Oh gosh...it's been months since I last came here. And you know what, I had even forgotten the route to this part of the world, World Wide Web, to be precise.
And when I do get here, there are only five minutes left out of an hour in this cybercafe. And I don't know what I can do in this brief time period which is running out as I move my fingers on the keyboard, scared to make spelling mistakes in this hurry, which I don't like, otherwise. And with the fear that my fingers aren't so adept at it. But I hope one day they will be. And then I might just be able to write more than this, and something that makes sense. I hope.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Running the race of life
RUNNING THE RACE OF LIFE
I am small, very small as compared to the vast boundaries that surround us all. Visiting them -- for it's not possible to cross them in that death only can help us cross -- makes me wonder how the stale smell of life, prevalent since the time immemorial, ever since the origin of life, has exited here on earth.
Just yesterday I saw another place, another boundary, another horizon. I was alone. And the search independent. There was something new in there. After all, it's that point where you land or take off from. It was real, the sense of being so close to what we call the meeting-point between the air and ground.
But, at the back of my mind was the same old feeling that keeps troubling me all the time -- all of us will die one day, then what is this race for? Why not look for the real meeting point, the real place we are heading towards. The place we are destined to go after we have done our stories and filed them in the folder of life.
And then something strikes me. What is it? Is this the Enlightenment? The same thing that Lord Buddha achieved under that banyan tree?
Sadly, no. It's only the thought that maybe someday somebody might come across your story leafing through the pages of life. That you need to run your race well, whatever it is for. It's not about winning or losing it, it's only about running well.
And guess what I'm doing? Running, of course.
I am small, very small as compared to the vast boundaries that surround us all. Visiting them -- for it's not possible to cross them in that death only can help us cross -- makes me wonder how the stale smell of life, prevalent since the time immemorial, ever since the origin of life, has exited here on earth.
Just yesterday I saw another place, another boundary, another horizon. I was alone. And the search independent. There was something new in there. After all, it's that point where you land or take off from. It was real, the sense of being so close to what we call the meeting-point between the air and ground.
But, at the back of my mind was the same old feeling that keeps troubling me all the time -- all of us will die one day, then what is this race for? Why not look for the real meeting point, the real place we are heading towards. The place we are destined to go after we have done our stories and filed them in the folder of life.
And then something strikes me. What is it? Is this the Enlightenment? The same thing that Lord Buddha achieved under that banyan tree?
Sadly, no. It's only the thought that maybe someday somebody might come across your story leafing through the pages of life. That you need to run your race well, whatever it is for. It's not about winning or losing it, it's only about running well.
And guess what I'm doing? Running, of course.
Friday, June 30, 2006
On Losers' Day
On losers’ day
Losers would shed tears
And winners must rejoice;
As they’d go on their victory march,
The former are left with no other choice.
It’s not that they had no heroes,
It was just not their day;
Winners talk nothing save the cup,
While losers would say things they couldn’t play.
They fought hard till the end,
And the Sweat and Blood kept oozing out
From the wounds they sustained;
But they knew in the end it wasn’t a battle well-fought.
The times will no doubt change,
When in their way the wind will blow,
When they will show to the world
How their cheeks with success glow.
The above poem is dedicated to my friend Nitin’s feelings on Argentina’s losing the quarterfinal to Germany. “One day they’ll rise to glory,” he believes.
---------------------------------Sam-----------------------------------------
Losers would shed tears
And winners must rejoice;
As they’d go on their victory march,
The former are left with no other choice.
It’s not that they had no heroes,
It was just not their day;
Winners talk nothing save the cup,
While losers would say things they couldn’t play.
They fought hard till the end,
And the Sweat and Blood kept oozing out
From the wounds they sustained;
But they knew in the end it wasn’t a battle well-fought.
The times will no doubt change,
When in their way the wind will blow,
When they will show to the world
How their cheeks with success glow.
The above poem is dedicated to my friend Nitin’s feelings on Argentina’s losing the quarterfinal to Germany. “One day they’ll rise to glory,” he believes.
---------------------------------Sam-----------------------------------------
Friday, June 09, 2006
Don't tell me
No, don't tell me I am in love,
For I am still looking for my inamorata,
I, though, have feelings for you, my life,
Coquettish as you are, you come latter.
If you love me, love me the way I do,
But you treat me as nothing, which I hate.
Yes, it might be true, but not for you,
Howsoever you love me, I do reciprocate.
You might be my first love, yes, it's true,
Yet, think not you're the only one;
My real love is there somewhere,
Which one day I promise to find.
She who'll love me more than you do
She who'll make you learn a lesson or two,
You shall then know what I mean,
You'll be then jealous of her and her beau.
Inamorata--the girl one is in love with. Coquettish--a girl who teases by making romantic overtures; a flirt.. Beau--the boyfriend of a woman or girl.
For I am still looking for my inamorata,
I, though, have feelings for you, my life,
Coquettish as you are, you come latter.
If you love me, love me the way I do,
But you treat me as nothing, which I hate.
Yes, it might be true, but not for you,
Howsoever you love me, I do reciprocate.
You might be my first love, yes, it's true,
Yet, think not you're the only one;
My real love is there somewhere,
Which one day I promise to find.
She who'll love me more than you do
She who'll make you learn a lesson or two,
You shall then know what I mean,
You'll be then jealous of her and her beau.
Inamorata--the girl one is in love with. Coquettish--a girl who teases by making romantic overtures; a flirt.. Beau--the boyfriend of a woman or girl.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
A Story, that is life
Amid all the stories and chaos, I feel I am a story. Well, every person on this earth is a story at last. Some get reported and the rest don't. They just float in the deep layers of water of life. But I feel they should be brought into the open, from the layers waiting to see the azure sky and its rainbow hues after the rain, sending an important message -- life is colourful.
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