On life and its vagaries

Posts Tagged ‘Life


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That I just spoke with you, isn’t quite enough
To make me trust you my friend of an evening
The bus we rode to this junction, you’ll admit
Isn’t a fit environ where likings are formed
If you see me walk away without even a nod
At you at the nearing bus station
Don’t feel bad, for you also know,
That we live in a cruel world
And it isn’t one of our own making

Your face seemed wan, and a little over tired
I had even sensed a deeper weariness
That was behind, we know sorrow
When we see it, aren’t we all human in the end

You may be in dire need of food or shelter
But one thing seemed distinct, you needed
A friend to talk to, yes, who can miss the signs,
I could have helped you there, if you were not you
A stranger I met on a ride to my home town

You wouldn’t do anything drastic I hope
That would be bad on my conscience,
And there is the law sadly to worry about.

I remember cracking a few jokes with you
On our rough ride over the country roads
(How ludicrous the actions of our leaders seem
As one suffer their consequences in life)
And the pleasant and sad smile that
Seemed natural in you, a very moving smile,
I am a little envious of that smile I‘ll admit
And the words you spoke shone curiously with
The freshness of sincere feelings that
I myself sadly seemed to lack

Yet friend, penury is a vice I can’t seen be with
It would bring me down in my mind and
In the minds of others too, that is
A terrible sin in our small world of lucky souls
So forgive me for walking away, ignoring the strange
Urge to befriend you, at this time of your peril

I am only human
I have students waiting at home


Written by Sam

July 8, 2012 at 6:56 pm

Dots In Line

with 4 comments

Dots in Line

As I hold on to the moss covered gate-post, the scrawled codes of the past shake off their reveries and take me back through the barely distinct portals of my lost days, to where I was, some thirty years ago, walking these sandy paths, feet crunching, sand kissing my toes through the sandals, their ever so faint brush of discomfort on the soles, still walking, unthinking and immersed in the locale, inhaling the morning air that carries the faint salty sting of the nearby seas, and the sun on my skin, walking between the then newly erected bamboo fences, their thorns seemingly dulled by the rains, unknown vines twining through the abrasive structure, pale and fragile wild flowers hiding their heads between the leaves, white and yellow, blue and vermillion, and I sense the slow-moving little sand thorns gripping at my sandals, as if railing at me : “who are you to tread these paths, you stranger boy, go back to those red and hilly terrains you were frequenting not so long ago”, I lift my feet and carefully take them off, placing them on dry areas on the path, so that they could move again, wondering whether I am doing right, and they stay quiet for a moment on the loose sand and begin ever so slowly to travel again, I could see water snakes slithering across the sandy path out of the corner of my eyes as I turn my head towards the rustles in the leaves in the nearby trees, ever quick and frightened and disappearing into the wayside pools, their scales glistening brownish, looking so thin, and incapable of hunting prey, as I step on the clear puddles left by the rains the black grainy silt is seen flitting and settling down again revealing patches of sand, washed like fresh grains of white rice, the skeletons of fallen leaves floating to the surface and sinking slowly, and I hear the muted pops of the little silver fish jumping in the narrow wayside gutters, coupled with the flowing water sounds, its faint gurgles, and its stops, its silent passages over broken branches and jutting rocks in the gutter, and those elderly people that come against me smiling down, “no school today eh”, and passing by me with a twinkle in their eyes, as the sound of their footsteps fade through the sands I enter into the shady stretches of the path, mangrove branches stooping low, pines with tongues darkened at birth, barren palms with distended and graying leaves lined with long scratches near their bows, some darkening, others fresh, showing the losing green flesh underneath, there were red flame-of-the-woods, with their honeyed stalks, residing in bunches, determined to get through the sudden rains, and then the sounds of the beginning of winter days, the Thira coming opposite me with the frightening jill-jill of the anklets, its feet covered in dust, the calves in protective wrappings, with the circular head gear engraved in wood, with its demon in tow, rough drums playing a single harsh dancing tune, and the demon asking me “what’s for the demon now, kid, what’s for the demon” I search my pockets and locate a few coins and give them to him, he has a red wooden tongue sticking out of his gruesome and many colored carved mask, the Thira takes some dance steps to please me, and then they go away to dance and collect ………………

My thoughts break as someone ask me how I was. Yet these memories do not fade; they gain the strength of dreams and bring me back to my childhood.

                                               ( Back from the haunts of my childhood)

Written by Sam

July 5, 2012 at 5:57 pm

Posted in Humor, Life, poetry

Tagged with , , , , ,


with 2 comments


Listening to bird
Calls at night, I remember
Not to forget

Written by Sam

July 1, 2012 at 6:13 pm


with 2 comments



I saw, by chance, a
Smile on a sad face; why seek
Peace in futile words


The rudder seems new,
The Boat, about to take off,
What ails the slow breeze


The skies remain veiled
After a day of dogged rain.
Mirrors seem to cloud

To An Unknown Friend

with one comment

To An Unknown Friend

Stay a while, my friend and stranger
The day is still meandering, and there’s still time
Those drinks you had, how are they faring
Does the mind tell you where I am now, near or far
The disheveled hair on your head, is it painted
Or are you yet young at heart to outgrow the Time
The way you walk, never steady and in control,
Does that affect you in what you see
How does the world look, flat or round
Does it look twisted or covered in glamour
When do you sleep my friend, or do you not
Is there a sleep that helps you dream

The world is passing us, the children laughing
Horns honking, footwear grazing the side walks
There isn’t a thing still, all are moving

While we sit here, on this lonely bench
By the side of this antediluvian road
There are flowers blooming, lots emptying
Pans frying, fans whirling and some even hooting
Things are ever frantic, let us be not like that
Let us sit here, till the close of day
Why are you drooping, hold your head steady
We aren’t done talking, my man, you and I
That stain on your shirt, does that sting friend
Did the potion spill into your soul
Is that why you are looking at me fearfully
Don’t be frightened, I am not your darkness
I can be the light you were seeking in your nights

This drizzle, it isn’t from heaven, it’s the tears
That you and I shed together, may be not here
Nor anywhere, but still we shed them together
For we aren’t divided, we, you and I, are ever together
That sagging chest holds a thousand terrors
The drinks can’t still them, they garrote the drink
Don’t get up, you can’t yet walk, I am here my man
Though I don’t even lift a hand to make you steady
I am here still, with you all the way

Stop looking at those happy faces, embraces, and kisses
They aren’t real friend; they are off a passing show
You had partaken in that show once, as I had
They are bland, at least to us sitting here
You are now muttering assent, I see your lips move
Don’t wipe those dribbles off; they are droplets of your pain
You aren’t wagging your head to the music now
Are you, the music stall across is what this is all about
Noise, more noise, there isn’t a lapse to the noise
It blares day and night, winter and summer, burial and birth

She could be your girl, the one approaching
I see I was right, she isn’t happy with me
And is abusive towards you, you are doing great, old girl
He is drowning in your love; we were having a nice talk
About just that and he was doing good
Now you cart him away, with bitter looks at me

Fare thee well my friend, you can’t drink
This sorrow away, for it has claws of steel.


with 4 comments


Denizens of the underworld rooting for his life is a dormant psyche’s mistaken and muted wail.
Before hand
By a mind tortured to the extreme by inner conundrums -with the imprint of harsh reality on fantasies and ever reducing the zest to live, combating gips were being thrown out in the guise of barely fine-spun imagery.
Those were gruesome, and never ever were handsome, aiming to center on the not so winsome. Quips created to while away the ever ascending OF terrors of life.

By the macabre purchase of quaint expressions brave the world?
By and by that domain was overtaken by inanition.

Crossing A River

with 5 comments

The Original Story


“Two mendicants, having taken a vow of celibacy

 Were about to cross a river


A pretty lass was about to do the same

But was looking with fear at the rushing waters


The young mendicant suggested that

 One of them carries her across


The old guy said:


Son, we have taken a vow

Of celibacy, we can’t do such things


The other Said:


We have only taken

A vow of not marrying, not one of Not Carrying


The old guy Said:


 Do what you will


The three got across and went their ways


After a while the old guy grumbled:

Yet you shouldn’t have done that:


The young one responded:


I deposited her on the shore itself

Strangely you seem to be still carrying her!”




( This was the old tale. Yet what happened was this):


The Real Story


The old guy

Seeing the younger one quite set on carrying her across

And grasping the dangers of bodily contact

Volunteered to carry her saying:


 Just watch our rear, when we are in the waters


They proceeded thus to the other side

The girl turning her head to look at the boy often

And the boy blushing when their eyes met


Water being a fine conductor of nervous energy

Their rapport was instantaneous


At the far side, after thanking the old man

They both took off together


The old guy, watching them disappear

In the distance, mused:


When you carry something precious

You either don’t put it down

Or you make sure that it stays yours

Before doing so