Category: Prose n Poetry

I write

Sisyphus Shrugged

You are free and responsible for your own destiny. Trust in God and you are doomed, I have never found him when I needed him the most.

Sisyphus pushed the rock up hill everytime, only to find it tumbling back to its original place. The night had no end and he just had one task, to keep it pushing up till it came tumbling down, crushing him, only to push it up all over again.

I once tried to push an obstructive rock down the hill only to find that the rock takes me down with itself, so much for all that work. It would have been better if I just went past the rock, change the course and have the wonderful view again.

Not that I won’t find my burdens again. They will spring up at unexpected places, in absurd ways at un-wanting times Happiness and absurdness indeed go hand in hand. The struggle to remain happy in itself is so absurd, the moment you stop struggling, happiness follows you. The moment you stop desiring, all your desires get fulfilled, but does one really want that?

Men and women struggle and desire not for the end result, but for the road it takes to reach the goal. The moment the goal is achieved, its futile.

This universe without its creator seems so impossibly sterile to the them, that they wont even think of alternate ways. They keep on carrying the burden uphill and downhill, every time getting squashed by the rock in the process and still refusing to look beyond the rock.

Think for yourself Sisyphus, and you will find an alternate world without the rock, without the burden and without the absurdity of state of mind.

Forever hopeful – Diary of 1998

Yeh raat beet jayegi, sawera ayega
apna dil bhee kanhi basera payega

Khushk labon pe phir nami chaa jayegi
pyar ka dariya dil tar batar kar jayega

Sawan ke baadal jhoom jhoom phir barsenge
palak palak, phool phool phir moti dhalkenge

phir deep jalenge aangan me, chaand sitare chamkenge
phir dil dulhan ban jaega, phir naya sawera aayega

(June 16, 1998)

“It is not enough to be busy … The question is: What are we busy about?” Henry David Thoreau

Its not that I couldnt have taken out even five minutes to update on whats happening in my life, its just that i did not feel like. Being busy was a good excuse.
A lot happened during past couple of weeks but it wasnt anything out of ordinary. Not that I have anything specific to write today, its just that i have the inclination to write.
When I was 16 I would keep filling pages of my diary with any thought that came to my mind, i was an introvert and the most easy way to express myself was to write. I wrote best of my poetry at that time – as i finished college and became a “mass communication” professional – I started talking more, the need for writing to express lessened. I had willing ears to listen to me, I wrote less and less..
Today I feel i have gone back to being that 16 year old and am just writing whatever is coming to my mind – i love it this way – writing not for anybody to read -writing for myself.

I will not utter a word
still you understand
My eyes speak
and you reciprocate
Silence resonates
its the language of caring and
sharing the bond of love
Silence is not a barrier
we walk this bridge