Five years later...

A professor asked me where do I see myself five years from now. And I pondered for a moment. And I came up with this.

It is said that 'to have low ambition is a crime'. And in that I am guilty. For my ambitions are modest and humble. I had got over such taste as I once might have had for the great and grand things, and now come to prefer what is plain and homely.

In five years from now, I see myself working in a lowly MNC as a small managerial staff, earning a humble salary.

And what about 30 years later?

I shall take an early retirement and live in a farmhouse. Every evening I shall sit down on the porch watching the sun set, with a smoking pipe on one hand, and a pen on the other, writing a the story of my life. Ah! Such a beautiful life I would have lived!

Silliness and Foolishness goes together

Without further ado, I will put it straight out in the open that Girls are silly beings and Boys are equally foolish. And it is only fitting that girl would be silly enough to go out with a foolish boy, and a boy would be foolish enough not to know what is good for him and go out with a silly girl.

Strange how this things turns out. There is no lose ends left. Silliness and foolishness go hand in hand together. So what is the thing that happens when silliness meets with foolishness? Love. And that is why I always say that Love is one of the greatest blunder the so called sapient beings commits. And that is as it should be, for blunders are what silly and foolish people are good at.

One may get the general feeling that I am so against love. But such is not the case. I will relate an incident which happenned in medieval France. A woman of noble birth, along with her noble husband, was walking through the garden of Versailles. She noticed a peasant girl kissing a peasant boy. This noble Lady was intrigued by this so she asked her husband, "Do this commoners can feel this exquisite feeling called love, darling?" When her husband confirms her in the affirmative, she was quite disappointed, "But it is much too good for them".

And she was right ofcourse. Love is too good a thing for humans altogether and should only be reserved for only the most powerful of Gods.

Of all folly, the most unsurpassable

What one must not do, of all the blunderings of humans, is to believe. And from believe, trust.

For 'believe' and 'trust' is the zenith of all human folly, followed closely by hope and love. Why or how should any sane sapient being indulge in these deadly matters is beyond comprehension. When I say 'believe', I mean the believe we held upon a person. We can always believe and have absolute faith in facts which are supported by the firm pillars of logic and reason. But certainly it is absurd to the point of insanity to believe in something on the mere basis of a fellow's promise and your faith in him.

I distrust anyone I come across and do not believe whit of a word another fellow is saying. And I distrust myself above all. For how can I have faith in myself when I have broken many a vow and promises I have made in the past. I always held that one should not trust even your other hand when dealing with this thing called life. For it is cunning and treacherous and one do not always know what the decietful future will bring.

Constant Vigilance, I say.

What rot!!

Today, I have a lot of things to complain about so, I will just get on with it

Tennyson or one such fool of a chap ( don't remember who )wrote:

"
The year's at the Spring,
the day's at the morn,
morning's at seven,
the hill side's dew-pearled-

and continues with some such rot...

"The lark's on the wing, the snail's on the thorn.
God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world."

I mean, who asked his opinion?!
A blight of a poet comes out and tells us it's spring, whether you like it or not, when every evidence proves that is it otherwise. It is winter now, but no, the rot of a poet is adamant that a year is something which other season other than spring ought not to be.

Then he alludes to this rather funny idea that it is morning at seven. I was not aware that anything before 10 in the a.m could be refered to as morning. But no, the poet had to break the the fact, and twist the knife by revealing that at a certain hour when content creature should be sleeping on one's bed, the mornings are all said and done with. Which ofcourse, is total rot. I have not encountered a single morning before 10 o'clock in the a.m. and the notion that such a thing exist before that hour is hightly preposterous. Trust me, I am telling you from personal experience.

And then there is the thing about the eccentric view on larks and snails. One might pass off, that a lark can be delusional and could somehow be on the wings, but no matter how delusional a snail maybe, it would surely not impale itself on a thorn, of all places in the wide known universe, especially not so in the morning ( morning, if the poet deludes himself the hour to be ) . One would think a snail has some common sense and be going about minding its own business without sad incidents with thorns and what not, but clearly this blight of a poet seems to think otherwise. Sacrilege, I say, of fellow brethens of the living.

But the last straw is his blithe abandonment of the ways of religion, God, and the general well being of the world. How did this chap concurred that God is in His Heaven, one would never know, but to conclude all of this by saying that all of the things summed up that all of the world is well, that is a bit below the waist.

Let us suppose ( one of those supposition techniques, one so often find oneself using to prove or disprove a hypothesis ), that all the things this chap is saying is true, that it is spring ( even thought the cold winds of winter is blowing ) and that 7 O'clock can be remotely referred to as morning ( god forbid such thing ), and by some delusion on the part of the Lark, he/she is on his/her wings, and the snail feels particularly suicidal and wanted to impale itself on a thorn in this ungodly hour, for reasons unfathomable even to himself. Let us say all of these is somehow the case. What I do not get is, how in the dickens does this make all the world well? A daffy old blighter of a poet he must have been. Still no harm done as long as one do not take him seriously.

All is well, bah! if he only knows what is going at my neighbours and what happenned at the marketplace yesterday. Some bloke who has no clue of the world.

The West Wind blows

I felt it then, that the stillness, the ennui, is just the calmness before the storm. Then a soft breeze came, pleasing the tired trees, releasing the leaves from their stifled hold on life. For them, it was the beginning of another journey. It is for the living that falling leaves pitied for. For the West Wind comes.

I felt Him coming, and chilled the very bones of mine. Now He blows relentlessly against the windows, asking for entry, disguising once as an old lady, another time as a homeless orphan. I can not, and shall not, let Him touch me, for the west wind bring the most dangerous of all Evil - Change.

The cold West Wind blows, extending His icy fingers, touching one here and one there, changing the lives of unsuspecting victims. But change has never been easy, especially to those who do not like to be forced to change. But without change, there would be stagnation and decay.

The fallen leaves had it easy, for they knew, that to survive the cold winter, one must preserve what ought to be preserved, and prune whenever there is a necessity. For the only thing that does not change is change. And this the West Wind knows.

I can still hear Him rattling on the windows.

Not suppose to love you anymore

I stole this from somewhere. Bite me!

We agreed that it was over
Now the lines have all been drawn
The vows we made begin to fade but now they’re gone
Put your pictures in a shoe box
And my [sliver]ring in the drawer.
I’m not supposed to love you anymore.

Now my friend says he's jealous
of this freedom that I found
he would be; he would be out on the town
and he says; he can’t imagine
what on earth I’m waiting for.
I’m not supposed to love you anymore.

Oh I shouldn’t care of wonder where and how you are
But I can’t hide this hurt inside my broken heart
I’m fighting back emotions that I’ve never fought before
‘cause I’m not supposed to love you anymore.

If I could turn back time
If I could find a way
I’d take back those words that hurt you and you’d stay.

I don’t know why I did the things I did
I don’t know why I said the things I said
Loves like a knife it can cut deep inside
Words are like weapons, they wound sometimes.

I didn’t really mean to hurt you
I didn’t wanna see you go
I know I made you cry, but baby,

If I could turn back time
If I could find a way
I’d take back those words that hurt you
And you’d stay.

If I could reach the stars
I’d give them all to you
Then you’d love me, love me like you used to do.
If I could turn back time.

But I lost everything darling then and there
Too strong to tell you I was sorry
Too proud to tell you I was wrong
I know that I was blind,

Don’t let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it’s always someone else I see
I’d just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me.

I can’t find all the right romantic lines
But see me once and see the way I feel
Don’t discard me just because you think I mean you harm
But these cuts I have, oh they need love to help them heal.

Life goes on...

I have always had this way with reason and logic, that I will always be guided by Reason and led by Logic. And this outlook has always led me to where I wanted to be.

Sometimes, I am only too human and begin to doubt myself, how do I know that I am not blinded by Reason and intoxicated by Logic? Should I not let passion take over me and run ramphant? Why should I not let lust guide me into the deepest depth of feelings?

Conscience, as always puts up his objection, Reason and Logic on his sides and glares at me as if I am something abominable for even thinking like this. I dislike myself at times like this.