Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Swaying stars on the lake

The silent gloom that sits on the water and permeates the water's edge softly re-assures me that nothing really matters. The quiet blinking stars kept on. I look up at the dimensions of millions of stars and think about why petty human concerns loom again and again almost every moment of our lives.
"Something out there stares at you. Its tiny little eyes gleaming and moving on the water's surface.
Darkness is rewarding. So is silence. You are all alone in that black - just the dark pine and mirror waters, also draped in night, for company.
And suddenly all music and clamour is lost in that silent blinking lullaby that the stars sing. All light and tones of the day are gone and you bask in that grey-ness, nothing to expose you - nothing to make you stand out from blending with the trees and mounts. The grace of the night.
The water ripples. Now the water is disturbed. Could there be something out there? It's long tentacles stirring the water and watching you through that minute swaying lights, rippling with the clear inky lake."

Two days of sun and mountain

Something about the mountain air that liberates you.

Something about the blinking and swaying reflection of stars on the lake surface, that tells you nothing really matters.

Laughter lasts all too short. Purple lupinas vanish before i hold them. Purple sunset fades before I see it to my heart's content. I don't know why things that deserve to stay forever pass by too quickly.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

untitled 2

does something that stayed in your heart stay in your heart forever?
do tell me anyone..


I drift down the river mystic with the mist, grey and strong. Somewhere above the shoulder of the clouds rose the great mountains, laden with the sun. The passing waters sigh a song with the oars.
I haven't changed a bit. Nothing had changed a bit. The tea is still hot and the steam still dance from its rim. Here time stood still while I went many ways. But then coming back here I only realise its me who missed it all. The mountains never missed me. The shuddering grasses in the wind kept on, moving to the wind's orchestration.
I am grateful nothing has changed.
A wist of cloud escaping from a rift in the mountains. A cold shivering pine bouncing in the belly of the cloud's passing.


Christchurch should have been the art capital of New Zealand all these times. Thanks however to all artists moving to Auckland oe Wellington, Christchurch is left sucking her own thumb looking on to fonder days of creativity.
My tutors at D&A talks about bringing back the captital to our dear little Christchurch. It better happen fast because otherwise I too will move to Wellington sometime, given a choice, though Christchurch is starting to grow into my skin by now.
Haha, whatever..
People don't have choices. Things just happen.


birds they sing in my dawn.
reminds me there is tomorrow.
a chill in the air yes.
but a tune in the thin mist.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

never again to rest

a bustling meltingpot
of disappointment and
unfulfilled dreams

a single streak
a single soul
stuck in motion

a city, set off
by a spark:
never again to rest.

Friday, December 5, 2008

Of my little big room

I found this random blog that never got posted in my laptop about my old house that i lived in in Chester Street East. Funny.

My room is such a warm haven. It rained a little I think during the whole evening that I stayed in my room and watched 'Saboteur' and The Mummy 3. The first one was terrific. The second watchable. I rather like it more than the first two installments of Mummy.
The kitchen is being occupied by Jonny, the Korean flatmate, with another of his friend, from school as I learnt, making dinner. I heated water to make myself some easy black coffee.
Outside my door sat the speckled fat cat who is always trying to sneak into the room. My landlord tells me he/she is a big nuisance. I make sure that he/she does not follow me inside.
With the steaming hot water in my right hand, I step back into my room, being greeted by warm room air (heated by the room heater) and the song 'Haal kaisa hai janaab ka, kya khayal he aapka?...' that I left playing on my laptop before I went out.
Such a warm four wall binding my little world.
Sometimes I feel like Rusty from 'Room on the Roof' written by Ruskin Bond, whose first adventure out of home concerned a little room on a roof with crackpots and wierdos as neighbours. I myself am surrounded by wierd people, for instance, Johnny, the Korean guy who was after my laptop for one whole week because he wanted to watch Dragonballz that I had, for some reason, in my laptop. I don't like DBZ btw. Then there's Raj, the impulsive fellow, always ready to try something new. Who runs the mess department as much as he and i are concerned. Then there's a Japanese girl, whose name just left my memory, who was introduced to me searching for her black socks that she must have dropped while she took out her laundry, and looking devastated as though she had lost her wedding ring. Then there's Richard, offering Raj and me to come with him to the Fijis (his home) with him for a holiday, who listens to DMX and Creed simultaneously with all earnestness. Then there's Tsugumi another Japanese girl. One night, Raj and I asked her if we could try out the internet from her room since the one in my room wasn;t working. She said, "But not now... I have a customer.." Customer? At night? and the 'customer' we found out was a guy.. WHAT?! Raj looked at me with a wierd look. (What is she? A... ahem) Then later we found out she cuts hair. And the 'customer' guy went into the bathroom and washed his hair. (Oh! thought I) Then there;s another guy named Jason (or something) who is supposed to be a tough guy. You might not want to mess with him. Then last but not the least, theres Phoebe, my next door. She's not normally home, but wheh she is, she makes her presence felt. The first time I came, she said, "I am not a very noisy person." But who even asked her? That meant she is noisy. She even knew it herself.
My room is not on a roof, the roof that Rusty watched the coming of monsoon in all its fury.
But that I feel like Rusty, could it mean that I become a good writer too? Haha, maybe. Thats my only dream, to escape to a world I love and live unbothered by sophistication and write about it.
And another thing, Kiwi hates pine trees. I love that fact. Because I love pine trees.

Haha. I was such a racist then. I have changed, please note.