To the girl from the clouds

This is dedicated to the girl I will marry. Borrowed from John Keats of course, but for you darling,

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its lovliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkn'd ways Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make 'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead; An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink. John Keats

The Interval

I've been drifting. Paused and lost. But the interval is over. I'll be back. Soon.

In, the meantime,

Departure

I wonder why. Why are the aisles on the way out always grey? From where I'm standing now, at the departure terminal of this giant airport, all I have left to do is to think. Why are the aisles grey? Why are these colours depressing.

Two months in this desert town where I was born, is a long time, when there is nothing to do. Of course, Sharjah isn't a desert town anymore. It has grown like I have. Its way different from 24 years ago. Yet, its still a town on the edge of the Arabian desert facing the sea. And I was born here.

Yet, I don't feel at home. This land is too fast and uncaring. No one has the time to stop and watch. What adds to the scene is the merciless sun shining from an azure sky. The clouds are missing. Merciless. That is the word. There is nothing that is really new, nothing fantastic. But it reminds me of Robinson Crusoe. You see, there are some things that time cannot heal. Somethings always change. Because we have gone ahead. And these things, these memories of not so long ago, remain not as part of our lives anymore, but as pictures from our past.

And why am I saying this as I wait to board my flight that will take me back to India. Green India. Is India my home? It feels like at the mooment but I'm not sure about that too. All I know is that I go to this different place. Worlds away. To seek my fate. Or rather, to make it.

And yet, what is this small little thing left, this last miniscule, incomprehensible,featureless thought in my mind? Like a tug at the strings of my heart...

'The colour grey is truly black.

It dampens my spirit,

Yet it stirs my memories.

I think of a home,

That I've left behind.

As I leave these soils,

I think -

Of parents who love me

And siblings and care for,

But I want to go, I have to.

There's no pasture too green,

No pool too fresh,

No invite too alluring,

I must go and depart,

Because I'm a nomad.

In God's hand twirl,

The sands of time.

Through the looking glass,

He sees me.

I'm not lost, but where am I?

And so I trek,

Because I'm sure.

My feet will find its rest,

I don't care where.

Still,

A tug at my heart,

I turn one las time.

This feels like the last time.

Never will I return.

Very well,

Goodbye.'

Farewell everyone, see you from the other side of the Arabian Sea.

Raging Fury

What is the biggest turn - off in living history? I can't say for sure but I think it could be when two people refuse to understand each other. Somwhere I heard that if you compromise and accept defeat, you might lose in front of men but will win in front of the Creator.

Funny, but does God exist? I believe. But what proof do I have. None, indeed. I hope. Because while hope is the source of my greatest weakness it is also the source of my greatest strength. I picked that line up from the Matrix Reloaded. Those movies had pretty quotable lines.

But right now, I'm furious because I've been misunderstood,

' Anger-

Five letters that brood,

Boiling my blood,

The red aroma is dangerous,

For it is rage.

There are things

that I would want to rip,

would want to break,

would want to tear,

but would I kill?

Let there be no mistake.

My fury is not spent,

It brims and churns.

The malicious intent,

seethes still, it lurks beneath.

Beware.

The day,

will come.'

See you.

Genesis

It was suggested that I start this. And so, this is an impulse of mine - on a suggestion. But what grows out of that suggestion - an empty husk or, a fitting addition to the lexicon of literature - that remains for time and public to say and see. Let me start with saying who I am,

' 'This is my cage,
my destiny written,
I was born a bird,
Not a beast of labour,
But here in my confines,
With the world in sight and no where to go,
I'm but nothing.
Only, a dead bird.'

Hi, I'm Joel. See you around.