Open Book

Every person is a book, 
I read when I take a look.
Through the window of the eyes,
I can see through your disguise.
Masquerade if that's your plan,
If you need to..I understand.
There are places I still can reach,
bring out your diamond that lies beneath.
The mind is just one handy tool,
to understanding what is true.
So walk with me down this path,
as we calculate and do our math.
Use our failures as stepping stones,
providing strength we have never known.
Phoenix Rising to become anew ,
Shedding fears of a fool .
So go ahead and take a look,
Read my soul just like an open book...

Black and White

Black bird flying in a white sky,

Or white bird flying in a black sky.

Black not giving way to white,

Nor white giving way to black.

What is black but the absence of white?

And what is white but an absence of black?

Alas there are more colours to see,

Red and yellow beckoning to be.

Black is the negation of all colours,

White is the amalgamation of all colours.

Two opposite ends, with nothing in common,

But the emptiness defining this continuum

When will black and white ever learn?

That they can’t do without one another?

Red and yellow wait to be draped ,

In the beauty of that singular gray.

/ yes it has lateralus references/

Borrowed Scent

I plucked a rose today,

Now I am left in dismay.

The rose tried to leave its scent,

But my mind had one slippery bend.

Dreaming of the golden years,

I slept away all the time that was near.

And all that’s left now is mixing tears,

In vain trying to fight human fears.

Lost in the drops of the first rain,

I didn’t wipe the eye’s rain of pain.

And in those rainy reveries,

I wished to stay forever merrily.

Those dreams of the misty mornings,

In the hot afternoon firings.

And the benevolent sun shining ,

And this majestic plan transpiring.

Blossomed roses cannot unblossom,

And their scent lingers long into the morrow .

Golden years never return,

yet their light shines on all dark paths.

If I could, I would grow my roses ,

In that wonderful rain of that golden year.

But the roses’ scent lingers as does the smell of the first rain,

As I continue on a solitary path with its myriad borrowed scents.

                

* So , first post in a while. Now where do I begin to say what this is all about. It's about this idea of perfection that <some> of us stupid guys chase. And the fact is there really is no such thing as absolute perfection or absolute truth. I mean everyone has some good qualities and some flaws . And if you start moving away from people just because of their flaws and ignore their good , you are gonna end up being really miserable and depressed and lonely. Fact is there really isn't much black and white in the world outside science text books. And as that cheesy cliche goes , go find your own shade of grey . Anywho , you can't measure yourself or anything else by this golden standard in your head , because then you'll just push away all the good that comes you. And even if you push all that good away, their scent lingers on like roses you once held. The least you can do is not let that scent fade away. You can't look for perfect in an imperfect world. And I wish I knew all this before. But, I guess that's the thing about maturity, it comes to you when it has to. *

Solitary Oak

* My first sonnet and it is a happy one*

I walk this pristine path done with the day's duty ,

Away from the city and its dark jokes.

After the brutal ballad, the winner is true beauty,

And there’s just me and these glorious oaks.

One with myself I am, not alone with everybody,

I am not the party’s intoxicated sobs.

I sing songs of this beautiful natural electricity,

And in that fantasy of accepted reality my head nods.

And the oaks look down on me ever so quietly,

My best friends, guarding me from all foes.

The battle scars seem to fade into the thundering electricity,

Away from those maddening, dissonant throes

And my foolish heart hopes in all naivety,

Maybe the slipping of the summer finally stops.

A blossomed flower cannot unblossom,

Attack it, hurt it, try to burn it, but it will stay.

This is a truth, and the truth you must fathom,

The oaks will unlike faces always pay.

And alas, just one final wish from this form,

When my path is done, under the oaks let me lay.

And be again a sapling to blossom,

Towering, sheltering without any dismay.

Untouched by times, let me be forever in autumn,

Untouched by earthly touch, out of the maddening fray.

One brilliant, living breathing column,

All of life served in a tray.

And when the mocking faces, like oak leaves have died and fallen,

Let them know, only solitary oaks in the summer shall stay.

* Solitary Metamorphosis into pure beauty*

Always the Summer Slipped Away

Always the summers slipped away

A recluse’s take on the ephemeral wonder that is happiness.

One of the questions that has always been lingering around me and is a topic of much contention is the question of happiness. How real is this idea of happiness, or does it exist at all? Well you probably have a hundred self- help books that tell you how to be happy, some of you might have found it in a lover’s arms, some at the piano keys and some at the bottom of a bottle. Well as a recluse, I obviously do not find it amongst a sea of people and as a teetotaller I do not find it any of the vices. As someone who knows a little bit about the way the brain functions, I would say that happiness is nothing but a neurological state . It is the way our brain reacts to certain situations that we humans conveniently call happy or pleasant ones. Well pick up any biochemistry textbook and you will see a hundreds of reactions about essential bodily functions. Now why is it that the chemicals that make us happy ( dopamine , serotonin etc.) are so glorified and not the others that are as essential if not more essential than  these. More so if someone is in misery , as to why his reaction to given situations cannot be accepted as just another chemical reaction and nothing more. As to why it has to be treated with sympathy or any other such thing beats me.

As a medical student who sees patients at the hospital , I cannot help but feel bad at the plight of patients. Pain and suffering is ultimately pain and suffering. Somehow , it equalizes all of us . And as another college kid , I see so many other witnesses to this pain and suffering spending their days blissfully partying and indulging in every vice possible . The funny part is the doctor who spends all day dealing with his patients is then called cold and unemotional. Anywho , these are the two absolute opposite ends of humanity that I have seen. And maybe here lies the eternal curse that has been cast on us. Humans are all equalized by their pain , and segregated by their happiness. Every party or every group or every society has that one outcast , that one misunderstood person, that one labelled person. But in a hospital ward for example , everyone is in pain and gets equal treatment. It would be such a sacrament to consider one patient’s pain ( physical and psychological greater or lesser than another patient’s.) The point that I want to make is that somehow pain, no matter how painful seems to be much more equalizing than happiness.

Now let me come down to the topic of delusion. Well , as an absolute rationalist I would have to say that many ideas that people find happiness in have absolutely no rational basis whatsoever. Cite things such as religion, superstition or your favourite good luck charm as an example. Fact of the matter is we all have had those blissful summers of childhood when the entire world seemed so beautiful , before rationality entered our lives and taught us what was true and what was false. Alas those summers slipped away , and you no longer are amused by those stories that your parents read out to you to put you to sleep. And we are desperate to find those summers in the winter of this life. ‘Always the summers are slipping away…… find me a way to make it stay ‘Humans are very desperate to find happiness. And the mind sees what it chooses to see. And that is why so many claim to have found that elusive diamond that is happiness. And if you are rational enough , you will see one delusion after the other falling . And you will be miserable without delusion , yet you will be truthful . Delusion is the key to happiness and it is well also diagnostic of many psychiatric conditions.

So you see, we humans are very imperfect creatures. And happiness seems to be this wondrous perfect state. So where can we possibly find happiness? Well I think you can find it in those things that are a product of nature and not of humans themselves. Products of nature such as the way the human body works or how the physical world works , or how strings vibrate to produce music. These wonders of the world seems so beautiful and devoid of human corruption. And you know what the best part about these ? They will never betray you or go back on their words. Your science and your art will always be there for you. They will still be beautiful and interesting no matter what . And that I think is something no human being could do for another.

But we are but imperfect humans, thrown into this world of other imperfect humans. Even if you are reclusive, you still will have your own imperfections by virtue of being a human as you try to appreciate the wonders of nature. So you probably will not be able to find true happiness because as much as you try , you will not be absolutely at one with nature and its beauty no matter how close you get to it. So how do you reconcile this predicament? Well the way I do it is by accepting the fact that we are all human , all too human. These imperfections are inherent to us. For every patient that dies , there is some kid getting wasted. That hypocrisy or duality (if you like Indian philosophy) is a part and parcel of the human condition . Someone is going to be miserable sometimes , and denying it is pure repression. Fact is most people are not brave enough to believe in an inconvenient truth. And the truth is almost always inconvenient .To them it all boils down to what is convenient to them. Too many thoughts on your mind, let’s chemically suppress the nervous system! Does that make our basic imperfect truths go away? Does it bring those summers back? No it does not. So the only way to deal with this predicament it to accept that misery is but  a part of the human condition that does not need to be hated . So while accepting this basic truth , looking for those moments of completeness in science or art ( or anything else of that nature) makes much more sense to me.

Ultimately all I can do is quote porcupine tree ,

“Always the summers are slipping away ,

find me a way to make it stay,

 When the evening reaches in and you’re tying me up.

I’m dying of love………. it’s okay.”

 And as I have said earlier on this blog,

' For some reason I don't know why,

We are all born with a hole in our hearts,

Some cry about it some die,

But I know if I run against the wind,

At the right angle, it makes the sweetest song.'

I hope that song is enough for happiness.

The Highway and The Hearse

The highwayman had a past,

To confide in he had always sought.

Everything seemed to threaten his highway oft,

And for his highway ,this world he had fought.

Alas the fights leave the dead in smears,

And the death black hearse were his wheels.

Gathering the honest , shunning the dishonest,

The hearse is dark, but in good earnest.

Alas came in one passenger,

Whose soul he thought to be no stranger.

To his wandering highway heart, he finally had shelter,

The reins of his hearse grew looser , not tighter.

How strange is this stranger ,

To have left him in this manger.

But the hearse now welcomes him ,

The highway is the only one that can shelter him.

/* So this one draws from audioslave's I am the highway and Porcupine tree's I drive the hearse. It's about a solitary wanderer realizing that wandering is ultimately what he has to do . It is the only thing real for him. Everything else and everyone else comes and goes like various passengers on the hearse and only the highway remains. The highway is the wanderer's ultimate muse */

All Roads Lead Home

I walked down my solitary hill,

Into the city and its monotonous mills.

Into the quiet night,

I reached my door divine.

The door to what was once my paradise,

But now hope slipped like black ice.

All roads lead home,

It is just a romantic hope.

I looked over at my untouched chair,

And found myself lying over there.

The dilapidated house did once again transform ,

As if welcoming me with open arms.

Not a soul was in sight,

But the one I had to fight.

Crying is easy, but it is hard to hope.

Maybe, all roads lead home.

* This was written a long time ago , but I see the meaning now. Self fulfilling prophecies?*