A Recollection


I wonder if there is some secretive method that can seek to bring back the loss of memory…? Some manner of digging in deep past layers and past hard thick rocks of stone, and open it into the timelessness of light, into the nakedness of scrutiny and into the open area of scrutiny. Maybe the enormity of residue that have settled on top of this memory pushing it into deeper mysterious layers that can’t be described with mere words that constantly rely on feeling and enactment and reinstatement and reinforcement, the years that have gone by have contributed to the thick epic darkness of mind and its abstract blackened walls, when I write, sometimes I collect artifacts, feel good memories I do unearth every once in a while, and whilst I plow away hard in labor into my mental layers, Goodness with her warm embracing smile tells me that I have retained the goodness of my heart despite all my flaws and the grace of God has restarted the works of goodness and innocence again, Memory offers me melancholy and unhealed dreams, it reminds me of lost pride, lost innocence and lost love, lost hopes, and dreams that are hard to feel for the sake of my hurting beating heart. And I repeatedly ask myself what lingers past all these visitors and strangers …?

What lingers most in the true depths of my heart that is faithful and loyal to one’s true calling…? Are not dispositions by chance, experience, choice and partly owed to us by birth…? I seek in the inward seams, the inroads and the streams , the most persistent longings that my heart constantly yearns and seeks, I need no inner journey, the answer dawns on me even as I put forward some of my thoughts to work, the answer is peace, as a brief practitioner of the ancient wisdom of the path of Zen, I did abandon myself truly to its doctrines, I sought to detach myself away from all forms of thoughts, and for a brief moment of time, or rather many times I felt them truly open the mind and free it away from the lecherous grip of my thoughts, what is a thought…? What are thoughts but beads and drops of personal opinions wrapped in helium powered combustion to flit away after causing reactions…? And as I sunk into the seeming freedom away from thoughts, I felt more relaxed, and free to be myself, but this deception did not last long, advanced Buddhists would mock me and speak of how I failed to discipline my heart and mind, but truth be told, questions need answers, Peace as I found can only be found at the throne of Grace, but my exercise is in a way dedicated to embrace my faith but at the same time doggedly pursue the current direction, I wish to not distract myself in eternal stops, but wander for a while before I retire, I delight in the rapture of the pace that draws one away from senseless rush and anxiousness and inward into timeless space and tranquil pastoral spaces. The feeling of which can only be opened up the hidden gifts of silence, in the presence of absence of the mind, when a note minor and almost overlooked in the glib structure of noise is felt, take for instance a slight creak of a door on its hinges, the gentle tap of drops falling after thoughtful suspension, the lustrous grinding rotation of the steel metal blades slicing the stagnant air into a million tiny pieces throwing them below like wind into solid space, thoughts occupy so much space that we fail to watch in rapture things that once engaged us as curious inquiring children. 

But the recollection that I seek in no way exists plagued and harassed by such factors, my memories are free in that they lead directly to me, my recollections take on a different approach, they are far less congenial but more exploratory and seek to engage the machine of memory to probe vast immeasurable grounds and plains in search of themes, far away from the clutter of thoughts that only increase sorrow ,misery and anxiety, lost in restless struggles seeking only to conquer and defeat the will and determination, far away from the soulless cries sinking into the defeated pit of boredom, far away from resources of imagination and eternal curious being, I seek besides the exercise of recollection of my life’s grandest memories to walk paths oft forgotten.. But this journey often unravels other tense rocky layers whilst often cause trouble navigating, there is a distinct stage wherein a particular wavelength ceases to be pounding noise but rather emerge as sounds, a quiet secretive peek into the nature of entire unseen figments stranded and connected together… An affair of the senses, that examine texture and other tiny details, but I draw away, never connecting but ever drifting… The dots unlined, the breadth of the abstract skies eternal offering endless contradictions, before I retire in my usual state of confusion I wish to surrender my willful exploration and choose rather a submissive sort of non resistance… Seeking to later explore the word that dwells in my soul 


A poem with no meaning


What is Happiness…? Asked the feline cat, 

Is it not a tonic manufactured in top secret pine yard groves that are plucked at the exact right moment when they hang ripe with sensation and feeling…? 

Can you see the caterpillar snake his funky soul through magnanimous leaves of glue or was it blue…? 

Unusual seems this building tune working against my ever present gloom, 

Blues, ringing , melancholic and ever trapped in sorrowful wells of loneliness, 

But let me stop you right there Mister Postman of the order of the recluse, 

Would you please allow me to strap on my boots and let me jump up and down to the call of this soulful tune..? 

Atoms bursting into a brilliant infinitesimal pool of delightful ecstatic nothingness, 

Tigers dancing in jungles with helpful dangerous sways, throbbing their blood red veins with gravies of funk and mayonnaise, 

Ripe bananas open into worlds of beyond trapped in a celestial leprechaun soulless but true, Tell me oh please tell me is not the tiger smooth and groovy…? 

His moves suited up like striking panthers to the sway of music…?

Relaxing in a layer called a zone, chilling like purple melons,

What is happiness again ..? I asked the horse on the window pane…!  

Find it yourself ya cheeky bum he shouted and jumped into the eternal oceanic cauldron. 



‘ I jus feel sad about his state, he is practically throwing himself out in the hopes of getting caught by some poor sympathetic soul, I just think that he’s a little crazy… But then again some of his screws have always been a little loose…’ said George on that wide busy intersection buzzing like hot fried chicken, Hebrew listened with cynicism, he did not care about Sal, but he detested his emotional sincerity that seemed to gleam from his eager eyes that almost always had the hint of near tear revelations, he felt uncomfortable around free spirited emotional Sal, in no way was Sal even worried nor aware of George and Hebrew’s hatred
” I think he should save that ludicrous emotion for someone who actually cares, who does he think he is…?? Constantly opening up about every little unnecessary thought that flits across that moody clown’s mind… He thinks that his mood should encapsulate every deep expression of his heart, I mean… That guy is under the impression that interacting with him is some sort of art…” replied Hebrew hotheadedly
They passed a Latino establishment as they made their way into the belly of the underground, the deep funk dripping tunes of Latino hip hop rolled in their radio, they could see heads shaking in tune to its smoky bright funked up persuasive melody , it was ‘the ship goes down by cypress hill’, they walked on unaffected by the requests of the melody…
” You see if Sal had been here, he would’ve shaken his hips and attempted some sort of visual debauchery, speaking about how the tune associated with his feelings… Isn’t that guy from some bum restless unknown town…??” Hebrew quipped
” ha ha” , laughed the cruel heart of George Matthew, ‘Artist it seems’… He enunciated every word cursing it over in his mind, how dare that mere fellow with no sensibility of the world at large even attempt to call himself an aesthetic, a sage much less anything that found its origin in his own socially fit personality …??  “He is a loser I tell ya, I give him a year or two to get friendly with the bottle, three to end up in skid row, shooting stuff that messes with brains and minds…”
” I just remember that guy’s complaints, talking about how certain rooms played with his feelings… How certain people from his old town made him feel worthless and incomplete… Does he even have a stable job…?  How can someone so emotionally simple understand the works of Beethoven and Bach…?  ” asked Hebrew as they passed peddlars displaying shiny watches that were in fact painted and coated over old used watches that were commonly sold off to antique shops
” I just don’t think he should be given the job at the music academy… He has had zero formal training in classical music…” Hebrew spoke as he crumpled the tissue of the hot dog and threw it into the open wideness of a steel trash can…
The streets were ominous… The rush of hapless souls constant and eternal, rocking back and forth like unstoppable trains of mercury rolling away… Yellow blue grey striped horizontally challenged dresses, lonely crowded stretches, colored faces, smug, deceit, cheery, gay, open grounds below heaven’s devices…., so many people… Where on earth did all these people come from…?? What were they even doing here…?

” whether he has talent in music or not remains to be unseen, he did win awards for original compositions, supposedly some record executive wants to sign him for an album based on the interplay of light on waves… , these are things that any fool from the academy could accomplish given a chance… But no our Mr Sal has to be the pet of our Director… After all the ass kissing I did, the least he could do was promote me next in command, how long can I just play the background, I would like to take on some classes too…” spoke George as they reached the downward pull of falling rising stairs… The distant sombre shake of metal and a humming sound picking up ground could be heard… George and Hebrew rushed down, they would make it… The people all stood still claiming innocence in an unseen court of right and wrong.. What trouble clutched their souls..? The underground slowly lit up with the boom of the rushing beast of the underbelly that skid to a halt… Angles of survival rules of human chemistry revealed in thick but seriously half empty carriages opened up, diagonals of automatic slashing attachments, daffodils and candles melting, George and Hebrew got in as the doors slid, as the metal snake slithered in electric shudders and Buddhist speed of emptiness, a lone neurotic soul tumbled down the steps in clinking shoes that played like a desperate acapella… ‘Wait’ was the force of sound leaving his lips, but you heard none, the underground pulled the metal snake deeper into its caves… Only a few more minutes… The academy was right opposite the next stop… The thrust into thick dark blindness like the strike of a phantom cobra… Empty never ending bottomless horizontal pit with wide glares of maniacal white of light berserk and tense eating away arresting the spaces of strangers defensive and coiled, then light appeared outside… The next stop drew near… The same drama… Habit of unconscious getting off and walking away into wherever people walk to to open their hearts to people who dont care and some who did care… George and Hebrew clutched the metal and ascended higher into the structure of day… The glorious light of day, the road spread like sandwich butter, traffic light, people standing like electric poles, they crossed the road… Walking up yet another set of stairs more elegant than the public one… Sounds .. Musical sounds… Dramatic, senseless, lacking hymn and psalm.. Meaningless rhymes and rhythms that no one would remember, occasional stray tunes that were a disgrace to musical creation did too enter… They all mixed in the distance between ears… Suits.. Teachers.. Pupils… Meltdowns… Breakdowns… Hierarchy… Cold Authority… Repetition is the son of discipline and the mother of perfection, no words… The songs were the unspoken circling words that clashed like cymbals… Burning earthly fire.

They entered the room, they saw Sal pacing, everyone else was there… Mr Jenkins awaited, the hall had filled, the people were on their seats… Sal was balling his fingers… There seemed to be some black musician with a dj station who was head bent with dread locks spread out of his rastafari emblem hat, another clean shaven gentleman with dark beautiful black skin also paced aside Sal… A bunch of classical musicians awaited orders on another side… This was a concert that Sal had arranged for the academy in an impulsive moment much to the delight of Mr Jenkins and much to the ire of George and Hebrew… He had spoken a day earlier about absorbing the street culture, and reflecting on the music that had once defined a generation.. Sal detested technology.. Sal approached the Mic like a rebel poet, George and Hebrew felt their hearts take on a freak beat of jealous hate Mississippi,
But their voices no longer mattered… They had ceased.. The master took over the stage… Sal, took over the Mic and spanned the audience, ‘ I’ve decided to flip the script, like the great Nas once said, let me sprinkle a little heaven sent manna for your impoverished beat down technique infested ears… This is what freedom I offer unto thee fellow earthlings…. ‘ Sal spoke into the microphone as the alive voices in the thickets of the audience roared their vociferous loud approval… ,
Sal looked into the direction of the dj, a beat jangling and jingling infected the pitch of the expectant collective ear, the other man grabbed a hold of the Mic and with a few words of acknowledgment to the clearly possessed Sal plunged into the rich unpredictable bouncing beats that rained down unexpected feelings… Rhymes sacrifical and profound rose from the boy and the man, the intensity fiery and revolutionary… The beats blew bubbles of soft loud subtle trembles that affected the room like planned musical chemistry, the mc looked poignantly at the room… He spoke in ominous silence differing in tone from the initial crazed feverish pitch arousing awakening , and suddenly Sal who had so far been in a trance, suddenly signaled the orchestra into life, the different eager hungry strokes of the old establishment of classical history uniting with the rebels from the streets… Synthesis… Emphasis… True beauty so unspeakable yet so deeply aroused, Sal controlled the flow completely immersed in the cataclysmic rhythmic emotions… With stunning dazzling cuts of ebbs and flows and sharp crisp directions controlling the two worlds uniting them in their soul like blazing flaming furnaces gleaming in spaces of earth and stone, then just as sudden as it began it halted in an intense perfect synchronic anticlimactic conclusion…. The resulting silence was as deep as the depth of the silence that filled reflective contemplation… A silence so deafeningly loud which erupted in hoots, whistles, tears and exuberant excitment…. The claps lingered… Sal crept forward directing the flow of the applause into the performers.. We understand Sal… Its always about them and never about you.. Wretched lovable humble mortal    

Seeking God


So many times I stray away from God and start seeking my own methods of coping with what I perceive to be God’s silence…. And the silence bothers me, it bothers me because I am raw for God, I practically am filled with fire for speaking about Him to people despite my fears of messing up the simple message of God, but I know that I need to cultivate the necessary spiritual disciplines… Since this relationship is going to last forever and ever… and I want to understand or overlook the wide chasm with the deep contentment brought forth by faith…  I want to speak about Him because it changed my life on that fateful day as I pondered death… I owe my life to Him… Everything Good and lovely in my life, it came from Him… I love Him with all of my meek and timid heart, but I still mess up big time every now and then… And it shames me that I still have not changed in certain aspects of my life, that I still lack the self discipline, the total obedience and submission to God and to really give God the control of my life… I seek to serve Him but I throw out all my conditions, I am willing to serve him anywhere but I would like it to be in an evangelical type setting, I am fearful that God would send me back into the dense concrete jungle of the corporate world that I detest and abhor with all my heart… I forget to pray as I had promised… I forget that reading the Bible serves to equip me during times of trouble and conflict and I too often let the mocking cynicism and hatred of haters get to me and lead me away from the love of God and deeper into hatred of my own self. I am not perfect, nor will I ever be… My goal in life is not to be perfect, but to be the cup, the vessel through which God’s love flows through… I have always felt that my call lay in serving others… Despite my rebellious nature, I love the feel of serving people… of serving the poor… of listening to a broken hearted person… of just offering even a word of encouragement to anyone who needs it…. this is the life that I want for myself… To live a life of service… But too often the world and society do their best to remind me that money and ambition is what is really necessary…. A lot of my friends at times look down upon me when I tell them that I want to become an evangelist… And so often their own skepticism and their condescending attitude gets to me… I am only human…. By nature I am all about being an individual… I have a lot of pride over the fact that I survived tremendous adversities(often of my own making) and I take pride in the fact that all through that I stayed true to the things that matter the most to me… Things like openness, understanding, love, humility, patience, forgiveness etc. I might be flawed inherently by being unable to maintain a certain sense of consistency, but I struck to these qualities through most of my up and down life and gradually they led me to seek God deeper and deeper… Since despite my massive love for myself( LoL)… I realized that loving God made a whole lot more sense, I loved myself because other people did not seem to care, I hated myself because I blamed myself often for not reaching the standards and principles that I had set for myself… And I stayed true to myself because it offered me comfort in an ever changing world… But when I found God… I completely lost all the interest that I had in progressing the culture of my own self… I abandoned it , because I realized that for all my self achievements… I had failed to uphold whatever rules and laws that I had made for myself…. I often tune out the criticism of other people because I know no matter what they say it can never match the sheer anger I harbor against my own self… I am my greatest critic and so far whatever i’ve done, has never really appealed to me… I feel often that I am wasting away… That I am too stubborn to explore options… That I am cursed to watch people who once mocked me succeed… And that’s my problem… Truth be told… I no longer feel compelled to go out and let people know… Either through my fierce vitriolic and raging speeches or blunt dismissals of their hallowed opinions by sinking deeper into a complete ignorance of their very presence… I don’t let it bother me because… I no longer live in accordance to the blueprint of what I had drafted years earlier… The draft which read that I must always live in the moment, that I was to seek spiritual wisdom through journeys that I was to take, that I should reach the heights of society… Be it fame or infamy… That I should show the world that I belonged to its ranks… That I could stand on my own two feet… I wanted to truly break out…. I believed in many things and most of them though ambitious and self gratifying also leaned towards showing others what I could do… I gather that I picked up that attitude to make for years of people undermining and demeaning me… Long hard years where I had to stand up for myself… Sometimes when I see my classmates, despite the massive changes I perceive in the distance between me and them… I still see them reverting back to their normal routine of seeming self importance and it rubs me the wrong way… I don’t like it one bit… Sometimes when I see old acquaintances who thought that they were better than me on the basketball court or spoke lightly or wantingly spoke high of other people despite my obsessive infatuation and love for the game of basketball, I get pumped and mad, I take it all out in constructive ways… I have learned to channel that fury and rage into ways that enables me to play in some serious competitor mode… But I don’t find any happiness in proving people wrong… Not one bit… Not that I don’t enjoy it… , but I also realize that too often… its these perceptions that drive me… That despite the seeming strength of will and determination I still feel that gnawing sense of discontent… I am never free to be true to my love for the game or be true to me when I step outside my comfort zone when it comes to my love for God… Despite years of listening to about every form of subtle hatred and every form of condescension, I am truly never free… Despite the so called mental toughness( in spite of my heightened sensitivity), I am breakable… A teeny weeny form of discouragement and i’m out… My Kryptonite seems to be that I care too much about every single detail… Of course its not so because I care about people’s opinions… I’m really laid back and shy, and I genuinely listen to people’s opinions and love meeting new people all the time… But I can’t handle certain things directed at me like all normal people of the earth… Especially to things that I wear on my chest, I can’t take it easily, because I care way too much about it… I don’t speak about my love for God because I am trying to change a person or seem superior in any way, there has not been a day of my life when I have felt that way… I only talk that way since I care… I care that you are stuck up in whatever human created mess your life and mind forced you to create, I care and talk to you because only Jesus has the key to offering eternal comfort and redemption… I care about your eternal destiny too… Burning in Hell is not something you can ever prepare for… I am not perfect myself.. I get nightmares of ending up in Hell everyday…. I am no Saint in any sense of the word.. But i’m just a link that God uses… And my greatest weakness sometime on the court is this inner sense of being unable to truly desire defeating my opponent, I want to win just because I know I have it in me… Be it a random pick up game that strangely gives me a great sense of sanity or the extremely competitive games played in a sense of wild madness, I love playing the game more than winning… I don’t like the feeling that I get when I see the disappointment in my opponent’s eyes even though I want to overcome and cross the hurdle of being controlled by a certain type of opponent, no matter if he happens to be a guy who constantly bullied, taunted and tried to dominate me or the normal smartass… But I don’t have it me to truly feel happy when my actions have contributed to someone else’s disappointment… I want to win, because it makes you feel good about yourself, but not at the cost of embarrassing the guy playing opposite to me… I really wish on somedays that I could walk into wherever it is I play and play and not care about the people that I play with, to forget their faces and to merely just play and walk away… But I can’t… God made me this way… I am going to want to talk about God, and I grit my teeth and know that my high sensitivity helps understand what people sometimes don’t talk about… We all have limitations and boundaries, and I feel it is that way so that we know and realize how imperfect and meaningless life is without Jesus… I just came across a post on Facebook by this girl who was talking about how we don’t need Jesus but need more people like Jesus… Though I feel that we need more people who are willing to subject their selves to the higher call of imitating Christ… I think she is clearly unaware that in order to have people like Jesus, we need our Lord Jesus showing us the way, I don’t trust the human heart, I know that every moment, every second, it is always about Jesus, I never wander too far away from my best friend and Lord, for only through knowing Him do I get to know who I am .. Peace

She – Short Fiction


I can write about you, but I need a little more…
A little more of what…?
A little more conversation, ya know…? Just to get a hang of you, to feel your heart, your voice, your depth of emotion and the manner in which you love
Love…? She asked me with a look of adorable confusion 
By love I mean the affection that one ascribes to beings apart from him, we all suffer exceeding amounts of affection and true unconditional love when it concerns ourself, but when it comes to the other man, that is where lies creep in, there are patterns that each one of us exhibits when we love or rather make ourselves comfortable in the presence of another being. I said, eager to hide away the sudden increased beat of my heart
Sure… If that’s what you want, I find your ideas… how do I say it best…? Excessively intrusive, but I am dedicated to understand what I appear like in the eyes of another man, and especially a man who seems so interested in talking to me. Look i’ve known you for a little while and I don’t mind sharing things with you, just today maybe, you know Geetha..?
mmm.. Not yet, go on though… I spoke with a silent introspective nod
“Well she went and asked for a deadline in regard to the assignment submission, I mean how uncouth can she be…? Who does she think she is…? The Leader of the history department..? We all have decided to ignore her the best we can , ” she rattled on
I was struck by the fierce tone of her voice, her melodic obviously infuriated feminine voice disturbed by the nature of someone who had obviously sported an arrogant self indulgent attitude, I wanted more, I needed more of her voice, though the reproach was quite evident in her voice, she still sounded how do I say it, vulnerable, there was such deep emotion in her voice, but the cause of her anxiety was more than just the isolated random incident that she had just discussed, there seemed to be an agony in her soul, an unheard cry, a call to feel the beat of a heart other than her own.
Mmm.. I understand , I said in my slow elaborate voice
You do…? I mean what could you possibly understand by such an inconsiderate act, you don’t know her, and you speak constantly of understanding another person, but I feel like you assume you do, Geetha is quite a complicated character, and …
She carried on, she was reacting to me, I did not know if that was a good thing, I wanted to only let her know that I didn’t know how I understood such people, I just did, it was not hard to say that a fairly large percent of the population dwelled in external characters, serious appearing stereotypes that required unwinding, themes of the self hidden in hearts tuned to one’s peculiar social condition. She felt threatened or rather sought to bring me down so that I could accept my lack of understanding, she probably felt that Geetha was much more better understood from the confines of her own unique mind and I had not a problem regarding such a thing, I however felt the sting of that comment, knowing that her fierce method of confrontation probably was the result of her Father or maybe it was her mother. I envisioned her beauty speaking warmly to me, she had done so in the past, but an ocassional distance had hardened her heart towards my arm of friendship.
Mmm… Why don’t you tell me what you think…? I said with a smile
That probably threw her off a little, for a moment she felt guilty, I knew it, she wanted to exert herself assertively in front of me, and not appear weak, wanting and desperate. She was proud of her social accomplishments, she did not want me downplaying her seeming overcoming of her shyness that had probably bothered her at a younger age, she was a late bloomer, an ugly duckling that had turned into a swan, maybe that was one of the reasons as to why she was playing hard to get, she possibly wanted to appear gleaming like a faint spark in the distance that did not reach in as one drew nearer but rather receded further away, she wanted someone who made her feel special, someone who would rise up each day and look into her eyes and tell her what a rare gem she was and how lucky it was that he had found her. She was sad when men looked only at her beauty and did not see the attempts she took to cross obstacles, discipline areas that lacked self control and the effort that she had to take to stay true to her heart.
I really think Geetha is okay, she just doesn’t look at the effect that she has on all the others, you know…? We too are a part of the class, we too want to do academically well, it is not like she is the only person that matters, I always believe that each person has the individual responsibility attached to him or her. She finished in a more genuine voice
The truth had emerged, I nodded my head, she was bothered by these public actions that did not take into account the entire gamut of one’s emotion. One’s emotional response was complex, chemical at best and naturally wired to one’s genes to a certain extent but also hardwired to one’s social growth. She did not like it when oppressors loomed to take away and sully the nature of freedom that everyone enjoyed in relative harmony. I could already imagine myself taking her into my heart and writing about her, oh the great feelings that she brough out of me, we had been playing this game for a while now. It had been near a year since I had met and gotten to know her, but still she kept me at a distance since she was afraid of letting me see her real true self. We had gotten introduced at a Christian meeting just a little outside the campus, it had been a spark that had ignited at first sight, but she was world weary and trusted none outside her circle, and I was the outsider slash writer who often trooped as a lone ranger riding the unseen horses of self expressionism and individualism and frequented the college’s library to read and wandered the campus to seek characters. I was putting together a book on character studies and I had approached her a few days earlier when she had been at the cafe her entire body serious and intense into her textbook of world history. I think appearances are deceptive and I seek not to explain them for reasons that I wish to keep her alone in my heart, I wish not to share her for the fear that maybe somebody else out there in this world would see my paramore more than I saw her. Call me selfish, but she or rather her thoughts that I enclose within me belong solely to me, and I wish to cherish and treasure them for that’s all I have… I wish to maybe elaborate a little bit more on our first meeting, the meeting that we had attended, had been a powerful call to minister in these last days of our world before the stark and cruel reign of the anti christ came to pass. I had been touched in a powerful way, I had seated myself at a place where I would least be visible in the slanting arena with fixed communicating lines of chairs, the attendees were between many and a few. I had caught sight of her in the first few seconds of entering, the brightest stars always shone the best and my failing weary heart for the faint sight of loveliness faltered and fell. Slipped I into worlds of fondness and fairy tales, of love and wide open meadows. But I kept it well, for I contain worlds hidden beneath the turpaulin of my heart, I besides listening with rapt attention and sincerity for the cross I truly seek to serve, also peeked every now and then hoping for a mere sight of this beauty’s eyes. I wish to impress upon one’s mind that external beauty is not all that I am after, I seek the beauty of the heart in the space of one’s life. She impressed upon me immediately stamps of christian virtue in those beautiful long moments that passed me by like the fineness of a turkish carpet, I searched for a smile though the topic was one of anguish and woe, the speaker thankfully besides fiery calls of action sneaked in an ocassional laugh to balance the immense sadness of that troubling topic. She smiled, and I should tell you that I am aware of all kinds of smiles by now, in this short tumultous life that I have lived, I have learned details so fine and atomic about one’s countenance and facial expressions that I may risk surprising you. Of course engaging you in such self pleasing vanities is not my intention dear friend, for her smile I truly felt with my heart. In an age where a ready smile is preached and spoken illustrously about, there are but few that truly come from the oft hidden realm of the heart. The heart in today’s world seems outdated and foolish, it is the mind that has taken precedence and guides the affair of men giving unto them a sense of the cold clinical pathos of life’s unguardable ills. I fell for her smile, it lingered in my heart and like a rapturous melancholic melody I played its tune over and over turning it in corners and weaving into it unlikely personal characteristics in my heart.
Joe…? She interrupted my thoughts like a sudden whiff of cinnamon leaves or maybe tea.
Mhmm….? I replied back dreamily
She hid a smile, I felt a shiver of delight, I felt like a teenager who had just managed to get his crush to smile or laugh at some mediocrity that he had performed with awkwardness.
I want you to talk to me like I mean something to you, I put forth boldly, I want to feel what you are all about… Imagine, I say this for pure abstract hypothesis of course, say you were in love with me… How would you speak …?
She seemed strangely unaffected by my strange but outrageous demand. To ask a woman or maybe I should call her a girl such a dangerous thing in this age of cleverly disguised conservatism was a risk that I was willing to take, at the most she would reject it, she had clearly set a distance from me in the past and I had imagined that bitter distance with the sweet fruits of my imagination. I performed a miraculous reversal of detail in my heart, I had called her distance, fondness, she was growing rather fond of me I theorized and that’s why she wanted to depart away from me for I made her feel things in her heart that she was scared of.
There was a sudden unexpected change in her eyes, she did not for the sake of credulity perform a weak act of appearing interested in me, her eyes they seemed more welcoming and joyful whilst taking in my sight, she suddenly opened her arms and hugged me, to say that I was taken aback would be a weak response to the rush of feelings that erupted in the caves of my heart. I was afraid, but I held her back, I took her in and the distance between our two souls lessened, and for the brief moments or maybe they were seconds that we lay in embrace I actually believed that I heard a sigh, a contented sigh… Maybe it was a dream, as a wanderer between reality and the unseen, there had been multiple cases of my heart filling in the gaps often left by reality, but never in my life had I been prepared for something so intimate and carefree as the warm embracing hug of the object of my wishful desire.
I asked myself the question, why do I need her…? Did I wish to own her beauty…? Did I wish to flaunt it perhaps…? To make a living out of such an act..? Or did I wish her company…? Did I wish to regularly feel her soul… To take in the vast immeasurable presence of her and to bury it into my soul as a seed into the soil of the earth and grow a tree that lasts forever, what did I long for her when I wanted her…? I was no longer attracted merely to the body, but to the soul, the character, the nature, the spirit, and to a certain extent the personality of her heart… Maybe I was being judgmental, but true love awakens only in the presence of truth, the truth that holds when hearts fall apart and when life suddenly becomes morbidly impressed by the world’s fleeting emptiness, I wanted to know the truth of her heart, I wanted to convince her that I was not merely here to take her in and discard her when I grew bored, no I wanted a life with her, a life that labored to love and to serve. I wanted to let her know that her beauty mattered less to me, sure it excited and made me fond of her, but her heart was what lingered, was it Maya Angelou who once said that people forget what you gave them but they never forget the way you made them feel.
She slowly removed herself out of my embrace, my heart acutely feeling the loss acutely, she seemed shy and vulnerable, I did not know what to make of it, was it an act, was she perhaps revealing how she lost herself in the embrace of love…? Or did she reveal how brazen and bold her heart was when required and asked to love…? No simple woman was she, her raven black hair slowly fell over her face, her eyes they stared at me and I wishing not to disturb the intensity stared on into that soul, those eyes, they longed for me, I was losing track and sight of my goal, sure I did want her to stare at me for the rest of every day of my life, but was this real…? She was gaining respect in my mind in regard to her raw acting abilities, but my heart meanwhile felt tender and sad, I would never have those eyes stare at me like she really wanted me, she was making a point for my case study, and I slowly retreated away from those deeply black pools of longing, I had a job to do, I scratched my head as I turned my eyes away, my heart reacting with mixed emotions. I picked up my thin note and made a show of flipping pages, most of the pages had revelations about her, I had drawn her from multiple positions and angles in a series of adorable girly pony tails and slim fit jeans, her usual style statement, she didn’t know all that, I looked at her with a smile, she meanwhile had a guarded look on, the facade had returned,
Why did you do that…? She asked with emotion
Do what..? I asked
Look away, did you not feel what I wanted to say…? she asked me with a hint of desperateness
I did , that’s why i’m taking it down, I truly felt your heart for a brief while, I just want to say that whoever finds you is surely a lucky guy I said with concealed emotion
Did you really understand what I wanted to say…? She asked me again, pressing me about it, hoping to convince me of something that I could not for the moment understand.
I did, you embodied passion and love in those eyes of yours and for a brief moment I lost track, I wish…. I almost wished in my heart that they were purely directed at me with natural feeling, we both know where that would lead… I said as I looked away
How would you know if I really didn’t look at you in that way…? She asked in a mysterious tone,
You…? At me…? Right…! I chided her in an attempt to make her smile,
But she still stared at me, a strange emotion taking in her features, suddenly she stood up from our position by the wall, there were people around, she took me by my hand and asked me to follow her…. I obliged, I did my best to self counsel my saddened breaking heart, maybe this was where she was going to tell me about her new crush, and I would have to act copious and do my best to take it all in vivid detail and surgically probe it for further details. We were seated near the dining hall, she was leading me to the tiny woods that lay towards the corner, my mind still distracted by her command had stopped all inward motion, I walked sluggishly forgetting that she still held my hand, maybe she was about to show me some strange new method of speaking about love I thought.
She took me into the small clearing and into the sides of a tree and suddenly pressed her lips on me, and then drew herself away as I was just starting to relish the softness of her lips and stared at me with a smirk on her face, Did you feel what I wanted to say atleast now Mr Oblivious…? She said her voice soft and near as she sunk into my embrace
Did I…?

Showers of Summer


Heavy, cumbersome stinging open rays falling down across the content of day from heaven, spear headed rays of fire, prickly needles piercing the brain and careening it towards dizzying madness, 

Touching the filled plains of the earth with wrath and judgment, torching the restless with its glorious sensations,
Rivers run dry, the earth dries up and the hills distant, transcendent and aloof burn like a sacrificial fire,
Earth lowly and distant from all the heavens, one portion of it alone treated to the furnace, reels inward, clinging, desperately emotional and heart broken,
The heavens at times bless the burnt with wild and untamed gusts falling down from the windows of heaven,
How fierce and furious seems the big glowing ball suspended in the centre of round circles, what wrath brings its fearsome breaths near..?
Rolling like a furnace between the wandering stars and the realms of cosmic chasms hidden and the fiddler playing songs in heaven,
Scorching the months of march, blazing it with impressions unforgettable and eternal,
is not march the finest month of all…? Do not the winds blow unbidden…?
The skies sparkle like opal and gemstone, crystal clear and the stars blessed with vast crisp startling clear plains and meadows of rich dark black offerings,
How vast are the grounds of the heavens…, the brightness of day washing clear the paved roads and stairs with colors of gold and a million indescribable shades so clear,
The roads magnetic, dusty and filled with coal, washed with sundrenched heckles of marigold, reeds and junipers swaying in the cool summer breeze, lonely seekers lay awaste, their souls and madness covered in dirt and hardness,
All day I stay awake, drawing in all the vast and glorious sounds, the fine oppression of the heat, the truly victorious sounds at midday from the school nearby, kids squealing in vibrant delight, running , prancing, dancing, the lone repetitive cut of the hammer weilding man, pounding away on a stand in the sand, fretful rushing steps of pious office breaks, laughter of camraderie, the rush of motorcycle anxiety,
My dreams at night draw me away, to lands strange and dear, with visions of haze do I step beyond, in a land of thickened stars and darkened halls,
Often times I recollect them not, for I wish them away, my heart feels in sadness their departing restless sighs, but I wish to dream dreams that never come by,
Hot steamy days of summer arranged in layers of oodles of dense flavoury madness,
Men hiss and women pout and then coil back to wage war with pitch blackness,
kids meanwhile play in blissful surreal submergence, the subterfuge of such innocence, these days their grandpas say with chattering teeth from front porch seats taking in all the melody, these days are one day gonna be memories sweet dying flames rushing into adult world insanity, hold clear to the seams of the heart’s fond trails, for later memory should know where to find her way amidst all the gloom and bleak despair,
My dreams cast me into acts bizarre, reenactments long and trapped in the labyrinth of dissolve, memories long past haunt me in dazzling unforseeable intensities, places take the form of people and people long past draw near and speak normally like nothing of the past has changed, I rush away past the treachery,
The evenings meanwhile offer balmy salty winds drawn from the dusty sands and the emotions of time, fresh bursts of excitement does the evening offer the unconventional mind, or perhaps it is a release from all the repressed emotion afflicting the den where only moments before one lay in brooding silence..?
When one sees into the vast beyond, into the distance where lights flicker like orbs and the contents of a town’s soul is reduced to lights flickering and rushing in a maddening dazzle of sheer bedazzlement, transitory seeming , opening the mind to a deeper meditation of what it means to be stuck in a town so often sickening,
at times I feel like the vast lifeless creatures that structures are are silhouettes in this fine darkening night with few emotions of light nuance, and the thick darkening veil of night like heavy blankets envelops and casts the lights further like shrill glowing bulbs of human civilization,
A sudden rumble apparent in the skies, thunder gathering ground, a faint but prophetic sound, the glory of Heaven’s master, I depart from my romance with the deep dark shadows, my inner child at once immediate to the sound,
A brief earthy smell, a mere tradition of an apparent shower, the musky smell carried forth by the wild and untamed force of nature,
the wind thickens and the breeze quickens, the trees dance and people scurry and hurry,
The dying notes of an evening prayer rise in the distance, voices so devoutly apathetic but pious, patriarchal insinuations so dense and thickened, carrying the emblem of the ancient religious zeal of the desert,
Drops fall, leaves shudder, my dog swerves and runs in a circle, warning loud notes from the person of my mother, A brief stare into the great big blop of a cloud that lights up every now and then with electric currents,
The fall thickens, a sheet of great proportions,
I depart with a whistle for my faithful companion,
I close the door to the maddening unpredictability of Summer’s offerings,
I say my prayers and close my eyes to sink in to Summer Madness.

The House of Empty Dwelling


I wish to engage in my faculties before the presence of light moves on into the interstellar heights of rotation and past the distances into other corners of the world’s big ball, I seek to enage in feasting off of this evening and its canvas of life and dwell in the open space that offered up the sky and if possible discerning whatever strikes my mind as it captures these glimpses into the normality of existence. I live beside a church which plays its music too loud and on the sides of my house is the headquarters of a missionary organization founded by a man who had been my childhood spiritual mentor. The buildings around me are all at eye level, there is a wide open ground beyond the church and its side tuft of high rising penguin type roof with a spire on the side where eagles often perched their claws just before the rose majestic into the heights of the skies to wander in hypnosis renewing their strength as their wings stretched forth gliding in the upper air currents of the heavens. 

My subject of interest at the moment seems to be blocked as my heart has retreated into a cave of some sort, and my fingers stay suspended over the keys unable to find the chords. I have been feeling a little worried about the manner in which my sentences seem to lack the great richness of heart, they seem to be more and more ordinary like the sad streets connecting the colony, they strangely seem to lack character, and substance, I am relying more and more on poetic rhymes to play a symphony of words than truly exploring in great detail the nature of light, sound and people around me. I strangely seem to not see people when I stare at them with my eyes, I can make out their being there, but the townfolk’s menu of color seems vacant though I can see that they take great care to dress and look nice and presentable, my heart feels bothered by this rude nature of my heart to dismiss their appearances, my heart seems to struggle beyond the usual repertoire of words that I generally open to present such scenes, but strangely it feels like the words that I possess by nature of knowledge and the reality of the people in my town don’t see eye to eye. I run out of words and feel insecure as I attempt to describe them, I only rely on collective words to describe them, crowds, hordes, swarms, etc. I feel uneasy as my attention draws to a large amount of characters and away from my brief moments of romance with the unspeakable beauty of the skies, the mind has to be swept clean everyday I feel, freed of its clutter. That statement takes me back a few years down memory lane, to a former place of education, if one would arrive early in that compound with the big old gate with the school’s emblem, the morning sweepers would be methodically at work, sweeping with the collected bamboo sticks the length and breadth of the ground that lay littered with heaps of paper scraps that were mostly rolled in that childhood manner of crumpling them into a ball, and lollipop wrappers and sharpener covers, etc… The great cloud of dust that rose as they swept in grand sweeps the soil until its upper covers of mud had been collected in sizable mounds on the side, heaps that contained flowers of the pious tree gulmohar and the strange yellow flower of the tree with the thick stout trunk. Who am I in this town…? Why do I constantly seek to escape it….? I can see the stares into pools of soul anxiety trapped beneath cool, dismissive eyes, they feel the same riotous battle too, do not all town dreamers dream of big screen escapism and fame far removed from this neurotic town’s obscurity…?

I take in the open surroundings, there are houses to my side, the house closest to mine has a wondrous thin but thick cover of safari brown with finely finished edges and a roof that reminded me of this one film or was it an online story..? Maybe it was the latter, the heroine rests in Greece, she is a pirate and her friend an infamous general in the army promises to shelter her whilst the violent mob rule of the government scourges the island seeking her arrest, and this noble general has a villa by the edge of the cliff over looking the sea, the image I had created at that time of exploration into online fan fiction had had a similar roof, I lack a basic knowledge of architecture, I am thrilled like a child with emotional feelings when I visit great works of architecture which like art cannot be described with feelings, but for the sake of reading, I have to create the closest version of whatever it is I wish to see, for I learn that I see better when I write. The house nearest mine had had quite the history, when we had first arrived into this particular colony, it had lodged a family who later went abroad, and the mother had had two rebellious sons who the local school had deemed lost cases. As is the case with most failures of school prophecy, these sons of that wonderful mother later went on to study in schools and colleges in the States, in the town it is often treated with a sense of awe and a sad personal longing when one learns that a family has gone abroad. Oh to briefly visit the imaginations of lost ambitions of those sad souls who never could escape the sake of their ill determined fate, I can feel their great sorrow as they envision these boys who later became men overseas in the land of milk and honey and open freedom, I can see them think about a million unanswered questions, traverse the motifs of what ifs, themes of personal identity and insecurity clash, unseen forces wreck their souls with restless hapless frequencies frequent and seek to ruin their moods like visiting haunted ghouls. Sad, sad, Sad…. The person who came after, she had two sons too, I had briefly helped one of them call up the house of the local damsel, assisting their teenage love affair unaware of parents on both sides of the fence who assumed a naive young man with shyness in me hindering public presentable character, they were not wrong though. They had suffered the yoke of education as well, the older had suddenly developed a fire for Jesus, and he had long walked around with interesting books regarding the rude questions of Skeptics and the fiery sermons of A.W. Tozer. He was a nice young man, he later moved north and after Bible college had found a nice young woman who shared his burden for the gospel, love, fire and he bloomed well into a passionate preacher. I see ocassional clips on the internet, He encourages me well on my pilgrimage into the service far beyond the pulpit. The younger son had struggled to come into terms with the call of the gospel, rejecting it at first, then hanging out in the wrong part of town, brief flirtations with rowdyism and alcoholism, rebelliousness, then redemption when he asked the Lord to forgive him and accepted Jesus as his personal savior, he now works for a studio, he randomly shared his testimony once when not so long ago I walked the middle path of Zen. They too went away, they occupied a small humble abode behind my house in those days, when the road back then was not paved with sheets of tar but lay dusty with bulging rough rocks and haphazard stones, a danger for kids playing precocious childhood games barefooted and driving flashy bicycles with pink handlebars with colored paper strips hanging sideways. Then the house for sometime became old, progressed into soot and peeled off layers of white, its lifetime hanging on the balance, then the last occupants were a family from Kerala, who lived on the second floor with the side steps and an old couple who lived downstairs, the second floor couple were nice, the fair skinned man with an ever-smiling face often offered lifts and once taught me how to look after my former car’s engine. I apologize for the lack of fluidity in my thoughts, the language as offensive as the scratching on a sandpaper, but bear with me, I write with no electricity and my eyes are heavy at this point but I strive on. To conclude my useless meandering into the history of that particular setting of docility, I forgot to add a rather meaningful point but I wish not to steer away from the narrative, taking anything away from its restless distracted flow, halting and stilted though it be, it has built up quite nicely until this point…The old house was brought to the ground and a new more fancier one was built in its place, one with sliding gates, 3 floors and a humongous security guard on patrol through long mosquito ridden summer nights. The strangest thing was that no one lived there, in that house, the house was empty save for the security guard, and he was not allowed to go inside, he was just to stand guard and watch over the house during the long lonely watches of the night, luckily for him, the old man who walked with a discernible halt to his step struck up a friendship with the night keeper of the Church, and their violently dry coughs and companionable noisy talks often sounded lone in the content of the night, when eyes and souls rested.

The church was bustling with the intensity of preparations for Easter Sunday. The noise of kids had dimmed down from the afternoon, there had been quite some jolly excited sounds that had overtaken the usual dull pace of the afternoon, but strangely it had threatened me for a while, I envisioned an attack of the mango trees in the backyard, I pictured them slinging rude obnoxious stones at my precious canine and adventurous but yet misguided leaps over my gate to steal flowers and badam fruits. Thankfully nothing of that sort had transpired, the church opposite to my house at times offended me with its presence, not the church per se, but the tradition and the dogma that it was bound to, I had observed the parish over a long period of time, and though I felt threatened since I hardly knew them personally, I found certain likable characteristics in them, one being, the devout nature of their attending, their engagement in regularity to all church programs and functions and the presence of the common man who was the main attendee in that particular compound. But the ones who threatened me were the middle class members of that same church, they bothered me, I did not feel one bit comfortable with them, the church had had a troubled history and I certainly understood the nature of politics in regard to certain positions in the church, but what really bothered me was the sense of feeling judged and looked down upon that continually attacked me, passionate songs and the fatherly tone of the Pastor spoke over the mic as I continued my observation, his time was about to be up in this particular denomination, he would soon be replaced, his daughter had been married off just recently and there had been the usual ruckus of political tension that too often accompanies church elections, he was a wonderful man, always welcoming and eager to pray and it could be discerned that he had quite the fire for the Lord.

I turned my attention to the trees in my garden, this garden had been my mother’s great activity in the past before she had advanced upward in the managerial position at the hospital where she worked, I can still remember her watering the potted plants that were arranged on the sides of the walls, I remember many comments by friends who had visited my house in the past, I in awkward self consciousness always feeling poor and low would just show my house with a wide sweeping gesture, those dying flickering lamps of human companionship often remarked how wonderful and peaceful my house seemed… Which would be followed by the characteristic worldly attribute of asking the price of such an establishment, I was always uncomfortable around material possessions and fixed places of stay, how long ago seem those many years of tortured existence when I trapped in the flesh of the self detested its attributes for it attempted to control and dominate me, I was glad that freedom had come, Freedom offered by a man who hung on a cross to cover all my shame and to set me free from all further captivity.

I am constantly struck by own bizarre dualities, I would be lying if I spoke of my dual nature and forgot all the other meaningful connections to the depths of my soul and spirit offered by other aspiring characterisations. One moment i’d have such breathtaking command over my thoughts, gathering with gusto the details concerning the most mundane and the next minute afflicted by a confounding state of bleak despair, stumbling over the simplest of emotions, unable to find words to catch the tail of speeding fleeting feelings and cast into a stark fog of incomprehensibility. I do my best to capture feelings that are meaningful over the vast unconstricted plains engulfing the soul of memory but one learns more through stumbles and slippery trails that have to be conquered over and over again. And when failure happens and recovery seems so out of boundary, thats when I find myself at the beginning, I find myself holding a pen waiting for a moment of happening, waiting to feel the condition of my my mind, to feel its unheard sighs and capture its greatest longings. Parts of my writing emotion still bothered me, there were too many incomplete and profound characters that dwelled within me, I do not refer to demons, but rather I refer to those parts of my heart that have assumed characteristics singular and entirely original, there is a poet in my heart, a revolutionary, a pastor, a counselor, a wide open general emotion reader, past historic characters whose greatness so provoked and encouraged me to tame this reckless nature of my flesh’s self seeking endeavours. I needed a great discipline, I needed to acquire habits to overlap the lusty voices intent on leading me towards my greatest disappointments, I needed to reduce my drifting lapses into nothingness, my ever nervous anxiety regarding the future, my lonely heart that longed inadvertently for love like a rare drug, life seemed like a grand epic struggle between multiple parts of my mind that strived for complete dominance.

I seem to have forgotten the meaning of joy, as one grows older the vocabulary of pure unadulterated joy recedes into layers and assumes an almost rarefied existence beyond the reach of a mind bothered incessantly by the shocking nature of reality and the ever debilitiating pounding away of worry and anxiety. Moments of rapture like catching sight by accident, the acute richness of a deeply blue azure sky over the faintly whispering leaves absorbed in a luminous glisten of gold and green seems to be beyond reach of a self absorbed mind. The mind behaves in a preoccupied manner, it never stops, it keeps moving, wandering, to listen without the nature of though hindering one’s mind would be a luxury, a divine blessing and cause for happiness. To feast in the lulls of silence, where the whistling delicious exuberant rapture of a sparrow fills the mind with a sense of awe, or when the unhindered drops of water from a leaking tap cast one into a trance as they crash in silence, breaking away as they shatter into the dull hard flatness of the ground, I find a certain hunger stalk me when my mind and my body are starved of food and sleep, for in those depths of impoverished beauty, a need as burning as an undying flicker quickens. I feel a greater need to write than normal, truly comforting and brilliant insights do chance to flit across the vast landscape of my mind. Thoughts like clouds cannot be caught, one has to learn to see them, to tame one’s inner vision to focus with clarity the hidden meanings and signs.

My mind and my heart truly never seem to still, my mind pristine and aware but engulged in long periods of incomprehensibility, my heart meanwhile like a dragged victim, seems nagging in relation to the immense moods that unveil its many infinite designs, sensitive to picking vibes offered by the unseen world, timid in general, meek and kind of heart, and ever connected to the deep wells of emotion. Reality to me never truly reached the core of my being that lay beyond reach, that lay trapped in the worries and concerns of my own little world that lay deep cocooned under layers of earthliness, underneath feelings rich with restless weaving, to speak of that would require words that are never normal in anyone’s vocabulary. To denote the sheer depth of emotion that I relate to my inner world, the internal tapestry and weaving of magical artistry, the carefree emotion that I never need to rehearse as I were accountable in the nature of reality, the play of my mind’s inner screen, rolling over and over, trapped eternally at the mercy of my deepest desires and longings and dreams, unfettered, reckless and truly denoting the infinitesimal beam of one’s humble imaginative curiosity.

Before departing away from this tranquil state of envisioning the beyond, I seek to describe this one particular structure, like all structures that have not that touch of finality, the lump of bricks and cement loom as unfinished as my own great failures, but the bricks and cement appear to have a form as the day progresses, subliminal or not, to the eyes of this seeker and observer merged into the oxygen and the air, the man who always seeks to water it with stern predicament bearing strict eyes that departed not away from the boundaries of the fast progressing space of what would later be called a domestic place, his eyes at times bored into my head when in the few unexpected moments, the few metres away of diagonal distance was crossed over by the power of sight, the church’s pleading sounds made no difference to him, to him, the house of empty dwelling was his most fixed and consuming concern, for he watched over the laborers who adorned with cloths strung over head and dirt smeared over face and hapless long labor under the authority of the emperor of the skies who boomed down in rays forceful and visceral, a few cartilages of steel did chance upon my vision, skeletal glimpses before the flesh of concrete hid them, what thoughts did that man entertain in the depths of his heart…? For his stern gaze, probably protective of the future prospect of bringing over his two fine groomed daughters who both sported colorful characters, or was it the joy of finally settling down in a place certain and final..? Whatever his concerns were, they were not mine, I looked away, past the house with its array of brick red and watered grey, and into the heights of the dormant open sky where my spirit soared into, men and women, they never change, at some level they are all the same, I end with a silent prayer for all the persecuted martyrs and a gentle feeling emotion for my aunt who suffers from cancer. Until time next