Dear Little Wildflower

I love wilderness. The raw and the untamed. The kiss of the primordial. Never simple. Never forceful. Yet intriguing. And mysterious. This morning, I smelt pure bliss once again. I saw a wildflower. Mustard-seed sized. Pristine. Untouched. The little one was singing at the top of its voice. A paean to the Sun. A breezy, classic paean.  I heard the song and smiled. It smiled back and whispered into my ears, “I’m born of the Sun. So are you. But never tell this to anyone. It’s a secret that’s been kept for centuries. It’s the secret of the black holes”. It hushed and smiled. Innocence. Bliss. Infinity.

(The little flower knew we humans don’t keep secrets. Else, it wouldn’t have chosen me for this secret. Wink.)

Lump in the throat

There is a lump in the throat. Queasy. Heavy. Uneasy. The unease pervades all through the body. Specially, the mind. A strong disgust brews. But logic warns. Why disgust? And the mind melts….why disgust? Opportunist, the heart avails this feeling to return again…again to what hurts it….it clings on…or at least waits to cling on…that nasty disgust-hatred-love-displeasure-disappointment feeling lingers. A queer sensation pervades. You know that you can be beyond all this nausea. All you need is clarity. BUT! But, when is that clarity to dawn? When will it wean me from this ugliness? When will I shred my “love”? Its high time you know. Still you linger…procrastinate…make yourself another Hamlet…(only to fall never to rise again?)… you wait, wait, wait for something to happen. And nothing happens. Nobody comes. Nobody goes. You know you are waiting for Godot.

Kathakali

Kathakali. The flaring red costume. The painted face. Green. Red. White. Each competing to complement the other two.  And then that expression! Monster-red eyes. Tweaked corner of eyelids. Hoarding in their nooks a thousand emotions. And ah! Those hands. Sheeny fingers. Long nails. Harmony unparalled.

Come on, Shake!

Come on, Shakespeare! Rise up! Come with all your charms. Let Hamlet think again. Macbeth murder again. Let Falstaff be honored. Feste be fooled. Let Touchstone sing. Ariel fly.

Let cowslip fairies keep awake. And watch lovers in flight.

Fella, Keats! Time to stand tip-toe upon yon hill. Call that Nightingale. Clean that urn. And recite that verse.

Time to read, read, read and do nothing but stray in the vale of books!

Sabbath

I wish we have a sabbath day for everything. Everything. Simply every other rotten thing under the Sun. Work. Friends. Fun. Fear. Yes! A Sabbath can only cleanse my mind. The mind that suffocates under the toxic called work. The mind that needs a vent. A vent for all its hidden and dark insiders. A release for its panting joys.

I definitely need a break! A break that can ease ME. Free me of worries, premonitions and presentiments. From the Past and the Future. A dark future overcast with nothing but work, work and work. From bleakness. Absolute bold and bleak fear that crumbles me down when every time I try to climb up to the Sun.

No more of nausea. No more of darkness.

Let there be Light.

And there is Light!

Ah, its the dawn of the Sabbath day!

Beethoven, My Love

I love Beethoven like hell. If he were alive, I would go straight to his home and make a living dusting his piano (I say it in a frenzy, may not do it) … he is my crush when it comes to music – especially his 9th Symphony! The ninth is beyond human comprehension. The Ode to Joy is one of the best melodies ever composed. It sings into your soul. Makes you create music.

It is a composer’s demonstration of the power of music. Its music about music.

Its ME!

Yes! Its ME! I am going to unlock myself here. What I think. How I feel. How I react. What bothers me. Irritates me. Throws me out of ease. My frailties. Fears. Fantasies. How I take to life. What I lost in the race so far. Who I like. Love. Whom I adore with all my heart. What a single stroke of Van Gogh’s Sun could do to my bruised heart. How Da Vinci’s tattered charcoal could ruin my pain. How a lonely line of Keats could ravish my heart. Shakespeare’s single phrase could bury my despair. Who I am. What I do. What I intend to do. Above all, what I long to do.

This is discovery. Discovery of myself by Myself.