Two years from now I was in this place with a bag on my back
facing the sunset as its right before me now. The only difference was the bag pack
(now I don’t carry one) and perhaps the thoughts I had then and now. I do not
know what to call it, transformation or evolution. Times when the blogs started
small and grew so large and frequent and this day, I find only one thing to
write of many. Off the many thoughts that fail to attract me. The one that
remains parallel to me.
What?
Nothing.
What?
What?
Nothing.
What?
Sometimes we find ourselves caught in questions without any well-defined
answers for perhaps the answers don’t exist or the answers are so large to be
described. An excerpt of a real conversation I overheard. An expression so well
expressed without words.
I have been away for a while on over a few months wading
through various forms of waves my lifetime had. Some so large to drown me for a
little longer time than usual in deep silence. And some just enough to let my
head above the surface allowing me to breathe the fresh air. Nevertheless I
find myself to have managed to juggle over these turbulent waves surviving to
watch the still sea. No wonder on interesting waves that lie ahead of me.
The point is neither the waves nor the times. Neither the turbulence. But to that realization which calms within. I am awed and constantly amazed by what I see. Beyond the naked skin and the half covered bosom, the man's picture of a woman, there lies a tender strong soul less described in human terms. The former description I guess is the one the artists paint and the poets write about but for the latter I find no description. Well, I am no less of a man who isn’t attracted by the curves and the skin, but somehow these fail to capture me for long. For me that which attracts beyond the skin drags my thoughts longer than I could imagine, perhaps engulfs all of me into its very existence. The element.
A tower of confusion, which itself is a creation of the circumstances germinating from the deep urge of the being to see things in harmony. An urge of being in a point where everything around her is in harmony, harmony being the state of happiness. Crushed between the expectations of the loved ones and her own little wishes, she sits and waits. Perhaps waits for something I wouldn’t know but guess... A moment of peace and happiness where everyone related to is perhaps satisfied and happy on the actions... I do not know.
As I pass by the potters ally, I see a striking similarity. She being the pot, the potter has created over years with a lot of care, has to look at the interests of the potter. Perhaps being sold to the customer the potter desires. She waits in the sun praying and perhaps waiting for the customer that her heart seeks. Dare she choose a customer which isn’t as profitable for the potter? Yet she gathers the courage to nod back and forth denying every little instance, resisting beyond circumstances, battling each day with time, her needs and that of the obligations she has for the potter, her creator. The customer her heart seeks, watches her juggle it all from a distance knows everything yet. She wipes her tears, smiles through the pain because she knows even though she is breaking inside, he is watching.
What more do I write and what more can I say but see the pot dry up in the sun as my chin dries with her. The fear of the bonding being damped in due course, the truth being hidden the web of rationality, apprehensions that suppress life. Life, like a log that floats in water giving up its decisions to the current of the stream, has become the way perhaps. Nevertheless, she puts a smile on her face, acts like everything is fine. When in reality, the world is on her shoulder and her life is slipping through the cracks of her fingers as one could describe. I like the wanderer gazing at the setting sun, seeing nothing but the horizon as far as wide. Hoping for a shower of rain for the summer has been so long...
The point is neither the waves nor the times. Neither the turbulence. But to that realization which calms within. I am awed and constantly amazed by what I see. Beyond the naked skin and the half covered bosom, the man's picture of a woman, there lies a tender strong soul less described in human terms. The former description I guess is the one the artists paint and the poets write about but for the latter I find no description. Well, I am no less of a man who isn’t attracted by the curves and the skin, but somehow these fail to capture me for long. For me that which attracts beyond the skin drags my thoughts longer than I could imagine, perhaps engulfs all of me into its very existence. The element.
A tower of confusion, which itself is a creation of the circumstances germinating from the deep urge of the being to see things in harmony. An urge of being in a point where everything around her is in harmony, harmony being the state of happiness. Crushed between the expectations of the loved ones and her own little wishes, she sits and waits. Perhaps waits for something I wouldn’t know but guess... A moment of peace and happiness where everyone related to is perhaps satisfied and happy on the actions... I do not know.
As I pass by the potters ally, I see a striking similarity. She being the pot, the potter has created over years with a lot of care, has to look at the interests of the potter. Perhaps being sold to the customer the potter desires. She waits in the sun praying and perhaps waiting for the customer that her heart seeks. Dare she choose a customer which isn’t as profitable for the potter? Yet she gathers the courage to nod back and forth denying every little instance, resisting beyond circumstances, battling each day with time, her needs and that of the obligations she has for the potter, her creator. The customer her heart seeks, watches her juggle it all from a distance knows everything yet. She wipes her tears, smiles through the pain because she knows even though she is breaking inside, he is watching.
What more do I write and what more can I say but see the pot dry up in the sun as my chin dries with her. The fear of the bonding being damped in due course, the truth being hidden the web of rationality, apprehensions that suppress life. Life, like a log that floats in water giving up its decisions to the current of the stream, has become the way perhaps. Nevertheless, she puts a smile on her face, acts like everything is fine. When in reality, the world is on her shoulder and her life is slipping through the cracks of her fingers as one could describe. I like the wanderer gazing at the setting sun, seeing nothing but the horizon as far as wide. Hoping for a shower of rain for the summer has been so long...
What?
Nothing.
What?
No one does like this…
Silence.
What?
Nothing...
The rectangular block of cloth with stuffed cotton blocks the view... what remains is but the conversation and the glimpse of the eyes looking into me... the slipping seconds that makes the sand hour glass of our life.
What answer do I give you dear for your question
"what?" I guess my answer remains "nothing" that I can
perhaps say even if there’s an answer that lingers deep within. I continue to
remain awed by the tiny strong soul that knocks me to silence. The picture
which is remarkably beautiful than the ones I have seen in those galleries. Perhaps
making an effort to collect the times so that they surpass the missed moments
nullifying the existence of the missed ones…
What?
Nothing!!!
3 comments:
Glad to see you back on this sphere. :)
Glad to see you back on this sphere. :)
What?? Nothing. Perhaps the answer is too painful!!
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