Where doctrines of ages collude in a spiritual union,
I stand in silent prayer on the mount of a paradoxical communion.
Where battles razed structures, doused spirits; only to rise once again,
I stand with my palm on the wall of angst that reverberates of disdain.
Where mandates they may sign, lines they may draw and votes they may beseech,
I stand under a dome of peace, seeking only what has been promised to each.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Once again...
Once again I seethe in agony as they devise plans to inflict pain,
I dreamed of paradise, I saw a world devoid of disdain.
But I was wrong.
Once again my bosom cannot comfort, while they shed a joyous tear,
I held anguish in my arms, I tried to preserve the breath of a soul, and I tried to vanquish fear.
But I failed.
Once again a million souls weep, while a few mock in distaste,
Am I old and weak, from the wounds of ignominy, from the pelts of hate?
But I should rise.
Once again I fill my heart with stone, while fear lurks in my warm embrace,
I will rise, I will provide, I will fill laughter, I will spread joy, with progress I shall once again set pace.
But I fear, will I fail once again?
I dreamed of paradise, I saw a world devoid of disdain.
But I was wrong.
Once again my bosom cannot comfort, while they shed a joyous tear,
I held anguish in my arms, I tried to preserve the breath of a soul, and I tried to vanquish fear.
But I failed.
Once again a million souls weep, while a few mock in distaste,
Am I old and weak, from the wounds of ignominy, from the pelts of hate?
But I should rise.
Once again I fill my heart with stone, while fear lurks in my warm embrace,
I will rise, I will provide, I will fill laughter, I will spread joy, with progress I shall once again set pace.
But I fear, will I fail once again?
Thursday, June 09, 2011
He was buried without a nation
Abstract thoughts would waft as he gazed in to the void world beyond,
History would dance on the palette of joy as this eccentric soul daubed imageries so fond.
A romantic soul whose age would defy, but heart needed no reason to flutter.
But alas, a mother abdicated her prodigal son while humanity could only stutter.
Poetry set ablaze from canvas of love, parochial thoughts construed humiliation,
Posterity shall always be fida, not knowing that he was buried without a nation.
History would dance on the palette of joy as this eccentric soul daubed imageries so fond.
A romantic soul whose age would defy, but heart needed no reason to flutter.
But alas, a mother abdicated her prodigal son while humanity could only stutter.
Poetry set ablaze from canvas of love, parochial thoughts construed humiliation,
Posterity shall always be fida, not knowing that he was buried without a nation.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
She is death
A sacred bosom that holds images of that first coy kiss,
A darkened soul of a devil that wraps within a silken bliss.
A heart that reverberates with anguish and provides for helpless multitudes,
A poison ivy insidiously tormenting with her vicissitudes.
A beautiful mind that beckons the bereaved to peace,
A harried thought that beguiles the innocent to a dreadful abyss.
She is life, she enraptures, she loves and she creates,
She is death, she torments, she hates and she destroys.
A darkened soul of a devil that wraps within a silken bliss.
A heart that reverberates with anguish and provides for helpless multitudes,
A poison ivy insidiously tormenting with her vicissitudes.
A beautiful mind that beckons the bereaved to peace,
A harried thought that beguiles the innocent to a dreadful abyss.
She is life, she enraptures, she loves and she creates,
She is death, she torments, she hates and she destroys.
Friday, February 04, 2011
Angels of peace
Angels of peace perched on twigs by a reflective puddle,
All knowing eyes plumb the depths of worldly muddle.
Joyous cryptic wings gossamer challenge the mundane,
Refulgent colours waft by and heal the disdain.
Synchronous flights darn your soul mottled by distress,
Meditative glance beseeches your thoughts to flee the duress.
All knowing eyes plumb the depths of worldly muddle.
Joyous cryptic wings gossamer challenge the mundane,
Refulgent colours waft by and heal the disdain.
Synchronous flights darn your soul mottled by distress,
Meditative glance beseeches your thoughts to flee the duress.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
For, it started raining all over again!
On a day like any other, on a day when heavens failed to judge,
Gray and musty like a widowed damsel.
Broken reflections in puddles of diabolical sludge,
View by my window like a melancholic sequel.
On a day like any other, on a day of muddle,
Beams of laughter filtered through the mist.
Warmth of gentle sunshine began to cuddle,
Rustles amongst joyous leaves being kissed.
On a day like any other, on a day that wouldn’t vanish,
There bloomed a twilight of a beginning and a blush of a dancing dame.
But then, it all failed to flutter and flourish,
For, it started raining all over again!
Gray and musty like a widowed damsel.
Broken reflections in puddles of diabolical sludge,
View by my window like a melancholic sequel.
On a day like any other, on a day of muddle,
Beams of laughter filtered through the mist.
Warmth of gentle sunshine began to cuddle,
Rustles amongst joyous leaves being kissed.
On a day like any other, on a day that wouldn’t vanish,
There bloomed a twilight of a beginning and a blush of a dancing dame.
But then, it all failed to flutter and flourish,
For, it started raining all over again!
Saturday, June 26, 2010
One Hundred Years of Solitude
I am in love. Yes, you read it right. I am in love with a Colombian who goes by the name Gabriel Garcia Marquez. As with ‘Love in the Time of Cholera’, ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ immerses you in a surreal world of ‘magical realism’; where you are forced to intertwine reality with the improbable and eventually concoct the two in to one inseparable potion of ecstasy.
The story is about an enchanted land called Macondo – a land lost in the realms of time – where life persisted in solitude and transformed itself from the world of discovery to the world of illusion and desolation. It’s a chronicle of the Buendia family which starts with a promise, achieves acmes of success, and oscillates through wretched self destructing cycle of decrepitude.
Marquez paints vivid and biblical images of Macondo undergoing transformation through times of progress, despair through war, and ignorance through times of gloom. He explores layers of human psyche through juxtaposition with various characters in the novel spanning from angelic innocence of Remedios , barbaric ferocity Jose Arcadio, listless ego of Col. Aureliano Buendia, carnal angst of Aureliano Babilonia and tenacity of Ursula. He mesmerizes and challenges known institutions of human thought through his fable set in solitude, set in misery, set in ignominy and set in turbulence. Life seems to repeat as history is re-learnt through mistakes and future is prophesied and pre-established by the past.
One Hundred Years of Solitude is a masterpiece which can be architected only once in a while. It’s a challenge to the accepted framework of human thoughts and would devour your being in to ‘magical realism’. Go celebrate your thoughts and challenge its limits.
The story is about an enchanted land called Macondo – a land lost in the realms of time – where life persisted in solitude and transformed itself from the world of discovery to the world of illusion and desolation. It’s a chronicle of the Buendia family which starts with a promise, achieves acmes of success, and oscillates through wretched self destructing cycle of decrepitude.
Marquez paints vivid and biblical images of Macondo undergoing transformation through times of progress, despair through war, and ignorance through times of gloom. He explores layers of human psyche through juxtaposition with various characters in the novel spanning from angelic innocence of Remedios , barbaric ferocity Jose Arcadio, listless ego of Col. Aureliano Buendia, carnal angst of Aureliano Babilonia and tenacity of Ursula. He mesmerizes and challenges known institutions of human thought through his fable set in solitude, set in misery, set in ignominy and set in turbulence. Life seems to repeat as history is re-learnt through mistakes and future is prophesied and pre-established by the past.
One Hundred Years of Solitude is a masterpiece which can be architected only once in a while. It’s a challenge to the accepted framework of human thoughts and would devour your being in to ‘magical realism’. Go celebrate your thoughts and challenge its limits.
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