A Dreamy Journey Through Life

How It Would Be To Love Your Fourth Man Tell me how it would be to love the fourth man in your life, When you are forced to love him And are tired of loving And you don’t even know how to love. You tried it three times and you failed thrice. And yet you are asked to love the fourth man. Tell me how to do it this time? How can you love him, your fourth man, When all you have new for him is only your body? Everything else has spent. Everything else is taken away By the other three scoundrels: First has taken and occupied all your memory; Second has snatched all your passions; And the third mercilessly seized all your emotions. All that remains is your body. Is that enough to love your fourth man? How are you going to love your fourth man, When you don’t know anything about him? You don’t know how he thinks, acts and reacts. You don’t know whether he knows you. All you know is his disposition, That too, only point zero zero one perc...

The Doubtful Descendent of St. Thomas There is a chill murmuring all around, And my heart is wandering round. It sings unsung melodies sweet. I wonder what spell has conquered me. Your magnetic presence drives me thus, That my words and deeds are now senseless. I gather strength to stand still in this thunder, But your love, like a whirlpool, sinks me deeper. Yes, I know to love is total destruction And to be loved is, simply, chaos. But the warmth makes it hard for me To disown and completely deny you. I try, and fail, and try, then fail; And your smile loves all my attempts. Your eyes are indeed true and thoughts pure. It is me who is confused which has no cure. I, as usual, am a helpless, passive fool. Yet, I am safe; for your smile says, “all is well”.

It is not ‘one day’; it is every day. I wake up thinking, ‘You! You gave me a day more!’ Then I step out and make myself busy, Dreaming of… Dreaming of nothing. Nothingness engulfs me. Loneliness enchants me. Nothing else can tempt me. No one else can spend me. I am single and I love it single. There are friends to cheer me up; Family so caring; and My love, burning all my waste. I care for them, I need them. I neglect them, I don’t need them. My thoughts are crowded, my heart empty. I want to be crowded, but need solitude. I am bound, but most free now. Sometimes I, of course, like the knot. But no! I am different and I love it.

തൂലിക തുമ്പിലെ മഷി ഒരു തുള്ളി പോലും ശേഷിക്കാതെ വറ്റിപ്പോയിരിക്കുന്നു. എഴുത്തോലകള്‍ ചിതലെടുതിരിക്കുന്നു. എഴുത്ത് പലകകളില്‍ പുതിയ തലമുറ കോറി വരച്ചിട്ടിരിക്കുന്നു. വെളിച്ചവും മങ്ങിയിരിക്കുന്നു. ഇനി രക്ഷയില്ല. പുറ്റിലേക്ക് മടങ്ങുകയാണ് അവള്‍. വിഷമില്ലാതായവള്‍! നിലക്കാത്ത ചിന്തകൾ കരിങ്കല്ലുകളിൽ തട്ടിയുടഞ്ഞു ചിതറി തെറിച്ചു പോകുന്നു. ഒന്നും സാധ്യമല്ലാത്ത ഏകാന്തതയിൽ ചുറ്റിവരയപ്പെടുമ്പോഴും കൈയ്യെത്തിപ്പിടിക്കാത്ത ഉയരങ്ങൾ കുറിച്ച് പറഞ്ഞു കുറ്റപ്പെടുത്തുന്ന കണ്ണുകൾ. അന്ധത അഭികാമ്യം!

She was planted somewhere here around thirty years ago. A tiny sapling with tender silky pale leaves, two-three. Shades disturbed her continuously from corners-eight. Instincts drove her to explorations, amid the shabby dark shades. As it was the rule, the powerful piercing rays of the sun tempted her. A leaf, a branch, a bend-here and there- she got dreamy. Thought her prince charming was calling her for a life, every time. Thought it was indeed ‘a way out’ and was thus happy. But they trimmed her- every new branch, new diversion, new hope. Told her to grow upward, though reminding the shining day-star. Beginning was confusing; later she got used to and now she exists.

For my sister’s mother-in-law who passed away by the attack of cancer. I wanted to domesticate my much awaited death; To stop just ‘being’, to stop my breath. Here the heavenly herald was heard. Those hysterical hearts hopelessly cried. It was, in the beginning, boring; books, Then sought treats of fruits and nuts. Along with mounted medicines more And angels-white with what they wore. The hands got bound, thus books bid bye. Mild music, then, filled my heart and eye. Men came crying, calling and cursing. White flawless flowers fed me fluttering. Green- without and within- gazed me gay. Darlings, dare not dream; I’m not any day; For, they, those things surrounded me, Do not, into their little talks, invite me. Room to room; calm, critical and then calm. I looked at the lines lay lengthy in my palm. The night train deadly dragged and delayed ‘Help poor passengers’, to Him, I prayed. Blood multiplied, more and more multiplying. ...

See, here I am happy as everyone wanted me to be. See, here I am happy, surrounded by a great many people. See, here I am happy with a companion life-long. See, here I am happy, crowded by the cries of my youngs. See, here I am happy for what I am. But yet I am sad for what I am. Just turn back and look, how happy those unhappy days were!

Water saw its Lord and blushed. Her Lord asked her, ‘Are you happy?’ ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ she replied. She was happy because it was Him Only Him, who could make her red; His power penetrated, Turning the ordinary to the sublime. He made her His own. He gave her the life; Lit her bright; Showed her the way; And made her the truth. She was happy for Only He could do all this to her. He too was happy Because she was made ‘Him’ Because He was made ‘her’ Because she was Him and He was her. He was happy because It was His blood that made her red. He, then, directed her to the others, Who tasted her, not knowing, Exactly from where did she come. They exclaimed why she was hidden; And why she was so late. He smiled because He knew. Others tasted her and forgot her. He made her and shared her. Others tasted her and forgot her, At the end, mercilessly spilt her. He didn’t forget her, He loved her, And at the end, wore her a...

This call might be for my pop. Kill him, kill him, kill him for me. A beep is heard from the very top. The door is slow- opened by the golden key. He’s lived enough, enough and more. He must be slain, he should go. I’ll burn the pyre, I won’t cry. I hate him enough for he borne me. He tried, tried and tried very hard His life was spent, clearing all debts. He loved them, loved us, and loved at heart. He gave them, gave us, and was never given back. He had, like mine, love-woods, his own. In wine and shouts, he sought fresh air. I hate him, hate him, just hate him like God For the blood in my veins that do I love. Beads in that chain are so lovely and cute. Crushed and crushed, I just can’t bear. He’s lived enough, enough and more Kill him, kill him, just kill him for me. Helpless, hopeless, novice and voiceless, he is. None can help him, other than the Death. Rebellious, Jesus, Society- what else...