The story of pretty things – 1

It would contain the deepest thoughts of men and women,which would wreak havoc among the thoughless schemers of civilisation.The lads were often plunged into deep thoughts questioning the sheer meaninglessness of their living and would be feeed only when life knocks on their mind with matters of survival.

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Shelly was wrong. The winter was indefinite, the snowy floors were infinite. The initial welcome had soared to an indifferent cry for spring. The flowers were white, yet the trees were blank, but several rooms at Pete and Duke Inn emitted the stepping sound of typewriters, making sure the minds of people were never empty. Every week, a group of young lads would climb the third floor of the gloriously tired inn to deliver loads of white paper. Their sweaty smiles were never reciprocated but rewarded with serious glances and silent exchange of money. They were no conflicts, there were no debates on the quality of paper, but lads felt their buyers had a magnetic or rather intoxicating urge to resume their handicraft on the typewriter, to make sure the white paper would never be white again. It would contain the deepest thoughts of men and women,which would wreak havoc among the thoughless schemers of civilisation.The lads were often plunged into deep thoughts questioning the sheer meaninglessness of their living and would be feeed only when life knocks on their mind with matters of survival.

Until then,the young lads on the door would straighten up their hips, pull up their body on their heels to see the miracle that has been an off putting joke among themselves – the working of a writer’s mind. The meek bodies of writers were not strong enough to stop these lads, but the dry eyes and twisted posture was enough to stop the lads from spinning their attention to the interiors of the enchanted room.
On any such day, a lad just delivered a stack of paper and curiously climbed down the ladder. As with every hour of every day, a maid was cleaning the 2nd floor. The lad asked the maid – ‘ Excuse me, Do they eat madame? Do they speak like us? Do they hate us?’
The maid replied with a coy smile dripping off her lips ‘They do all sort of things boy. They are creatures far above us, or the very least they seem to think so’ He was astonished, but the skeptic inside him asked her again ‘Madame, forgive the arrogance of mine. How are you so sure?’ The maid continued ‘I am a maid boy, I am the maid.’ She walked past the lad in calmness and hallway was silent again except for the sound of thoughts on typewriters.
The boy waited there, and then he began to listen to the sound of typewriters. He closed his eyes and stood their thinking about the spring of his life in rhythm with the typewriter. Once or twice, he had seen the magic machine, one that would emit sound and reflect words on paper. He began to jog his memory and began to trace sound with words. He stormed his intelligence to trace the symbol from its words. The solitary yet strong spirited lad stood there without any sense of time and space. The other lads pulled him out of the state he was meddling his mind with. While he moved away from the inn, he felt a anomalous pull from the deep corners of his mind to get absorbed into melancholy of the 3rd floor. Yet he knew he was in streets now.

The gamble

Look to this world or look to thyself,
mock the lamp of civilisation breeding the darkness around our soul,
while being lambed down,
soaken in blood and sweat ,bland words and blank eyes
smitten over the markets to fill our void self,
of tomorrow’s smile, while silent to break the sile of theirs,
none to be kept or given, everything to be lost in today’s gamble,
until the day something is left to cry about,
Oh baby, I am resigning, on a fate never found and confined,
Yet I resign, to fill myself with despair and pain,
For it is only the worth now.
To have immense and yet feel so heavy in oneself.

കാത്തിരിക്കുന്നു ഞാൻ

ഒരു വേള എന്നിലെ നിന്നെ ഞാൻ ബലി നൽകിയില്ലെങ്കിൽ,

ഒന്നിനുമില്ലാതെ നിഷ്പ്രഭം ആകുമെന്ന് ,

തളർന്നിരിക്കുന്നു ഞാൻ, കിതയ്ക്കുന്നു,

ഒഴുക്കിന് എതിരെ ഓടിയില്ല, ഒടിയുമ്പോഴെല്ലാം നിവർന്നതുമില്ല,

പിന്നെ ഒടുവിൽ എന്റെ ഇരുണ്ടമുറിയിൽ, കണ്ണുനീർ പൊഴിച്ചതും ഇല്ല,

കരുതുകയാണ് ഞാൻ, കരുത്തു നേടുകയാണ് ഞാൻ,

ഓർമകൾ അടുക്കി വെച്ചു, എന്റെ ആത്മബോധം നിവർത്തുകയാണ് ഞാൻ,

വിറകുകൾ അടുക്കി തയാറെടുകയാണ് ഞാൻ,

അഗ്നി ഒരല്പം പകരാൻ നേരം കാക്കുയാണ് ഞാൻ,

നിസാരജന്മമെങ്കിലും അനിതരസാധാരണമല്ലെങ്കിലും,

കരുതുകയാണ് ഞാൻ, കാത്തിരിക്കുകയാണ് ഞാൻ,

ഓർമിപ്പിക്കുന്നു ഞാൻ – നിന്നെയും എന്നെയും, കണ്ണിനെയും കാതലിയെയും, ആണിനേയും പെണ്ണിനേയും, പ്രകൃതിയെയും

കാത്തിരിക്കുന്നു ഞാൻ, കരുതിയിരിക്കുന്നു ഞാൻ,

മനുഷ്യനാണ് ഞാൻ, മല്ലിട്ടയുദ്ധങ്ങൾ ഒക്കുമേ തോറ്റിറ്റിട്ടും,

തോൽകാതെ, കാത്തിരിക്കുന്നു ഞാൻ, കരുത്തിയിക്കുന്നു ഞാൻ,

ഈ വിശ്വപ്രപഞ്ചം ചാരസാദ്രശ്യമാക്കാൻ,

ജീവനവീഥിയിൽ കൈകൂപ്പിനിന്നു, എന്നിലെ എന്നെ, നിന്നിലെ നിന്നെ ആഹുതി ചെയ്തു,

പിന്നെ ജീവാത്മാവിലെ ഒരു ബാഷ്പാകണമായി,

ഒടുവിൽ സംസ്കാരസഞ്ജയ മോഹനകാവ്യമാകുകിൽ,

സദയം എടുത്തുകൊള്ക, സദയം ക്ഷണനം ചെയ്തുകൊള്ക,

കാത്തിരിക്കുന്നു ഞാൻ,

ശൂന്യം. മൗനം.

എന്റെ ഏത് നിമിഷവും നിനക്കു എന്റെ ഹൃദയത്തിൽ നിന്നു അടർത്തിയെടുക്കാം, അതിൽ അർത്ഥവും അർത്ഥശൂന്യതയും ഉണ്ടാകാം. ആ അർത്ഥം നീയും ആ ശൂന്യത ഞാനും ആകുന്നു.

ഉരുക്കിന്റെ ബലിഷ്ഠത ഇല്ല, ആർദ്രമായ വാക്കുകൾ പോലും പറയാൻ ഇല്ല. എന്റെ മൗനമാണ് നിന്നോട് ഉള്ള എന്റെ പ്രണയം.

My body, mind and I

I am nobody because my body is a loan from earth
I don’t own my thoughts because they are imagination from my mind
I am not my mind because my mind is just made up by me
I am nothing because I am a tiny atom in the vast universe
There is no good or bad for me
All I do is ‘perceive’ and ‘perceive’
That’s all I am capable of..
I wish I could make everyone perceive…

– Bijunath Gopinathan.

Redemption

Half in love and half in rage

Refusing to open my eyes,

Refusing to flourish on my lies,

Yet again I will die today and bid you good bye,

I wish i had filled in,

My love, lust and lies, in your heart and eyes,

And watch myself meld into your memories,

But yet again, we are all alone,

Watched you die to let myself live,

Lived enough to have felt death everyday there to,

Close your eyes, close your heart,

Relive the fear, have the pain and jump,

On the ground, lies our redemption.