Monday, June 17, 2013



Oval, in a gilt frame, hung the looking glass, proclaiming with an air of deprecation its unplumbled mysteries. She looked into it with various motives and desires. First, being the most fundamental, was to see one's face, one's physicality as the eyes traversed the frame, adding a dash of color here, a daub there, like a painter putting the finishing touches to her beauty. It is at these instances that the looking glass was the delieneation through its own outward form of some quiescent, submerged self within. Beauty, being subjective as it is, laden with external appurtenances still yielded to the charm of self reflection. It was an untrembling image that she perceived. Objective pragmatism met subjective teleology even though both were somehow intermingled.
She imposed onto the looking glass a reality which was her own yet other than herself. Though self created it was a truth that was like a mist, concealing her deception. In another instance the putative reality was embedded with a general, abstract, ideality divested of the trappings of self awareness. The eye, penetrated the looking glass as if, by penetrating the etherealized image a grain of truth, a nugget of wisdom may be arrived at. Time beat its fluttering wings as though to denote transience and like a moth, brushed by her, a gossamer sense of its emptying itself out. She looked and saw the baser emotions of jealousy, avarice, egotism yet also perceived a sense of noble exaltation, a transcendence which permeated the soul with a huge sense of relief, as though in piercing into the phantoms to see higher possibilities the guttering flame of the negative was snuffed out.
There hangs between her and the looking glass a mist. A mist which her own breath expels as she peers in, thereby reduplicating the sense of impermeability that is both its and hers nature. She turns away, to immerse herself in the here and now, hoping to rend, to cleft the mist by reifying herself into the reality she pours herself over. She has turned back but the looking glass, retaining its fogged nature, is still misted.


Sunlight creeps in through the blinds. Ephemeral rainbows  are illumined oleaginously. Shafts of light enter through the chinks and repose over the recumbent body. Pleasurable sensations shoot up while the warmth irradiates the runnel of the spine. Light wavers over the chequered floor as tufs of cloud float to and fro across the sky. This quivering light hangs over his opal amethystine ring like a loop. Depths of oval glitter like cat's eyes. Flung under the canopy of the protective sheath the self rejoices in this effulgence, this profusion of light and life which the sun renders incandescent. Worries, thoughts of mortality leap, dart, quiver like bubbles forming over and subsiding into the film of water which glazes thoughts that threaten the equanimity. Light and dark make an unsubstantial territory and the desire to encompass, to possess the day is both possible yet unattainable. In the eye of the mind, the chambers of the heart the moment is indissolubly engraved. Yet nature, with inexorable circularity obliterates this moment, encroaches upon the being impenetrable darkness and replenishes with light. Yet the moment has been squandered, cast off. Or it is the evanescence and transience which makes one hold on to these moments of being.
A pertinacious inquiry arises. How to capture a moment? For don't  all moments, as soon as they are felt and fingered, dissolve. Tremulous time subsumes these moments under the ever shifting, quicksand canopy of past, present and future. Yet the mind retains and embalms these moments, where though they lie enmeshed amongst the incomprehensible flux of other memories yet rise up, resurface and are recaptured in their poignancy. It is over these that we fling ourselves , these the nuggets we cling to assiduously, these  the points of time that are tenaciously held. For it is these moments that illumine the ineffable wonder of things, suffuse with possibilities of apotheosis and give, what is the most amorphous of phenomenon, the meaning of existence and life.


Nature with elliptic cunning
Plots human dooms
While devious man, feigning
Authority,over it looms
Under moon waters heave
And to and fro flow
And the mortal flame by
Invidious fate, receives a blow
Like a candle flame snuffed out
All life ends in death
Yet man pursues chimeras and illusions
With indefatigable breath
Subsumed under a large superstructure
Like a poetic sonnet
He may breathe in its interstices yet
Has a bee in his bonnet
Pursuit of oval, jade and garnet
Comes to no avail
But with inveterate assiduity
He runs after the holy grail
Making the same errors
Like a vilanelle's repreated chime
Point of departure meets that of destination
Again and again, time after time
If you ascribe motives to nature
Attribute to it a  name
You will be, endlessly
Trying to fate blame
If you succumb to the blows of destiny
You relinquish free will .
Navigating the labyrinth of life
You may circumnavigate, still.
If doubt enters where in hubris
You act with superhuman ream
Then it unjoints smooth coursing
And brings  in the life fabric, a seam.


Iridiscent sun sends forth cool rays , disperses luminous light. It is a panoply of deception and a cornucopia of lover's indefatigable comminglings. It casts shadows which, in its momentary eclipsing, obstructs light and suffuses the soul with darkness. Symbol of femininity it unravels layers of gauze by letting out profusions of red. It regurgitates itself from its own crepuscular shadows and re emerges, with pinpricks of brightness attenuated across. It is an emblem of subtle deceptions as it embodies in itself, both color and darkness. Under its nebulous, imperceptible mysteries there occurs heaving and surging of waters. It represents illusion, secrecy and laces and stripes human countenances with withering.
Incandescently it burns, proliferates ubiquitously and  sheds warmth.Its light is sharp and penetrating. It obeys laws that are both irrevocable and self sustaining. Spurts of light irradiate weary limbs as the opalescence seeps through. Since it illumines it represents clarity, cohesion. In many ways it is a defense mechanism but one that replicates itself with circuitous regularity. A glimpse at it is enlivening. In the darker recesses of the psyche, amidst the candour of the conscious it is the crevice that lets in light. It tears asunder fissures in order to reconstitute them. It stiches assiduously, shafts of light into beleagured selves. It is life, life is it.


Orange sun bears down
In an incandescent leap
Diffusing light and bright
Rays over slumbrous man
Enough is its opalescence
To lay at rest penumbra and
makes Man's darkest hours, most
miserable moments , remnants
Chimeras and illusions vanish
Illumines the vast self
fragments are torn asunder
as mankind becomes whole
Yet in these moments of glitter
Are concealed the depths of emerald
In the recesses of the luminous sun
Are cast the most revealing shadows
Either way men delude themselves
In mistaking this light for their soul
Angry fate rebukes us for assuming
Substance out of gossamer nebula.
It becomes a choice between
Illusion and its counterpart, fate
While the remorseless sun irradiates
The reality of deception, the fact of death.


Incongrous is the distorted gaze
That leaves behind depths unknown
For the mind is a labyrinthine maze
Where seeds of denial are sown
The mirror stands inviolate
Conferred upon by deceit
In attributing all to capricious fate
Is constructed a poetic conceit
Ransacked landscapes wither and frown
At this sight of an egotism frail
Which into its own intricacies drown
In pursuit of that nebulous grail
Dissembling is an indubitable fact
But it conceals itself in layers of gauze
However much may counteract tact
Yet unacknowledged will be flaws
It all comes back to the need
The desire to flee the demon
Yet festers within without heed
The soul's wry puckered lemon.


Undulates down her corporeality, dripping down the runnel of her legs pungently, drops of red. Rubies liquiefied through  
bodily osmosis cascades. In its crystallized form it congeals and clings to the flesh like an  amethystine ornament. A color seeped into the core of our being, a color representing life, a color that in itself is life. Speckled with cells it courses through the mortal frame by linking disparate phenomenon. A color that seeps out insidiously when fingered. Luminous and bright it nonetheless because of its sheer brilliance, retains the glazed look like eyes clouded by emotion. There floats within its crevices thoughts, ideas, desires and needs which function because it exists. It gluts the mouth, as the rending flesh of lower forms of life is severed. Precariously it holds together this tremulous life which subsides and perishes.
Where red ends, black begins. Because the denizens of another  dimension see the world through the prism of black. It is a symbol of permanence and continuity because in an unstable world it is the one constant. It is a color of sanctimony which wreathes the cessation of life with dignity. It is opaque because it is bland and impassive. It is a color worn by the living  to consecrate death. Yet by virtue of its multitudinous manifestations it does, to a certain degree, desecrate. Lordly prowls black, inundated with the weight of human misery, representation of ephemerality, emblem of mutability. Because it is constant it is also a transition which negotiates through a rite of passage, an entrance to another world. Or it most certainly confers that belief. The tendrils that humans are, the stalk which oozes with life but ends shrivelled and dessicated symbolizes both an end and a beginning. Thus black is transcendental where red is temporary. Red is a state of suspension, a pause of which black is the apotheosis. Red is a funnel which black terminates. Red is a guttering candle, held onto while black is the steady filament. Both are forms of life, full of possibilities. In that sense ipso facto they are alive, for ever and ever.

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