Absentia

Why do you come to me
Like an enigmatic dream
Just to draw back, ever so swiftly,
Like the waves?

Why won't you, just this once,
Stand by my side
On the shores of my memories
And stay?

Why don't you quit residence
In your heavenly abode just for today?
Walk hand-in-hand with me,
Look at the sea shells scattered all around
Take in the earth's spirit, the one
You seem to have forgotten,
And tell me all there is to know
About life and living
About death and dying
About love and loving
About pain and suffering
Please. Don't spare anything.

But departed spirits can never let slip
The secrets of the cosmos
To the mortal tenants of the Earth.
Is that why, every once in a while,
You come to me like a dream,
Just to sojourn briefly like the waves?

SubhaanAllah!

You see rain.

And then you realize you're witnessing Allah's Mercy taking the most tangible,

the most beautiful elemental form.

And then you feel so honoured.

Oh so very honoured!

The Optimist

You tell me I'm no good?

You better be prepared to see what I'm capable of.

You tell me I'm messed up, lost and confused?

The darkest hour is just before a beautiful dawn, pal.

You tell me I'll never rise up to the challenge?

I'm not as pessimistic about it as you are.

You tell me that I'll never amount to much?

I have more faith in myself than you do about me. 

And that's all I'll ever need.

You tell me that the rope I'm walking on is too thin?

All the more reason to do it. 

You tell me that I'm too smug and over-confident?

I think the terms you're looking for are 'bold' and 'spirited'.

You warn me that my limitations will hold me back?

I'm not held back by you, am I?

You tell me...wait, you're running out of words to throw at me?

Well. Now that I've made myself crystal clear,

I guess I'm done talking.

*

Sehnsucht

Everything is still as a picture outside. Apart from the occasional chirring of lonesome crickets, there is pin drop silence all around. It's hard to believe how quiet it is, considering how it had rained quite heavily just an hour ago.

The dew drops caught in between the recesses of the iron-gate look like tiny little pearls in the dim light that's streaming in from the house across the street. The puddles on the road glisten in the gloomy light and catch my fancy every now and then.  

The wholesome silence of the night- which was beginning to offer appetizing fodder for introspection and contemplation, mind you - is suddenly disturbed by a sunburst of sound and light.

SLOSH!  A car just sped by, strong beams of its headlight intruding the stillness first, followed by the splashing of the tires against the luminous puddles. The car turns around the corner, and everything slowly settles into place again...not without grumbling a little first. 

I don't know what it was that triggered it, but something within me gave in; the feeling of tranquility that had kept me company before the unexpected intrusion started to crumble into tiny little shards of longing...for a nameless something or someplace that exists somewhere in the ancient tomb of memories buried in the back of my mind and that shows up in all its naked glory only in my dreams...

Sometimes you don't miss a certain something or someone or someplace. Sometimes you miss a body, a collection, a mass of people, places and things that you used to know...

Other times, though, you don't just miss the familiar. You long for something or someone or someplace that you don't even know but can't help missing. You long for a world so different from your own, despite the fact that your world's the only one you've ever known. You're not conscious of what it is that you're pining for, but the feeling's there all the same...strong and powerful. It's like nostalgia, only with a twist: instead of missing someone or something you used to know, you find yourself unconsciously aching for that extra something that you desperately want to catch hold of, and which will help you rise above the helplessness you're feeling.

The Germans have a word for it, thankfully; sehnsucht represents a profound feeling of longing, of perfecting the imperfect in life; a desperate yearning for a land far, far away, a land unlike any earthly domain with which we are acquainted.

It's still quiet outside. The puddles lie dormant; there's not even a ripple in sight. The trees stand still. The tiny dew drops scattered on the leaves and the gate glisten like stars in a forgotten universe. Somewhere in the distance, a stray dog lets out a long, shrill howl... and then silence engulfs the remainder of the night.

Maybe this feeling will go away after a while. 

Seeking the Invisible Player

I know I've heard it before. That strange melody that keeps haunting my senses... that tune so awe-inspiring and frightening at the same time, like the shrill howl of a wolf at midnight. That heavenly serenade that enraptures you mind, body and soul- like the cries of a forest bird in a mystical land, or like fairies mourning the departure of a sensuous night. That melodia so much like the wind that sends half-human whispers as it knocks relentlessly at every door, that harmonic strain which seems so familiar and yet so far off, so endearing yet so maddening...

If  I could meet the soul working the lyre that seems to enchant me so much, I would never let her leave the vicinity of my being. Until and unless, ofcourse, she teaches me how to work the chords that make up that beautiful, if melancholic, refrain that elevates the senses... and alleviates all doubt.

Oh, you of incoherent harmonies! Won't you reveal yourself to me and put me out of my misery?

Someday...

Someday...I'll become what you became to me.

In Time

Let's start again, I think to myself.

I tear out a page from my lockwire journal. I crumple it with all my might. And then I hurl it at the bare, resolute walls of my room. It barely makes a sound; the lowly scraping of the page against the wall was utterly pitiful considering the force with which it was flung.

 The wind  comes rushing in to cushion its fall, as if to say: there, there...it's not your fault, honey. She tends to do that sometimes; don't take it personally. 

And she carries the crumpled ball of wasted pulp to a far corner, where it could sulk in peace.

I am disappointed. What did you expect? A voice asks me, its tone bitter and patronising. 

Did you expect that ball of nothingness to create a dent in the wall, to blow up the place into shreds with that herculean throw of yours?

Yes! I scream out to the ridiculing voice in my head. Wait...no! I didn't want the paper to create a dent or blow up the place. Only just the words in it. I wish...I just wish... 

I stop thinking. I realise I don't even have the energy to dwell upon what it is that I'm pining for, what it is that I want to get out... but can't.

 I look at the vast expanse of white before me, twirling the pen in my hand. Like a painter before his majestic canvas, I see possibilities. Colours and shapes, forms and frames, patterns and structures, scenarios and landscapes come rushing into my head, but they don't last- not even one  of them. Like a flash of lightning, they're gone before I can recover from the blurry haze clouding my eyes. 

Traitors! That's what you all are! 

I rest my back on the easy chair. I take my spectacles off and fling it carelessly onto the dark wood of my study table; it lands next to my pen, dismissed and disposed of a long while ago.
My fingers come to the rescue; they pave soothing trails of comfort through my hair, their touch consoling, relaxing and...elevating, even.

I look at the blank pages before me, waiting to be filled. I close my eyes.

In time.

It'll be filled in time. 

No pressure.

The chair scrapes against the granite floor when I get up for a full, well needed stretch. 

I close the journal without even looking at it.

I was lost in some reverie for a full minute before I came to realise what a mess I'd made of the place. I pick up the bits and scraps of paper and deposit them in a hamper under my table, brimming with sister pages.  I could use the remains of the paper sometime to scribble an idea, record some amusing word I'd discovered. They could be salvaged with ease in time. 

The balls of paper sighed as I shoved the crumpled pieces in, shuffling amongst themselves to make space for burying one more brave warrior who'd come back unsuccessful- and barely inked. 

In time, I chant as I switched off the lights of the study, passing a numb look at my table.

Just give it some time.