Those Lanes of Past

On and on I walked into those lanes of past – deep into those nights where we were together – sitting side by side – beside a ladder. We were laughing I guess – at something – I can’t even remember. But we were happy – in out innocent blabber. We didn’t know, what time had in store, didn’t know that was our last score. But yes, we were happy, and we wanted no more.

Deep into those lanes I go, where many mornings I saw, where you and me played in rain, and gave each other random show. Where arm in arm we used to walk, checking out a girl – on guy’s stock. Where dawns used to wail its first cry in front of our locked eye, where dusk took its last yawn, turning us to those shades of fawn.

Yes, I entered the same paths, where we shared our smoke and drinks, where I craved for your words, but you were struck in numerous strings. It felt cool staying by your side. To always have someone to hold on – right beside. That faith in your spirit was impossibility otherwise. You seemed so capable and wise. Alas the innocence of youth. It never takes you to where you should.

Those mistakes are still not regrettable. They had peace and pleasure immense. Those steps were my own and so were you. My decision had you – apart from rest of the crew. For the world you were a misfit – a fox luring me to his den – or rather my den. But , it was fun, those intensities and your pun. Those arms around at night with that moony sight, those endless walks with just you beside, that laughter those giggles, those pushes, those wriggles.

And then i saw a strange sight - Me alone crying with all my might. You were right there somewhere. But close to me – nowhere. I detested you with all my heart. It was pain I was counting from start. That moment was too intense to be held truth - Where all those dreams seemed futile and ruth. Serendre  pity it was – only from inside. those scenes became apparent soon with horrorful sight.

Was it you still in those same lanes? With those words like dagger and killing instinct. Those slaps of time had strange repine.  They were hollow and i was hurt – aah those broken times. You gifted me with a transformed self – stoic and upheld. But life had taught me something else too. I was not like you. Emotions I had then and emotions I have still. Only, then they had flown; now they were in control. My life, my decisions. A better outcome, better creations.

And yet, it feels strange to enter those lanes. Was it me- living there with many names. Strange is this life, everyday a new strife. And each day has its own share of happiness too. One merely needs to feel one of the lucky few. And there cosmos spreads sunlight on your face. And there your heart gets amazed - At your strength to face it all – with all your might, to still enter those lanes and undergo that series of sight. And there you feel proud of your decision –‘To never give up and be happy –as a mission’. And there you have triumphed over time and your self. Only you knew how much you had withheld – deep into your heart and mind, those endless memories – closed in the passage of time. And yet, time and again those glimpses come still. But yes, the eyes are now dry, and vision – on top of the hill.

I entered and exited those lanes drowsily. I had undergone through an entire year so smoothly. And here began a whole new chapter - Another journey, another actor. 

Written By - Mystical Wanderer

The Way Memory Works..

At times I wonder how does this ‘memory’ work?  I mean it has this boon of forgetting and filtering things without which we would have been struck in one moment, one place , one incident. It is only due to the gift of forgetfulness that we are able to digest changes in our life and timeline. It is only due to this that we shift from one activity to another and hence life works.

Now, is it in our hands to determine what to keep and what not to. Well, to a large extend it is, but after a point, we simply lose our control from it. how else would happen those diseases called memory loss and even general incidents where we tend to keep forgetting to do a thing or other which might not be very significant activity of our life or at times is not in our priority list. But most if the times, those are the very things that are significant and we realise our irresponsible attitude once we have missed doint those things at the right time. And yes, apart from the things we realise and remember to do, there are many other things too that simply skip our heads and go to that dark hole of once held thoughts now turned to an unknown hollowness.

So, how to attain control over this faculty and utilize it to its fullest capacity? After all Einstein used mere 3 % of his brain and all of us are spectators of his achievements. Would making lists and prioritizing some things over other – help to reschedule our life? Would paying more attention to every little detail of our life bring any difference? I guess more than such calculated steps , is required a healthy mind.

What is a healthy mind? Not just well slept and doing its mundane activities properly. But also a sound head which is in good spirits and is able to have appropriate reflex as per the needs of the times. How to attain it?? well, meditation is one solution. But more than any other external practice, one requires the heeling power of his own mind.

Its is only when one decides to stay happy no matter what – can he be really happy – if there is any loom of unhappiness inside his conscience. Now, anti –depressents or merely moving on includes a lot of delete refresh steps. In all this process many a times, many important things go missing too and one day one wonders, ‘how the hell did i forget that close a thing. It was so important for me once.’ And yet, deep inside our spirit knows what to delete and what to keep at a side. Had it not meant to be turned up this way, in this particular moment, it wouldn’t have gone missing that way.

Nature has its own surprises. So is the case with our mind. Apart from what one remembers in his very conscious self, there is a sea of memories hidden behind. They don’t swell at the shore everytime, but when they do, they cause havoc at times. The risk management still remains in our hands. And yet,  even we fail to face all times. But regretting or staying upset about it won’t help. What matters is to get up every time. And once again face the wide world of emotions, with a bolder spirit at every rhyme.

And life becomes one melody of rythms. And we  enjoy those surfy times. Of highs and lows, friends and foes. Everything becomesa piece of wonder. And we spectate those times. Alienation and acceptance is what it takes. To get through those hidden rhymes. And once you have crosses those torrents. Well wait, there are still many suns and moons behind.  

        Written by - Mystical Wanderer

Home, Wherever it may be.

And once I had written upon that little wall of my room – ‘home wherever it may be’...day and night I used to stare it missing my home left behind and wondering about all those homes that would be.  That room was a home too –which had sheltered me at the worst of my times. And then there were memories of my home – held even then so close. How else could I have traveled so much, had I not considered every foot-step – a new home. Sometimes it was  disastrous – like those when I had flue. And I used to fight and complain why the hell was it my home. and  then there were moments to laugh and smile in those arms and thank my stars for making it my home.

So open was I that every person offered a new dome. All became a family, even random became a home. at times it felt strange, as if exploring your own home – frozen in time’s snow. And yet, it felt new and refreshing in the warmth of that newly found clog. Every gesture of kindness was an act of love – of someone own. every misdeed of world – was something to be forgiven on your own. It felt like a battle – the once that makes one a foam – to absorb the doings of time – and yet let it drown under time’s snow.

Wonder and adventure was at times missing – and suffocation trolled over a house ancient grown. And yet, one revitalized under those laughter and moans. Intensities are after all – another name of home. and wherever you feel like – you can make it – your very own home. after all, its all about feelings and emotions. House or home – are merely our head’s notions. Put your heart into anyone or anything, and there ties a new bond and string. There you find peace and warmth. That mother’s love, those father’s arms – so strong. 

Written By - Mystical Wanderer

क्यूंकि ज़िन्दगी जीने का नाम है

दिलदारी तो बहुत देखी
ना देखी बस खुद्दारी
खुद खुदा से बन बैठे
जब देखी उसकी यारी
वो दर्द वो प्यार
और फिर तकरार
शायरी तो तब से करते थे
ना कहते थे जब उनको यार
रूह तो तुम्हे दे दें
पर रूह का तुम करोगे क्या
खोखली सी एक बेजान आवाज़
सुन सकोगे उसका इकरार
वो दर्द वो ख़ुशी
आंसू फिर धीमी सी हसीं
ख़ुशी और गम तो यूँ ही आ जाते हैं
रूह पा जाने से और क्या पाते हैं
शायरी तो आपने कर दी
करा नहीं तो दीदार
उस एक हवा के झोंके से
भेजा था जिसमें ढेरो प्यार
हाँ खूब मिली होगी तुम्हे
वो महफ़िल और ख़ास मिज़ाज़
पर हम ना थे वहां
ना हम ना हमारा आगाज़
हम जानते हैं
की बहुत ख़ास नहीं हैं
हम आपके
इतना भी पास नहीं हैं
पर दो पल जो तुमसे
यूँ कह जाते हैं
मानो सारा गम
कहीं रह जाते हैं
थोड़ी सी ख़ुशी
थोड़ा सा प्यार
यही देना जानते हैं
आँखों में भर के प्यार
गर तुम्हे ये भी नहीं चाहिए
तो ना सही
हम तो अकेले ही रहते हैं
थोड़ा और सही
दुनिया आती जाती रहेगी इसी तरह
शायद फिर किसी दिन फिर मिलें
किसी तरह
फिर कुछ पल मिल कर कश लेंगे
फिर उन दो पलों में थोड़ा हंस लेंगे
आखिर ज़िन्दगी जीने का ही तो नाम है
 और यकीन मानिए
खुश रहना और करना
यही हमारा काम है

वो अनकही डोर

खुद की पहचान  किसे  है
शायद उस खुदा  को भी नहीं
मोक्ष का इंतज़ार किसे है
जब मौत का वक़्त पता ही नहीं
हर सांस में जी लेते हैं
हर सांस में मर जाते
उस एक पल में शायद
हर ख़ुशी हर गम हैं पाते
अपना तो मुझे तुम कर लोगे
शायद दोस्त भी बन जाओगे कभी
दोस्ती की वो प्यारी सी डोर
जब बंध ही गयी है अभी

यूँ तो लोग ज़माने में बहुत हैं
और शायद  हम दोनों के कई शौक हैं
पर पाक सा दिल नहीं मिलता हर बार
एक छोटी सी दुनिया बीच बाजार
तुम और तुम्हारा कहना यार
सच्चे दोस्त आजकल मिलते कहाँ हैं
वो छोटे से सपने अब खिलते कहाँ हैं
गर मान ही लिया है तुमने हमे दोस्त
तो हम भी कम नहीं
न निभा पाएं ये दोस्ती हमेशा
इतना हम में भी दम नहीं
वो ठोकरें वो प्यार
वो रास्ते और दीवार
सब प्यार करने का दम रखते हैं
आपको क्या लगता है
बस आप ही दोस्ती की हिम्मत रखते हैं
अजी हाथ तो मिलाइये
एक कदम तो उठाइये
जहाँ चाहेंगे
हमें वहीँ पाएंगे
वो चाँद की भीनी चांदनी
से दुनिया भर जायेंगे

                      Written By - Mystical Wanderer

The Labyrinth of Literature

There was once a head isolated from the rest of its body. It was discarded into a box and was taken out only once in a while when it was required to prove evidence of its once together – body and history. The head faced difficulties sharing that box with a set of books that were under a habit of getting into contradictory battles – all trying to prove their own selves right. And yes, there was communism too – but only in groups and rest were almost always – allies.

The books surprisingly had gravity and they played football with head’s heavy sight. The head was tired of getting attracted to some or the other. after every once in a while a stronger book used to call it by its side. So the head once decided to stop being pulled to any book. He hid inside a hollow corner – far beyond gravity’s gyre. But the destiny was smart too. It put some memories inside. the head had this nature – which was less powerful than memories’ gyre.

The head was intact but the life was strangely the same – getbye. Earlier books had become ideas and memories side by side. All charged - the head suddenly wanted to return to that old fate. Where there were dreams of other characters and he was at a distance from real wry. but now there was no escape – the memories had controlled its better side.

its desperation to return suddenly caused a disaster thereby. The boundary burst into pieces and it faced both literature and its idea – close by. Though at times head had relief now, cause the ideas were busy distinguishing  those books in lows and highs. And yet the same controversies made him so hyper at times.

The struggle was eternal and this the head knew. Till he found another box – to which it could have flew – to yet again undergo the same karmic creations. The head had no different fate than those of his imaginations.

              

Mystical Wanderer

The way TRANCE wOrKs....

So how does a trance works upon a human’s mind??how does one gets into that psy trip and get one through those hidden dimensions of spirit science?? Is it just those heart beats that beat faster at strange calculated frequencies as designed by those master minds?? Or is there any special effect of certain words – certain sounds...

I guess that’s the premise upon which those mantras work..which are believed to have a positive vibe.. and that’s what makes abuses something formidable – the intentions behind those negative sighs... that is why it is said that temples and certain places make your wishes true.. and that is the power that makes some places haunted and out of that common crew.

The sound of rain always pleasing the senses yet thunder brings  strange energy long due – one either gets afraid of the moment or gets indulged into an ecstatic energy flow. ever heard those splashes of waves that bring nostalgia and adventure deep inside one’s senses. Or that flow of the river that makes one romantic and talk of spiritual view.

There are songs that have the power to transcend you through centuries and touch those hidden dimensions of distant times – where you get one with various moments- having your very own picturesque.  And then there are people – always attached with certain sounds. The memories brought by a screeching break or those strange silent nights.

And then there are sounds of moon bugs .also those insects at night – that buzz at those footsteps – of anyone approaching close bye. Every sound has strange meanings – attached with them and their auras. Each has its own color – its own fauna and flora. The morning ragas can never paint those dusky times. Those earthy lanterns are always rhymed with desi instruments and drowsy times.

And then there is music that take you to the land of your dreams. In those hours of peace in dusky hills. One feels the chill and warmth of places visualized. One gets onto that serenity attached besides. Some songs are enough to cause that ecstasy which even the most enchanting lady fail to cause by. there are rhythms of nostalgia that people themselves fail to bring again on flight.

So what is this trance – which is so distant bye. With bare minimum words, it makes a person high. You get into passages of psychological intensities. You undergo a temporal journey. One gets into psychological loops at times. One forgets all his life till now lived by.  is it worth it to cause so many alterations with memories? Is it o.k to change one’s self completely by being high? Is it fine to change nature’s discourse. Isn't it nature’s own high.

How do people live without having experienced trance? Is it enough to fell those normal frequencies and pass away ones life without the real prance. What fun it is to merely walk on those straight roads. Life is all about twists and turns. Those corners have mysterious surprises. Those endings have their own abyss on run.

Life could be there even beyond that dark abyss. It has its own colors for sure. All it needs is a dare to enter those hidden passages. And life would fall short to explore.

 Mystical Wanderer

The Illusion called Reality

So, at one point of time the people used to believe that sun rotated around earth and each morning and every evening was due to sun’s rotation in a circle around earth.  However, later it was discovered that it was in fact earth which used to revolve around sun.

Now if that sun is an idea that keeps hitting our life time and again becoming a major reason of us becoming disturbed then is it really necessary that that idea is the reason and not us. Isn't it rather us revolving around that idea – trying to think it again and again to bring in the variations of day and night in our life to experience pains and joys. Only those nights and days vary from person to person and so dies their reaction.

Bible believed that since everything had been created for man , so earth had to be at the center of universe and everything must have rotated around. its not physical entities rather psychological objects that turns rotate around the man in the center. Even one of the beliefs of Buddhism claims that whatever we have around us is all our imagination. Nothing is real. reality is just an illusion – the Maya where man gets lost to lose sense of his self and reality. Hence form the karmic chakras and notions of life and death in the life of man.

In geeta it is written that one should do ones duties and shouldn't bother about its results. Aren't duties always with an an inherent direction. Direction of morality, peace, love or affection. One thinks about it or not, all of our actions are always given a certain course, a certain direction.

It is said that if one believes in a certain output and works towards it assuming it to be real, there is no possibility that the idea won’t turn real. whatever is deeply desired, had to turn to reality. There is no other way. Obviously. Whatever we imagine is a reality in some way. If not in physical forms, then it has its existence in the world of images. But it is real nevertheless.

So where do we lack??where do we get struck? Do we still believe that sun to be rotating around us, hampering our growth or do we know our game of day and night? Are we still under the illusion of impending fate and merely surviving through life and death waiting to meet that ultimate Godot or are we visualizing our own dream – full of possibilities and staying happy in the world of dreams?

But it is a folly to be completely lost in the world of dreams. After all it is Maya and if turned real , it would still be Maya. Becoming Siddhartha one has to attain the power to create Mohini and be strong to triumph over her.

So set out, feel that power inside, and make your own customized reality. After all, we are man and the world is so designed for our the specie of humanity. So respect life and live it to the fullest. Get indulged in everything but maintain your isolated stand.

 Mystical Wanderer

Those swans of Yeats

Imagine a man walking through some forest land – right beside a lake with numerous issues in hand. He walks and encounters a rare beautiful sight - A number of swans swimming to his delight. He counts them till 59 and then they flew away. Was it in real or was it his head’s take. For nineteen years he saw those swans. For nineteen autumns they became his balms. But then he underwent some self – introspection. His head did a strange inspection.

In all these years, his life had changed. His youth, his life and everything around had been roughly ranged. The world was decaying – so was his heart. The passion and energy –  all had faced time’s dart. But the swans were intact – wild and free. They still were youthful – in love, with spree. They were well coupled – together forever.  Time’s wrath upon them – oh no, never.

It is in just that one moment where the water was still. It is then that he saw sky in water’s mill. The time had frozen for that moment. There they were – the beauty and its mysterious scent. Despite of all those years, they were the same – young, beautiful and always playing their youth games. But the man had grown old – and expected an end of him soon. But this beauty was a precious boon.  yet he had observed the fate of such boons. They have the habit of leaving at some or the other noons. Who knows they were planning to leave right at that very moment. After all, it is for all that they were sent.  What if one fine day he woke up only to know – that there are no more swans – at his door. In pain he went – right at that thought. But it was due – the time had taught.

Were those swans real or mere his fascination? After all the beauty’s description was his creation. Who knows if swans symbolized his heart’s pursuits. His unfulfilled love or decisions so duel, The theme still was doings of time. The beauty that was stationary and trespassers on the wagon of time, To stop at a spot was simply not an option. The choices and feelings were all in auction.

Or maybe those swans were various moments of his life. Those times when he was out of strife. And here in present those things  created a picturesque for him. Passing through his eyes , at time’s whim. He wanted to have them all – forever for his own self. But he knew – time couldn’t be kept at shelf. The feelings and moments were bound to fly off. Like that very moment where he suddenly was pulled out of his memory strophe.  

(based upon the poem 'wild swans at coole' by 'William Butler Yeats')

 Mystical Wanderer

The Story of a Cave

Right below the top of the mountain was a little cave with its mouth towards a large river.  It had huge rocks and trees as its covering. A fox and vixen trekked once all the way to the cave only to find some solitary place to feel that womb of nature and perform the ritual of psychological unison when morning was still in the shades of darkness.

The fox had found vixen sitting on her own upon a large rock right beside the river.  She had her own stories to discuss, her own songs to rhyme with that river and she seemed perfectly at peace with her ambience.  He gently came and sat right beside her. For hours none spoke,  only shared a silent company of each other.Both had the previous night in mind – when both had stolen out into that forest – together beside a moony river.  It would have been great had the fox suddenly not felt those moon’s effects.  She tried to calm him down – but all in vain. This morning fox had guilt inside – guilt of leaving her alone last night , guilt of not being by her side. Vixen was at peace . nevertheless she expected her answers. Either ways, she had convinced herself – to be by her own side.

Together they walked beyond that river and stones. Together they reached great heights. Only to find that cave – hidden so well under layers of time. They entered that cave and went out of sight. To the world – they were invisible , yet another tree behind.  There , upon a trunk they stood somehow. Side by side, inside that cave, they felt wow. Thousands of feet below was that river. There in morning chill they had shiver. To feel the beauty of the moment .to be right inside that rocky dent.

There they talked volumes with each other. there he went on with his mutter. She had double talks going on .one inside her head . ones with her new dawn. Nature had bounded them in a strange way, right in that cave where both stood like stand. They had no words discussed to stay together. but they knew they were one – from that  morning stabber.

After millions of moments together, they once again visited that cave. To find that love inside, once more to be each other’s tame. But the cave had died under those few moments. When they craved for it the most to mend their dents. The trees had been unrooted. The mouth had been crushed close. They must have faced a havoc. Those walls and that sand. They held each other’s palm to assure their presence. To tell never mind, we are still together with love immense.

But the fate was due, the same fate that that cave had. All of them were wild, equally  vulnerable  their fate – so sad. The cave broke down, so did they. In shambles were they all, in fragments was their fate. Were they really ill- fitted or was it time’s new rate. Their nature was wild, and freedom was the fate. So the fox was free and so was the vixen. Beyond hills and rivers, was their fiction.

The disaster had been caused nevertheless. Only they new that time when the cave was no less.; the beauty and grandeur of that hidden corner. Only they had the key and they knew its grandeur. Surely the cave had enlarged to be a part of the huge mountain cliff. It had sunshine and also snowy bliss. But that cosy feeling that it once had when he and she were inside. well that was something that was not in sunshine.

On rare nights the cave whispered to that moonlight – to take her to her past when she and he were so bright. Together they used to jump in the river, together they used to trek to its side. Together were they so happy int those moments. Together – was now a rare sight. And then she looked high up – at her moon. drowning in that darkness – under goldish swoon. And then she had a strange sigh – right with those cliffs – by her side.  

  Mystical Wanderer

The Girl in Red

 The girl in red

A dancing baby girl in the glimmering sunlight – right beside that transparent glass – causing rainbows of affection and joy – touching that hidden happy spirit inside... the girl has a beautiful smile – she wants to play, wants attention. All dressed in red, she yells bold and beauty and yet she is shy – making her a perfect potential lady.

Her mother sits beside , her back turned to the world – lost in her own world. But she has no such premise. the girl wants the world to look at her. It is in that wide world – that she wants to reside.  Round and round she whirls around , round rotates those beams of light. The music in background alters with her turns. So does those moods in mind.

What lies in the innocence of childhood, what lies in those rhymes of times, that a vision of beauty gives immense pleasure.  A suuden meet gives one delight. And now the girl cries for fun .she wants her mother’s sight. She asks her to accompany her. It is with her she wants to go outside.

Her mother seems disappointed with the expectation. It is in her own world that she wants any sight. She is tired of all hard work and explorations. It is now rest that her waried - spirit  desired.  But the girl doesn’t understand all this. She doesn’t want this chance to be missed. On and on she cries and finally her mother gives her a kiss. She carries her in her lap and takes her to the table beside. There she makes her wear her shoes. And there they went together – outside.

Its a pleasure to see them in glimmering sunlight – walking hand – in hand – so bright. The mother seems younger suddenly. And their youth together is a rare sight. The girl has got what she desired . she is happy beyond all plights. the elder one has received a jolt – out from that journey of time. And here in this moment – they are happy – beside. Who knows what comes next.  it is in very now that there is none to chide. And they play in the ambers – of happiness and illusion. The girl with her pillar. And mother in her dynamic fusions. Nostalgia has no place – its the beginning of a history. When years later that mother would miss. And that daughter would replace she.

Mystical Wanderer

He held her

A little girl beside a river

Silver sandals broken mirror

Alone she went towards the sea

Distant lonely strangely free

Pink glue in mouth

Thinking about Graceful couch

Of lush green carpet and life around

Of trees mountains and ocean’s sound

She heard a distant call

Of a boy so young and tall

He was a kid yet a power

Her heart he captured inside a tower

Tower of will, wisdom and desire

Of that singing tone and swinging tyre

Strawberries, apples and pan cakes

There was she in strange takes

She needed a hand to hold

He held her and this he told

That he’ll save her no matter what

She knew he had touched her spot

In his innocence she lost her brain

Her heart he had won her head was in vain

Upon that magic cliff she wanted to reside

To play with him or even slide

Deep into the river she wanted to flow with him

There with him alone she wanted to swim

And she knew he was for her

This made her self spur

There was no identity of her anymore

All she wanted was he in store

But he left her alone suddenly one day

 And all she saw was his sun’s ray

With his charms memories and those tricks

All she wanted was his leaves’ pricks

The acupuncture and pamper

That love and juncture

She wanted it all again and again

But he was playing a sadist game

She knew it inside about - his hide and seek

His aggressive self and the love beneath

Alas!! She was worried of his presumption.

But wasn’t he the one who was anti perception

He knew it all and she knew it

It was he or none was fit

Beside the river those clothes and his footwear

He in her lap without any fear

On that night at the top floor

She in darkness he on stroll

Again and again he tried to find

Again and again she hid behind

He found her at last but was bit upset

With her trick and his calculated dent

He decided to punish her then

And next day from there he ran

Ran away to never come back

She was frozen there on that hay stack

It was his kiss that could have turned her alive

From then on began her strife

Her body and soul got divided

soul imprisoned there, body on wander sided

Matter craved to get back its soul

Again and again it visited her but all foul

Its hard work wasted just like she

Both in freedom yet none was free

Smile in memories laughter in mind

Her only memories of him behind.

Those Eyes of Wonder

Emarold blue eyes
Blue of wonder
They dance on trance
That misty dew
They ask that sky
The key to fly
They seem so wise
In shades of sly
I call it magic
The magic of wonder
To feel that storm
And experience that thunder
That cusp of fire and earth
All heaven n hell upsurged

And i call it magic
The magic so blunder
Those hazy lies
And believes on plunder
The broken time machine
strangled wooden queen
Those artificial brown lawns
And dreamy fawns
But the eyes know it all
Every rise each fall
They now speak of emoticons
All emotions hence shunned
Or maybe the eyes have learned
To use their sight separate from all sunned
They have quit to feel
Or may be it is better felt now
Even that past in chaos

N the palaces in ruins
Remind of mystery shrill
Those voices abhorred
And those they once stole
Out of the brink of bliss
In that dusky kiss
But the kiss was poisonous
Of all sensations not required
After all
They too were fired
Of desires of moment
That lasted till eternity
Yet like each eternity
That too had an end
An illusionary horizon
A broken stand
The ship was still erect
Only that sea was missing
An orbit with hissing

A cyclone that died
That dream aside
And eyes enter
Yet another world
In blue - all swirled
They speak of sensations
Far off from emotions
Its a world of eros
No gain no loss
But a harmonic melody
That dark prosody
Unconscious yet peaceful
That feel of brink-full.

written by - mystical wanderer

जिस्म की नीलामी

करते हैं हम आज नीलाम जिस्म अपना
जाने किस किसका था ये सपना
एक एक अंग और ये सांसें
ये तन मन और दुनिया की बातें
वो कहते थे की हूर सा बदन  है हमारा
लो कर दिया नीलाम आज इसे सारा
उठा लो अपना अपना हिस्सा और ख़त्म कर दो हमें
मिटा दो हमारी हस्ती, शायद चैन आ जाये उन्हें
मिटाने को हमें पहला हाथ उन्ही का उठेगा
खंजर सी जुबां का पहला वार चलेगा
शायद तब ये धंधा कुछ रुक जाए
शायद तब उनकी आँखें कुछ झुक जाएं
वो कहते थे हम बाज़ार में रोज़ उतरते हैं
आज सोचा चलो ये भी करते हैं
क्या पता आज हमें हमारी कीमत कोई बता दे
चलो आज हम ही खुद को पैदा होने की आखिरी सजा दें
तोह करते हैं हम आज नीलाम जिस्म अपना
जाने किस किस का था ये सपना

written by - mystical wanderer

Bird breaking bars

The sea waves splashed right on the shore causing a tremor inside her every pore and she thrilled in the ecstasy of the moment. She knew, the waves were new. Surely, it was a new day, with a new companion. And yet, that surfy smell – it had that nostalgic aroma of past. She could sense it – the same familiar touch, those sensations, those tickling waves. Could it have been some wine effect or was it all merely a product of her imagination? The overall impact of the moment was surely erotic and she was slowly liking it.

The fading moon in the realm of darkness, that dusky breeze and those frequent splashes of chilled sea – all upsurging to join her in the trance of her hollowed spirit and passionate senses. As she relaxed upon those shimmering sand–dunes, she was suddenly transcended to yet another fanciful intensity from years that were far behind.

Wasn’t it only yesterday when he was present right there beside her, hand in hand, running amidst those shore waves. They had played with sand – making each other sea mermaids out of lumps of the same sand. The sea shore had turned strangely gothic and hallucinatory without him.

She was on her own, walking peacefully out of htose thrashing boiling of the sea, but inside her spirit was some upsurging too. How else were such time travels possible otherwise. Maybe, time was indeed a physical dimension – to be able to mess it up so badly. Only that the remote was not in her own hands.

The strangest aspects of her present situation were her varied mood-swings and her reactions upon her own interpretations. At times life seemed perfect – with no botherations, nothing to push her down. But, there was no support as well. It seemed like a gravity-free zone of emotions with nothing but the weight of her own head’s doings. She missed that companion at times. She felt so free at other times. Was freedom – her only way or aim of life? Was she free before or was she free now?

Life surely was one complete puzzle for her complicated observations and yet, it all seemed so simple at times. She often observed those boundations to be truly her own and nobody else’s .it was her acceptance or receptance that was responsible for the course of her life.

Had she not broken so many bars of her life? Had she not travelled way too far from her origin point? Only that, it all seemed like a spherical figure where no matter from where she started, she landed at the same cross way. But, what was her destination anyway? Had she fixed her end or was it still a mystery for her? She had to know it and she knew it all.

But now was not the moment. For now, she had to give herself a break. After all, breaking yet another cage was a battle won. Only that, this cage had too many emotions indulged. She had actually convinced herself to like that cage. If only she had no free spirit of hers. If only she had been selfless enough to compromise her entity for the sake of her self-desired cage.

But, no. Bars – to her , were simply unacceptable. She was a free bird meant to touch that sky and she knew that. But, how come she had accepted her new cage – with yet another set of immensity of emotions.but, this was not new. It was the cage where self had got its existence, where she had taken her first breath. Only that she had no wish or guts to fly from there.

But, the day she realized her existence, things changed drastically. She was no more of the shape to be fitted inside her old mold. Each of her varied flights had enhanced her spirit and had expanded her self. That wild chiseling gave her immense powers, only that she was handicapped to get back to her old diva.

The root  cage allured her this time, showing her enough dimensions to give space to her new self. If only she knew the politics behind it. but there was no politics in it. it was rather innocent politics of love that was inescapable as it emerged out of her own roots. It effected her life nerve and any distortions in between hampered her own growth.

She liked her cage as it was free of those external dark forces. And yet, she was wild and her spirit craved for freedom. It was one addictive and powerful feeling - to be free, but, it had its own responsibilities – the responsibilities of self.

Now that she was free and walking in that solitary night on a cold sea shore. She had still bounded herself with burdens of  emotions. But she was not the one to be kept caged for long.so out she swam from the pool of those intensities and grasped for breath.

There she inhaled a long free sea – breeze and faced that golden moon at the horizon. Shimmering moonlight tinkled upon just-born face and she smiled. She was cleansed suddenly of all her chaotic emotions and there in the calm sea – she dived slowly into the ecstasy of the night. She had undergone a rebirth and her every pore was gleaming in the cosmic moonlight. She was at peace and she knew it.

Mystical Wanderer

Destiny - her creation

Those tiny wings that wanted to fly

Colors of jinx , pinch of wry

She had all her dreams and imaginations

Magic was she, destiny – her creations

All wanted to possess her charm 

Inside a jar they craved to keep her warm

But she seaked the snowy cliffs

The sea’s surf and those riffs

All day long she flew and dreamed of more flights

Of distant lands and those untouched heights

Of sandy beaches and coconut trees

But time had its own fees

The dreamy she entered a dream

Climbed upon mountains, dived into those streams

Met numerous new people

Made new decisions became fickle

She thought she was learning more

Indeed it was true but there was more in store

Her wings became battered in the process

With her dreams attained she had more dreams but in mess

Her mundane life called her with a welcoming jar

But she couldn’t have returned after going that far

She thought about the goal decided for her long back

But it was no more her aim rather was a lack

She thought about her new dreams

They were so many of numerous new streams

All told her its absurd to have such thoughts

She was expected to choose one of available pots

But she wanted none of them

All she needed was a floating stem

And upon that stem she wanted to flow

And reach all highs and nature’s low

But her dreams were risky and she knew it

All she knew was she didn’t want to sit

She had to make a decision soon

All she did was see that distant moon

Her mother’s wishes, long awaited bright future, 

The meeting in the process, the past’s caricature,

All of them were in between 

she was herself back in her teens

she was scared to take any new step

with her wings gone she felt her will at shocking tap

sudden desires, intense emotions

will to quit but her aspirations

all she needed was one way to go

all she found was possibilities of to and fro

she looked at herself again

her wings had gained their strength like stem

she was her own stem she knew

she and only she was the answer to her questions’ crew

Talking with the Milky Way

                    Kheerganga - The stage of stars 

are you struck in your mundane life of imposed material artificial beauty and a passive will to somehow survive while waiting for Godot , aspiring to finally take out those few golden days of a trip deep amidst nature. Well, don’t know about you, but i, born with an eternal wanderlust can’t stop mah feet from taking me to any and every dream destination that suddenly becomes too mesmerizing to be true. One such place happened to be ‘Kheerganga’ – a tiny abode set upon those Himalayan peaks deep inside Parvati valley which is believed to be carved by Pandavas.

The mythical story of the natural hot water sulfur spring in the centre of kheerganga covers an interesting story of lord shiva creating a hot pool as a gift to the upset parvati for her recreational purpose. It is also believed that one of Lord Rudra’s dreads dropped here while he was throwing them everywhere out of anger.

Whatever the history is, one thing is for sure, it is indeed the most beautiful place i had ever been to. So the facts include somehow reaching barshaini through taxi or car pools and there begins the real trek through narrow lanes with forest on one side and valley on another. It feels like a garden walk while trekking though it has its risky surprises too. Its a six hour long trek if done v. casually though i covered it in 1 hour 45 min. I am sure,  its a 45 min game for natives there despite of huge weights on their shoulders.

So the trek begins with age old trees, dry rocks but gradually you enter the lush green sea of forest. There are occasional springs welcoming you with fresh sweet water. A constant forest buzz maintains the rythem of the background and if alone you might feel occasional mystical presence here and there. the trek is so engrossing  that you somehow don’t get tired. More you trek on, more enhances the spirit to reach the destination. The sudden curves and turns stage numerous new divas of the valley and at each step you get hypnotized to reach the finale.

But yes, like all, its not just the journey but also the destination that has ripe fruits and fun. I reached kheerganga at the time of dusk. There was a huge dark green slope to still be covered and i lied flat upon the carpet of grass with nothing but a huge clear blue sky above me. the eyes had tears with the safe reach and beauty found. The easy accessibility of a camp, lively atmosphere of those wooden cafes and finding 40-50 people like me – having reached that rare sight – was a combination – too good to be held truth.

 As the night ascended, we walked towards the most compelling cafe – lonely planet – a little wooden cottage placed on an isolated rocky flat cliff – convexing deep inside a valley created out of unchallenged steep mountains surmounted by snow from centuries.  

There was a flat platform with a dance of shimmering lights all over the floor. and as i danced amidst those tiny starry lights on the trance stealing out of cafe’s door, i saw above. There was the most spectacular grandiloquence i have ever been a part of. As far as my eyes could reach, all i saw was numerous stars in silver and white getting lost in that grey and blue milky way capping the snow covered blue mountains all around. World was blue, black and white then and yet, it was beautiful.

There i took my first bath at 12 at night which was banned as such but having reached at a place known for hot spring and not taking a bath right away was not possible. The pool is divided in two portions. The men section is open and i envy them for that. Women section has a wooden wall with gate and latch but the roof is left open. Imagine taking a bath at the top of a hill at 12 at night with cold outside but you all warm in the vapours of hot sulfur water with nothing but endless stars above and none but your imagination for company. It was one experience full of awe.

That night consisted of a bonfire, late night talks with many new people and some solitary time alone with nothing but stars and my deep thoughts. Whole night two dogs accompanied me right outside my tent. Imagine opening your eyes to the first ray of dawn with a wet lick on your face of a gigantic furry hilly dog. It was shocking i must say. However, moment i stepped out of my tent, apart from a freezing wave of icy wind, there welcomed a sight all blue in shades. Blue Mountains, blue sky and blue snow - It was all blue, yet so distinctively clear.

As the day ascended a refreshing sun bath with oil massage at numerous cafes was a pleasing surprise. What enticed the eyes more was bewitching green meadows all around with hilly cattle grazing amidst those fields like seen in English descriptions of pasture lands. Nature had all its shades in huge amounts and i was proudly a part of it.

Though the stay there had been planned for a single day but the place was so touching that one couldn’t have held oneself from not staying there. Rather if it had been in my hands, i would have stayed there forever. So many foreigners working on cheap wages in restaurants there were a livid proof of the same emotions. There was a fine blend of strange sages, people in dreads, foreigners, Indians, locals and yes the endless natural beauty in its naked-most form. And yes, those hot baths after every once in a while was something one could have died for.

Sitting inside any cafe was something i didn’t want at that time surprisingly. The place was too beautiful to stay inside or waste time in interactions. However conversations with localites there was fruitful in getting to know the hardships and impermanence of living at that place. Evening again had blues and greys and night brought a pleasing change when I shifted to a wooden room rather than tent. There was solar electricity, a charging pint and a room fire available here and seeing the luxury of the moment at such affordable price moved my tender heart and boosted up my spirit to live there forever.

However, I knew I had to leave that place – only to return once more and then many more times. That night I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to make the most of all the moments i had at that place. So the anxiety took me to take yet another bath at 4 in the morning. There all alone at a time where none dared to step out in the freezing cold, on walked my feet towards the lonely hot pool. And gosh, i was surprised to find an ancient looking woman –  her skin yelling out her age – without any draping – already taking a a bath. Trust me, her body was so fit and in such perfect shape that even i got envious for a split second. My mind raced to imagine all possible threats and stories to be linked with an old woman at an odd time in a strange place. and deep inside a story of an old witch got plotted. 

However, that strong – woman’s image was something i couldn’t have compromised with. So i decided to converse with her. She along with three other girls used to collect herbs from the mountains and then sell it to foreign markets. Despite of all her normal conversations, somehow, my heart  - felt her aura to be strangely powerful and still there was this strange belief that whatever reasons she was there for, it was for my own good.

Just before i was about to step inside the pool, she bewared me of the slippery surface. Though, i had taken bath so many times for two days, yet , after her warning, i suddenly lost balance but she held my hand. She took me to the further corner of the pool where hot, boiling water was falling out of a metal pipe. I was scared. There were water plants dangling and enclasping my feet below. And there was that strange hilly woman taking me to the extreme corner of both the room and the pool. Water seemed deeper and alien there. still i went on – only to know – what would happen i f i do what she says.

She took me below the fall and told me to stay there with hot – burning water falling upon my shoulders. I was scared to hurt my skin. I was scared of her trying to drown me down or suddenly getting all my youth – like in the stories i had heard in my childhood. But only thing that happened there was that i was suddenly relaxed. I felt so strong and relaxed to fight huge battles of mankind. And yet, after ten minutes, the hot water had drenched out all of my energy. I guess that was because of varying temperature of both inside my body and the new temperature after an hour long bath in that hot pool. Before leaving i gave her a long hug and thanked her for her company. After all , my first expression had been of relief to find another woman at that time in that solitary place. latter were all my mental creations which i guess were bemusing me enough to let them go on.

Nevertheless, another bath at 12 and i was ready to leave the blissful heaven. 

My trip to kheerganga had ended there as i was supposed to venture and explore other dimensions of Parvati valley. But yes, there are places and moments that change who you are, kheerganga was one such place. it made me feel the identitylessness of mine where i was nothing in comparison to those gigantic cliffs, geographical features and milky way above. I tried seeing myself from the vision of sky and found me to not be even a point amidst those huge natural entities around. And yet, i was someone. After all not everyone wills or does finally reach at a place that beautiful to be true. Not everyone was a spectator of the view that i was participating into. Not everyone had the bliss to feel it right through. I had lost and gained an entire entity right in those 2 days and it was all worth it.

written and captured by - MYSTICAL WANDERER

Travelling Through Time

                  THOSE TRAVELS THROUGH TIME

Isn’t it strange that despite of having our highest motto ‘to live in the present’ yet every human has sometime or the other dreamed of a time machine? Imagine the thrill of reaching any era, rather phases of your own timeline and become a spectator, if possible to bring a change or two and attain the perfect life you see for yourself. How wonderful would it be to see it all – the journey of mankind – right from your own eyes rather than manipulated narrations of historians. But, would history be of any value then? And would there be any entity of time then?

And yet, this forth dimension of time has grabbed the attention from our ancestral times. So many scientific fictions, mythological narrations all encompass this human anxiety to triumph over time. Imagine listening to your favourite songs that somehow take you to other psychological lunar dimensions. A 5 min song make you undergo months or years of your life, a little heroic narration that sweeps you to those historical centuries when you were not even born. Is it all but imagination? Isn’t reality a shadow of imagination too in that case? If yes, i guess time travel – is a real phenomenon, and is surely possible if strongly willed and concentrated upon.

Marriage marks that visible line of bifurcation in a person’s life. So does other socialy constructed stages of maturity. And yet, deep inside, a person remains the same, despite of his age. Despite of a long arena of time – spent in between,. Deep inside, we still remain that child – who wants to be loved and pampered and taken care of – just like in anal stage. And yet, since childhood, there is this anxiety to grow up and do whatever one wants. Does all this ever happens? Partially yes. And also no.

Somehow, we live all ages at all times. After travelling to so many places, it becomes so easy for me to merely close my eyes and imagine myself at one of those many beautiful places where I wanted to reside.  At one time I reach Kashmir, at another I smell those salty sea waves of Kerala. a single song takes me through that long bus journey in dwarka where i was listening to the same song throughout my way. A piece of my own poetry suddenly brings smile upon my face remembering those mysterious playful nights with moon beside a river.

Whenever i visit any historical monument, i suddenly feel those unique vibes of every place. those walls have their own stories to tell. I wonder about the time, when a particular wall came to shape, the people who had built it, those times when it was rebuilt or taken care of. Those walls stand through centuries, talking about those grandeurs of past, still standing erect – having faced all decays and frailities of times. And yet, those walls are enough to provide me imaginary visuals of me in drapings of a princess at times – running upon those elegant gallaries of mughal empires. And at times they make me undergo those pains and pleasures of common men that i imagine myself to have experienced in some other births, at some other times. Somehow, all these don’t make me feel like a luniac. Despite of knowing it all to be products of my imagination, i somehow know them to be partially true, if not exactly the same as visualized.

And would book reading had been a pleasant experience if our visual senses not worked. With each

line, we transcend to some other world – a world fabricated by the writer, a world of the writer and the world assumed by us.  Our minds have this special power to be available at so many places at one time. How else dreams would have got their existence? I mean are we not sleeping in the world and yet all awake and in action in the world of dreams. And dreams too are not singular entities. They always come in a chain of worlds taking us to long trips in few moments.

While still a child, i read a story where a man unveiled the truth of humans living in 7 layers of possibilities all at the same time. It worked like a book of goosebumps where all yes and no take you to different worlds however the option not opted still survived – being lived by some other self of ours who might have chosen that option.

Who has not heard the famous lines, ‘ history repeats itself’. My question, ‘ is there anything called history? Yeats always believed in this image of a huge social gyre where repeated overlapping circles fulfilled each of his explanations. Isn’t time one such gyre as well. Consider the time of our tribal days, mythical illusions or present day so called reality. What has changed? Apart from the medium of expressions and their interpretations the emotions are limited and have been felt and expressed in similar terms all through ages. Life –survival – death, a cycle that each of us lives through. What has changed then? Where happens the boundary of past, present and future.

But surely we all feel those brutal expeditions of time. Memories, nostalgia, emotions, people lost, time gone by – all these clearly mark the boundaries. It is said that while living through various stages, there happens sudden revelations where a man one fine day sees his different phases in neat bifurcated clouds. He can look back upon past and feel as if someone else has lived it all. there happens the bifurcation. But isn’t it because of our decaying heads and poor memory. Isn’t it yet another work of time – which keeps rotating in circles and we remain under its opium considering it all to be new and different.

I think , all times exist at all times. A man is both child and his father at the same time. Writer or reader – both merge at some point of horizon. Those tones of song survive all those years only to take you back where you first heard them. I think time travel is not just possible, rather its a part and parcel of our life. We all do it , consciously or unconsciously. Willingly or unwillingly.

 WRITTEN BY- MYSTICAL WANDERER

Art and the Artists

                  EDUCATION - A BLUNT TOOL

Recently i realized that being a post graduate in English is one pitiable position to hold. Imagine the misery of having a degree considered estimable in society and yet being as unproductive in terms of providing you with a good job as if you are a 12^th pass individual. I respect those people who didn't go for higher studies but much preferred to either learn  some technical skill or join a call-center right away. What other options do i have even after doing m.a . surely i can go for lectureship now. But what if i don’t want to? What if i choose not to be a part of that lecherous team of professors who participate in getting benefited of the position of students and exploit them in order to grant those marks. And even if i leave that portion of reality, what use is this degree of??

Surely, i know few texts and i have certain tools of reading other texts in a particular way. Surely, i have certain fixed categories of feminism, linguistics, structuralism, content, language, history and so on in order to write a brief introduction about any text or individual but is that of any use?? Would it provide me the job of my satisfaction and money to ensure the lifestyle of my choice.

All that the course had done is that mah mental horizons have further opened up. I am no more able to fit in the mould of the society around me. i have critical distance to ensure a unique dimention but no place to fit in. I guess education makes us able enough to carve out our own space – as desired by our unique mindsets. But does the society allow it?? i doubt it.

A jobless and aimless girl who often faces fingers of all - questioning at times her opinions and thoughts. Many a times, her education is rather blamed for her being so different. I ask, if uniqueness is devoid of an individual’s identity what makes us all to be humans? Are we mere homogeneous products of a factory – meant to walk in gyres of society prefixed by our stereo-typical ancestors? And had our ancestors too limited themselves to those dimensions – wherefrom our vibrant history been written from? How else would have happened those huge discoveries, conquests, experiments and triumphs over nature?

There is a series of social stairs imposed upon every individual the moment he/she is born. Grow up, go to school, get good marks, learn manners, etiquettes, admission in college, higher studies, job, marriage, children, old age, so on. I guess, i don’t have to worry at all. my life is too easy to be lived. All i have to do is to follow the flow chart designed for me by all but me. alas!!! I am punished with a head which works slightly differently. Alas!! I want everything but a mundane life of ascending to those social parameters.

Have i not spent enough of my life following what others desired . good marks, good manners, respect to even those who don’t deserve it and what now? Am i satisfied? Partially yes. But surely not from these fulfilments. What gave me satisfaction was the moments where i followed my own heart. Those travels in mystical places,  learning from random people from places all over, visiting those hidden diverse beautiful enchantments of earth, watching dawn getting mature and dusk dyeing in the arms of soothing darkness.

So what now?? Travel?? Family??? Job?? What??? Huh!! I guess, this is existential crises. No balance is possible as balancing for me is another name of compromises. What if i don’t choose to compromise? What if I don’t want to settle down?? What if I like being a rolling stone?

Imagine, few countries don’t allow a spinster girl to travel and work in their premise just because she is not married. Imagine the system of marriage on contract basis. I have heard of a system where guys from Punjab marry a girl in india, take her to caneda, take care of all her expenses for 3 years and then once they get a permanent visa, they get divorced. I mean, what is the need of getting married?? What kind of legal facilities are these which compel a person to live a fake life.

But i guess some kind of system is required. Some rules, some obligations would always be there – to be liked by some and disliked by many.

 If only the system was open for creativity and mobility. if only, our society was not so rigid and people were free to be who they are. Surely, people remain who they are – atleast inside their own dimentions. How else could those beastly humans act upon their ill intentions and exploit whomever they are able to. But shouldn’t it be possible for those in real need of it? won’t world be a better and more truthful place where artists would be free to express their art the way they want to. After all, they are the forbearers of today’s history to be read in future generations.

 - mystical wanderer

the doom of adam's curse

                                

                         THE DOOM OF  ADAM'S CURSE

Yeats – a poet known for his obsession with irish and greek mythology, maud gonne and his faith in occult dark natural power of fate. Although his poetry ranges from irish revolution with all spices of politics to those innermost songs of solitary desires trying to express his unfulfilled love for maud gonne, yeats through his unique symbolism and special place in the changing history carved out a unique place for himself – a mystical observer and chronicler of change and its relation with the roots of history and mythology.

Adam’s curse is a poem that links up his view about love, poetry and nature. Imagine a calm evening with three friends sitting together – yeats , his beloved  - Maud Gonne and her sister Mrs. Katheline  Pitcher. A mild conversation with yeats encouraging Maud Gonne to be soft spoken and be more feminine like Katheline results in an intellectual debate where Maud Gonne puts forward her own views that to be beautiful requires a lot of effort for a woman and this is not even taught in any school.

Yeats turns philosophical and links up beauty with truth and hence with poetry. He remarks that to create anything beautiful is a hard work ,just like creating a piece of poetry which is more difficult than building a building or any other official work of a banker or merchant and yet poets and artists are looked down upon. Alas! The fate of beauty. ‘Beauty has the curse of looking simple’.

This links up his love for poetry to his love for Maud Gonne and he laments the time when love had chivalric notions and required a lot of courtship and long arduous painstaking efforts. He commented upon the changing society that love had become a child’s play just like poetry meant for trade. People in the changing society were writing to be sold and loving to fall out of love again. For him, that was no beauty, that was no truth. As without hard work involved no beauty could have aroused just like without efforts no woman could appear to be lady like and beautiful – in Maud’s terms.

With the mention of love suddenly one draws out of their conversation along with them and steps into the external scenic visual going with their mood. A distant fading moon reflecting their hearts and psyches – yell out the doings of time and the sad gloom shadowing their interior selves.

Adam’s curse was to make an effort to create anything as close to paradise. So was his fate. In order to attain love, beauty, or anything worth truth or beautiful  one has to make an effort. Hence ends yeat’s poem in a fine blend of romantic background, maneting emotions and philosophical endeavours – open to anyone reading it – compelling one to give it repeatative reflections and fall back upon time and again – at each effort- each endeavour – to create anything beautiful. 

by - mystical wanderer