Ramblings

It's 11.20 pm. The hot stuffy August night has got to my nerves, and I sit here wanting to type something that will make some amount of tangible sense to the reader. Maybe touch a nerve somewhere within, or jerk a tear, or inspire him enough to make his hair stand on end.

That is exactly what I have set out to do, but the problem is I'm totally empty in my head right now. I try a poem. The first two lines have meaning, but don't rhyme. The next two rhyme, but I'm not exactly sure they're related to the previous two. Frustrated, I clear my screen. The discordant poem has been obviated, but my head is none the clearer. I close my eyes and think. What appealed to me recently? Nothing much worth mention. What saddened me? Again, not blog material. What thrilled me? Have to say...nothing of late. Boring week? Apathy? What is wrong with me? Worthless thoughts enter my head, and I am a slave to my own interpretations of why I can't write. With an effort, I clear the cobwebs and shut my eyes again and force myself to think.
I try a piece on the Indian cricket team. It comes out poor, and I realize the futility of the entire exercise. Writing is like magic. When you sit down to write, either you write or you don't write. There's no room in that world for a term like 'try to write'.
I shut down the computer and go for some TV instead. I guess you can't be a writer all the time. There'll be a next time though. There sure will be.

A poem penned on Independence day

The Salute

They rhapsodize a soldier’s life often,

But I have lain, bathed in my own blood, shivering,

Feeling it warmly drip away, as the bullet throbs,

I have crouched in ramparts, faced death head on

And have brushed past it, none the wiser,

And none the stronger, for every time.

A long lonely battle it was on the mountains,

Survival, an uncertainty, duty, a necessity.

Plagued by hunger and cold, we have protected

Your lethargy, corruption, bickering and reservations.

Doubt assails him, when the soldier learns of these,

As to whether there is a purpose to what he does.

It is independence day now. The flag salute.

You are attending it. So am I. the national anthem plays.

You are there, but not really so, as I observe.

What plays in your mind now oh compatriot?

Have you forgotten your greed and hypocrisy

At least now, or are you still wallowing in them?

A wave of disgust hits me,

What have I wasted my life for?

Given my blood for?

Shivered for? Cried for?

Disconsolate, I come for my customary salute

A gust of wind lifts the flag up, flutters in all glory

The national anthem plays. Emotions stir my heart

The sun shines, and with it, do the blessings of them,

The great leaders of the past, and I am bathed in holiness.

For I have done my duty. I am a proud Indian.

A salty tear, runs down my cheek. I salute.

I stand erect, and I afford a slight smile.

Almond eyes

The black night beautiful beckons,

Calling me out of my own blackness

With melancholy thoughts I take her hands

And walk out on the silvery beach sands.

A circus wire, where ocean meets land

I walk on it, leaving footprints in the sand.

I look back and they are washed away...

I laugh at this, and to my blackness I say

Everything is washed away, everything goes

Except blackness, that even in such moments shows.

The wind murmurs in my ears, then what stays?

It plays with me, sings in my ears, tickles my face,

And begs me to answer. And I think, with closed eyes

And she comes to mind, she, and the thousand miles,

That lie between, and to the wind I speak of her,

And of the love that faded as the miles grew longer.

The wind in reply, shoves a great black cloud away,

And an eerie white light emanates, as the moon peeks out

A full moon on the beach, and everything becomes bright.

Think not of the miles, but think of your love,

As she too is looking now at this very same moon.

Everything else might go, but love never does.

I gaze at the moon, feeling a strange warmth on my soul,

The blackness vanishes, so does the cold, I feel her scent,

All around me, my friend the wind has brought it to me,

And I know she looks at the moon, with lovely almond eyes,

At the beauty of the night, and thinks,

Not of the miles, but of me, just as I do of her,

That is when I realize love never goes.