தலைப்பில்லா கவிதைகள்

மெல்லத் திறந்த பக்கங்களில்

மௌனமாக வைக்கப்பட்ட என் நெஞ்சம் இருந்தது…

ஒரு ஒரு வரியும் என் புலம்பல்தான்

ஆனால் யாருக்கும் தெரியாத மொழியில் எழுதப்பட்டிருந்தது.

தலைப்பில்லா சில கவிதைகள்,

அத்தாள்கள் தான் என் தோள்களில் உறங்கிய இரவுகள்…

இப்போது அந்த கவிதைத்திரட்டு என்னிடம் இல்லை.

ஒளிந்திருக்கலாம்,

யாரோ திறந்திருக்கலாம்,

பகிர்ந்திருக்கலாம்... புரியாமல்.

அக்கவிதைகள், ஒரு மனிதனின் உள்ளம் உடைந்த பிம்பங்கள்.

ஒரு பெண்ணின் பெயர் கூட எழுதாத அத்தாள்களை,

இப்போது யார் கைகள் மெதுவாக கிழிக்கிறதோ(?)

மறக்க முடியவில்லை.

ஏனெனில், அவை தொலைந்த என் வரிகள் அல்ல, என் சிதறிய வலிகள்...

என் வாழ்வின் உடைந்த நொடிகள்.

தொலைத்து விட்டேன்.

இன்று நான் எழுதும் ஒவ்வொரு வரிக்கும்

அந்த பிழை ஒரு பிளவாகவே நிற்கிறது.

My 200th Post

So this blog has reached 200 posts! 200 days or more of writing-some thoughtful, some from thoughtless thoughts and everything in the course of a life that was moving parallel to what I write. There have been many times when what I wrote influenced the way I live and vice versa. From just a handful of readers for a very long time during the initial days, I was determined to welcome people into my blog-space and did manage to, if not by leaps and bounds atleast a bit... today it does feel good that my blog has been visited over 17, 000 jolly good times. 

There are things I have wished for yet have never routed for as well... like any other blogger, I too wish that there would be more people who would leave a comment, even if not a decent one atleast a deliberate one, just to show that they were here and did read and do reflect. I have also wished that there would be more members who would join the blog, just to feel that courage of added strength. People around do pour more energy into what one writes and I thank those who provide me with that synergy and wish that there was more on its way.  

There have been trials and tribulations that I too have like anyone else, and it is often this blog that comes to my rescue during trying times. This is more like a space where I can share, learn, change. Writing, I do believe is like the magicians cap, only when you put something in can you pull something out later; as a strong believer of that, visiting fellow bloggers who are quite eloquent, expressive and intelligently brilliant often has humbled me while going through the quality of their writing and the extent of their detailing, poly-dynamic views and abundance of readers and supporters which does push me to recheck my boundaries and write better. Language, communication, knowledge and the mode of expression if well chosen, can reach the sensitive part of the soul and knock to be heard, to let know of issues that are often hid in the rubbles of destruction of the voiceless, hopeless and less-looked-upon fellow human beings. The "utopia" is often considered a farce; something that only dreamers can dream of; the impossible. So should we rest all faith and settle with the mediocre?! The "ideal" is often a fantasy; a fantasy that follows us like a shadow in the reality we live in-the tall and short of it. The epicenter of the balance between reality and fantasy rests a lot on others around us who push, pull or stop us. Being able to write freely sans restraint and censorship is a blessing in today's world. Though some dogs do bark at what they are scared to face.

Intelligence, like before, is not a rare, restricted and a personal entity of the powerful alone either. Intelligence on the other hand has become a necessity for survival... and along came our need to be cunning, manipulative and twisted as well. Everyone's need his very own. So in the light of all these, my blog has reached 200. I am glad and I am happy. This is a jolly good time that I may very well use to say "Thank You All" for making this happen and your support did make it worthwhile to be in this spectrum. Thanks once again. 

The Bleeding Angel

With a truck load of things and more to add on her list, the pauper she idolizes. The life, the simplicity, the banquet she can make with the same utensil-the only one lying around, the peasant's daughter is worth all her admiration. From the city's gate, away from the glittering luminous strings waddling from concrete homes-the grave of the living dead... her eyes looms into the distant hollow that separates her from the faint light from the country side at the distance. Can't decide whether to hide or run, she stays. The little pot of boiling gruel tempts her far more than a buffet from the king. The soul burning faster than firewood, she boils over. She has every reason to be jealous of the peasant's daughter. Now, at the city gates, she sees the richness in poverty and poverty in richness and with tear-soaked cheeks like a tattered beggar by the roadside she stands. Far away from everything that seems meaningless, worthless and pointless, her eyes scan every mortal walking through the gates with dreams in their eyes. Measuring their dreams, she revisits her own and more ruthlessly naked she feels. Just a walk away, at the distance, her place-where her heart belongs-awaits her like a waiting mother for her prodigal child with open hands; yet she trembles to take that first step. The clanking of those old vessels hoisted atop a simple burning pyre of wood as it reaches a point of completion, like the drum roll to signal the end overbearingly hustles at the back of her head. She is no more in control of her thoughts and she sways like a serpent in pain now. She twitches and arches as the weight of her "possessions" behind the city gates overwhelms her as her soul moves like a drifting cloud-forward to where she belongs. An unknown stranger in her new-found land, a pain creeps in from somewhere as she moans in understanding that she is a stranger in her own land too. With nowhere to go, she melts... just another bleeding angel at the city gates.     

The 5 Stages Of Writing (A must read for all writers)

Stage 1:  A new kid on the block, a nobody, an amateur who thinks that the world is unfair, writes about the injustice s/he sees. A writer is recognized by the readers and appreciated for his/her writing which brings truth hiding in the dark, the dark alleys and the darkest dungeons of the society out... s/he does not know

Stage 2: There is a huge flow of recognition, awards, fans, fame and money to appreciate, encourage and reward the writer for his/her effort and courage

Stage 3: The writer writes again... this time for the recognition, awards, fans, fame and money and also for the continuous appreciation, encouragement and rewards to keep flowing constantly for his/her effort and courage; and thus begins the writing that is deceptive, manipulative, twisted and is a lie and s/he assumes and is confident that everyone would like it. The stage where s/he begins to write for the audience

Stage 4: Writer wonders why the f*&k does the world find the writing of a new kid on the block, a nobody, an amateur who writes something that is too simple, too easy and is just plain truth that seems to be floating everywhere more applaud-able than his/hers well thought out writing and says that the world is so unfair to people like him/her; finds it unreasonable, has a mental block, can't write any more nor find anything worthwhile to write about and  thus sensibly hibernates... Condemns and curses the world and stops writing

Stage 5: The world moves on and it still revolves, nothing seems to have stopped that since the writer stopped writing, injustice still prevails and writers may come and writers may go and they still think that they can change the world... yet, it, moves...

p.c: http://rickischultz.wordpress.com/tag/mandy-hubbard/

Take It

TWO: So have you been reading anything lately?!
Me: Not much, just those regular mags , classifieds and just for laugh sections.
TWO: So have you stopped writing then?!
Me: NO!
TWO: Then how do you write if you don't read?
Me: Whats the connection???
TWO: Writing is like a magician's hat... I have read, only when you put something in can you pull something out...
Me: Got it.

(Me and TWO walked to the nearest bookstore)

p.c: http://jbchicoine.blogspot.in/

Why Do We Blog?!

The Wise One (TWO): So what have you been upto lately?

Me: Nothing much... just gotten into blogging a bit regularly these days.

TWO: So you write?

Me: Yep. Can say so.

TWO: So who do you write for?

Me: What?! What do you mean "who do you write for?!"

TWO: Who do you write for?

Me: No clue... (Duh! This guy always gets me.)

TWO: Just wanted to know if it is for the love of the audience or for the love of writing...

Me: Can't separate both... can we?!

TWO: Can separate the mask from the face... can we?

Me: Duh! Why does this guy always got to get me?

(By the by, this is my 100th post in this blog this time)

p.c: http://pedagogy.cwrl.utexas.edu/