As the day fades, slowly the peels of cheer wear off too
The longing throbs a dull ache
I close my eyes to live those colors momentarily
A quiver of a smile
The sharp noises of the present wipe the mist of memories
The shrill bellowing breaks the sanctity of the quiet tears
A scream, a shout, a bang
This time I close my eyes its blotches of loudness
The chimes of rhythm go silent
-Monica
Monday, November 28, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I stand on the shores and grope the receding waves of time, that engulfed the orange-red sunsets;
I hear a shadow call in a whisper to the pale moon that was a testimony of joy;
The sweep of the desert winds bewail the song of lament and the dunes of sands lapse in the hollows of nothingness;
I feel a touch, but its the dying breeze;
I sense a tear, but its the last breath of the waves;
And the sweetness of passion is but a fragile relic of promises once made;
Moments lost into an eternal past until all that remains is a feeble echo of ache
A void of undone-s: a word unsaid, a feeling unexpressed, an emotion unfelt
All hauled into the melting furnace of time.
I hear a shadow call in a whisper to the pale moon that was a testimony of joy;
The sweep of the desert winds bewail the song of lament and the dunes of sands lapse in the hollows of nothingness;
I feel a touch, but its the dying breeze;
I sense a tear, but its the last breath of the waves;
And the sweetness of passion is but a fragile relic of promises once made;
Moments lost into an eternal past until all that remains is a feeble echo of ache
A void of undone-s: a word unsaid, a feeling unexpressed, an emotion unfelt
All hauled into the melting furnace of time.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Slow Death
In the clock tick routine day, there comes at times a moment that forces you to think, to ask, to search, to belong. The once blissful solitude suddenly screams with the pain of lonliness and makes you wonder did you always make only the wrong choices. You try to serach the super confident optimism that once echoed, life is what you make it. You dial a number and probably never get through and if you do you never reach to the person you once knew. You open a book your all time best buddy and somehow each word seems to ask you another question until you are lost in the thoughts that make you wonder who is real, what is surreal. You play your favorite songs and each perhaps makes you feel more incomplete than ever. You plead, you writhe, you beg for release, until you become a slave of your own emotions. And that which was once your strength seems to have ruined you until there is no repaid. Tears don't help, the pain is too sharp, you know there is no healing and no turning back either. You dig deeper, open wounds, let the hurt flow, until you are drenched and your spirit turns blue...acheful.
Then comes the end, you slowly kill, bury, and write your own tombstone, "Here lies a me, who once knew joy, who once loved selflessly, who once danced to the song of life......now I am dead." The ritual done, you are ready to exist and wind yourself up into the next tick of the clock, cold, morbid, waiting to kill again.
-Monica
Then comes the end, you slowly kill, bury, and write your own tombstone, "Here lies a me, who once knew joy, who once loved selflessly, who once danced to the song of life......now I am dead." The ritual done, you are ready to exist and wind yourself up into the next tick of the clock, cold, morbid, waiting to kill again.
-Monica
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Absurdity Spells
Sleepless Slumbers
Wakeful Dreams
Soothing Pains
Acheful Comforts
Uncertain Committment
Lasting Fleeting
Unanswered Questions
Questionable Answers
Clear Shadows
Hazy Brightness
Lost Me
Found in You
My Glimpses of Absurdity
Absurdity Spells...
Wakeful Dreams
Soothing Pains
Acheful Comforts
Uncertain Committment
Lasting Fleeting
Unanswered Questions
Questionable Answers
Clear Shadows
Hazy Brightness
Lost Me
Found in You
My Glimpses of Absurdity
Absurdity Spells...
Friday, June 4, 2010
Book Thread - June 2010
Book: After Dark
Author: Haruki Murakami
My Thoughts - Great read...freshness in style, structure, story....nothing mundane
Set on the background of an hour by hour passing night in the gigantic Tokyo City, this 200-pager is a total delight for the reader. A page turner for its mysterious plot, a sensual treat for the lovely imagery, an innovative approach in its narrative technique, the book makes you take a deep breath, close your eyes and re-run the events on your mind's eye. The story of the in action Mari and in contrast to her asleep sister Ari woven alternately through short chapters and a 'point of view' as a narrator, brings to fore many practices in the dark, whether it is the passionate band rehearsels or thriving of love hotels for making a living and while all these surface story threads keep you focused, alert, and wondering what happens next? , running on the backburner yet of foremost importance is the life story of the central character Takahashi and the sisters Mari and Eri, who finally break the wall of disparate life and unite in the bond of sisterly love.
Point of high for me is the superb choice of words Murakami makes.
Some fav lines:
'Then as if inserting an emotional punctuation mark, she heaves a great sigh!'
'That people's memories are maybe the fuel they burn to stay alive. Whether those memories have any actual importance or not, it doesn't matter as far as the maintenance of life is concerned. They're all just fuel. Advertising fillers in the newspaper, philosophy books, dirty pictures in a magazine, a bundle of ten-thousand-yen bills: when you feed'em to the fire, they're all just paper. The fire isn't thinking, 'Oh, this is Kant,' or 'Oh, this is the Yomiuri evening edition,' or 'Nice tits,' while it burns. To the fire they are nothing but scraps of paper. It's the exact same thing. Important memories, not-so-important memories, totally useless memories: there's no distinction-they're all just fuel"
-Monica
Author: Haruki Murakami
My Thoughts - Great read...freshness in style, structure, story....nothing mundane
Set on the background of an hour by hour passing night in the gigantic Tokyo City, this 200-pager is a total delight for the reader. A page turner for its mysterious plot, a sensual treat for the lovely imagery, an innovative approach in its narrative technique, the book makes you take a deep breath, close your eyes and re-run the events on your mind's eye. The story of the in action Mari and in contrast to her asleep sister Ari woven alternately through short chapters and a 'point of view' as a narrator, brings to fore many practices in the dark, whether it is the passionate band rehearsels or thriving of love hotels for making a living and while all these surface story threads keep you focused, alert, and wondering what happens next? , running on the backburner yet of foremost importance is the life story of the central character Takahashi and the sisters Mari and Eri, who finally break the wall of disparate life and unite in the bond of sisterly love.
Point of high for me is the superb choice of words Murakami makes.
Some fav lines:
'Then as if inserting an emotional punctuation mark, she heaves a great sigh!'
'That people's memories are maybe the fuel they burn to stay alive. Whether those memories have any actual importance or not, it doesn't matter as far as the maintenance of life is concerned. They're all just fuel. Advertising fillers in the newspaper, philosophy books, dirty pictures in a magazine, a bundle of ten-thousand-yen bills: when you feed'em to the fire, they're all just paper. The fire isn't thinking, 'Oh, this is Kant,' or 'Oh, this is the Yomiuri evening edition,' or 'Nice tits,' while it burns. To the fire they are nothing but scraps of paper. It's the exact same thing. Important memories, not-so-important memories, totally useless memories: there's no distinction-they're all just fuel"
-Monica
Shadow Play
Setting rays cast the magic spell and make the shadows dance
Up and down in a sprightly jig the shadows move in a trance
Little does their innocence know these moments are last and few
For with the dipping of the sun their happiness shall die too
And tomorrow when it shines up with the halo of its bright fame
Crazy shadows will be trapped to play anew the sun's pleasure game
-Monica
Up and down in a sprightly jig the shadows move in a trance
Little does their innocence know these moments are last and few
For with the dipping of the sun their happiness shall die too
And tomorrow when it shines up with the halo of its bright fame
Crazy shadows will be trapped to play anew the sun's pleasure game
-Monica
Friday, May 28, 2010
The Dead Day
The faint echo of the doorbell, the sharp trill of the alarm clock, the sunrays struggling against the window panes, the distant humdrum sounds……all signs of another day….no not the new refreshing dawn break, neither the bright hopeful beginning, just another routine run of the mill day….
I struggle to keep up to its expectation, I give in to the temptation of recreating the magic of the night and close my eyes…..I try to feel, to sense, to warm up to the beauty that last night held….I strain to hear the echoes of the sweet promising words, I crave to cuddle into the tenderness of belonging, I try to breathe the fragrance of togetherness…..but the spell seems to be broken. Instead of the colors my eyes search for, I sense a void….a snigger at my foolish dreams and a hollow laughter at my desperation.
My well tuned mechanical body clock ticks its fake chime of rise and shine……rise and shine I ask myself? Yes it’s time to say good morning to reality……to a dead morning that wakes on the funeral ashes of half weaved, impermanent, colorful dreams. I get up.
I struggle to keep up to its expectation, I give in to the temptation of recreating the magic of the night and close my eyes…..I try to feel, to sense, to warm up to the beauty that last night held….I strain to hear the echoes of the sweet promising words, I crave to cuddle into the tenderness of belonging, I try to breathe the fragrance of togetherness…..but the spell seems to be broken. Instead of the colors my eyes search for, I sense a void….a snigger at my foolish dreams and a hollow laughter at my desperation.
My well tuned mechanical body clock ticks its fake chime of rise and shine……rise and shine I ask myself? Yes it’s time to say good morning to reality……to a dead morning that wakes on the funeral ashes of half weaved, impermanent, colorful dreams. I get up.
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