Category: poetry

Posted in Life, Personal Musings, Photography Art, poetry

Of First Light

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Being thrown in at the deep, the past couple of weeks have been running on, in a non-stop mode. Hassles of keeping our professional security intact, resulted in splitting up of the adult part of the family unit. Adding to them is the current system of “online-schools” ( with plenty of home-schooling, the latter being a necessity); work from home, lack of help due to curbs on travel, unexpected setbacks and expenses; things aren’t really looking good. Then again, this holds true for most of us. When things are few and far between, the choices waver between being in limbo or just picking up the pieces and find a way through.

“The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide you’re not going to stay where you are.” J.P.Morgan

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Truth is no day is consistent. Some days one gets to breathe a bit or an optimistic turn to look at the bright side of life; whereas other days just become a drag. For those with family, we may wish to be alone at times. For those of us staying alone for now, we wish our near and dear ones were at hand. The mind is in a constant of conflict, not just from emotions but also random thoughts which may plague one at the odd times of the day. Restlessness becomes a part and parcel of the self.

“For a tree to become tall it must grow tough roots among the rocks.” Friedrich Nietzsche

Change is there. Whichever way one looks at it, things will never go back to the old norm. Uncertainty fuels the inner restlessness, upsets the mental balance and this cycle just goes on. Over the past few weeks, being stationed on the porch way before the cockcrow began a new routine. Watching the rays chase away the dark of the night, gives one the hope of another try, a different way to handle each situation and look for any missed chances or overlooked possibilities. If it rains, an eye still is kept for the warmth of the light. For now, that alone is sufficient to chase away the chill within. After all, life has to go on.

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By Candlelight
BY EDITH SITWELL

Houses red as flower of bean,
Flickering leaves and shadows lean!
Pantalone, like a parrot,
Sat and grumbled in the garret—
Sat and growled and grumbled till
Moon upon the window-sill
Like a red geranium
Scented his bald cranium.
Said Brighella, meaning well:
“Pack your box and—go to Hell!
Heat will cure your rheumatism!” . . .
Silence crowned this optimism—
Not a sound and not a wail:
But the fire (lush leafy vales)
Watched the angry feathers fly.
Pantalone ’gan to cry—
Could not, would not, pack his box!
Shadows (curtseying hens and cocks)
Pecking in the attic gloom
Tried to smother his tail-plume . . .
Till a cockscomb candle-flame
Crowing loudly, died: Dawn came.

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Posted in Daily, Life, poetry, Reflections

DEPTHS

Posted on by Sugar and Spice..... Among Other Things

Guarding the pile of newspapers kept safe in the wall unit requires a certain amount of skill, specially in camouflaging the surroundings. With kids and pets running amok in the house, the set of the current week’s newspapers are kept up high, but one has to be wary of their wily ways and means. When the reader wonders the purpose of this, for the daily paper is meant for reading each day and with plenty of “visual media”-nization, why do so. The reason is simple, for the editorials as well as the obituary section. Even though one is well informed of the local news (specially those of the bad type), those pages are scanned through each day, only to read the bare details. When one reads those smaller words, is when figures out the person behind those lives. Noticing such things gives a daily to weekly reminder of not just how precious life and time is, but also how we lived through them.

“It is not length of life, but depth of life.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

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Making a difference never lies in the strength of how much time or resources one has at hand. Instead it lies in the way one prefers to wield them in the best possible manner. Whether it was an unfortunate end or the passage of years slowly over time, the mark one leaves behind is what matters.

When the hue and cry dies down on the weekend mornings, these sections are given a thorough read, for they do deserve it. As the sun rays filter through, the morning sky makes realize the strength of what we hold in our hands and thoughts within. No one knows how long one has. On the other hand when the talents gifted, blessed or acquired put to use in their deserving manner, then whether the days be short or long, one has their due and left their mark in the world and lives around them. Depths do matter as lengths, more or less, doesn’t make a difference. As shown daily through the contrast of day and night, as long as one breathes, live the hours not simply to one’s heart’s content but also to appreciate the chances given or taken, and their due difference made in their right and true manner.

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Part Two: Nature

XXXIX

BRING me the sunset in a cup,
Reckon the morning’s flagons up,
And say how many dew;
Tell me how far the morning leaps,
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps 5
Who spun the breadths of blue!

Write me how many notes there be
In the new robin’s ecstasy
Among astonished boughs;
How many trips the tortoise makes, 10
How many cups the bee partakes,—
The debauchee of dews!

Also, who laid the rainbow’s piers,
Also, who leads the docile spheres
By withes of supple blue? 15
Whose fingers string the stalactite,
Who counts the wampum of the night,
To see that none is due?

Who built this little Alban house
And shut the windows down so close 20
My spirit cannot see?
Who ’ll let me out some gala day,
With implements to fly away,
Passing pomposity?

Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.

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Posted in Family and Society, Life, Personal Musings, poetry, Random Thoughts

Contention

Posted on by Sugar and Spice..... Among Other Things

Each of us have one of those days wherein, the entire day starts off a sour note. The “what-ifs” and “if’s” plague us to the extent that one may have a couple of hours (or even days) of uncertainty, despair and anguish. While dwelling in it, things never make any sense at all. Later when the dust-storm settles down, things get a little clearer and the realization comes. The latter being that one has to either go with the flow, against or modify it to own heart’s content. The million dollar way out, is how to settle the storm within.

“It’s not always necessary to be strong, but to feel strong.” Jon Krakauer

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Looking back, the sudden bout of “going downhill within” quite often stem from our own insecurities. Of whether what we have done so far, was any worth or whether we would be able to follow and do a little of our dreams in the near future. The hard fact is that these feelings are bound to stay and surface every now and then. The trick lies in not letting those “feelings” get ahead of us.

“So how to temper down the storm ?”

The answer never comes easy. But it helps never to forget how far one has come. The roots that we have come from and how far we have made it. Though the journey may hold many more miles ahead, to savour the success of the past and the present, no matter how small they may be, are important. The chart of our dreams need to be looked into again, to find our present standing in the map. Then we fold it, take a deep breath and dig out the shreds of will, strength and courage from within. Finally with one foot ahead of the other, the attempt to is made to find a way ahead. Though the gait may be shuffling in manner, the point is to try and be who we want to be. Not a mold of another, but who we are at heart.

As the phrase goes, “Accept that some days you are the pigeon, some days you are the statue” but the fact remains that one still holds the belief within that they can try. All it lies is not in giving up, but holding onto the flame within. As one reaches to the safe side and traces out those “storm days”, few of which may be buried deep in the recesses of the mind; the sheer survival of those dark hours gives strength to face the trials over time.

“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.” Henry David Thoreau

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Be Who You Must Be
Diarmuid Cronin

I don’t know where you are on your path
I have never stood in your shoes
I see not with your eyes.
I know not what your purpose is here
In this stage of your evolution
But I feel blessed to know you
As you are not in my life by chance
And you are my teacher
As I hope you learn from me
I pray I show reverence to you
I pray not to judge you
I wish to let you be
Who you are
Who you dream of being
I will just be beside you
And watch you grow
And the day will come for sure
When we will know why
Our paths crossed this way
And until then my friend
Be who you must be

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Posted in Family and Society, Life, Personal Musings, poetry

Unparalleled

Posted on by Sugar and Spice..... Among Other Things

For one to realize the frailty of life versus time given to one, scanning the first few pages of the newspaper is enough, or just listen to the morning news hour. For some who thought they had time, there wasn’t any. Whereas others have been blessed with a second chance, good or bad, only time knows the final outcome. Through all this one realizes how blessed one has been. In fact, these thought bring out the true meaning of what “we have never realized”.

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One never realizes how blessed one has been with a job or any form of employment, till the day the wages stop coming and the money is out of the hand. One never knows the gift of a family, unless they come back to an empty set of rooms with no voices, but only those of the media. One never realizes how much they were blessed with their own path to walk and friends to visit, until they are forced to confine within. Instead of realizing the simple gifts of time and life as a whole, we crib that theatres are shut, malls are out and we are all stuck.

“Life’s not about expecting, hoping and wishing, it’s about doing, being and becoming.” Mike Dooley

True that life may put one in a bind at times; yet for every things there aren’t just one or two but many sides which can be explored. While we crib about what we may have missed out on, learn not to lose out on what we have right now.

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If one had to truly measure up the gifts we have been blessed with, the list made would put out the “so called better things” out with a whiff. As time shows us how fickle she can be with life, let each day be a highlight of the gifts that she offers us, put to use and not left behind in the chase for the perceived better.

How Much Would This Cost?
Courtland W. Sayers

One midnight deep in starlight still
I dreamed that I received this bill:
…………..In account with life:
Five thousand breathless dawns all new;
Five thousand flowers fresh in dew;
Five thousand sunsets wrapped in gold;
One million snowflakes served ice cold,
Five quiet friends; one baby’s love;
One white-mad sea with clouds above;
One hundred music-haunted dreams
Of moon drenched roads and hurrying streams,
One June night in a fragrant wood;
One heart that loved and understood.
I wondered when I woke that day
‘How much this would cost if I had to pay?’

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Posted in Daily, Personal Musings, Photography Art, poetry, Random Thoughts

Peril of the Chase

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An unexpected turn of events lead to an intense manhunt for the “hardware store”. Unfortunately the regular route was marred by pieces of fallen trees, repair barriers on the road as well as plenty of water logged areas, all courtesy of the rains due to the cyclonic effect. While driving around, we had reached back to the starting point not once, but twice. Whether the told directions were wrong or our Google guide was sifting us through the varied routs, all we knew was that we were in a big circle. Eventually we did find the shop, to get the distilled water for the invertor; but being caught in that loop was one of the nightmare we wished that wouldn’t repeat.

“The thing I’m most afraid of is me. Of not knowing what I’m going to do. Of not knowing what I’m doing right now.” Haruki Murakami

Ironically we do chase a lot of circles in life. Some of the chases may seem meaningful then, bu then lose their appeal as one gets closer. Other circles entice one, but one gets mired in their trap, sinking faster than quicksand. Some circles are those that lead us downhill with it’s subtle turns; driving ourselves to the breaking point. Whether the latter is the end-point or not; only circumstances, time and ourselves can tell. Yet the best circles are wherein we have a little of the best things of life, in doses such that we get to sweat it out as well as enjoy the feel of life. The catch is in what one defines as the “things to achieve in life”.

“Oh what we find, when we stop searching. Oh what we feel, when we stop forcing. Oh what we receive, when we stop fearing. Oh what we become, when we just love.” Creig Crippen

All of us have a chase to do or encounter. While some hunts are worth all the effort, other mayn’t be so. The trick is knowing when to stop, review and reconsider. Doing so will help to redirect oneself, especially when the path is way off the intended course or causes more grief and sorrows, that the flickers of happiness that we want at the least. As life always says that she isn’t made of glitter alone. The pretty things lie in her simplicity and her riches are aplenty for all.

As we cry and chase the baubles, one should make sure that if the price of it is worth the effort or not. For these meaningless novelties may fade away, losing their charm and luster; leaving behind a void made of nothing but emptiness. To be caught is such a bind, is devastating not just to the mind and heart, but also to the soul. On the other hand, when one stops by the road once in a while to just see, feel and observe, the joys of living as such are ascertained and experienced for sure. And the chase for the latter is what brings those special smile on the faces around us as well as in the soul. The question lies in what are we waiting for, and the answers lies with us alone.

Of The Boy and Butterfly

Behold, how eager this our little boy
Is for a butterfly, as if all joy,
All profits, honours, yea, and lasting pleasures,
Were wrapped up in her, or the richest treasures
Found in her would be bundled up together,
When all her all is lighter than a feather.

He halloos, runs, and cries out, ‘Here, boys, here!’
Nor doth he brambles or the nettles fear:
He stumbles at the molehills, up he gets,
And runs again, as one bereft of wits;
And all his labour and his large outcry
Is only for a silly butterfly.

Comparison

This little boy an emblem is of those
Whose hearts are wholly at the world’s dispose.
The butterfly doth represent to me
The world’s best things at best but fading be.
All are but painted nothings and false joys,
Like this poor butterfly to these our boys.

His running through nettles, thorns, and briers,
To gratify his boyish fond desires,
His tumbling over molehills to attain
His end, namely, his butterfly to gain,
Doth plainly show what hazards some men run
To get what will be lost as soon as won.

-John Bunyan

Posted in Family and Society, Life, poetry, Reflections

After the Stay

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Switching by-lanes while on the long awaited drive to the office, courtesy of the slow lock-down restrictions being eased; the traffic queues were no longer an impatient. To see various expressions through the eyes, behind the masks, movement across the roads as well as the small flow of people, the feeling of belonging to a social structure was there. One never realizes how relevant each minute of our life is, unless we have been deprived of the routine. While the lock-down had seen the start of new routines, techniques and ventures; it has also opened up a whole new meaning to being complete from within.

“What a wonderful thought it is that some of the best days of our lives haven’t even happened yet.” Anne Frank

Staying in a place, and trying to phase out the schedule between work and home was no mean feat. Bringing the benefit of being closer as a family, exploring new interests or simply picking where one had left off like a project started years ago, brought back the essence of family and helped to re tune ourselves. On the other hand, the camaraderie at the work place, the weekly meet-up between local friends and interacting with the local townsfolk were some events which weren’t the same, even when done through video-conferencing or through social media. Fact is, those were some of the things sorely missed.

Human Interactions. It is what makes each of our days special and complete. As we hear and watch the experiences of others, we learn not just a lot about them, but also open up a fresh insight into ourselves and things to ponder about. While the past few weeks have been a time of finding oneself, setting new challenges as well as getting back in touch with ourselves; donning the masks and learning to blend in with the situation and re-enter society within the limits of the new guidelines teaches us how fragile and precious each second of the day is.

Slowly reentering back into the routine, the changes brought on will stay; but they have also taught us a lot about being human. Which is why, to be gracious and being kind should be always a part of our innate nature. And as we try to do so, we heal within and start off each bend in the road, with courage and stength with the promise of an experience worth our while in the world that we live in.

“The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new.” Dan Millman

And People Stayed Home

And people stayed home
and read books and listened
and rested and exercised
and made art and played
and learned new ways of being
and stopped
and listened deeper
someone meditated
someone prayed
someone danced
someone met their shadow
and people began to think differently
and people healed
and in the absence of people who lived in ignorant ways,
dangerous, meaningless and heartless,
even the earth began to heal
and when the danger ended
and people found each other
grieved for the dead people
and they made new choices
and dreamed of new visions
and created new ways of life
and healed the earth completely
just as they were healed themselves.

Kathleen O’Meara (1839–1888)
(This poem was written by an Irish-French Catholic writer, Kathleen O’Meara (Dublin 1839 – Paris 1888), who also wrote under the pen name of Grace Ramsay, and is to be found in her novel Iza’s Story, set against the background of the Polish struggle against the occupation and partition of their country in various stages by Russia, Austria and Prussia from 1772 onwards. She compares the Polish-Russian situation to the Irish-British situation. For the present, this poem when set against the background of present makes way for a thought provoking read.)

Posted in Daily, Personal Musings, poetry, Random Thoughts

Nest of Own

Posted on by Sugar and Spice..... Among Other Things

Over the past two days, there have been sudden bouts of stillness in the house. With a few pairs of small feet running around in the house, such an event makes any parent or guardian, anticipating a surprise of any manner around the corner. Which is maybe why, after a couple of similar episodes, yours truly decided to tip toe and follow the trail. Catching up onto the excited whispering and quiet voices, these little eyes were found trained onto the far side of the barn. After a stern couple of “Shhh!!”, the secret was out. They have been watching a pair of spotted nutcrackers build their nest. As they were surprises and exclamations over this activity, the mind wandered over to their exuberant joy as seen through their eyes.

“Early summer days are a jubilee time for birds. In the fields, around the house, in the barn, in the woods, in the swamp – everywhere love and songs and nests and eggs.” E. B. White

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Watching these simple activities reminds one of the safe havens and the joys that we find in our own homes. While the early years of our lives, saw us being sheltered and protected within the cocoons of our home, family or even neighbourhood; the years after a decade and beyond saw ourselves slowly exploring the outside world. Somewhere along the way, we all had left our own nests to make new ones. The initial days saw the streak of adventure and excitement come to the forefront, later on it was the survivalist instinct that helped us keeping on building our nest, finding our own niche in life. Along the way, when the going gets tough; we went back to our old nests to get back on track with our feet on ground. When the home of then wasn’t there now, memories of the best years of our lives is what got us through this all.

Each of us need our nests or homes to find our spaces, rejuvenate and regain our strength after a tough journey or even to celebrate from the successful venture. In finding our homes, each of us brace ourselves through the storms. For the lure of these safe havens, is what gets us through the perceived unfortunate events of the time.

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Building our own homes doesn’t include the material comforts alone, but also to encompass the feeling of love and kindness within it. To experiences the feeling of home, is one of the greatest treasures that life offers man. In order to do so, one should brace ourselves and watch the world around us; move ahead and take time to breathe and enjoy the simple gifts that each day offers one.

“To find the universal elements enough; to find the air and the water exhilarating; to be refreshed by a morning walk or an evening saunter… to be thrilled by the stars at night; to be elated over a bird’s nest or a wildflower in spring – these are some of the rewards of the simple life.” John Burroughs

The Skylark
BY JOHN CLARE
The rolls and harrows lie at rest beside
The battered road; and spreading far and wide
Above the russet clods, the corn is seen
Sprouting its spiry points of tender green,
Where squats the hare, to terrors wide awake,
Like some brown clod the harrows failed to break.
Opening their golden caskets to the sun,
The buttercups make schoolboys eager run,
To see who shall be first to pluck the prize—
Up from their hurry, see, the skylark flies,
And o’er her half-formed nest, with happy wings
Winnows the air, till in the cloud she sings,
Then hangs a dust-spot in the sunny skies,
And drops, and drops, till in her nest she lies,
Which they unheeded passed—not dreaming then
That birds which flew so high would drop agen
To nests upon the ground, which anything
May come at to destroy. Had they the wing
Like such a bird, themselves would be too proud,
And build on nothing but a passing cloud!
As free from danger as the heavens are free
From pain and toil, there would they build and be,
And sail about the world to scenes unheard
Of and unseen—Oh, were they but a bird!
So think they, while they listen to its song,
And smile and fancy and so pass along;
While its low nest, moist with the dews of morn,
Lies safely, with the leveret, in the corn.
– John Clare

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