The Blind Boy-Colley Cibber

A simple poem, read more than a decade back. I remember telling my Mom that I did not want to re-read it because it "made me sad". A 6-year old's view of life did not allow for people being sad without being sad myself. Cut to 2011, I find the poem beautiful. It is not an awesome piece of literature of anything. But it shows the simple, honest kind of courage in going through difficulties, which I see around me in so many forms, and have learnt to appreciate greatly.

The Blind Boy

                ~ Colley Cibber

 O say, what is that thing called light,

 Which I can ne'er enjoy?

 What is the blessing of the sight?

 O tell your poor blind boy!

 You talk of wondrous things you see,

 You say the sun shines bright;

 I feel him warm, but how can he

 Then make it day or night?

 My day or night myself I make

 Whene'er I sleep or play;

 And could I ever keep awake

 With me 'twere always day.

 With heavy sighs I often hear

 You mourn my hapless woe;

 But sure with patience I may bear

 A loss I ne'er know.

 Then let not what I cannot have

 My cheer of mind destroy;

 Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,

 Although a poor blind boy.

[photo courtesy: http://www.scientificamerican.com/media/inline/blog/Image/Blind_man.jpg]

On Losing the Meaning

My childhood thesaurus put melancholy as a synonym for sadness. But life taught me the subtle difference. Sadness comes with tears, anger, indignation, denial. It blocks out everything else. Sadness heals. We give Time, time, and sadness heals. But melancholy? Melancholy comes with a tired acceptance. It stays. Softly, unobtrusively but it stays. It never stops anything, but like a tinted glass, it dims the brightest of sunshine.

“And everyday life loses a little bit of its meaning.”

Thus read a friend’s text message while we were philosophising on the phone. Strange how depressing observations reach across people. No one died today. No dreams were shattered. No one cried out for help. No shots were fired. There is melancholy, not sadness.

And yet there is a ever-deepening sense of loss. Each day goes by with the feeling that it left me a little bit poorer than the previous. Small, almost imperceptible, but undeniable. Every day I lose a little more and I know I will never regain it back.

For someone who grew up believing in the glory of life, the brittleness of the meaning of life in the face of the world is hard to swallow. As I pick apart all that is around me, everything unravels with an ease that is almost scary. And it all echoes emptily with a single question, “What does it matter?”
So is that it? I remember shaking my head, and thinking “Crazy fellow”, when I first read that life is something that happens to you on the way to the grave. Somehow, I don’t do that anymore. Shake my head disbelievingly, that is.

No one died, because no one lived. No dreams were shattered because we lost those long back. No one cried for help because they learnt way early that there is no one to hear. No shots were fired because there is nothing left to fight for. And there is melancholy, not sadness.

They say sorrow shared is half. Perhaps it didn’t hold good for this because as I said, there is melancholy, not sadness. There was small comfort that two people, miles apart in terms of geography, ideas, age and background, both shared this depressing (and accurate?) view. The walls the world builds between people effectively prevents any real exchange of emotions, except perhaps in rare unguarded moments. We did not talk about this anymore beyond those five minutes.

My reply was that “If everyday life loses a little bit of its meaning, and you are still not done with it, I would still call you lucky. Because it means you started out with a whole lot of it in the first place.” Old habits die hard, and the eternal optimist says perhaps, just perhaps, this is the meaning of life. That in spite of it all, we still had this conversation.

[photo courtesy:https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyqAGZnpAkWLNhFXbtd4udWjoFQBxvtvYhGaFBnl9BD0JMY_xwRdZJnqgGayZBME8V3fbL9769D2nSxa-2dVO-gab2MFMvw-UssZW3iXg-iNLhC-CK4fCfz4XNo_TSQnnUMpwm8ytnpTk/s1600/Lost-Soul.jpg]

Forbidden Fruit

This was written on a moment of inspiration. Inspiration that is partly literature, partly certain story people whom I know, partly lonely-night-blues And a lot of other things. Unrequited love is tough. Tougher is perhaps when you cannot even speak about it. And I don't even want to go into the cases where destiny has other plans in mind. (But I am totally against people being hailed as Romeos when they kill themselves when a relation gets over.Relations do get over.And you learn to live with it.Period.) As usual with me and poems, its extremely bad poetry, but I do hope some of the emotions manage to come through.

Forbidden fruit
Nectar divine
Love of mine
But only silently can I cry.

Forbidden fruit
I’d sell my soul
And take a nibble
If only the price wasn’t so high.

Forbidden fruit
Choices and decisions.
Actions and consequences
But what do you judge by?

Forbidden fruit
Never enough
Not even close
Judgement of man, hard to defy.

Forbidden fruit
What’s the use?
I know I will lose.
Why did the songs of love lie?

Forbidden fruit
Ever in mind
Never to be mine
Still no one to hear me sigh.

Forbidden fruit

The ecstasy of pain
Like moths to the flame
But I am too young to die.

Forbidden fruit
You will never know
Perhaps neither will I
Forbidden fruit.

[photo courtesy:http://blog.vipulsetia.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/07/Broken_Heart.jpg]

Love and Time

This happens to be a personal favourite since a long time back. Read it in a children's magazine, but the full message did not hit me until I sat down to read it out to my kid sister who was 7 at that time. Since then, I have shared it with scores of people, mostly kids. And it never fails to cheer me up (as well as those listening).



Once upon a time, there was an island where all the feelings lived: Happiness, Sadness, Knowledge, and all of the others including Love. However, one day it was announced to the feelings that the island would sink, so all prepared their boats and left. Love was the only one who stayed. Love wanted to stay until it started sinking. When Love was almost sinking, she decided to ask for help.

Richness was passing by Love in a beautiful boat. Love said, “Richness, can you take me with you?”
Richness answered, “No, I can’t. There are a lots of gold and silver in my boat. There is no place here for you.”

Love decided to ask Vanity who was also passing by, “Vanity, please help me!” “I can’t help you Love. You are all wet and can probably damage my boat,” Vanity answered.

Sadness was close by so Love asked for help, “Sadness, let me go with you.”
“Oh, Love, I am so sad that I prefer to go alone!”

Happiness passed by Love too, but she was so happy that she did not listen when Love called her.

Suddenly, there was a voice, “Come Love, I will take you.” It was an elderly. Love was so happy that she even forgot to ask the name of the elderly.

When they arrived to the other side, Love asked Knowledge who the elderly was.

Knowledge said, “It was Time. The greatest and the oldest of the grand desires.”

“Time?” said Love “But why did Time help me?”

“Because only Time knows how great Love is…”


[photo courtesy:http://my.opera.com/ladyman2424/blog/]

The Lama

  Just a laugh for today.I read this a good 12 years back,and    trust me, I have never been able to get it out of my head!Have fun,peeps.

  The Lama

The one-L lama,
He's a priest.
The two-L llama,
He's a beast.
And I would bet
A silk pajama
There isn't any
Three-L lllama.
                                                                            --Ogden Nash

Apparently, Nash also appended a footnote to the poem:

"The author's attention has been called to a type of conflagration known

  as a three-alarmer. Pooh."

I think it calls for one of our typical modern expressions: ROFL!

Heaven and Earth

Nothing much to say. Woke up early, looked out of my 6th floor window with bleary eyes towards the valley.

The view is never the same two days in a row. I don't usually bother taking a snap, instead I prefer to just sit and watch the light change until its time for the day to start. A little bit of peace in all the chaos.

Dream On

Found this suddenly among my old stuff. I wrote this almost 6 years back, when I was younger and naive -er. Its bad poetry, but I felt it when I wrote it. And like many budding literati who later find out that inspiration and genius are not the same, I'm a bit embarrassed at this early(and hopeless) effort. But I think I'll share it anyway! 

It'll be a sad day sure, when we forget to dream,

Dreams for us and for ours

Dreams for others and for theirs,

Dreams of a better world, a better life,

Dreams of a promised land, or just pleasant hike,

Dreams of a new beginning, a lighter load,

Dreams of a second chance, a better effort,

Dreams that bring sweat and tear,

Dreams that also bring smiles, for that matter,

Dreams that bring love,

Dreams that carry life,

Dreams that scream, dreams that shout,

Dreams that whisper, dreams that stay put,

Dreams that show the light,

When darkness mocks the fight,

Dreams that lead those wearied,

Dreams that support the grieved,

Dreams that make you do just that- dream,

Dreams that make you act,

Dreams that make other point and say,

"That man dared to dream!"

Dreams that inspire thousands, saying

"I HAVE A DREAM!"

You're dead if you don't dream,

Through all of life's struggles and trials,

Go on, DREAM!