In Search of a Requiem


“What we seek is some kind of compensation for what we put up with.”
(Haruki Murakami)

Tune into this calm instrumental and hope you enjoy the narrative that follows:

“So, Mr… tell me what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong. I…”

“Then why are you here?”

“Well… because I have nowhere else to go.”

“Umm, that comes under my definition of something being wrong.”

“I guess you’re right then.”

“So we are at the beginning again. You are here at… 6 o’clock in the morning, at a mental hospital, correct?”

“Wow! It’s six already? Jeez!”

Continue reading

Advertisements

The Poetic Inception – A Monologue


“A poet in his senses knocks vainly at the gates of poetry.”
(Ben Jonson)

No human experience is unique, but each of us has a way of putting language together that is ours alone. Youth really is an intriguing period in one’s life. If one adds writerly ambitions to the difficulties of youth, one must possess an exceptionally strong constitution in order to cope.

Whenever we sit down to write a piece of poetry, our minds are flooded with a million remembered ideas, a billion derived thoughts and a zillion words to link them with. Whether we should follow the rules or simply let our words flow in any form or direction remains the greatest internal fight. The seasoned poets do not face such problems, but the novices or the untrained ones (like me) sometimes go through real dilemmas in choosing ‘what to pen down’ and ‘what not to pen down’. Added to that, distractions of various kinds commove the thinking process and unsettle the mind. Tranquility is sought after. Compromises and sacrifices become quintessentially necessary. In the end, forced eliminations often drain out the core thought that was the source of the written piece initially.

Most poets (rather creative people) often meet an untimely end, due to their obsessive and eccentric nature. This unorganized piece of verse is an attempt to map the mind of a poet embarking on a noetic journey to create a written piece. It has a dual layer of monologue to highlight the dilemmatic nature of the mind. The words written in italics imply that they have a louder impact on his/her cognitive process, and punctuation has been minimally used to bring out the continuum of musing.

Continue reading

The Naked Somnambulist


“What hath night to do with sleep?”
(John Milton, ‘Paradise Lost’)

The world rests in the night. Trees, mountains, fields and faces are released from the prison of shape and the burden of exposure. Each thing creeps back into its own nature within the shelter of the dark. Darkness is the ancient womb. Night-time is womb-time. Our souls come out to play with nightfall. The darkness absolves everything; the struggle for identity and impression fades away.

But for some, night-time is the time for a surreal adventure, it is the moment of surrender to the darkest dreams, it is the hallway to purge the thoughts of a life known long before.

A poem portraying a sleepwalker’s journey through the portals and vaults of his past life:

Continue reading

The Doppelgänger


“At what exact moment
did the real turn into the unreal, reality into reverie?
Where was the border? Where is the border?”
(Milan Kundera, ‘Identity’)


~ 1 ~

A book of sordid tales lay open on the desk, my gaze fixed on a photograph. The eyes stare from the page: holding my attention, groping my mind, fiddling with my senses.

He seems familiar.


I had seen this man before, and yet, I was not sure whether I recognized him; only that the feeling of 
déjà-vu wouldn’t go away. It seemed he had a hold on me. I was mesmerized by his stare, hypnotized by the thin smile, engrossed by his rugged features. He was wizened and aged, and I sensed a deep evil in his eyes.

I think this man has a dark heart!


Slightly flustered, I walked away from the book, out through the door of the curiosity shop in which I’d been browsing, and across the few yards to where my car was parked. I got into the car, started her up, and drove the couple of miles to my house. Pulling into the drive, I noticed that my front door was ajar.

Someone is in my house.

Continue reading