Meaning

“Define meaning…” 

 quoth the philosopher.

“Someone

 who puts on a new garb

 and

 elopes with every reader!”

 Quipped the poet.

Grey

“Human action, 

can never be completely 

conscious and rational!”

declared the philosopher.

“How can that be?”

questioned the confused scientist ,

“You mean,

 when it’s achromatic or colourless

 and therefore meaningless?”

“It’s a place…” intervened I,

 with all my poetic license,

“where black bleeds into white,

  white into black

  and

  includes everything in between!“

Paradox

 “I’m desperate,

 to put ink on paper,” I said,

“but feel uninspired...“

“Desperate to write and uninspired…hmm…” he remarked,

“How can that be? They don’t seem to go hand in hand…”

“Why not?” said I,

“Grey is a colour too!”

The Vote

Today,  I tiptoed

through the land of

those awaiting death,

and found on my path,

a bag full of pink papers

and a compass.

 

Papers with symbols.

Papers which decided the future

of democracy,

lay abandoned,

on the path which led to the land

of those awaiting death.

 

I hung the bag on my shoulder,

heavy with responsibility,

(What if I met its owner on my path?)

and walked

in pursuit

of those who awaited death.

 

North

I met

shrunken Sybils,

immobile, staring sightless

into the distance,

and old  men who listened futilely

to songs of silence.

There were others

who lay twisted in bed,

waiting to be disentangled in death,

and not to forget,

the ones who sleepwalked

in circles of forgetfulness

in  broad  daylight.

 

I explained to them

my purpose,

and received in return,

tight-lipped glares and scornful laughter,

as if, the country didn’t matter to them,

as if, they had forgotten who they were, and where they were.

 

Forgetfulness is dangerous I thought,

and noted it down in my memory…

 

 

East

I reached a land

pregnant with water;

so I removed my shoes

and waded towards a house

fenced by the river.

 

The old man there was seated on the veranda,

as if he had expected my arrival.

I explained my purpose,

and for a while he remained silent,

then spilled the litany of

unfulfilled promises.

 

Promises to lift them

from this soaking land,

assured every five years, he said,

to him and the people around.

He fell silent again,

and then asked me who I was?

 

Baffled, I reiterated to myself,

forgetfulness is dangerous,

a sign that you are awaiting death,

and noted it down in my memory.

 

 

South

Here the old had

defined leanings,

to the right,

or the left,

or the middle path.

 

Excited and loyal,

they snatched

the pink paper from my hand,

and after a second or two

confessed,

that they had forgotten the symbols!

 

Forgetfulness is dangerous I thought,

it is the sign of death approaching,

and noted it down in my memory…

 

 

West

I knocked on doors

which no one answered.

Maybe the old there were dispatched

to their next son’s home,

or a hospital

to wait their turn.

 

There were those withal,  

who were safely locked in,

by children or grandchildren,

lest they be snatched by death,

the ones who stared at me through grilled windows,

smiling as if I was death himself!

 

At last I met an old grandmother

in her nineties,

who  asked me  if I knew her?

I said “yes,”

smiling, embarrassed,

half- flushed,

 by my own lie.

 

Hearing my reply,

she said she was willing to do her part

for  democracy.

As I left she asked me,

once again, if I knew her,

and I simply smiled.

 

Forgetfulness is dangerous I thought,

a sure trail that one has to tread to meet death,

and noted it down in my memory…

 

 

Leaning to one side,

maintaining  the balance,

I walked ahead,

carrying the bag on my shoulder,

with a hope of reaching the point I started,

or at least seeing the person in charge of the leaden luggage.

 

The compass suddenly stopped,

and I realized, I had forgotten

the track to where I began.

I dropped the bag bewildered…

 

Lonesome in Love

He barged in one day,
a complete stranger,
uninvited
trying to convince me of his tales of affection.

I appeared busy,
too occupied,
and spoke in evident silences
and a countenance
that proclaimed that he was de trop.

But he begged
and he borrowed
a few precious minutes
and assured me
how necessary it is to stay.

“It is not right to be lonesome” he said,
as if he had sensed
the empty shelves rearranging itself within me.
Incensed, I shot back
"You have no inkling"
loaded with sarcasm and brave irony,
“Of how much I’m in love!”

He paused and then added

“I better leave then...
cause I’m afraid I will feel rather
lonesome in love
if I stay.”

I stood there watching him
melt in the distance...

“Lonesome in Love!”
I sighed,
“Lonesome and in love...”
and washed down the paradox
with a gulp of 
red vintage wine...
A tear rolled down
and the immensity of the emptiness
fell in place.

The Bait

I waited 

for the bait

patiently,

at the bottom-most bowels of nothingness

where days drag by sluggishly,

days laden with frozen hours,

hours dripping with laboured minutes,

minutes with plodding seconds...

Lure me with 

a restive thought,

an unfinished tune,

or even a piece of shattered pain 

fading away from memory,

release me

from this deadening numbness...

Catapult me

from these desolate depths

like a stone,

that i may feel

the smothering air,

and scatter across the skies

a handful of broken stars...

Alice in Realityland #9 (Part II)

 

Blood drained from their faces. Anto flashed the torch in the direction, but couldn’t find anyone.  Shivering, they looked into the jewellery box once again. But before they felt the excitement once again, Alice felt a tap on her shoulder. A deep voice reverberated in the empty room. It asked in a very serious tone “What is that you both have with you?” This time the light of Anto’s torch caught the face of the speaker and he collapsed. Alice was rooted to the spot in fear. It was a tall lean man, with long stubbled face, dishevelled hair and shabby clothes. “I… I hope he is ok… I’ll… I’ll get some water and candles. Don’t… Do not leave.” Alice felt a tinge of nervousness in the seemingly stern voice. Shuddering, she nodded in assent.

The feel of the cold water on his face brought Anto back to consciousness. He saw Alice and tried smiling. But as soon as he saw the stranger he let out a scream. Luckily, Alice covered his mouth so that only a muffled noise escaped, not loud enough to draw the attention of the gatekeeper.

“Anto… This is Clint. He lives here,” informed Alice.

Clint gave a faint smile but was diffident to meet his eyes. He appeared nervous and his hands shivered slightly. After an awkwardly long pause he added “Why don’t you both… both come to my room… where you can sit for a while?”

Anto was very hesitant but Alice convinced him to stay. She was curious to know more about Clint. “Why is Clint living alone here and since he is living here... why does the house look uninhabited? Doesn’t the gatekeeper know about his existence? Is he a criminal??”A hundred other questions were swirling through her mind and she felt a bit dizzy. However, they entered his room which was at the other end of the house. A servant’s quarters next to the kitchen, the room was smaller and clean unlike the rest of the house. He gestured them to sit on the bed but was hesitant to meet their gaze. Apart from the single cot there was a chair and a table with a candelabrum with three holders in a corner. On the other corner there was a stool on which was kept two plates and a mug. Clint sat on the chair.

After sometime Clint fretfully asked, looking at them for a few seconds and then quickly staring at the floor “Why… Why did you both come here? What… What is that you have in your hands?”

“We came here to find this” replied Anto uneasily, pointing at the jewelry box in Alice’s hands.  “Actually it began with this” added Alice showing the pendant to him. Slowly and anxiously he stepped forward to have a closer look at it.

“Oh …This is familiar. Isn’t …isn’t that my Elisabeth’s locket? The one that her father gave her before his death?”  enquired Clint with a sudden sparkle in his eyes. “She… she had told me all about it. She had described it to me in detail once. But how did you find it?”

Totally confused Alice and Anto gaped at each other.  Anto, then narrated how his Uncle got this locket, a detail even Alice had forgotten to ask. “Actually this locket was brought to my Uncle by the undertaker Thoma. He is in charge of the upkeep of the Dutch Cemetery. He said that he found this there and was willing to give it to my uncle in exchange of some money. My uncle took it immediately realizing its antique value.” He also narrated all the details of their exploration.

After a short silence Alice said, “Clint… from the way you spoke of Elisabeth she seems like a close friend yours. But … but from what we investigated we thought she was someone who lived in Calico in the late eighteenth century… It doesn’t seem to make any sense.”

Although, still shy to even to look at them, Clint replied gazing at the locket in Alice’s hands. “In…in a way you can call Elisabeth my friend. In fact, she is the only one who talks to me these days. Although I cannot see her, I can hear her in my head. She has told me everything about her life, her family, her life in the orphanage, her lover and even her death.”

 Alice and Anto couldn’t hide the mixed expression of surprise and fear on their faces. Clint continued, “Now don’t think I’m mad… As a kid I had this capacity to hear voices in my head. But my parents thought that it was just my imagination. As I grew older the voices became louder and clearer. At first it was fun to listen to what they had to say. But later it became much more than I could bear. I couldn’t sleep. I started to scream out loud during the nights. My cries scared the children in the neighbourhood. My parents were alarmed and the neighbours started complaining. They even shouted at my parents asking them to take me to a mental asylum.” Tears started to roll down the worn face of Clint who seemed young and old at the same time. Alice couldn’t figure out how old he was.

“My…my father, totally upset, brought me here because he did not want the whole world to look at me as if I were a madman. He had been the gatekeeper of this place since I was a kid. He knew that under his watch no one will come here to bother me. This place has been quite creepy from the past, so nobody really ventures to get in. And my cries have added to spookiness of this place. Many people think that there is a ghost.” said Clint with a smile on his face, at last willing to look at them in their eyes.

“So by what you said… you mean you can really hear Elisabeth Wilhelmina?” questioned Anto. “Yes” replied Clint to their amazement. “She is a really good soul. She always keeps telling me that the key to my soul is here. I could never really understand what she meant. She had told me that she had a beautiful pendant gifted to her by her father and that it has been missing for a while. She was asking me to find it for her and with it her father’s favourite secret to which this was the key. She wanted me to find it before anybody did.”

“Since I don’t get out of this place, I haven’t been able to do it for her. I am really grateful to you both for finding it.” Clint began to sob. Alice and Anto felt sorry for him. They excused themselves and discussed something in secret. They then went back to the room and persuaded Clint to go out with them. Clint reluctantly agreed and the three of them got out through a secret gate in the wall which was covered in creepers. It was Clint who told them about it. Clint’s face was pale and anxious as he mounted the carriage of Anto’s bicycle. He remained silent. After riding for five minutes they reached the Dutch Cemetery beside the beach.

The gate as was padlocked. So they climbed across it and started to search for Elisabeth’s grave. It was one on the corner facing the west. Clint was overwhelmed.  Anto took Clint’s hand and kept the pendant in his palm. Alice took the other hand and placed the ring in it. They both nodded their heads at Clint. His eyes welled up as he looked at them dazed. After a while, he dropped the two pieces of jewelry into the grave through a small crack in it. He quivered and then began to weep.

Alice and Anto moved towards the gate allowing Clint to gain his composure. While walking Alice wiped away the tears on her face with the tip of her shirt. She felt like she could almost hear Elisabeth speaking enthusiastically to Clint, happy for bringing the two precious gifts to her finally.

“It’s sad how the world treats Clint, isn’t it Anto? Things would be so different be if people really got to know each other and what they are going through… right?” she commented thoughtfully to Anto. They decided to visit Clint every Saturday without fail. Alice asked Anto to take Clint to the beach. She promised to join them in a moment and hurried away on the bicycle. Soon she returned to the spot where they were seated quietly watching the sea. She handed Clint something wrapped like a gift. It was a  book and a pen. “This is for you to write down everything the voices in your head tell you” said Alice. Clint smiled at her. There was an element of surprise and gratitude in his eyes.  The three of them smiled at each other and it lingered on as they watched the sun set, deep in thought.