So what is this place called?

I feel so differently as of the last few days that sometimes I don’t feel like myself at all.
The smallest things make me cry and the strangest things make me feel good.
Its almost as if the real me is changing, and so drastically that I cannot control any of its emotions and desires. The strange thing is that I feel no real desire, I feel strangely detached, removed from everything and as of right now, even the everyday occurring stomach ache.
Its not as though I am feeling existential angst, I am living with my existence in absolute harmony but the buttons that swell any sort of emotion inside me are all in a state of contented numbness.
Almost nothing is triggering me to react, unless it is just to cry. Sometimes because I feel overtly overwhelmed or extremely sad. I just read about India’s first domino liver transplant that helped saved two very young girls lives and that made me cry, without any provocation at all- I just saw their faces and the tears rolled down unremittingly.
What crossroads are these which come without a road map?

Hell hath no fury...

I am so pissed and irritated tonight that its unbelievable.

So it turns out that you can spend all of your life being a dog-faithful and loyal and all of that but when people higher up than you in the corporate ladder feel like kicking someone to De-stress, it so totally has to be the faithful dog's ass, because he is the only thing other than a doormat that will not retaliate.

I never wanted to be part of a big company that has a shiny logo and no heart but isn't that what an organization is not - a person with a heart? Maybe I am feeling heartbroken because it has been a week that hasn't really fared well in my life and perhaps I left all my faith in myself lying by my work station and like everything that is left behind, it wasn't there when I went back looking for it.

I feel defeated tonight, all that trying and ashes in my hand at the end of it, but then who is to tell when ashes turn into star dust, but when that does happen to me, I'm in no mood to share it with those who forged me like a weapon in the hour of vengeance...

Aren't raging wildfires always started like this, in the heart of a woman scorned?

Starry starry night

There is no hope left tonight. Its raining outside and there’s a candle on the table that threatens to burn itself out in a few more minutes. I will be left with nothing. Hope is the one human emotion that is our biggest strength and our greatest weakness. Don’t we always yearn for; hope that everything that burns intense as desire within us, spills over and paints reality just the way we recognize it to be?

Love is the greatest delusion we live by. Hiding behind it, believing that out fears won’t be seen and our cries will not be heard, having faith that there is always safety in numbers. Looking out for someone to promise us a lifetime of togetherness, to make us complete. Hoping for someone to adore us, for who we are, or who we could never be.

Separation and Venus nights

Gathering oblivion and butterflies
The Venus night glowed outside
The windowpane;

While youth and memories
Rested in my hair.

The air is thick with the familiarity
Of knowing you were never apart

Yet I tumble over pebbles
And separation tonight

My fortitude goes planting flags
In the hidden corners of love for you

I love you like a clumsy girl in spring
You are everywhere

In the golden wheat
In the blazing war

In the delicate sound of a guitar
In the thick weeks that make a lifetime

While my mad heart
Gathers oblivion and butterflies
With the Venus night tonight.

Moist doorways
Wearing silver light.

Green leaves
That now rustle in their yellow age.

The sweet river waters
That will turn to salt when they make love to the ocean.

Footprints in the sand
My solitary inheritance;

Grew roots that rose to you
Laden with dew and dreams

The sweet fragrance of jasmine
Invaded the heart with a raw pain

In this space between death and dream
I love you

And between pride and living
I am bound to your memory

I am tied into you
Like the sheath of the earth

You may not love me
And the stillness may die without survivors

But even in the death of silence
The smoke remains, to meet its fire.

Yearning...

Desire, a word that is in today’s day and age, used to define the yearning for a car or a need to shed weight. Somewhere the word has lost what it perhaps really means. Desire is such mad joy, something that burns within, that possesses and yet liberates in its own longing. But why is the longing no more for love for the eternal quest of the other half of the being?
Maybe Shakespeare knew it better in his Sonnet # 129 when he wrote these lines:

Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight,
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait
On purpose laid to make the taker mad;
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

The silence

So today is one of those days in my life when all I really want from life is the liberty to excuse myself from it as I know it and head north into the cosseted, reassuring refuge of the hills.

It is uncanny when you open your eyes to days which remind you that you have forgotten most things that make you and you end up feeling like a shell that stands at the shore, waiting to be swept off but you find that you adorn a hushed window pane and that is where perhaps you will remain till the time the perception of space and eternity dissolves itself for you.

Which brings me to the excerpt from a poem written by Pablo Neruda called ‘Pido Silencio’ translated by Alastair Reid, which reads something like this:

“ Now leave me alone.
Now learn to do without me.

I’m going to close my eyes.

And I want five things only,
Five favorite roots.

One is endless love.

The second is to see autumn.
I cannot be if the leaves
Don’t fly and fall to earth.

The third is the solemn winter,
The rain I loved, the caress
Of fire in the rough cold.

My fourth is the summer,
Plump as a watermelon.

And fifthly, your eyes.
Matilde, my dear love,
I will not sleep without your eyes,
I will not exist but in your gaze.
I adjust the spring
For you to follow me with your eyes.

That, friends, is all I want.
Next to nothng, close to everything.

Now they can go if they wish.

I have lived so much that someday
They will have to forget me forcibly,
Rubbing me off the blackboard.
My heart was inexhaustible.

But because I ask for silence,
Don’t think I’m going to die.
The opposite is true;
It happens I’m going to live.

To be, and go on being.

I will not be, however, if, inside me
The crop does not keep sprouting,
The shoots first, breaking through the earth
To reach the light;
But the mothering earth is dark,
And, deep inside me, I am dark.
I am a well in the water of which
The night leaves stars behind
And goes on alone across fields.

It’s a question of having lived so much
That I want to live that much more.

I never felt my voice so clear,
Never have been so rich in kisses.

Now, as always, it is early.
The light is a swarm of bees.

Let me alone with the day.
I ask leave to be born.”