Penchant Dreams

Rustling leaves in an enchanting forest;

deep within a soul cries.

Leaves are dead, yet they make sound;

with each breath he so tries.

Balmy air, don’t go the farthest;

yet the inkling of the desire.

A laughing man, whom sorrow hound;

the habit of playing with the fire.

A stream's flute plays the strongest;

when the mountains breaks the ice.

At a binging heart, beats the devils pound;

give it the pain, but doesn't suffice.

A fakir walks alone into a land strangest;

whom the heralding dogs denounce.

That empty mind has wisdoms round;

he knows not why they trounce.

Falling rain ebb to the sea largest;

it cares not for the echoing screams.

Those mighty steps, are surely profound;

like dancing with the penchant dreams.

The Coming of the Ship

   So, on the 2^nd day of the year, down with a bad cough and cold, I confine myself to my bed.  A balmy northern breeze, unexpectedly warmer, is caressing my face. And a warmer sun is playing hide and seek with my feet. Through the leafy branches of a tree, I can see tufts of gloomy clouds trying to cover up a lazy sun. Just like empty thoughts jostling for space in my mind.

                It feels nice. Nice for finding some time for yourself and not getting bogged down by the monotonous monochrome maladies of life. Often I have wondered about all the efforts we put in our daily lives. To what does it round-up to? Another year passes by and getting older by another year. But are we getting any wiser? It’s incommodious as too many antagonistic thoughts queue up the thinking wagon. Pages of a national geographic magazine adds fuels to the thought fire and my heart clings to its deepest proclivity.  

                Someone somewhere starts playing a mouth organ. These kind of tunes can make you nostalgic instantly and for a moment you stop and turn back to glance at the road you tread. A montage of memories fill up your thoughts. What you dig up from these reminiscences is not under your control. But just like the tune of the mouth organ, let it fill your soul. Life is not always about doing things the right way. If you always try to measure up things and fret about them, it is actually that very moment when life passes by and you fail to notice it.

                Random, chaotic thoughts embezzle my senses and I seem to drift away into a faraway land where one’s life is like a utopian dream. But sometimes, such a feeling of a chaotic mind helps. One must spend time alone for introspection. It is the time when your soul opens up and you begin to comprehend the essence of your life and how it should be. You begin to recognize yourself. It is the time when you allow the mind to meet the heart and you begin to unravel your yearnings. 

For a moment the sun hides behind the clouds and I come back to my senses. Now the sun, through the leaves, creates crisscrossing shadows on my face. Somehow it reflects the state of my mind. I remember a fragment from the chapter ‘The Coming of the Ship’, in the book ‘The Prophet’ by Kahlil Gibran:

“A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give it wings. Alone must it seek the ether.

And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun”.

Letters to Anita : The Letter 5

The principles of love are not defined by doctrines of wisdom. It is an untamed force that knows no prodigy. It is but a simple flowing river, fed by rivulets of hope, which empties itself into the ocean of desire. Its path may be strewn with numerous obstacles, but it still goes on. And when it cannot meet the ocean, it floods the plains of wisdom and kills itself. Ocean unfed by the river, starves to death. It then vanishes into thin air and does not return again. Then on some fine day, maybe in a faraway land, clouds gather at the abuttal of heart and mind. And it rains again into the parched earth of desire.

Anita,

Stop writing these letters to me. You are just hurting yourself. I know you love me very much. But I love someone else more. She is not perfect, but perfect enough to reach my heart.

You sent me a leaf, probably from that tree where we once sat and spend hours talking. You were always a very good friend of mine and I hid nothing from you. I will always love you as a friend. Because that’s what you are. Where is my long lost cherished friend?

Some nights, you walk down to my home and put the letters in my letter box. You take great care in writing those. I know you try to instill love in my heart. But you don’t have to. It is already filled with the sweet love of friendship that I have always cherished. I will keep this letter in the box for you to read. I hope you will understand. 

Yours only true friend.

She wept under the tree which once shaded her from the harshness of life. But now the tree seemed like a grotesque monster ready to devour her with dark boughs. It seemed peaceful now. It will be just like the old times. A river was flowing through her heart and it has flooded the plains of her wisdom.

The principles of love are not defined by doctrines of wisdom.

Letters to Anita : Letter 4 continues....

Dear Anita,

             

              My heart aches. My heart aches so much that I feel that I should squeeze the life out of it. But then again, it’s your heart that’s beating inside me. Don’t you feel anything at all? Don’t you remember anything? Don’t you care at all?

             

              My friends say love hurts. Stay away. I try to stay away from your thoughts. But loneliness fogs my heart like a winter dawn. It is that loneliness that hurts me. I am not telling you that I love you. I mean it. It is something beyond my control. Your silence is the tombstone of my love for you and it tears me apart.

            One day I have to wake up. I have to wake up from dream, from my hope. I cannot take it anymore. Once I had a shoulder to lean on and bury my sorrow. But now there rests a head which is not mine. I cannot bear to see this. I want this to end. So I will not bother you anymore. You will never know what it is like to be me.

Yours Always.

P.S. – Please at least meet me for one last time.

His hands holding the letter were trembling with anger and yet a hint of guilt trickled out of his mind into his heart. It was enough to soften his heart. But this has to end anyway. There’s no harm in meeting her. She must have read the letter by now.