<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d10674855\x26blogName\x3dPhilosophers+Longueur+a+rara+avis\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLUE\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://sameergk.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://sameergk.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d314732955942430681', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

Sunday, December 31, 2006

Auld Lang Syne

The year, whose hopes were high and strong,
Has now no hopes to wake;
Yet one hour more of jest and song
For his familiar sake.

Even while we sing, he smiles his last,
And leaves our sphere behind.
The good old year is with the past;
Oh be the new as kind!
--William Bryant

Every night signs in with a promise for a new day, and every new day brings with it the myriads of knowns and unknowns, the times of ebb and flow, the piebald period of ups and downs, the multitudes of odds and ends, with each supplementing the life with variegated measures of ado and mirth. Living in the multitudes of such multicolored bits and pieces we try to apprehend the meaning of life.

All set in ordain, as imposed from on high
the ravenous time's fleeting, swift and fast
One more night and the new year is nigh
and soon one more year to inter in the past

On the eve of 31-DEC-2006, over again the whole world is at its feet, packed with celebrations, but I the ignoramus, know not what for is this commemoration? Is it an exaugural tribute for the blooming night, that is set to mark anew an evanescent year, or is it the inaugural felicitation for the fading night, that is to cast upon the enascent year.

Each day per se is a suigeneris. Abiding by the stark rules of nature, dancing to the tunes of Time, the Sun the Earth and the Moon march on. With the ebbs of the sunlight, dawn yeilds to the dusk, acounting such dawn and dusk the days end, agglomerating the count of such days the weeks roll out, and the weeks aging to the months, the months to the years, and upon the stage of Time, each in due course bid their last adieu and bow out.

With no different awe or marvel, once more the day shall step in, and yet again there shall be the same diurnals, the Aves shall welcome the new day with their mellisonant yodels, the flowers and the green shall glitter with the bedecked pearls of dew, the plumed pearls shall fume out with the encroaching irradiations of Helios. Neither the birds, the green, the dew, the sun nor the day apprehend the change the mankind has cherished and merried in the dark hours.

One year's enascent, while the others evanescent, I think one person can hardly understand why the life is conducted in such a way, how one came to commit certain actions and not others, whether one looks upon the past with mostly content or regret or equanimity, yet all stand fait accompli and such is the life's lesson. Yes, the year will roll on, but where do we endeavor to go from hither?

Friday, November 17, 2006

Remeant Souvenires Labyrinth

Voices arise and stem, some lipped, heard and acknowledged, some heard but overlooked, some unheard, and some undelivered or repressed within; few such voices over the ages enfeeble, recede and snuff out, and a few others reminisced and retrospected. Those lipped and heard are sweet, but those tacit's, sweeter...

From the aging arid areas, out of the clear blue sky few such voices reprise; reprise, relish and rage, and in the rummage of such voices, to remeant such intonations, to rejuvenate the senescent songs, searching once more for somethings, things that are far from the eyes, yet breathing within, yes the heart says its those souvenires again, souvenires again, and me to my heart not again.

To reman such revenant voices, I plan to write, to indite the same old story, the yarns of yore, the frail facts and facades of the former, the indomitable dreams of the departed, the unyeilding relentless moments, the inscrutable thoughts, the intangible feelings, and for all those moth-eaten mementos, deploring the self, while exploring the endless world and imploring the providence of its quiescence.

Ranting -Against- My -Yearns- Anew.....

With the heedless heart and meandering mind
incog, yet, more renowned as a rambling rye
for once, blessed with the serendipity to find
thine, the paradisical godsend; caught my eye

Thou spake, and broke the silence, n reticence for aye
Thou heard, not an otic act, but by thine heart and eye
listening to the fullness of quiet melodious chime
weren't we blessed with the flawless idyllic time?

For the frail flowers in the parching sun
were thy redolent heart the pastoral isle
for the faithful friar in the endless run
were thy angelic arms the final tabernacle

Far-off from all the satyrs, the true loves' heaven
Thine were the eyes, that became my new haven,
and the two blessed hearts singing rhyme to rhyme
a song; less personified as the rhapsodic venus hymn

Times renewed, and so did the visions
leading in the paths that assured wonder!
In our own devoir, we paced and horizons
widened, widended to thrust us asunder

Here again I speak, but none to hear
yet again I eye, where art thou dear?
Nothing to sing now, not even the monody,
besides, no one to concord, where are thee?

The world's tumbled to silence; me
a ravine stranger to my own name
searching for life, searching for thee
searching blind in the purblind game

Affected with the disgrace of an unknown fiend
in the ebbs edge, to find myself in a double bind
bereft is the redolent love in the scorched realm
searching for thy arms, that hath the endless calm

Digressing in the paths of ceaseless strife
Forlorn now, missing you to life;
cursing and confuting the lifeblood's rife
yet, living with twists of the knife

Every minute scruples and the memories dismay
aging in your thoughts, passeth one more day
lost to this world and lost to the self, hither I lay
counting the days, counting on the doom to defray.

Monday, September 18, 2006

Twilights of Truth from the far Edges

Habits good or bad, really die hard. Its arduous to ged rid of them, one such peruse skirrs along with me. The more i try to get off with it, the more it persues me. And yet again the pervicacious self was defeated. It gives the conviction that over the ages i have grown more a poltroon, bereft of my own spirits to withhold me from my own habits.

Thoughts and feelings arise with or without our will, the thoughts that transgress the words, the feelings that fail to get construed, and for all these now, expostulating the self with the thoughts and the thoughts with the self, for the self dissuasion and remonstrance.

How vain is it to think that words can penetrate the mystery of our being! Rightly used they may make evident our ignorance to ourselves, and this is much. For what are we? Whence do we come? and whither do we go? Is birth the commencement, is death the conclusion of our being? What is birth and death? Thats not all, there are many many more to torment the truth, to question and refute the truth that we perceive.

We are born, and our birth is unremembered, our infancy remembered but in fragments; we live on, and the life strides from the unremebered birth to the senile senectitude, and how often spurring the inessential, indecorous itch and propensity, taking the misty inchoate paths we live on and in living we lose the apprehension of life.

Amidst the sea of life, as the wind ruffles against the laving water and the water laves against the ruffling wind, desires are warring against the wishes and the wishes withstanding the dissentient desires. All aloof, sailing in the canoe of hopes, rowing with the paddles of wishes, bent upon the paradoxical and profound paths searching for the distant destiny, heart seems to have occluded by its own will. On the contrary mind is making the plots to rule the heart and conquer the desires, while the heart struck by these vicious contemplates, still finding itslef dazed in the world of desires, the desries that battle against the earnset wishes. It is the battle of self against the truth, the battle of the naivete and defiance against the inner self, and while i live, the battle continues and continues all the while.

To juxtapose me with the day, neither do i remember the first day that entered my life, nor do i know when the last day would be, but each day that offers me a day to live in definitely knows that its the first and as well the last to enter in my life. I would like to live, live every day with the stoutheartedness as if it were to be my first day, live with the grit as if it were to be my last, but i scruple, for i fail to feign to have lived the way i wish to. Lost in the amaranthine search of one such alpha day, perhaps it is the day i can find no more, no more to live in and any more to die too...

Thursday, May 04, 2006

One Life

One life to live and one death to end it. But there are hundreds of ways, thousands of dreams, millions of desires, countless thoughts, all these and all these just witihin one life, and somewhere on the unknown path stands a quietous blow, though only one, yet enough to demise them all. Despite, all along, all the while, the life brings with it a lots of twists and turns, few meandered with mirth, few convoluted with convulsions and few anfractuous with ado.

Silence and peace are desirous. Often the silence signs in, but at times with colossus of commotions, pheonix of pains, amples of ado, and such a silence is far from being desirous, not even worth a wish, still it does creep in.

How often is this true that "The hands that bear, know the weight". Look at this, the one who is dead rests in peace, but the ones left behind know what the pain is, they are the ones to bear it. Does the dead know what that pain is? Bearing the death alone doesnt end the story, the consequences are invariable more callous, harrowing and dire than the death.

Yes, its true as someone said,
Zindagi to bewaafa hai ek din thukarayegi,
Maut mehbooba hai apni saath lekar jayegi...

But to hark back at the life again,

It is not growing like a tree
in bulk doth make man better be;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere,
A lily of a day
is fairer in May
Although it fall and die that night,
It was the plant of flower and light,
In small proportions we just beauties see;
And in short measures, life may perfect be.
--Benjamin Johnson

One such lily was our dear friend, who now rests in peace, but long lasting are the impressions that shall along rue in us, and rule the hearts of all the kiths and kins that our friend deserted. Though the life span was short, the life was defintely sweet and beautiful enough to cherish and blossom the smiles of the companions, kindle the vigor in all the confreres, who got the chance to sail along with that lily.

The bottom line of this experience exemplifies that, No man has lived for ever and no man shall live forever, but the truth is all of them lived and will live, albeit the era, the mode, the mien, the merit, make and the magnitude vary. Neither the birth nor the death are willfull, but definitely the life, may not be in terms of amplitude but surely with its arete. Life may be ephemeral but the imprints of its aretes are eternal. That life is worth, which enlightens and kindles the light and spirit of life in atleast one life, before getting doused.

Monday, March 06, 2006

Kindle Act Vie - Its Time to Ascend

I was going through a quondam footnote that limned the connotation of the word SUCCESS, which one of my friends had left for me few years erstwhile. The very note construed a new definition to the word SUCCESS. The note goes like this:

Select carefully your aim
Unmask your inner power
Concentrate on pace and way
Completely involve yourself in it
Entirely work towards it
See your dreams turn in to reality
Start acting at this moment

In allegiance to this new definition of SUCCESS are the few lines presented hereinafter in the form of a cadential verse or the runic prose.

Kith - Any good in repenting for the past
can there be a thing that shall ever last
why to sob for those, that are so far lost
when there’s life, still promising the most

descry the oceans of vigor that within you lie
Amigo - keep up the spirit, and never say die
assay and deem; carefully choose thy way
for the world is reckoning on you to repay

peruse and reify, its no time to hark back
steadfast and hold upon the fruitful track
Victor - cherish thy dreams, let them guide
pursue and deify, thy visions in the life's stride

In close the desires, by knowing your needs
cease the trepidity by the knowledge of truth
widen your limits by dispelling all that’s myth
apotheosize the life through thy effulgent deeds

Time and tide, as ever shall wait for none
haste and skim upon all that’s undone
know thy weakness and know thy power
quell the glower; let effervescence flower

Amen, all the failures have invariably blessed thee
with experiences of multitude in the interims of wee
if there's ado and kerfuffle; they shouldst cease to be
soon there shall be success that shall close in with glee

Kindle; Life is a finicky and intransigent
Act now, rather being sullen and fainéant
Vie - Thy life is an open ended game
Illumine and make it an open sesame