A void lurks before me
I enter the pitch black darkness
So thick you could slice it with a knife
I feel myself and I cannot
I am lost
Seamlessly submerged into the surroundings
I cry out but my voice fails me
My subconscious roves around the corners
Of the black-hole like cave
There is yet a thought, an impulse
Am I still living?
Or am I matter vaporized?
I exist in the crevices of thoughts
I long for a sign, a tangible feel of life and the living
I try to breathe
But I am all air
Nothing exists as me or within me
Nothing exists outside me, too
I am an abyss of thoughts and memories
I travel down a tunnel
There is a flicker of light at the end
I float towards it like wind
Maybe it will revive my being, my substance
Maybe I will regain my former form
But the passage is endless
I can’t reach the end
Suddenly, the darkness turns into a swirling vortex
I am sucked in deeper and deeper
And I am lost forever
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
A FISTFUL OF SAND
I was sitting by the river, listening to the rapids cascade over boulders and rocks.
A gentle breeze rustled the nearby shrubs and I was in another world.
The setting sun cast a fiery golden glow over the horizon which the water reflected.
I picked up a handful of sand from the river bank and grasped it tightly.
It slipped through my fingers until there was no more left in my fist.
I grabbed another fistful, this time letting the inside of my hand cradle it loosely. It held on.
Maybe this is an apt metaphor for what often happens in our life with loved ones.
Be too possessive, rave and rant for an ounce of their affection and tighten your grip on them till they have no breathing space and they elude you. There is no more love in the relationship. It becomes a source of heartache to both parties.
But give them their own space. Love them but don’t impinge on their freedom. Care for them but don’t suffocate them and you have a wonderful relationship that works both ways.
It took me a long time to realize this. Of course, it involves a certain amount of sacrifice especially if the other person concerned is someone you love or care for deeply but then, it is worth it.
God has set an example. He knocks at the door of our hearts but never forces his way in. That is love.
Selfless love that gives the other the freedom of choice.
A gentle breeze rustled the nearby shrubs and I was in another world.
The setting sun cast a fiery golden glow over the horizon which the water reflected.
I picked up a handful of sand from the river bank and grasped it tightly.
It slipped through my fingers until there was no more left in my fist.
I grabbed another fistful, this time letting the inside of my hand cradle it loosely. It held on.
Maybe this is an apt metaphor for what often happens in our life with loved ones.
Be too possessive, rave and rant for an ounce of their affection and tighten your grip on them till they have no breathing space and they elude you. There is no more love in the relationship. It becomes a source of heartache to both parties.
But give them their own space. Love them but don’t impinge on their freedom. Care for them but don’t suffocate them and you have a wonderful relationship that works both ways.
It took me a long time to realize this. Of course, it involves a certain amount of sacrifice especially if the other person concerned is someone you love or care for deeply but then, it is worth it.
God has set an example. He knocks at the door of our hearts but never forces his way in. That is love.
Selfless love that gives the other the freedom of choice.
Friday, July 8, 2011
GOD WITH ME
I have raved and ranted. I have shed copious tears about what I feel has been unfairly offered to or deprived off me by life. I have gone into depressive mode. I have even been analyzing the prospect of going incommunicado with a few people in my life who have hurt me or at least whom I blame for hurting me. I have been bitter and cynical and sarcastic with my loved ones.
But at the end, I realized it does not pay. It really does not. To sit on your high moral stool and pass judgments and condemn and spit fire and venom or scheming insidiously to hurt those who have betrayed your trust.
There is a book called the Bible. It was written over a period of 1,500 years by at least forty authors including kings, scholars, philosophers, fishermen, poets, statesmen, historians and doctors.
And reading its soothing messages, hearing the Spirit of God speak to me through it, I knew that when we feel weak, it can be a sign of blessings to come.
Jesus Christ, the Man-God sacrificed everything including his life for me on the Cross just so that I could receive God’s grace, forgiveness and be free of my bondages.
People equate living a Christian life with bondage and slavery because they say there are “too many rules”.
But then, there are rules that bind and rules that free.
If you watch a soccer match and there are no rules, no referee, and no markings for the boundaries of the pitch, rest assured chaos will prevail.
But put everything, the correct things in place and soon you have an enjoyable match.
Christianity is something like that. It is not a religion. It is living for God, the only true, omnipresent and omnipotent Creator. And there is always something new to discover each day.
Sometimes, things happen in life which we least expect and we may sooner be in the middle of an island but trusting in God helps us remain calm because he gifts us with precious inner peace.
Even when we are in a dilemma, submitting our problem to him will ultimately take us on the right course.
I have experienced this. I am schizophrenic; I am have been on medication for the last 12 years; my mom and elder brother suffer from the same debilitating disease; my dad confessed to me that he once attempted suicide because of all the domestic pressure (fortunately, he was unsuccessful); I still get attacks; And for the past few months I have been in moral and spiritual crisis with problems at work to boot.
It was no smooth sailing. But just tonight, as I was going through gospel literature, God opened my eyes. And said: “Hey, I am with you and things are not that bad!”
Right, I have a great, cozy job, I have great friends, I have a wonderful, supportive family, I have my own strengths and talents, I have a place of my own, I am independent, I have people who care for me………
So, what was I being so morose and depressed about?
People in life don’t have it easy and for me God has almost presented blessings to me on a platter.
I resolve to rectify my attitude. I resolve to be happy. I resolve to be grateful for every little thing.
Of course, I will not always be bubbling over with joy but then, I will try to remember my Saviour in times of dire need and even in moments of overwhelming prosperity and happiness
I will try to keep the faith. Touchwood.
But at the end, I realized it does not pay. It really does not. To sit on your high moral stool and pass judgments and condemn and spit fire and venom or scheming insidiously to hurt those who have betrayed your trust.
There is a book called the Bible. It was written over a period of 1,500 years by at least forty authors including kings, scholars, philosophers, fishermen, poets, statesmen, historians and doctors.
And reading its soothing messages, hearing the Spirit of God speak to me through it, I knew that when we feel weak, it can be a sign of blessings to come.
Jesus Christ, the Man-God sacrificed everything including his life for me on the Cross just so that I could receive God’s grace, forgiveness and be free of my bondages.
People equate living a Christian life with bondage and slavery because they say there are “too many rules”.
But then, there are rules that bind and rules that free.
If you watch a soccer match and there are no rules, no referee, and no markings for the boundaries of the pitch, rest assured chaos will prevail.
But put everything, the correct things in place and soon you have an enjoyable match.
Christianity is something like that. It is not a religion. It is living for God, the only true, omnipresent and omnipotent Creator. And there is always something new to discover each day.
Sometimes, things happen in life which we least expect and we may sooner be in the middle of an island but trusting in God helps us remain calm because he gifts us with precious inner peace.
Even when we are in a dilemma, submitting our problem to him will ultimately take us on the right course.
I have experienced this. I am schizophrenic; I am have been on medication for the last 12 years; my mom and elder brother suffer from the same debilitating disease; my dad confessed to me that he once attempted suicide because of all the domestic pressure (fortunately, he was unsuccessful); I still get attacks; And for the past few months I have been in moral and spiritual crisis with problems at work to boot.
It was no smooth sailing. But just tonight, as I was going through gospel literature, God opened my eyes. And said: “Hey, I am with you and things are not that bad!”
Right, I have a great, cozy job, I have great friends, I have a wonderful, supportive family, I have my own strengths and talents, I have a place of my own, I am independent, I have people who care for me………
So, what was I being so morose and depressed about?
People in life don’t have it easy and for me God has almost presented blessings to me on a platter.
I resolve to rectify my attitude. I resolve to be happy. I resolve to be grateful for every little thing.
Of course, I will not always be bubbling over with joy but then, I will try to remember my Saviour in times of dire need and even in moments of overwhelming prosperity and happiness
I will try to keep the faith. Touchwood.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
THE LOSS OF INNOCENCE
Tenderly lovely like a rosebud, her smile was like the blossoms opening up to receive the first rays of sunlight. She had a pixie charm; curly locks, alabaster skin, rosy lips and wide, innocent eyes which could transform from limpid pools of deep pathos to twinkling stars of mischief. Everyone knew she was a girl who had yet to see and experience the world and its wonders and disappointments.
Then the retrogression started once she attained her twenties.
The disillusionments of life overcame her. Her parents divorced when she passed out from college, her brother was struck with a terminal disease and she was soon on the lookout for a job to sustain her broken family.
And then the final blow came in the form of a man whom she fell in love with. He bestowed kisses upon her, whispered sweet nothings into her ears and finally managed to steal her innocence.
Then he left her never to return. The lovely appearance faded slowly. There was no rosiness or charm in her looks anymore. There was no longer any coquetry and mischief in her behavior. She withdrew and withdrew into a shell. She just existed. The outer now hag-like form was all that remained of her.
People say sometimes you can spot her on lonely evenings taking a solitary walk in the forest hiding her face with a shawl and often gazing at the far away horizon or the dawning stars and moon.
I have never seen her but this is a story of the end of innocence, love and goodness in the world that I often rue over.
Then the retrogression started once she attained her twenties.
The disillusionments of life overcame her. Her parents divorced when she passed out from college, her brother was struck with a terminal disease and she was soon on the lookout for a job to sustain her broken family.
And then the final blow came in the form of a man whom she fell in love with. He bestowed kisses upon her, whispered sweet nothings into her ears and finally managed to steal her innocence.
Then he left her never to return. The lovely appearance faded slowly. There was no rosiness or charm in her looks anymore. There was no longer any coquetry and mischief in her behavior. She withdrew and withdrew into a shell. She just existed. The outer now hag-like form was all that remained of her.
People say sometimes you can spot her on lonely evenings taking a solitary walk in the forest hiding her face with a shawl and often gazing at the far away horizon or the dawning stars and moon.
I have never seen her but this is a story of the end of innocence, love and goodness in the world that I often rue over.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
RUMINATIONS ON AN APPLE TREE
There is an apple tree outside my window.
It is a proud tree with a sturdy trunk covered with whitish brown bark; long, thick branches sprout from the mid-base and taper into thin twigs. The rain often beats down on its jade-green leaves. Clusters of tender leaves in lighter hues of emerald grow at the tips along with the young fruits.
The baby apples are like little round balls of crisp flesh right now, enclosed in light green cover. I often watch the tree from my window and listen to the rustling of its boughs in the breeze.
Today, it has rained and the leaves hold the precious dew drops like a mother cradling her new-born baby. The sky is grey and looks like it is going to shower down on earth again.
I have watched this tree grow since winter when it was nothing but a barren shrub. It was cold every morning and the frost would settle down on the withered plant, rendering it the quaint air of a man old and huddled over with age.
Then, spring came and the tree gained a life of its own. Tender green sprouted from its twigs and soon it was covered with white, fragrant blossoms spotted pink from which the bees and butterflies drank richly. The birds would hop from branch to branch and declare its glory.
Its flowers would scatter in my courtyard or a lone petal would get entangled in the web a spider had spun outside my window pane.
It is a wonderful sight to see the apple tree every once in a while and sip a cup of aromatic tea, contemplating the changes that have come over it.
Soon, the fruits will ripen, turn rosy and sumptuous, and will be harvested.
Then, Autumn will arrive with its winds and a lonely shroud will envelop the tree. The leaves will blow away in the wind, curled up and a golden brown. Maybe the spider web will catch some of them.
Then again it will be accosting the freezing winter with its feathery snowflakes; the surroundings will transform into a mini Ice-land.
I am changing, too with the seasons. And I often wonder whether it is progressive or regressive but the apple tree always revives in me hope of a new spring and the beauty the world holds.
It is a proud tree with a sturdy trunk covered with whitish brown bark; long, thick branches sprout from the mid-base and taper into thin twigs. The rain often beats down on its jade-green leaves. Clusters of tender leaves in lighter hues of emerald grow at the tips along with the young fruits.
The baby apples are like little round balls of crisp flesh right now, enclosed in light green cover. I often watch the tree from my window and listen to the rustling of its boughs in the breeze.
Today, it has rained and the leaves hold the precious dew drops like a mother cradling her new-born baby. The sky is grey and looks like it is going to shower down on earth again.
I have watched this tree grow since winter when it was nothing but a barren shrub. It was cold every morning and the frost would settle down on the withered plant, rendering it the quaint air of a man old and huddled over with age.
Then, spring came and the tree gained a life of its own. Tender green sprouted from its twigs and soon it was covered with white, fragrant blossoms spotted pink from which the bees and butterflies drank richly. The birds would hop from branch to branch and declare its glory.
Its flowers would scatter in my courtyard or a lone petal would get entangled in the web a spider had spun outside my window pane.
It is a wonderful sight to see the apple tree every once in a while and sip a cup of aromatic tea, contemplating the changes that have come over it.
Soon, the fruits will ripen, turn rosy and sumptuous, and will be harvested.
Then, Autumn will arrive with its winds and a lonely shroud will envelop the tree. The leaves will blow away in the wind, curled up and a golden brown. Maybe the spider web will catch some of them.
Then again it will be accosting the freezing winter with its feathery snowflakes; the surroundings will transform into a mini Ice-land.
I am changing, too with the seasons. And I often wonder whether it is progressive or regressive but the apple tree always revives in me hope of a new spring and the beauty the world holds.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
THE WOMAN BY THE WINDOW
I see her by the window always. She is past her mid-twenties but there is a certain vulnerability and naivety in her childish face that makes her look much younger.
Today, she is wearing a beige summer dress with frills and her hair has been arranged into a loose bun with the help of a polka-dotted brown clutch. A few strands are loose and they fall by her face blown by gentle gusts of wind.
I see her most of the time looking out of the window with a far-away look in her eyes. Sometimes, she is watching the peach trees blossom, sometimes her eyes follow the pale yellow butterflies feasting on the blossom-nectar and at times, I see her stretch out her hands to touch the rain drops as they fall.
At times, she sits by the window, deeply focused on a book or scribbling something in a blue-bound diary, a forlorn melody or song emanating from her room.
She is always alone and lost in her own contemplations.
Someone once told me her story.
She was a woman who had loved and lost.
As a young girl, she had been something of a recluse but as time passed youthful and worldly fancies occupied her. She opened up in college to a certain extent and then when she finally got a job and became independent, she belonged to the world at last.
However, her upbringing had always been conservative and she had never fallen in actual love except for the usual school crushes.
Then, when she had blossomed into a full, young woman, he came into her life.
She gave him everything – her heart, soul and love.
But it was not meant to be.
One day, he left for a distant land saying he would return and take her with him.
He promised her they would have a wonderful house to live in and he would treat her like a princess.
Oh, how she loved him!
She waited for a fortnight but he did not turn up. Then she waited for a month but in vain. Then it was months of loneliness and then years. He never came back.
She returned to her old habit of reclusiveness. Solitude became her sole companion. Her heart had been broken and the bloody tears it shed soon dried up. Her heart was replaced by a stone – unfeeling, unknowing.
She had lost the ability to feel, leave alone love or hate.
Her old parents gave up on her and they soon died leaving her with a tidy inheritance.
She left her job and now, she never leaves the house or the window.
A maid servant does her shopping and chores for her.
There is a dullness in her eyes as if she is looking right through you or at nobody in particular.
If you pass that cottage and look over the threshold someday, you will see her; watching the sunset or the birds flying over her garden.
She will never see another human being again.
Today, she is wearing a beige summer dress with frills and her hair has been arranged into a loose bun with the help of a polka-dotted brown clutch. A few strands are loose and they fall by her face blown by gentle gusts of wind.
I see her most of the time looking out of the window with a far-away look in her eyes. Sometimes, she is watching the peach trees blossom, sometimes her eyes follow the pale yellow butterflies feasting on the blossom-nectar and at times, I see her stretch out her hands to touch the rain drops as they fall.
At times, she sits by the window, deeply focused on a book or scribbling something in a blue-bound diary, a forlorn melody or song emanating from her room.
She is always alone and lost in her own contemplations.
Someone once told me her story.
She was a woman who had loved and lost.
As a young girl, she had been something of a recluse but as time passed youthful and worldly fancies occupied her. She opened up in college to a certain extent and then when she finally got a job and became independent, she belonged to the world at last.
However, her upbringing had always been conservative and she had never fallen in actual love except for the usual school crushes.
Then, when she had blossomed into a full, young woman, he came into her life.
She gave him everything – her heart, soul and love.
But it was not meant to be.
One day, he left for a distant land saying he would return and take her with him.
He promised her they would have a wonderful house to live in and he would treat her like a princess.
Oh, how she loved him!
She waited for a fortnight but he did not turn up. Then she waited for a month but in vain. Then it was months of loneliness and then years. He never came back.
She returned to her old habit of reclusiveness. Solitude became her sole companion. Her heart had been broken and the bloody tears it shed soon dried up. Her heart was replaced by a stone – unfeeling, unknowing.
She had lost the ability to feel, leave alone love or hate.
Her old parents gave up on her and they soon died leaving her with a tidy inheritance.
She left her job and now, she never leaves the house or the window.
A maid servant does her shopping and chores for her.
There is a dullness in her eyes as if she is looking right through you or at nobody in particular.
If you pass that cottage and look over the threshold someday, you will see her; watching the sunset or the birds flying over her garden.
She will never see another human being again.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
THE HEART OF EVIL
Pain pricks like a thousand needles
My heart blood lies splattered
A knife has gone through the beating organ
And a sword through my spirit
I am wounded both in flesh and mind
Memories haunt me, beckon me
Shady, dark yet unbearably precious
The heart of Evil
The past bygone but ruthless
The future unseen and mysterious
Yielding to passion is way to shame
It is the Tempter’s twisted game
Can I live with a memory that suffers
And a conscience that chides every single day?
What is it in man that makes a woman love him?
And in a woman that beguiles a man?
Leaving the safe bosom of moral sanity
I dive into an abyss of darkness and passionate abandon
That sticks to me like an aura
I struggle to set myself free
Like a wild falcon whose feathers have been clipped
This is madness against sanity
Man against morality
Who will win the battle or the war for the matter?
Time heals but too slowly
Memories will fade but the scars will remain
Like a deep burn or an acid attack
My thoughts are dark and deep
My longings too strong to keep
I ride the wind and pick up a shield
But it breaks into a thousand shards
Like glasses broken by drunkards
Divine help I need
Is it there indeed?
I pass my days in gloom, agony and guilt
Hoping one day I will be removed from this filth
My heart blood lies splattered
A knife has gone through the beating organ
And a sword through my spirit
I am wounded both in flesh and mind
Memories haunt me, beckon me
Shady, dark yet unbearably precious
The heart of Evil
The past bygone but ruthless
The future unseen and mysterious
Yielding to passion is way to shame
It is the Tempter’s twisted game
Can I live with a memory that suffers
And a conscience that chides every single day?
What is it in man that makes a woman love him?
And in a woman that beguiles a man?
Leaving the safe bosom of moral sanity
I dive into an abyss of darkness and passionate abandon
That sticks to me like an aura
I struggle to set myself free
Like a wild falcon whose feathers have been clipped
This is madness against sanity
Man against morality
Who will win the battle or the war for the matter?
Time heals but too slowly
Memories will fade but the scars will remain
Like a deep burn or an acid attack
My thoughts are dark and deep
My longings too strong to keep
I ride the wind and pick up a shield
But it breaks into a thousand shards
Like glasses broken by drunkards
Divine help I need
Is it there indeed?
I pass my days in gloom, agony and guilt
Hoping one day I will be removed from this filth
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