Friday, 27 December 2013

Memoirs

'Life is but a collection of memories, grouped effectively before death.'

A silly child, who mocked and rejected
the meaningless musings of a world
that ebbed into enduring autumns and
dark winters, came to sit beside me.
With his hands ridden in mud, but without
the roughness that life would grant it
with, he asks me to cherish the purity
of his words and the radiance of his smile.

Replacing the child is a lad whose shine
continue to whisper what the child shouted,
He hid emotions somewhere inside his eyes
which seemed to deepen into an oblivion,
Where fragile thoughts were shattered
by awkward words. With a pace that guides
his motives, he wastes no time to point
my senses onto his frank smiles and a
relentless heart.

A person who looks more like me could
be seen, experience (rather torments) of
living has smothered his eyes and haunted
his mind. His hands seem weary, legs tired
and through the long walk, his head stuffed
up by useless ideas, inflates like a balloon.
A prick made by memories finds him
bursting and swaying meaninglessly.

I see my own reflection beside,
I see him write the words with earnestness
and desire, though his legs grew stiff
and immobile, his pen masters all unfathomable
heights. He counts the faces he sees,
He asks them of their well being,
He forgets all goodbyes and struggle
onward for the rest of his life.

 I see a future (distant but sure), maybe
upon the corners of my side, where I remove
my temporary hide, and make a perpetual ride,
I see myself galloping forward in time, and
taking siestas with infinities wrapped up in
each passing moment, perhaps then I shall
write again, not for the world to see but
for me to remember!

Notes
Inspired by the Malayalam poem 'Anyan' written by sir O.N.V.Kurup, this was written at Ernakulam (where I spent the better parts of my childhood) on 26/12/2013.

12 comments:

  1. I love how you show the stages of life here. And it's so true, we write so we can look back and remember.

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  2. Indeed so true, we all write to hold onto our memories so that one day we can look back and see how beautiful life is. Beautiful write Anand! :)

    Best wishes
    Ankita

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  3. i love the last stanza.....and this perpetual ride........

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  4. Have a prosperous and lovely new year!!

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  5. I enjoyed the way you wrote the journey through life from childhood through adulthood and into the future. I also liked very much the last stanza. I do think part of the joy / purpose of writing is for remembering later. The written word that is meaningful today will be even more so in the future when one looks back at one's life.

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  6. I enjoyed your thought-provoking reflection on your past as well as on your future and how you ponder on the desire to express yourself through written words. Very powerful imagery too, Anand!

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  7. Lovely poem, so hopeful. Writing is a great way to be remembered. Happy New Year to you :)

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  8. I love the "siestas with infinities wrapped up"....and especially love the idea of writing not for the world to see, but for you to remember. There is a book in you, my friend. And I will be first in line to read it when you write it.

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  9. a good tour through the stages of life ~

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  10. his pen masters all unfathomable
    heights
    may you too.... happy new year

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  11. The third verse was my favorite, especially this part:

    "...his head stuffed
    up by useless ideas, inflates like a balloon.
    A prick made by memories finds him
    bursting and swaying meaninglessly"

    I can relate, surely.

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  12. Wouldn't it be great to keep that silly child attitude throughout life - getting our hands dirty in the mud and the radiance of a child's innocent smile?

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