Wednesday, August 31, 2005

In Sepia

Blinded by the light, you move on, back towards where you begun your journey. The tunnel bursts into the world that you know and have seen before. Just barely. You are back to the familiar. The light.

The past few days flash back in sepia memories. A mélange of photographs that run through your brain in its own slide show culminating in now. And now, you look out and suddenly realise that there is no more colour. The past has blended into the present and you are looking out at the world in sepia. It hits you, how you see the world. In your own light. In your own sepia tones that blend the present with the past. Memories being created the very moment you live them. In sepia.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

Every road is not a path ...

... but a path is the road you have chosen.

Sometimes you need to change your path and move on to a different road. A more exciting road. A more dangerous road. That is when you cut yourself loose. But you always want to take a little piece of today with you. A piece of now. So you hide it in between, hoping that it is your little secret. And no one will know the better. Except you.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Crazy Diamond

There is a magic
In the air
That permeates
Through the very soul
Of your existence

There is a stillness
In the night
That floods
Your senses
Beyond your imagination

There is a madness
Inside of you
That overflows
In everything
That you create

There is a past
Behind you
That is overcrowded
With memories
That drain you out

Friday, August 19, 2005

The One

The waves are not kind tonight. They crash against the rocks on the shore in desperate anger of the past that surrounds them. They want to crush everything that gets in their way. They lap up the night with the sounds of their embrace cloaking every bit of the shore. He can feel it as he stands on the edge, looking, staring, hearing, feeling the moment the sea meets the shore.

The night is calm tonight. It watches over the waves and the rocks and softly wraps itself around their world. It is the dam that holds these feelings together. Every caress against its walls makes it stronger. For it feeds on love. He can feel it come closer to him as he looks up into it and waits for the moon to appear from behind the clouds.

He leans on the edge of the precipice of the rocks and looks down at the waves and up at the night. His time has come. He has walked to the edge and there is no looking back. There are two roads. One to the left and the other to the right. They both lead to places he has not known or seen. They both tempt him with the unknown.

He looks back at the road he has created, shaped. Not taken. For this road was not taken, for it was not there before. He looks back at the road and hesitatingly takes one step towards it. It is the longing that pulls him back towards it. His hand reaches out and feels the dampness of the waft in the air. There is magic in this night.

He remembers. Bits of the journey come back to him. Flashbacks. Colour. Then black and white. They move faster and faster till they come to now. He is here. And this is now.

Two roads wait for him. He has to take one. He closes his eyes and the world revolves around him. It stops with the one road in front of him. He takes the first step towards it. And sees the emptiness that lies ahead. Smiling, he starts shaping the new road.

Sunday, August 14, 2005

City Of Reflections

You don’t see eye to eye in the city. Everything is a reflection. But not an ordinary reflection. A distorted one. And you need to look at these reflections to figure out what’s going on, going through and where it is going to take you.

No one looks you in the eye. They just pass by and go on. With their lives. Their own lives. And you should go on with yours. But a poet pauses. A poet creates that awkward moment to see more. That little bit more. Through the glass beyond the reflection.

And that is when the city bares her soul.

For her soul lies beyond her reflection. Beyond the mirrors, behind the glass. Her soul breathes and stirs the emotions that run through. Millions come and go through her. Whether they leave intoxicated or abstemious, they leave with an experience they will remember. Because in her they see their reflections. Their distorted reflections. But sometimes what may seem distorted, is the truth here.

No one really comes here to find the truth, but they are surprised when they do. Right next to the buzz, is the calm of the oceans and the mountains. The oasis of thought. The taste of fusion. Have you ever looked down into a volcano? And then turned around to look behind?

The clatter and chaos thrives on the tranquility of the reflections that her soul creates.

And as you walk by looking up and marveling, you don’t see yourself in the reflections but something else. Something deeper. Something with more meaning. But you can’t put your finger on it. But you can feel it. It’s there.

You don’t see it eye to eye. It is a reflection. Just like the city. That is the way you have to experience it. There is no other way.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Their Little Clichés: Scene 40

After Work

[Indoors. A small study. Camera comes in from the door, as if you are walking into a conversation which is midway. He is sitting at a table near the entrance on His laptop. Camera focuses on Him in a side view. He is listening and typing at the same time. You can hear background noises of the TV set.]

(coming off her narration)
... And then, after I finished work, I went out for a coffee before I came home.


[Camera pans towards Her, sitting on the sofa. Watching TV and talking at the same time.]

(speaking slowly and deliberately)
Did you even listen to what I said?

(immediately replying)
Of course I did. After you finished work you went out for a coffee and then came home.

[Camera pans out to show us the full room. The TV is on his left and He has His back to Her. As they talk the camera focuses on Her from the back of His head and on Him from the side of the laptop.]

Why can't you leave that laptop and talk to me?

Why can't you turn off the TV when you talk to me?

(mildly irritated)
I knew you would say that. Just as I started asking you to leave the laptop, I knew you were going to say that.

(turns around and smiles at her)
Then why did you say it?

(smiling back)
Because that is how I feel.

And, do you know how I feel?

(raising her eyebrows)
No. Show me.

[Camera focuses on Her. She reaches for the remote, and turns off the TV. Drops the remote on the sofa and starts getting up. Camera moves to the back of His head. He is quickly trying to finish something. He moves his chair back and gets up from the table and turns around to greet her. Soft music starts playing from the laptop as soon as He gets up.]

(taking her hand)
I feel like dancing.

So do I!

[They both dance slowly. Camera pans out from the other side of the room. Camera moves out of the window. They are framed together in their dance right in the center of the window. The music mixes with the traffic and the camera pans out and fades to black.]

Friday, August 05, 2005


I hide
Behind my eyes
Of magnificence

I hide
Behind my thoughts
Of freedom

I hide
Behind my dreams
An imagination
Of decadence

My visions, feelings and imagination
The magnificence of freedom almost decadent
That they need to hide
Behind my
Eyes, thoughts and dreams

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Another August

Au•gust (ô'gst)
n. Abbr. Aug.
The eighth month of the year in the Gregorian calendar.

Another August
Has come
Carried in by time

au•gust (ô-gǔst')
Inspiring awe or admiration; majestic.

Another august
Has come
To carry me away

au•gust (ô-gǔst')
Venerable for reasons of age or high rank.

Another august
Has come
Carrying away my thoughts