I have read Buckowski’s work, it’s hardly work I admit that. A magnanimous mind protrudes his thoughts to convey his feelings is hardly work. But that effortless yet ingenious way of sharing gives me inspiration, if not a motive to write and win hearts. Do we just write to win admiration? Do we assimilate articulated sentences to gain regard? I hurled over such indignation. Now I know, one writes not to compromise. One, writes to free oneself and that gets recognised one day or not, one does it anyways. There’s a catch there of being appreciated or not. But, one never gives up. I would not l, would you?
On Coming to Terms with Our Arseholery
Nobody wants to think of themselves as being a bad person. Bad people are ISIS fighters, child molesters, Shrien Dewani. They do horrible things which are blatant and obvious and talked about in the media. But in the last few months I have found myself in spaces where I’ve had to take a long and careful look at who I am in the world, the attitudes that have formed me and how I conduct myself in certain situations. And to say that it’s been an uncomfortable awakening is an understatement. Because many of you who follow my blog know that I’m relatively outspoken about race issues in this country. I have strong feelings about the socio-economic disparities and the white attitudes that feed them, and while I sit behind my computer screen in my nice study on the Atlantic Seaboard it’s easy to wax lyrical about egalitarianism and the way…
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Away from the sun
It’s far again, the rays of the sun touch my face;
It’s been a while, for that warmth I was denied;
There’s a yearning for the star’s shine;
Will I have the heart not to loose it,
For all of the things I denied,
For all of those times I lied,
Trying to hold it togather;
I’m gonna make way to to turn it all around;
I’m gonna find a way to make it sound;
I want the sun to shine this morning,
Will it take forever to find me back;
Now again I find myself far away from the sun;
The light just fades across the shore; that all I lost takes me back for more;
Now again I find myself watching out forever the sun;
to all of those times made me feel alive;
to all of those days, I want them back….
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Inadequate
Human nature is such
All you need is much
Whatever you have is less
You always stay in a mess.
Content are few
Not in search of something new
Values are not valuable enough
To assess the available stuff
Love is inadequate
So are the feelings.
Words are inadequate,
So is the meaning.
Inadequate is normal now
Sufficient will lead to a ‘wow’
Its wise to find sufficiency
In all sorts of inadequacy.
Contentment cannot be bought
It comes from within the heart.
It is a form of acceptance,
Without any reluctance.
It is a sign of maturity,
That overlooks all scarcity.
It’s not the end of life ,
It’s the glimpse of a new light.
Inadequate
Words unsaid at those moment that mean;
Waiting for the right time, far and unseen;
Inadequate are the ticks of a clock,
To know what you want
and to say what you cant;
Inadequate is the felicity of an ocean
When the wafture is gone
And all that is unknown;
Inadequate are the words to be written
When the thoughts are so loud
But the redolant illusion consumed by pride…..
Inadequate !
bare footed on the sand. a poem.
A scar beneath the eyebrow!
You look like a total badass!!
say’s my friend, as I show him the still stinging scar that ran through my eyebrow hardly visible under the incandescent light, I was in a hurry to get out of my hoodie that evening which had a sharp edge, right at the point where two distinct incisions appear, out of which the laces protrude that make the hoodie look “cooler” than ever. That hurt yes, “ouch!!”. Going back to the part where I was referred to as a bad ass, only in a wry sense of intended insult deployed in a moment of my pain, my mate asks me, where had I been that evening. To answer such quintessential questions, I have always struggled, the challenge was to answer that question as briefly as possible and to keep details to the minimum. I always ended up somehow, with answers that generated more questions. Anyways, what a day to get a scar, precisely the time when you are tired and seek a refuge somewhere in the comforts of your quilt, only unable to sleep this time . This day was unlike any other, or may be like every other. Never could tell the difference, A strange discomfort, an indignant feeling, rushed through my head for no apparent reason, I verified as to what bothered me, is it something I did?, what went wrong this time?, when you often make mistakes it becomes an alert mechanism, like an alarm clock and that part of you always alerts you of premonition. May be I was thinking too much. I thought, and hurried over to let go of that feeling and decide on another day’s end. Tomorrow will be better, at least i have the Bad Ass scar now.
DustFinger 