Someone is asking the same questions...

I feel so vindicated that at least one powerful voice asked the very same question I was pondering over yesterday. This person is the former prime minister of Pakistan, Mr. Nawaz Sharif who has said that Mr. Zardari is indeed lying straight off his face when he says that Qasab doesn't belong to Pakistan. In fact, he has slammed the Zardari goverment for cordoning off the entire village of Faridkot and not allowing International Media access to members of Qasab's family.

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Kasab_belongs_to_Pakistan_says_Sharif_also_slams_Zardari/articleshow/3861829.cms

I used to wonder if India was the worst mockery of the institution of democracy under the sun. After observing the pathetic state of lawlessness and corruption Pakistan is in, I have to admit that in comparison India seems almost utopic. But having said that I will also admit that if we don't watch out and elect people of higher moral and intellectual quality than the Deshmukhs and Mayawatis of our land, we are definitely going to end up like Pakistan with criminals at the helm of our nation, reducing the very concept of a civil state to a joke.

Who is lying - Zardari or the Indian Media?

For the past few weeks, Indian media has reported that Indian agencies are saying there is undeniable proof that the masterminds of the 26/11 terror attack have links to Pakistan. Yet one man, the President of Pakistan, Mr Asif Ali Zardari has been consistently denying these allegations. In fact, today there's an article on the NDTV website which says Mr. Zardari even denies that there is any evidence that Qasab, the lone terrorist captured alive from the Shivaji Terminus attack site, has anything to do with Pakistan. This after media reports on how Qasab's parents have been identified and the the whole family resides in Faridkot in the Punjab province of Pakistan. Well, they resided there till they mysteriously (and so predictably, what can you expect?) disappeared on December 3rd, 2008 presumably moved to a safe-house by the Pakistani government or worse, are now being held captive by some terrorist outfit. I say this in the naive belief that the two are separate entities. I just hope and pray that they are still alive and safe.

Well, the question foremost on my mind is who is lying? The media is not made of one or a handful of people. Its a much bigger network of journalists, reporters and other people. Could they all be lying? I am wary of nationalistic media propaganda that in the fashion of post 9/11 reports, drums up mass hysteria to lend support to a government that launches an unjustified military attack on another country. I also beleive that the Indian media, from time to time, does display such jingoistic tendencies but now that it has become pretty clear that public consensus in India is clearly against waging a war against Pakistan, what purpose would such propaganda or jingoism serve?

And why should we doubt the veracity of all these news reports when the man who denies them all, Mr Zardari, has been accused of money laundering by the Swiss, British and US goverments and no court has so far been able to give him a clean chit? Not only this, Mr Zardari also allegedly lied about his educational background saying he obtained a B.Ed degree from the London School of Economics and Business which cannot be corroborated. And for the records, I didn't make this story up nor did any member of the Indian media. This report comes from the media establishment in Pakistan.

http://www.dailytimes.com.pk/default.asp?page=2008\03\12\story_12-3-2008_pg7_17

Ode to a sonogram

Flutter, pulse, shake and tremble,
sound waves give a tiny body
to primeval yearning.
On a hazy, lazy, bright screen,
in a dark room somewhere,
New life just filled two other lives
with the gut wrenching power of miracles.

What are political boundaries good for?

1. Creating arbitrary divides and animosity between people who often share the same socio-cultural background and should in fact, be getting along quite well with each other otherwise. Political and media propaganda widens the divide by encouraging mistrust between neighbors and in extreme cases such as India and Pakistan, it creates hatred which benefits no one. If religion is cited as the biggest difference, again as in the case of India and Pakistan, it results in cross border terrorism.

2. Shifting focus from what people across borders have in common to what their differences are. The first thing that's sacrificed is thread of common humanity that binds all people on earth.

3. Allowing one country to nurture terrorists and hatch elaborate plots to create political and social instability in a sub continent while other countries have no powers to stop or prevent this from happening. Also, when the terrorists cross over borders and kill innocent people in cold blood in a neighboring country allegedly with the help of their home country's Intelligence Agency, adequate political and economic pressure cannot be brought on the guilty parties to arrest the culprits.

4. Wasting a lot of precious time sharing niceties and in maintaining diplomatic protocol in the hope that it will pacify voters on both sides of the border while in reality, it just makes people angrier and angrier by the day.

5. Wasting tax payers' money to guard borders which are porous and in case of maritime borders, practically impossible to guard anyway.

6. Creating a false sense of security.

7. Preventing right thinking people from working on what really matters: education, health, economic development and poverty allievation. Governments are known to divert attention to other issues when they want to shun resposibility for doing what they should be doing for their people.

8. Creating a false sense of pride and ownership as well as guilt and denial. When attacks like 9/11 and Mumbai 26/11 happen its time for all human beings to hang their heads in shame.

HOW CAN WE STAND BEHIND GEO-POLITICAL BOUNDARIES AND POINT FINGERS HERE AND THERE and not ask how could each one of us have contributed to creating such Frankensteins that wreck havoc on Humanity itself? When terrorists have minimal regard for geoplitical boundaries, why should we, the Sane, not start thinking beyond them as well and see how we can fix things?

Passing the buck around the world..

I was just watching an NDTV 24x7 live discussion on Mumbai 26/11 and was seriously disappointed by what Professor Stephen Cohen of the Brookings Institute had to say. When asked by Barkha Dutt, what concrete measures could be taken to diffuse the mounting tension between Pakistan and India over the alleged ISI involvement in the terrorist attacks in Mumbai, Prof. Cohen said that he thought that an International commission should be created to collect evidence and implicate the resposible parties and that this commision and not the goverment of India should press for corrective action. He further said that the US should not be the only country involved. Western European countries should also play an important role in this process. Needless to say I was extremely disappointed by this opinion of his. Instead of taking the shortest route by identifying specific actors and ennumerating specific actions so that someone is made accountable for bringing those responsible for this horrible act of terrorism to justice at the earliest, Prof. Cohen beleives in complicating the process and passing the buck all around the world so that no one is ever accountable for anything. In short, his long winded , round about solution would serve no purpose rather than ensuring that no action is ever taken.

Why are people in power and intellectuals both so squeamish about calling a spade and spade? Why are they so reluctant to act? Surely if 183 innocent people were killed and 10 or 15 men were trained to do the killing, someone somewhere was responsible for sponsoring them? Why is it so difficult to apprehend them? Why is that if one man kills another man in cold blood on this planet, he faces the death sentence but when one man, with the help of others kills 20, an International commission is needed to play for time so that the guilty parties can go scot free?

Influence or nurture?

A freind posed an interesting question to me. If you could choose the people you have in your life, would you have those who influence you in positive ways or those who nurture you? I choose the latter. Somehow influence has a air of the holier-than-thou, I-know-whats-good-for-you that I abhor in people. We often run into people who pontificate on how we should live our lives without really investing time and effort into trying to understand us up close. These people operate from the Ego. Influencing others gives them a sense of power and superiority. That's why I prefer the nurturing kind. It speaks of humility and compassion. It speaks of active engagement, interest, affection and genuine concern. Well, we never get to choose in life. Or do we?

Back from Yellowstone

Blessings that I need to count everyday - hot water, and a strong pair of legs to carry me on hiking trips.



Things I discovered I don't like: bumpy plane rides, the fear of bears...I don't dislike bears, I just don't like having to be afraid of them. After reading Jamaica Kincaid's "A Walk in the Himalayas", I have decided that I don't like leeches either. This is obviously not from experience but its one of those things I haven't the slightest desire of ever running into.

Looking up a thorny tree

Another day to take off! I am excited. Preps, research, packing and last minute shopping are all going pretty well, except for the fact that the Lonely Planet Guide Book I ordered on Amazon hasn't shown up as yet. Given the sheer size of Yellowstone, and the infinite choices of trails and sights that it offers, a detailed study of the LPGB on the 2 hr flight to Denver would have been really helpful. The nps website is a labyrinth and I have been lost a number of times exploring its many, many links. However, a question/post on The Thorn Tree website has elicited some solid responses from someone called zeldasdad. Learnt that bears love cheese.

In the meantime, there's Tom Cahill's "Lost in my own Backyard" to devour and digest. Also found some interesting quick-fix, no-fuss, minimal-mess dinner options @ http://www.bestcamprecipes.com/ . I am so tired of dining on bread and Bush's baked beans on camping trips. The 30 F lows are a little worrisome. I know the cold will dampen my enthusiasm for camp-fire culinary experiments. Maybe the synthetic, performance uppers I got from Academy Sports will do the trick.

Latest Aquisitions: A pair of 12/25 Bushnell binoculars to watch bisons, elk and grey wolves, biodegradable soap, compass with built-in LED torch, camp-pillows (great invention), a set of copper-bottomed, stainless steel camp cooking set with a Made in India label.

Things left to do: organize a first-aid kit and music CDs.

I do hope the Lonely Planet Book arrives today.

Useful links:

http://www.americansouthwest.net/wyoming/yellowstone/hiking-map.html

http://www.nps.gov/archive/yell/interactivemap/index.htm

Pet Obsessions

I leap from one obsession to another, like a hiker jumping on rocks in a stream. I started the year with Weightwatchers where I lost 13.5 lbs in 3 months and learnt pilates. Next came the poetry phase, followed by the Eckhart Tolle phase where I devoured 5 or 6 new age spirituality books and then came the hiking phase in which we went to Zion National Park and hiked the Angel's Landing trail. After that it was writing, then blogging. The house hunt and our forthcoming hiking trip to Yellowstone are the most recent ones. I just need something for my hungry mind to chew on; otherwise I fret and fume and eventually get depressed. This pattern came to light last night when I was miserable at having to suspend the house hunt for a week and Sid slyly suggested I research Yellowstone day-hikes instead as an interim obsession.

This spot of epiphany throws my life into perspective. Painfully drawn out, listless summer vacations, the unbearable tedium of repetetive school work, one dimensional people, dull jobs, boring projects that I can sleep walk my way through without requiring any active engagement on my part...all screaming out for release! Give me juice, give me meat! Otherwise, my insatiable intellect will cannibilistically gnaw on itself and give me ulcers. I count my blessings. Inspite of bungling and fumbling my way through, I have landed up in a life where I have the resources to indulge my pet obsessions. A Zen Master would prescribe reining in the wild horses. Comtemplate the rock in the stream, instead of leaping over it - calm and still in the frothing turbulence.

Petals on a wet, black bough

In a Station of the Metro by Ezra Pound

THE apparition of these faces in the crowd;

Petals on a wet, black bough.

Poetry that lands in a deep echoing thud in the pit of my belly and resonates through the veins of my mind in its rawest primeval form.
Makes me want to flop down on the last step of my experiments in writing, face in my hands, wondering if its even worth going on.

Two for the Road

The friends who put the idea of visiting Yellowstone into our heads have backed out of the trip leaving just us - two for the road. With unprecedented efficiency we have dealt with the mundane. Air Tickets to Idaho Falls, campsite at Canyon Junction and a compact car reservation at Thrifty. Check, Check, Check. Now we have four weeks of anticipation to deal with. REI beckons..

We are also trying out different kinds of energy bars to graduate beyond Clif. Chocolate Raspberry and Blueberry Yoghurt Sunrise from Luna, Mango and Coconut Soyjoy and a box of assorted Quaker's Chewys. Must restart my exercise regime.

The Old Faithful - Redux

Bozeman, MT, Jackson Hole, WY, Salt Lake City, UT and Idaho Falls, ID. The names conjure up picture postcards, abandoned barns, men on Harleys and a long, lonely, windswept stretch of highway leading to the mythical splendor of Yellowstone National Park. Beyond the snowcapped mountains, lie billowing meadows of slender wheatgrass. Blue and purple wildflowers dance among them, their eager faces turned to the temperate Taiga sun. Far away, from the woods of aspen and birch, a lone greywolf eyes the elks and bisons grazing beside a gurgling stream. Ponds of scalding mud spew columns of steam into the blue of sky. This, they have been doing much before we learnt to measure time with watches. Have I been there before? Maybe in another life, I have.

I wonder, will I be able to rest there knowing that my ear is pressed against the gentle heaving of Vulcan's bare chest, with white, hot lava oozing out of subterranean pores, somewhere down below? Will the sleeping caldera rumble underneath our puny little Coleman tent, laughing at our feeble refuge, a trembling construct of metal and plastic? How will it raise its precocious little head against the unforgiving Goddess who bid us all to prostrate ourselves before her on the damp earth without appearing to be defiant? I don't know what draws me back, time after time. It must be the insatiable craving to be free of all things permanent that underlies all forms of wanderlust. From the moonscapes of New Mexico, abandoned beaches of Texas, verdant hills of Arkansas and rugged canyonlands of Utah, we have been forever thirsting for this heady opiate. Now we are getting ready to go back again. Going back for four days in the sun when our biggest achievement will be to build a fire. No seeking validation from uncaring humans, no counting worldly possessions, no competing. Away from the frustrations, disillusionment and constant clamoring of yuppiedom, we will trade the comforts of modern life for an existence much, much more primitive. I find it totally ironical that simultaneously, we are also scheming and plotting to buy ourselves a house.

PS Congrats to Abhinav Bindra for doing us proud and for taking us, where a billion others failed reach. I watched Team China flaring and vaulting their way to the Men's Team Gymnastics Gold last night and thought to myself, all our 'shining' is just empty talk, we still have lightyears to go.

My Promise to myself

If you ignore me,
I won't feel bad
If you look right through me,
I won't feel sad.
The drawn shutters of your heart
will not put out my song
I will still sing in the streets
and happily march along
Your dark will not stunt my reach
for the stars up on high
Your eclipse will not block my sun
or deny me blue sky.
Your blank wall will make me paint
images of a thousand hue
Your lack of cheer for my good faith
will stubbornly renew
my sagging spirits and worn beleif
in myself, as I continue alone
my life will never lack spirit
to pulsate blood, flesh and bone.
Your drought will not make me thirst
for inspiration as my dew
will flow right back to me
over nightshade and yew.

My tunes - what the world is singing

A sick day turned out to be a day of great discoveries. Tucked in bed and tired of sleeping, I turned to my trusted friend - my laptop - for company and together we found our way to the National Geographic Music homepage. So staggered was I by the treasure trove of music and music videos, that I felt like a child in a candy shop! Should I listen to the Nigerian singer, Asa's thought provoking "Fire on the mountain" ( and watch the slick music video) or put on my dancing shoes for the French/Algerian trio of Khaled, Faudel and Rachid Taha singing "Abdul Kader"....a sparkling melody that tingles the 'soul' of my feet..Or lose myself in the hauntingly beautiful numbers from the Idan Raichel Project - a collaboration between an Isreali composer and Ethiopian musicians? The choices are infinite. How could I have lived oblivious to such a great resource of music from all over the world - places as distant as Cape Verde and as familiar as Bollywood but reinvented by Brits, Andrew McKay and Gary Hughes - with a delightful music video to go with it ( "Mumtaz"). Now there is just not enough time to search, sample and savor!

http://worldmusic.nationalgeographic.com/worldmusic/view/page.basic/home

All this started with a conversation I had with my brother about our mutual disappointment in Coldplay's new album, Viva la Vida which was released in the US yesterday and which, we both agreed, for all its hype fell short of our expectations but I am hoping it will grow on me with time. This was in contrast to "Flavors of Entanglement" Alanis Morissette's new album, which has delightful new flavors - mature lyrics, superb arrangements and each song with a peek into the depths of the song writer's soul - clearly a notch above her work so far. Though "Jagged Little Pill" will always be in a class of its own, this album is also something to reckon with. As a long time fan of Alanis's powerful and gut wrenching work, I was greatly moved to see a distinct mellowness in her new songs that is rich and tempered with true ( and hard earned) insight.

However, for all the hype and attention that main stream popular artists from America and Western Europe receive, and for all the public media time that they occupy, I feel that more often than not they fail to voice the collective concerns of our planet. In startling contrast, the music I listened to on the Nat Geo website was anything but sincere. Grouped together under the extremely broad classification of "World Music", these musicians - some very well known in their respective regions and within their own distinct genres - collectively tapped into the pulse of the world today and each voice rang loud and clear to bring the message home that we are all citizens of one planet. Each un self conscious voice singing about all the things that matter to us no matter what corner of the earth we are sitting in - war, love, loss, having a good time...and revelling in this our different approaches to the very same things, some issues closer home than others, was refreshing and reassuring.

So I will end to day's blog with some prophetic lines from a song by an Indian band called Karma 6 who did a song for Nat Geo India...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PN9Yngs9Tuc

Auron ki jo hai mushkilein, kal apni ho jayegi,
Pal bhar me honge fanaa, sassein bhi ruk jaengi,
Waqt ki hai awaaz, Kalko tum badlo aaj....

( The problems that others face, will be ours tomorrow..
In a moment our world could be destroyed,
This is time's prophecy for us..
Let us make better choices today to save our collective future)

Thank you Coldplay

....and then there are blues that a cup of coffee won't drown. Not even the darkest brew of Kenya Kilimandjaro - the kind that swirls of milk won't lighten even if you turn a spoon round and round in its dark roasted blackness. Bitter, brooding, knock-out high voltage caffeine that burns your tongue and sears its way down to your gut , its heavy aroma hanging like a cloud over your fogged up brain. The deepest darkest blue that ever was has taken control of your mind. As you twist and tug to pull your sanity free of its teeth, you wonder why its back to haunt you. Paper clips rattle inside your brain. Dry tracing paper rustles. You eye the wet ink smear a thick line across the goat paths of your mind twisting itself into tight little knots. The day outside is over cast, dark grey thunder cloud reach down to the tree tops. If only there was a spot of sun today.

The moments drag on and on till you've chewed the back of your pencil off into an ugly little stump. You wrestle with your inner demons. For a brief moment you begin to win. You quickly objectify, all this muddle is just electro-chemical imbalance, 'pain body' out to get you for no particular reason except for to flex its muscles perhaps or to show you that its not dead yet....Then you do the wallowing thing, dive right into it and let it wash all over you. How much blue could there be in the sky that will not fill one human heart to over flowing? You reach across and grab your earphones. If I must drown, let me at least make it pleasurable.

The slow cadence of Sparks laps at the shores of your ravaged mind in delicate ripples, the voice of Chris Martin promises to 'look out' for you. You smile your wry cynical smile in spite of yourself. He insists he won't let you down. The plaintive melody disarms and blunts the fangs of your adversary. The familiar falsetto rises and falls like a wave and washes your pain away one layer at a time. Chris is now singing I saw sparks over and over again, and you actually see little bits of light float up in front of your eyes. If music could be seen , you catch sight of it right then. As the melody fades to another beginning with a guitar strum, you tell yourself "don't panic"...The gloom begins to dispel and your mood starts lifting back again. We're sinking like stones, all that we fought for.... Not the most uplifting of thoughts yet the melody has jet-propelled wings that pulls you out of the mire of despair and straight into the sky. The dregs gather at your feet as you stand in a puddle in the middle of your thawed work day freeze-out. The coffee has gone tepid and you wonder in disbelief how you were drinking that stuff anyway. Something in you has snapped in place and you are working human again. You let the music carry you upward, through the clouds, soaring. Oh yeah, we live in a beautiful world, yeah we do, we do.... (even though all of us are done for.) You think about the four gifted musicians and the thousand other nameless techies that worked to put that little music box in your hands and made it possible for Coldplay's songs to reach you when you needed it the most. Thanks guys, you saved my day again!

If everyone's writing, who's reading?

I just came across a fascinating statistic that at the end of 2007, it was estimated that there were over 112 million blogs on the net. The population of the earth as of today is around 6.6 billion which means that only 1.69% of that vast body of humans are writing blogs. That kind of answers my question outright. But that leads me to ask another question. How many people in the world have access to the internet and what percentage of those netizens are active bloggers - by active bloggers I mean those that write. ( A passive blogger by definition would then be someone who reads or browses through blogs without necessarily writing one). I haven't so far managed to find an answer to my question but I am looking...

Ever since I took a decision to become a serious blogger of the active kind, I have been blog surfing wildly to find what I call the "Great Masters" of blogging, individuals who may very well be ordinary everyday people like me in real life, but who have unusual interests that have inspired them to create blogs of extraordinary dimensions to literally go where no man (or woman) has ever gone before. In other words, blogs that can qualify as 'inspiring' to a novice like me.

To take away this week's honors ( I am not sure though that this is going to be weekly exercise), is a posting on BLDGBLOG where the author (or authors, I don't know) interview a young student called Michael Cook who punches a big U-factor into his existence by being an intrepid "urban explorer" and photographer. If you are thinking Mr. Cook is just another urban explorer like you and me that likes to walk the streets of cities, big and small, think again. I bet very few would ever dream of going where his expeditions take him - into the underground storm-water drainage system of Toronto. The blog that I came across discusses his fascinating work and has some really cool pictures of the innards of a city's drainage system. Needless to say, the blog completely blew my mind. The photographs called to mind images of the human body's conduits and drainage networks and a thousand sci-fi movies as well as more recent memories of the slot canyons of Arizona.

http://bldgblog.blogspot.com/2007/08/drains-of-canada-interview-with-michael.html

(I am going to list this blog under my favorite links when I figure out the best way to do it)

Going back to where I started from, I think this week's biggest learning for me has been the revelation that a blog doesn't necessarily have to be a personal diary. ( yes I know, whatever gave me such an idea!) The net is alive and throbbing with infinite possibilities of what a blog can end up being which has left me greatly excited and eager to embark upon some serious explorations. As to who's 'reading' blogs, I don't know if all 112 million blog-writers are, but I certainly am and enjoying every minute of it.

Dance like no one is watching...

Writing a blog is very similar to 'dancing like no one is watching'. Its like waltzing to a favorite tune on a rainy afternoon when you are alone in your house with the curtains drawn, the windows shut and have solitude as your only audience. In that moment in time, there are no adjectives like good, bad, clumsy, masterful or loony. There is just pure delight at being able to express yourself - the awkwardness of that kick in the air doesn't count nor does the silliness of your self indulgence matter! Its about overcoming your self consciousness and fear of being judged to drop a few inhibitions and having some fun. The same holds for writing a blog. Who cares if someone wanders into this space on a random jaunt across the uncharted stretches of the web? What does it matter if no one ever does? All that matters is that there is music ringing in your ears that is making your feet tap.

The question that has plagued me for a while now is how one can speak with enough honesty to make the exercise worthwhile for one's own self while not giving 'too much away', how to express one's opinions candidly without worrying someone somewhere (especially someone that knows me in the 'real' world) might read these words and wonder about kind of person the author is. The opinion of strangers doesn't matter to me as much as it once used to but I can't honestly say that an ill-tossed random comment from someone I know always fails to make a dent in my oh-so-delicate-that-it-is shameful armor. Like that runaway Frisbee that catches you unawares in a park on a windy day, you are always guarding yourself from random missiles coming your way.

I don't like attention to my person except from people closest to me ....(who doesn't?). I am one of those people who freeze when they sense that they are being 'looked' at, are never comfortable 'standing-out' and would shy away from any situation which puts them under the direct gaze of a dozen pairs of eyes. Indeed I have come a long way from the time when I wore over sized clothes so that I could reinforce my exaggerated need for self-protection or sulked for days when judged. But I still work out in the privacy of my own living room, I prefer go to the swimming pool late in the evening when I can splash around all by myself and pretend that I can actually swim, write poetry to avoid confrontations with the stream of consciousness and stop dead in my tracks if someone looks at the computer screen from behind my back... all for the fear of being judged, for appearing to be lacking in some skill or ability that's relatively commonplace in the world. This self-censorship is crippling. For surely, 'the world' doesn't have the time to stop and pick me out for any form of criticism, its just me paralysing myself with an obsession for quality. Maybe its time to break free. Maybe its time for me to realise that in the process of keeping to myself, I am losing some great learning opportunities. More than that I am missing out on some solid, new age fun. So here I am, ready to invite Muse into my Blog spot and not allowing self-consciousness or self-censorship to cork my creative juices.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ae7c6JCYKyY

To-do List

de bug de clutter
de noise de shutter
de fang de sanitize
de frag de mobilize
shed baggage shed egos
shed weight shed logos
cheer up rise up
wake up stand up
simplify rectify
purify re unify
recycle reuse
reinvent renew
pare down, organize
tone down, humanize
clean up speak out
wise up break out
grow into grow above
make peace spread love

Splintered Life

Its definitely not tenable,
it cannot be sustained,
a life split right down the middle
is being in torturous pain.

When one part is pulling this way
the other in another
my mind just splinters into bits
and leaves my soul in tatters.

I hanker for things beyond
the horizon that I can see
what I can't touch or hold
like a ghost haunts me.

One part is so dearly bought
with blood and sweat and tears
that it can't just be thrown away
I have worked on it for years.

But the other just tears me up
for its promise of the grail
its the prize i could die to have
my biggest fear is what if I fail?

Its open promise calls me on
to tread this lonely road
which leads to a scary cliff
and more pain than before

Its promise turns all to dust
like a soup drained of salt
I'm surprised that I don't stop this
after all its really my call.

My mind urges me on and on
yet points out cloudy skies,
i fret and fume and rage and rant
a prisoner of my own device

What I have seems to claim
its right to the center stage
because its ultimate here and now
is grounded on choices made.

You can't go back and change a bit
of what has gone before
reality climbs in the window if
you push it out of the door.

But the future is a wildflower
that may burst into color soon
and i might find me the power
to start my trek up to the moon.

______________

Crinkly Rust

Trust is a dry leaf
of crinkly rust
scuttering across
a dying yard
giving chase
to fleeing faith
in a mad rush.

Anger drips
raucous doubt
into the tin pot
of my mind
I can't find
a scrap of hope
to wipe the soot
you threw
on the panes
of my life.

Driving snow
makes me blind
My spirits low
I serve time
behind bars of
love soddened will
and walls of cold.
Grim winter
creeping in
numbs my soul.

My Pet Demon

My pet demon is a wispy thing
that kills me from inside
I grit my teeth and fight it out
but from her talons I can't hide.
Her face is like an angel and
she makes your life all good
she mocks me by being everything
That I know I never could
You revel in her earthly charms
but still you hold me back
to fill the voids with godly things
that i know your life does lack
You say you keep her far away
and I'm way beyond her reach
yet she bleeds me in her torture cell
and you won't help me find the keys.
Can't you see her presence hurts
and tears me into shreds
her shadow blocks out my light
and fills my heart with dread.
You say i'm just paranoid
that I see a road full of traps
I nurse my bruised pride
as you tempt me on with scraps
I don't want to live my life
with that cageless demon around
for I bleed, and I cry
but still I let myself down.
Why is it that you want it all
without paying the price
why should I just bend and break
while you live your kingsized life?

The Bee Hive

What is my life's purpose?
What is my ultimate goal?
Where do I want to get
to hold peace in my soul?
Where is the endless happiness
that I so desperately seek?
Why the floods of fickle flow
none that I can keep?
Why do i feel that everything
I've done so far is wrong?
Every choice I ever made
is leading me away from...
the very elusive someplace else
where the grass is much greener?
Could I have been there before?
Can I get there any sooner?
Why am I so afraid of losing
every silly human game?
Why do i hanker after things so much
money, friends, fame?
Why do I get stuck on hurts
that people inflict on me?
Why does anger like a river wild
erode my bedrock deep?
Why do I keep count of loss
or the triumphs still left to see?
Why do I have to measure myself
against everyone else but me?
Why do i fear losing what I love
and everything that I call mine
for when death eventually comes to call
It will all get left behind?
Why do i love, why do i hate
Why do i bend, why do i break
Why do i suffer, why do i greive
Why does it matter what I beleive?
Why can't I just be still
and listen to my inner voice?
Why do I do all the talking
instead of making the obvious choice
and turn off all the switches that
keep my head buzzing alive,
bristling with a thousand stings
like bees swarming a hive?

The Vanishing Point

Runaway autumn leaves
Sweep the empty yard
Tumbling helter skelter
Like a pack of falling cards.
Darkness looms foreboding
from the hazy distance
Lacing up your boots you sigh
and pause for an instance.
I shudder against myself
as the chilly wind blows,
my sad heart freezes over
as your trepidation grows.
I hold the door open
but you won't follow me outside.
Your face belies some longing
but your reluctance you can't hide.

You ask why you have to earn
What is well within your grasp
You say I am yours to keep
And I sadly laugh.
In your happy fool's paradise
All is as you will it to be.
a guarded fence, a locked soul
define your need for security.
even if i drowned you in my tears
you wouldn't let me in,
your innocent eyes would try me
and chide me for trespassing.
So I take to the empty road
Stones tied to my shaky feet.
Your mouth vehemently protests
and asks me not to leave.
But you don't scrape the rust off
my downbeat eroded faith.
Waiting to argue for my reasons,
will only get me delayed.

As evening descends on both of us
it mourns the dying sun,
I know my lonely journey
has only just begun.
The swinging doors close upon you
and brings out the great disjoint
I know your gaze won't follow me
beyond the vanishing point.

An ordinary day

An ordinary day...
a plane crashes
on a market street
in a distant land
close to a great lake
and a rift valley.
The world stinks
of negligence
and depravation.
I think of people
starving for attention
and food to feed
their hungry mouths
and those who's
skies rain bullets.
The heavens have
closed their ears to
the demands of
too many children
and too many cars,
I am angry says
the planet as it gasps
for breath.
I am drifting afar.
The center of my mind
is out of control.
My life out of balance
wary of the rules
made by someone
else's uncle,
punctuated with
stray thoughts
of braindrain
family, lost love
acid rain,
heavy metal...
and what-have-you
I find myself lost.
I might write
a story about
the places
that I have been to
sitting in a chair
eyes fixed on a
silver screen,
and let my voice be heard.
Please leave me alone,
I say.
I don't want to buy anything!
I am tired
of fundamentalists
and TNC's
and GMOs.
I want to scream.
A monk in a
maroon robe
just told me
he hates no one.