Malady

I awake knowing there is another day ahead -

My body rebels against my conditioned mind.

I feel my muscles yearning to stretch,

A sigh escapes me as they crumple in surrender:

a soundless defeat.

There is a heaviness in my movement

and a slowness of thought, reminding me of Keats -

this is "a cold numbness", and yes,

my sluggish mind strains, as if

I have absorbed all the hemlock in the world.

But I crawl on, holding back the melancholy

tears that permeate my being.

"What is the matter with me?"

The face in the mirror stares back sullenly, mutely.

My lips stretch out into a plastered smile;

I plod on through the day.

I bite back the savage piques

That prey on my tongue.

They slither away from me on occasion -

Swell my fretfulness to bursting point.

My brain thinks of a million things

And forgets in moments all the important ones;

The futility of the day

Is almost tactile.

I idly seek understanding,

I leisurely pursue patience,

I despair in failing and

Hide my dreary self,

From the world outside,

From myself inside,

I only hope that as I lose myself

There are those who can find me yet

Rain

The weather is stunning this morning: it is cold, grey and raining pleasantly. I love this "gloomy" weather. It makes me think of reading a captivating novel, wrapped up in a warm blanket, sitting in bed or on the couch, and sipping on a satisfying, hot, chocolate drink.

It makes me dream - of things such as walking up a hill, barefoot, feeling the muddy glory of the earth on my feet, as it pours down on me. It awakens the romance in me; getting drunk on the smell of a sweet bunch of red roses; the taste of a long, lingering kiss, from my lover's lips, as the rain falls on us - a benediction from nature.

The rain is propitious because it speaks of freshness - a reawakening of nature and of self. It always makes me feel calmly happy when I see the grass, lush green and inviting, in the aftermath of a downpour. This is a stark and dramatic transformation especially when you are surrounded by Savannah; a thrilling transformation. Every thing looks clean and fresh, and the smell of rain-mud is tantalising. Dew drops, resting on leaves and petals alike, are not only gorgeous to look at but seem to serve as a reminder that water is life. And I, in my dreamy, rainy world, feel at one with the elements - like I am new and ready to be one with the rain.

I suppose it is the power of nature that reaches out to me when it is raining. It carries my mind in any direction it chooses. Irrevocably, when it is raining, I find myself staring out the window watching the pitter-patter of rain drops against the glass; I soak in the varying moods of the rain shower as it thunderously ravages the earth, and then sanguinely slows into a soft, sensual drizzle... And my thoughts are one with the rain excited, full and robust, questioning, playful, thoughtful and then calm matching the gentle rhythm of the rain fall...

Love's comfort

Some days I am a world of unhappiness,

When loved ones and their happiness

Seem aloof; I do not belong with them - 

Lest my unhappiness blemish their sparkle

Yet, in that sadness I crave most

The wholesome sweetness of

A loved one's comfort -

That moment when they reach out

And cover my broken spirit

With a warmth of compassion

Just a thought

I thoroughly enjoyed reading Charles Bukowski's The Perks of Being a Wallflower, a few months ago. I am not sure if the story on its own would appeal to me, but the writing and flow of the book are simply stunning; many of the quotes stuck with me (If not verbatim, their meaning and sense are still very vivid in my mind)

" I think that if I ever have kids, and they are upset, I won't tell them that people are starving in China or anything like that because it wouldn't change the fact that they were upset. And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn't really change the fact that you have what you have. Good and bad." Charles Bukowski, The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

The gist of this quote keeps popping in and out of my brain, and has been preoccupying a lot of my thoughts over the last day or so. I love it and at this moment in time feel that it is so relevant to my life. It captures things perfectly - every one has problems and I am sure people out there are going through things that are a lot worse on the problem meter than my issues...but right now, to me, my daily stresses are significant and are no more or no less important than anyone else's. I just love the way C. Bukowski has said so much in such a simple way....

Random Ramblings

My Ernest Hemingway inspired quote for bakers - "Bake hard and often, for all things and all times." 

Hope is such an odd thing. It comes at you when you don't expect it at all, and in ways you could not imagine. It becomes a part of your very existence, and one day hope becomes a butterfly - matured and attaining fruition - It is no longer a may, but has blossomed into definite colours and patterns, spread its wings, and lifted your life to beautiful heights. 

But there is another side to hope - a dark side. It comes and when it doesn't sprout wings, it begins to feed on your dreams of tomorrow, it tortures you with memories and takes out your gut in malicious vengeance. 

How odd it is, isn't it? You cannot live, or die without hope; And if you are without hope, are you alive at all?

"Burn. Burn, witch, burn!" The crowds were around me, covered in unwashed, grimy clothes and hair, and eyes screaming for blood. 

I could make out children, adults, adolescents - each with a different leer of anticipation, anxiety and... was it hope?

I looked up one more time and met his eyes - a promise that this witch would have her vengeance. He would have nightmares till the day he died.

There was an eternity of excruciating pain, and the tears and screams flowed out of my body despite my protest. It was endless, this searing burning of my core. And then, it was over.

I opened my eyes and found myself sweating. I turned around to look for him; I heard the unmistakable sound of tens of thousands of feet coming my way, and voices chanting. Slowly, the words took shape, "The witch must die!"