The Shadow Beckons...

" Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

   I have been one acquainted with the night. "

Robert Frost was perhaps not alone in realizing the essence of the night...

A shadow befriended the night a long time back and tonight it beckons its friend again...

The shadow towered over the night landscape,

And peeped inside the frosted panes

Glimpsing a myriad of blurry shape,

That had abandoned the mystery shrouded lanes.

Wearied, it reclined on the moonlit streets

And listened to the nervous nocturnal noise,

The tap of wood, the shuffling of feet,

And the whisper of leaves in a muffled voice.

And the shadowy black absorbed it all,

A mannerism devoid of fright

And heaved itself up against the wall,

For lonelier voyage into the night.

The shadow had traveled for long in dark

And knew each footstep, the left from right,

The blind alleys, the secret spots in the lovers park  

For the shadow was one, familiar with the night.

Walk Into The Sunset...

"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened."

This line from Dr. Seuss could perfectly summarize the emotions to parting from the profession that defined who you are. That said, if you leave behind a legacy worthy of emulation, the parting is often a sweet sorrow. My poem, "Walk Into The Sunset", tries to capture a similar emotion...

His arms ached from the vigor of the handshakes
His eyes ached from the tears parting day-long,
The agony far diminished compared to his heartaches
As the strings of his soul strummed his swan song.

He looked pensively at the twenty two yards of gray
That had filled his life with infinite color,
He introspected on his sporting decades of stay
As he grew into a legend from a benign teenager.

His name poignantly reverberated in the air
But all he heard was the stunned silence of his instinct,
His white wardrobe would be mothballed with care
As he haltingly tread past the coliseum's precinct.

For years unknown he was the last bastion of hope
And had held us captive to his prodigy and sweat,
But with time and age, did his mastery elope
And his genius walked into a sublime sunset.

The Last Mile...

"A journey of a thousand miles, begins with a single step."

Lao Tzu couldn't have captured better the firm intent of a dreamer and persevering soul. It is perhaps a similar feel that prompted me to write "The Last Mile" after a hiatus of nearly five years...

The sky was a bold hue of ochre yellow
The morning, a rapture of carefree tweet,
His vision, the silhouette of a distant chateau
His intent, to soak in all his eyes would meet.

His feet were ploughed into the ochre brown
His boots wore the scuffs of a weary voyage,
His features were stoic, no smiles, no frown
His forehead was wrinkled far beyond his age.

His snowy cloak was freckled in ochre red
Each stain with its tale of triumph and disaster,
In battles, he had followed, in battles, he had led
In all battles though, he stayed a man of character.

His steely eyes now met the ochre gold
And his bronzed face broke into a gentle smile,
The quest for his kingdom would now unfold
As he trudged his shadow through the last mile.

The Colors of the Wind...

" You can own the Earth and still

   All you'll own is Earth until

   You can paint with all the colors of the wind "

It's uncanny to believe that Pocahontas knew of the "colors of the wind" at that young an age.

As I share my poem "Messages from Afar", I come to realize what the "colors of the wind" mean and why they are so important to us in life...

The ancient wind swept across my face tonight,

While I sauntered down the memory lane,

It was laden heavy with tidings in flight

That had travelled afar from the verdant plains.

Nearly fifteen thousand miles it blew over

And pervaded every stretch of land I trod,

And also the land beyond the Delphic borders

Whose stories I had heard at my cradle abode.

And it whispered softly into my ears

To unload the memories it brought from home, 

And a nonchalance greeted the breezy zephyr

As it dashed to waltz around the mountain dome.

And the wind filled me with a sense of belonging

On wherever I wandered in search of warmer climes,  

Be it El Dorado or virginal surroundings

The wind was its keeper since the relics of time. 

Somewhere, That Light Still Burns On...

Today, is the second birthday of my blog - Kushan's Musings...

Over the past two years, few of my nascent reflections have grown mature while few continue to be in a blossoming phase as I embark on a new journey of the highway of life and my first stop happens to be Kelley School of Business...

The candle for my blog's first birthday, helped me discover the world in a new light.

And today I don't need to light another candle, for "somewhere, that light still burns on..."

I walked unafraid into the net,

Woven by the moon on the starless night,

For the shackles would melt with a tiny droplet

Of scarlet red from the veins of light.

That night, I dreamt of a hue of colors

Hidden beneath a dark pretense of somber,

But I still caught a glimpse of the radiant glitters

Despite night's efforts to veil that splendor.

And the road to the rainbow was long and dark

And cleaved through a grand wilderness of doubt,

But there was gold at the end of the rainbow arch

And its luster could drive the darkness out.

And through the night I kept following my dream

And was greeted by a blinding light at dawn,

A fleeting moment, when the night had appeared to stifle the beam  

For somewhere that light still burns on.

Helen of Troy...

" Priam: I have heard rumors of your beauty. And for once, the gossip is right. "

Helen of Troy was beautiful.

So beautiful, that her face could launch a thousand ships to bring her back home to Sparta.

So beautiful, that the Trojan War, that would go down the annals of history as the unsurpassable model for all the wars that were to come, was fought over her...

My first soliloquy 'Helen - The Queen of Sparta' captures the heart-wrenching grief of Zeus, the 'King of the Gods' and a witness to the death of Troy...

Stunned beyond belief, Zeus watches the burning of Troy,

as his worst premonitions come true...

Zeus

Thou wast Lord of the Greek pantheon

Thy mighty czar of heav’n ‘nd earth;

But b’hold, what thine daughter hath done

The cinders of Troy burn’th in the hearth.

How did’st though, thy daughter of Leda

A cherubim born in the mortal orb,

Launch a thous’nd of the fam’d armada

In quest of her, around th’ globe.

The war waged on for ten long ‘eons

And cities burnt on th’ pyre of men.

Oh! Thou, Lord of the Greek pantheons

But a mute spectator to th’ misdeeds of Helen.

Zeus sighs and shakes his head disbelievingly as the conflagration

engulfs Troy and Menelaus impales the lascivious heart of Paris...

Zeus

Helen, b’hold! What thou hast done

The Spartans dance on cadav’rs of men.

Oh! had’st thou not plott’d thine abduction

Vultures would not feed on Troy’s r’mains.

Uncanny though, what thy see’st in the fire

The wr’th of men and their unholy curse,

More pot’nt than God is man’s desire

The true rul’rs of the mortal univ’rse.

Zeus realizes that in spite of being the Lord of the world,

the events of the mortal world are beyond his authority.

Man is the Lord of the Universe…

Veni, Vidi, Vici...

" Cleopatra: I will not be triumphed over. "

She was not either...

But the legendary conquests of this charismatic beauty included Julius Caesar, the emperor who lived by the adage - 'I came, I saw, I conquered' and Mark Antony, the man who would be king.

My poem 'The Last Rendezvous' captures the unyielding fortitude of this pharaoh who held sway over the hearts of the most powerful men in the world but let none dwell in hers...

( The ship sails being set ready to leave for Egypt ;

  when Marc Antony comes to meet Cleopatra, for one last time... )

Cleopatra

Antony, in Rome I shall not remain

But go back to Egypt, my country, my people;

For whom, God and Cleopatra, is one and the same.

Not here; Where the king is murdered in a temple.

                                          

And why should I risk the life of Caesarion

JC’s last sign;

For though my own life, may be undone.

To my cursed fate, I shall not resign.

                                          

Also the cause for which Caesar bled

Is now of no consequence to the masses;

For there in my land, we preserve the dead.

And here; Their thoughts are burnt into ashes.

                                          

And the world, shall hence fear friends, not foes

After what Brutus did to Caesar.

For there the enemy, one knows;

Would attack from the front, and not the rear.           

                                          

But JC for his unmatched deeds and valour

Shall go down the pages of history;

But uncertain lies Rome’s future.

Without the grace of his Majesty.

Antony

Cleopatra, your views are wholly justified

For Rome has nothing to offer;

Except for those ashes, which you specified.

And friends, none better, than traitors.

                                         

But then JC too, withheld violent protests

And defeated all his enemies.

So would you not, at my behest;

Help out Rome in her crisis.

                                        

But I will not hinder your decision

And prevent you from leaving.

But wait for you and Caesarion;

To return, and fulfill JC’s undertaking.

Goodbye…

( the ship sets sail )

Why...

" I know the world isn’t fair,

  but why isn’t it ever unfair in my favor ? "

This question by Calvin to his dad forms the crux of the 'Why' questions that we keep posing to the world, without ever being satisfied with the answers offered.

Are we too curious, too demanding.

Or are we denied answers that could convince us enough to believe in them...

'Why' explores a few such questions that we are still seeking an answer to...

Why do we smile, or why do we cry,

Or why do we laugh when spirits are high;

Or why were we denied wings to fly,

Could anyone ever justify?

Why do our songs reflect our moods,

Or why what we desire, forever eludes;

Or why no wealth, can us satisfy,

Could anyone ever justify?

Why what we preach, we never practice,

Or why we wage wars and still desire peace;

Or why some are daring and some so shy,

Could anyone ever justify?

Why do we mourn for those who have died,

Or why our feelings, we just cannot hide;

Or why some people do we glorify,

Could anyone ever justify?

Why what we hear, we tend to believe,

Or why most work, unfinished we leave;

Or why always truth is hard to deny,

Could anyone ever justify?

Why do we hope, our dreams come true,

Or why is life a variety of hue;

Or why are ambitions forever high,

Could anyone ever justify?

Save the tiger...

" Tiger, tiger, burning bright

   In the forests of the night,

   What immortal hand or eye

   Could frame thy fearful symmetry ? "

It's the Year of the Tiger, but sadly, it is no longer burning bright.

The forests are but a pale shadow of their former self without the halo of the world's alpha predator.

The hunter has been hunted down to an abysmally low figure of 1411 in my Motherland.

When will Man stop his nefarious activities.

When will he stop poaching the world's favorite animal.

Will it be the day when we will be speaking of the Tiger in the same breadth as the dinosaurs.

The pride of Tiger is dwindling by the day.

And we refuse to allow an attack on our Pride.

We will fight back...

I signed up for the "Save Our Tigers" campaign by Aircel today.

I hope you join and pledge your support as well.

It is upon us to ensure that the finest of our fauna survives.

Let us show that we care for this maneater that does not necessarily make the world a safer place but definitely makes it a better and an exciting place to live in...

A dangerous game...

" Hobbes: How come we play war and not peace ?

  Calvin: Too few role models. "

The atomic bombing of Hiroshima exactly sixty-five years ago had shrouded the orb in a cemetery light.

The 'Little Boy' had played a dangerous game.

A game that had trivialized Death...

We are still playing a dangerous game, the big game hunting.

A synonym for mindless killing in the garb of a sport.

My poem 'The Hunter and the Lioness' explores this game where the only means of winning would be not playing it at all...

The rifle’s mass made my fingers fumble

As memories of the past flooded my mind;

And it raced back to the times in the jungle

When my cognition was completely blind.

I could see the smile on the hunter’s countenance

As the bullet pierced the maned forehead,

And as the smoke veiled the rifle’s lens

In a heap lay the grand lioness dead.

Unaware of the unforeseen peril,

She sauntered on the grasslands, rightly her own

For little she knew of the marksman, who to flaunt his skill,

Would depose her from her lawful throne.

But today with my skills and senses dulled

I repent for the hunter that was I myself

When I realize there was place in this world

For both the lioness and the hunter himself.