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.

Till the curtains come down...

" The world's a stage where every man must play his part. "

A rare few are born with an innate ability to sleepwalk through their part. A victor by destiny...

For the rest in this mortal orb, it's more about adapting to the part to emerge unscathed at the end of the play...

And that I believe is not a mean feat either. But there needs to be some constant source of inspiration that would keep the blood flowing in the sinews long enough to ensure that you sojourn on till you take the final bow...

And there will never be a greater source of inspiration to journey on than the sun...

For you know deep within that however dark and despondent the night may be, the sun shall rise again the next morning and chase all the shadows away. Its done so before the diluvial and will do so beyond it as well.

This unequalled heroism calls for an ode to the beacon of our lives... 

Thou beauty stands undiminished

Having survived the ravages of time;

Thy burning passion cannot be extinguished,

For Thou art so noble, so sublime.

On the Earth on which Thou shines

Where good has always been ephemeral;

Except for that divine beam of Thine,

Which has been forever eternal.

Thou splendour melts away the darkness

And with it the unwonted fears of night;

For even ghosts, with all their vileness,

Would endure not, Thou unusual might.

Only Thy can say good from evil

For Thine has seen all; one by one;

The newborns and the dead, the saints and the devils,

For there is nothing new under the Sun.

The Pandora's box...

" Hope is a good thing,

  maybe the best of things,

  and no good thing ever dies. "

Aeons ago when Pandora fettered Hope in the confines of the artifact, its fate looked grim.

Would it ever survive the aeons of captivity ?

Would it ever be unchained to warm the hearts of men ?

The world of mortals was still not ready to give up on Hope.

The man who had sunk the 'Titanic' to infinite leagues under the sea, descended further below.

This time to free Hope from the bottom of the Pandora's Box.

James Cameron revealed Pandora in an incandescent light that the world had never experienced before.

Pandora, a macrocosm in the Alpha Centauri star system, populated by Na'vi, a remarkable kin of the sapient humanoids.

'Avatar' is the beacon of Hope that Man will constantly endeavour to achieve the impossible.

'Avatar' is more than just a movie. It is an experience that would outlast a lifetime.

An experience that redefined the art of watching movies.

An experience where while watching a movie, you felt that you could pluck the flowers of the Hometree and embrace the portents from Ewya, the Mother Goddess.

An experience that seemed hyper real but still believable...

Besides the brilliant 3D images and the spellbinding visual effects, 'Avatar' also conveys a very strong message - 'Tomorrow is Another Day'.

There may come a time when Man might cease to be the cynosure of eyes in the cyclopean environ of the cosmos.

He might cease to be the omnipotent on earth.

A message of love would ensure the co-existence of Man with his brethren.

He would survive.

Hope has survived as well.  

What else could have been more important...

The eighth wonder...

" The best way to predict the future is to create it. "

As the curtains descend from the African skies on the greatest spectacle on Earth, the eyes are transfixed on a cephalopod with eight limbs, each seemingly more potent that the 'Hand of God'.

'Octopus Paul' not just predicted the outcome of Germany's matches or the winner of the World Cup, it also revealed an innate human nature - 'The eagerness to see the future before it happens'.

And as the time machine remains an unfulfilled dream, our choice of soothsayers keeps getting arcane by the day.

Whatever be the oracular skills that the octopus might be endowed with, I somehow see a greater prophetic ability on part of its keeper.

The octopus never knew that it was being used to predict the outcome of the World Cup matches. The keeper did. 

The fact that the box from which the mussel was devoured indicated the winner of the match was also an interpretation of the keeper. I always thought that it is the losers that get gobbled up, but this time around the symbolism was different.

The keeper also seemed to know from before-hand that the group matches would yield a result. Uncanny, since a draw would have been an equally likely event as a win or a loss. 

So what to Paul was actually food, seemed to have become fodder for a chimera that unveiled the future.

Whatever be the human urge to learn about the future, and whatever be the contrivances to unearth it, I believe that the present has enough conundrums that deserve a solution before the vision for the future can be enlightened.

And let us not strive to take a glimpse of the future without trying to create it ourselves.

For us and our posterity...

And as long as 'Octopus Paul' is engaged to predict Spain as the winner of the World Cup, it is not much of an ado.

I only hope that its soothsayer skills are not honed to predict a solution to Spain's economic turmoil...

Give me some sunshine...

" Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy

  Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry

  Sunshine on the water looks so lovely

  Sunshine almost always makes me high "

 What could have inspired Denver to pen such beautiful lyrics ?

Was the song meant to be an allegory where the sun was Lady Justice upholding whatever you did ?

How would you ever bathe in sunshine without meeting the sun in the eye ?

Would the moist eyes never desire to illuminate the countenance with an unparalleled light ? 

Perhaps the cascade would be able to answer...

The cascade rambled down the craggy stones

Dislodging the pebbles in its hasty dash,

And silenced the trees deafening groans

As they were uprooted like a brutal knife’s slash.

And the rocks on which it thundered down

Bore the grunt of the fall passively,

Like soldiers in their armoured gowns

Would impale the hearts of the not guilty.

And the waters splashed and left a mark on all

And crippled some and left some lame,

For it had been assured by the mighty fall

That things would never again be the same.

And the cascade was being backed in its infernal cause

By the sun behind it, shining bright,

As calm and serene as she always was

And smiling as if it was the fall’s birthright.

My blog turns one...

Today, I celebrate the first birthday of my blog.

" Kushan's Musings " provided me the ideal platform to share my literary work with people around the globe.

Over the past one year, I have posted quite a few of my poems as well as my first short story...

With most of my poems, I also posted the emotions behind penning them.

To me, poetry is a very strong medium for expressing my thoughts and desires.

It is a true reflection of man's inner soul...

I believe, poetry is like strumming the strings of the heart and creating such sublime music that it could raise spirits from their graves and make their shadows dance...

I hope you enjoyed reading the posts on my " nascent reflections " and will continue doing so as I keep updating my musings on my journey on the highway of Life...

The band of colors...

" If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

  If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

  If you can meet with triumph and disaster

  And treat those two imposters just the same; "

A dream is one big candle.

A candle whose flame is kept alive by the warmth of the sun, by a burning desire in the heart, by the smouldering fire in the belly, by a blazing passion to perform and leave a scorching trail behind...

A trail that could scorch the blades of grass and leave footprints behind for the posterity to follow...

But a torrential rain can extinguish even the fiercest of fires...

What happens to the dream then ?

Does it ever realize ?

Or does it die a premature death ?

Deep within I know that the fate of the dream is beyond me. I'd rather try and keep the candle burning and hope that it holds its forte against the rain and makes life a kaleidoscopic odyssey. For only the sun and rain in unison can make a band of colors appear stretching over the wild blue yonder...

A band of colors that is an outcome of the dream and the theme for my poem...

A thin band stretched across the immeasurable,

As the child looked on with an unknown mirth

Gazing at the wonder from his rocking cradle

Unaware of what that stripe was worth.

All the riches of the world that man desired

Would pale in the contrast of its illuminance,

All issues of the world that man measured

Would fade in the bearing of its significance.

Each colour that stood out in the infinity

Had its own poignant tale to narrate,

On the facts of life and its vitality

That no gold or silver could ever satiate.

And the transfixed eyes continued staring

Unmindful of the truth that the vision could imply

That life was worth celebrating,

Was the harbinger of the rainbow in the unbounded sky.

The eternal song...

" Music is poetry in the air "

Music is a consummate experience...

An experience that gives a cherubic soul to the universe, unfettered wings to the mind,

an unbounded flight to imagination, unconditional love to the heart and an unparalleled charm and gaiety to life and to everything...

Music is like a sliver of the moon in the dark nights of your life.

And the moonlight pervaded my soul on one such night and overwhelmed the heart in such a manner that while penning the lyrics of " The Eternal Song ", all the sorrows seemed to have been muted forever by the infinite power of Music...

The clouds swayed in the moonlit night

Intoxicated by her music;

While the stars shone with all their might

On the face, so cherubic.

That the moon’s beauty paled before her’s

And she hid behind the mirthful haze;

So divine a song, made her wonder

So beautiful a mortal, made her gaze.

And the trees awoke from their slumber

Entranced by the melody, the winds did bring;

No nightingale, could they remember

Such music, to them, ever did sing.

And the waves rolled on and rocked the shores

Dancing to her melody;

As they for centuries, or even more

Had never felt this ecstasy.

And her rhapsody quelled the sailors’ fears

Stunned by the tides in that lyrical night;

Their joys unbounded, for land was near

Her music being their guiding light.

And I stood as if a spell was cast

On me and my fatigued mind;

For as long, as would the harmony last

No sorrow, my heart would ever find.

Keep Running...

" Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up.

  It knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed.

  Every morning a lion wakes up.

  It knows it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death.

  It doesn't matter whether you're a lion or a gazelle; 

  When the sun comes up, you'd better be running. "

This African proverb has been a great inspiration.

The gazelle has survived the odds.

Now it moves to a different terrain with different challenges but keeps the same hope.

That someday, the gazelle will be a lion. But it will still have to run. And keep running...

Fifty yards to the crossbar, he stopped in his tracks

As racing thoughts outpaced his leaden feet,

"Should I pass the ball, or should I hold back,

And keep running till there's ground underneath."

And he chose to run and dribbled past

The swarthy knights decked in ebony hues,

He was now in sight of the goal line at last

With the ball steadily glued onto his shoes.

And sixty thousand voices joined in chorus,

"Keep running till you've reached the goal."

Before a stab of steel impaled the dermis

And floored him with a deadly foul.

With bleeding feet he started running again

And this time, with him, raced a thousand souls,

As he shot ahead of the armored men

And curled the ball into the abandoned goal.

Let there be light...

" Superstition is the weakness of the human mind;

   it is inherent in that mind;

   it has always been, and always will be "

It's time to break the shackles of superstitions that fetter our emancipated souls.

My poem " Superstitions " takes a strong stand against this irrational belief that has harboured skepticism in our fertile minds since time immemorial...

Why should man, so rational a being,

Be frightened of the number thirteen.

Why the mind, so logical in nature,

Occult and mystic ideas, do nurture.

Why the only thinking animal, ever born

With amulets and stones, his body adorn.

Why should a being, whose every thought is clear

The unknown and untold ever fear.

And for this I wish, the human civilization,

Would erase from their memory, such futile apprehensions.

And prevent man, the greatest creation,

From losing his way, in the dreary desert of superstition.

Ahoy! Springtime...

" Spring has returned. The earth is like a child that knows poems. "

It is time to put the dark days of winter behind and welcome spring...

The leaves shall grow anew and drape the forests in lush green.

The grass shall rise in every barren stretch of land imaginable.

The rivers shall flow with an unquenched vitality. 

The birds shall flap their wings joyously, the wind lifting their spirits and ours as well...

In such a beautiful environ, can " An Ode to Spring " be far behind...     

The frosty white mirrored the golden hue

As the rays glimmered through the misty haze,

And the ripples transpired on the pristine blue

As colours shrugged off their torpid daze.

For there was red and blue, flowering the blazing meadows

And the dainty forget-me-nots blossoming here and there,

A delightful herald of things to follow

For springtime was tangible in air.

And the winged ones, twittered in their weary flight

Their hiatus, a wait too long to bear,

Since now they would frolic in the gleaming light

For springtime was tangible in air.

And mischief sparked in the soft hazel eyes

The reverie, a musing of their debonair

A time for cream on baked apple-pies

For springtime was tangible in air.

And it was time for men to allay their fears

And shred the fetters that could them restrain,

A time for sybarites and their hedonist pleasures

For springtime was time to be free again.