Karthik121's Blog

A sultry noon in early Spring, the woods bereft of a living thing
I walked alone,sauntering at a leisurely pace,
crushing the remains of the Winter leaves
leaving behind an indescript trace.

Never did my feet, so easy, find, carrying me,
Never were my eyes, so curious, the trifle things, to see.
Never was my heart, in an abandon, so gay,
Never was a note of melancholy, so lifting, in its play.

For once I had nothing, unto me, to say.
No howling of the tempestuous thoughts haunted my way.
The thoughts though, lingered on, but weak in their faculty,
like the tired winter leaves hanging from the boughs of the spring tree.

Oh wild winds – stop on thy tracks !
Blow not so hard that you may snap the hapless yellow leaves – the remains of a harsh cold winter,
Leave them alone, that they may quietly move into an anonymity on their own,
in the darkness of the night or in the silence of a lonely noon.

Like a leper scurrying away from the glare of the prying eyes,
they will cascade their way onto the ground below.
And rest so quietly
as tho’ they never belonged to the bough. 

That they were once a part of the Life,
as you and me are now,
and while life moved on, they stayed back,
as you and me someday will.

So let them linger on,
as long as their memories hold them in pride.
And then they shall meander away unasked,
Into oblivion, in a solitude dignified.

How far shall I search into those droopy eyes
to see where their tears lie ?
For however long I stare at them,
The pain in those eyes, I fail to fathom.

How often have I watched the dagger,
piercing through the breast,
and sinking through the soft skin,inch by inch,
Its sharp nose poking its way in an effortless cinch.

The edges making their way through the helpless façade,
the chill of the steel blade shooting pain through the nerve chord.
And my eyes,Oh they were still watching…
every single moment of the scene unfolding…

The warmth of the crimson fluid gushing in ecstasy and gurgling its way to liberty !
“No one shall hold me back ! Iam not bound by skin,Iam not bound by flesh !
I will stain every hand that will stop my rush
And I’ll flow on till I dry!”

The eyes still watched.
Was there pain ? was there a cry ?
How then do the tears stain
the lilting joy of the pain ?

For once, I felt the agony of the pained,
When,a chance slip, I tripped over a petite stone,
and slid fast down the slippery slope,
how I swung my arms in violent desperation!

I searched for a rocky protrusion , some rough patch of vegetation,
something to hold me back from the fatal fall,
something to turn me away from the imminent call.
And my cries broke the silence of the valley.

The Mountains stood stoic, they knew not what pain be.
There was a moment of silence
and Ah ! I caught myself in the toss!
The violent swinging of the limbs now slowed down into a harmonious pause.

The weight of my body gently cradled by the sheath of wind
waded its way down like a feather onto the ground
And my eyes,Oh they were still watching…
Every single moment of the scene unfolding…

Did I land on my spine? or was it the skull ?
For I saw the brown of the earth growing closer until everything went still
Things brittle broke,and the ones supple shred,
All that was left behind was the mangles of the dead.

The eyes still watched.
Was there pain ? was there a cry ?
How then do the tears stain
the lilting joy of the pain ?

Take them not to the doors of Truth; that fiendish devil.
Who rides high on the back of a burly black horse,
whose fiery eyes stalks you from beneath a dark  hood that covers his ugly face.
And who flashes in his grisly hands,a long sword with deadly spikes.

He knows not what tenderness be;
For he sees a corpse buried in the womb of every mother,
and evanescence in the love of every brother.
And when he strikes at you, he knows no mercy to cut you smooth.

But drives his deadly sword in and as the blade cuts thru’ your flesh,
the stubborn spikes snap one by one,every nerve of yours,
And as you swoon in pain and slowly close your drooling eyes ,
you see a fiendish grin of teeth on his dark face.

The doors to Illusion tho’,bear no such wrath; they lead you to a convivial land.
Where a charming Prince slips thru’ the lines of a folklore song,
and rides towards you on his white steed with grace.
His silky golden hair flowing in the soft breeze and an alluring smile on his smooth face.

Therein also dwells the beautiful Princess,
who has gently stepped out of the pages of a fairy tale,
Whose big,beautiful eyes is damp with kindnes
and who knows not a cruel word to say.

And when the fair angel stoops over you
and runs thru’ your locks,her frail nimble fingers,
you feel gently placed on a soft cloud
and carried thru’ a carnival of stars on the streets of a deep blue sky.

Lead them then,to the doors of delusion, my Friend;
For at the gates of Truth lies that fiendish devil,
who strikes at you and strikes you so hard,
that you fail to discern happiness anymore.

That you can, no more, feign ignorance
at an obvious reality either.
For all the colours of your illusion pale into oblivion
at the fury of a “Black” that spews the Truth.

 Dig not the earth there.
 The corpses may spring back to life !
 They rest now in a deep slumber,
 tired that they are, after a lengthy strife.

 The men who once, the life’s path trod.
Who once, the steeds of their desires rode;
For all their sweat and all their toil,
they now lie still, under the soil.
 
Step not on that marble tomb.
Beneath lies the famous man !
A man of success ,a man of pride,
Pity,he could carry neither when he died.

What hath the moth to eat,
That his mind was eaten away by envy.
By hatred was his heart charred
and the poor ants are now left hungry !

They now have only the flesh to contend with,
afterall, t’was a life of flesh and of flesh, the death.
And the thing that mattered between the two,
was something that he ne’er pondered into.

The last leaf on the autumn Tree,
awaits the breeze to set it free.
The lone survivor of an autumn holocaust,
hanging heavy on its bough ,a desolate outcast.

Times were greener and the days younger,
when spring was in the air and life,debonair.
With the whiff of the new blossoms wafting all around,
there was a jingle of carnival vibing abound.

Call it the fury of a fickle heaven,
that let loose on earth,a ruthless autumn,
which raged through the beauty of a hapless nature,
and stripped the hustling green mass to a naked caricature.

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