help, and she begged them,
Now the Gods understood what was that what the seer wanted,
"You have deceived us oh great Seer, so you shall be punished"

The seer was cast into a bottom-less pit,
"And for you, oh Earth, we can't undo the night",
"But we can give you light in the night"

And saying thus, they placed the Moon in the sky,
And it shone bright, with the light from the sun,
While the Earth waited patiently for the dawn.

And to this day, the Moon shines,
Shines with the promise of love,
A true and eternal love, that would return one day.

The Lady In The Portrait

The sweet smile, and a morbid love,
I never knew, what changed my mind,
But when I drew her on my canvas,
It was night for me, and sunshine for her.

I tried, to make the colors look alive,
But she was adamant, made me look grim,
I reasoned with her, and then a long walk,
But nothing would change, for she was mine.

I drew her, a damsel in distress,
I drew her, for I loved her face more,
The colors were alive, and vibrant with fear,
Then a scream, when my true colors came alive.

Was it the noose, or the blade,
I couldn't tell but she screamed,
She called me crazy, a compliment,
When I let her dangle on her life.

She was captured, never to be free,
She was enslaved, within my dreams,
Then with a chilling shrill, she broke free,
Death became her solace.

I tried reason, but she would't listen,
I tried love, but she would't understand,
For all she saw was a withering cloud,
Under the shadow of a new dream.

Then finally to capture her,
To enslave her within my portrait,
I tightened my noose and swung my knife,
Until not a red drop would remain.

Judge me

The Walking Stick

A sunny sky to mark my day,
I strolled along, alone, and bored,
The park was lively, with birds chirping,
Dogs barking, and fish swimming.

A tree swayed, and a sparrow flew away,
Up soared the eagle, to catch its prey,
So on such a sunny day, I strolled,
Alone and bored, nothing to do.

At a distance I saw a boy, a kid of my age,
Play with his dog, as his grand old man,
Aged with wisdom, wrinkled with love,
Sat by the tree, and watched him play.

Next to him lay, his walking stick,
Wood of the same tree, or so I presumed,
To support him, till he made peace,
Till he lays down his worries and leaves.

The kid played along, urging his old man,
To play with him, to throw a ball or two,
The old man did budge, stood up to play,
But his weak legs wouldn't let him stay.

So he picked up his walking stick,
To play with his little kid,
Something struck me at this point,
And for long did I lose myself to thoughts.

The walking stick had become a part of him,
A part he cherished and lived.
A part which would never leave his side,
I wish I had a walking stick too like him.

The Butterfly Face

Was it fate, or a mere coincedence,
That our lives were to collide,
Under the dreary day, and a sunny night,
What more could the nature provide.

A flap of a wing, or a flutter of an eyelid,
Was it the beauty that blinded my sight,
As for my fate, oh a twisted one at that,
so how come you are my magical sunlight?

She flips her mane, and raises her face,
Like butterfly wings, they float in air.
She brushes her hair and smiles at me,
Dazed I doubt my newly gained sunshine.

She walks, with the tender touch,
As the butterfly floats along,
Like the water, her body does sway,
And like moon, her beauty does shine.

She is a nymph, with beauty untold,
Carefully crafted, by natures own hand.
The elements of life, dwel in her,
The elegence of beauty, crowns her head.

She does live, but in my dreams,
Where butterflies I do chase.
She will be mine, forever more,
The woman with the butterfly face.

The Traveller-2

Tlot, tlot, the horse shoe hit the sun baked clay
On a winding path over creeks and brooks.
Tlot, tlot, did it echo into the fragile dying day,
As the sun slipped down, and up went the moon

Night did descend, and tired were we,
For an evening-primrose bed, did we find,
Snuggled between the flowing crystal stream,
A land lit by the moon and the silver night.

The camp was set and the food was served,
As beasts, drank off the sparkling creek,
Wine was served and songs were purred,
By shores of the river, restless and bleak.

At length, A shimmering flame, crossed our way,
A man dressed in white, fragile, aged and wise,
"I am a traveler", said he, "would ye let me stay,
For, the night is long and chill will rise".

We let him stay, and by the fire he settled,
"There's a better land, upstream beyond the mound",
said he, as he feasted on wine and rested by the fire.
Where wild lily blossoms And the brooks make no sound".

"So would you mind following me, oh men of time,
For its a beauty that lays, untouched by men",
So we saddled our horses and followed the wise,
To the land, upstream beyond the mound.

"When the hour strikes late, cherubs do sing", he continued,
"With flutes and harps, and a song that sooth the being,
The music does capture, the music does attract,
For those who have listened, were never to be seen".

"I was caught once, in this heart numbing song", said he.
"And I did cross the land upstream beyond the mound.
To dance to the music and sing with the cherubs,
I did cross the land upstream beyond the mound".

"Weren't you captured?" asked one of my mates,
As we got absorbed in the stupor and dream.
"If you were captured how do you sit with us",
Asked one of my mates, slumped in stupor and fear.

Wind did howl, and the trees did bow,
And moon light played with our minds,
The waters moved, and the camp fire crackled,
As the traveller cleared his throat to rhyme.

"I made a deal with the cherubs said he,
So they let me live, for I bring them life",
And slowly his voice started to fade, fade into the night
As The slow laughter of flutes and harps, filled us inside.

Randomness

I sat on the chair bored playing the same chords over and over again on my guitar. My brain was working overtime, thinking what to do, concentrating on the playing part, and worried whether I would get sick sitting for this long on the chair. Thoughts are triggers, triggering the mind to do the unimaginable, and as I sat on my chair thinking I was triggering my mind into doing unimaginable things. Then I was fish, swimming through the vast openness of the sea, I wasn't a small fish, neither a really big one, just big enough to scare the bigger fishes. I was still wondering, how could I swim, I never knew how to swim, I was afraid of water. Then I was a bird. Soaring high up in the sky, flying in the clouds. I was a cheetah, running across the wide open tracts of savanna land. I see birds soaring up, trying to catch up with me. My mind is free. Now I am sitting in my class, listening to what my teacher has to say. She calls me up, asks me what is the amount of optimization provided by Huffman code. I am blank, I am scared, and I stand there facing her. The 12 year old in my brain wants to be free. I let him free. "Ma'am I want to pee", The class bursts into laughter. I am asleep now, sleeping in the comfort of my bed. I wish I had slept more, but the sleep is something I am missing. Dreams come and dreams go, but still I want to dream more. Thoughts are bad, they trigger an uneventful chain of memories and insignificant results. I am bored, I sit by the sea, listening to the waves crashing on the rocky shore. Waves sooth my ticked off nerves. I am child again, I am me again. I get up from my chair and put my guitar aside. The nature calls me, and I need to go to it, to be one with it. I pick up my jogging shoes, and walk out, leaving my chair and my guitar alone.

She Who Must Be Obeyed

A beauty so chaste, a beauty so fragile,
So tender that it won't survive
Like a goddess she stands by the heaven's door
guarding the key to the eternal hope

But the beauty ain't gold,nor is it silver my friend,
for her beauty was sin, which I had tried to win,
day and night I toiled, to win her love,
but that love, oh was a bitter love

Her beauty was her weapon, a spell she could cast,
enchanted how long could I hope to last,
Day after day I tried to escape her charm,
but a witch she was, whom I couldn't harm.

Beauty is unbearable, drives us to despair,
gives false hope of love, joy and care.
I was a happy man, once upon a time
But this wretched beauty took all that was mine

Men had come and men had gone,
All to come and play their part.
She is the beauty I will always adore
but beware she has even the Devil's heart.