Wednesday, October 21, 2009

MENDICANT'S RANT

I stood in the threshold of time, not this,
like a MENDICANT, seeing faces go by
a morphed reality, a diluted perspective
looking numb, not so dumb, yet clueless
as to
where to set foot next.

William staged every known word,
Gautam besieged the world sans bloodshed,
Leo drew the code that shaped us,
Issac gave birth to the laws we go by,
Ludwig didn't need the senses to play his notes,
Albert took science beyond mortal inspiration,
Helen tore down the very thought of limitations,
Neil stamped the heavenly bodies with his print,
Mohan humbled the instinct of greed,
Agnes testified for love that was unconditional,
And many other who became history
for the future to be seen.

Here i stand, one among numerous,
not a star, not a sun,
nor a meteor or even an asteroid,
just a tiny speck of space dust,
not knowing my time in the universe,
or where my co-ordinates lay,
so i can label them mine,

exhausting my composition,
gaseous inheritance
yet i am weighed down,

in pursuit of a collider, to set a bang,
floating, drifting, the omnipresent darkness
consuming me.


Stranger in the oceans of galaxies,
like a thief looking for a role to steal.

Maybe a peddler to sell a ware,
maybe a gleeman to treat a trick or tale,
maybe a trader looking for a bargain,
maybe a warrior proud of his clan,
maybe a singer who could shy every bird,
maybe a medicine man who can't cure himself,
maybe a seer who carries the baggage of focus,
maybe a fortune-teller looking for that elusive treasure,
maybe a vagabond who is thirsty for new lands,
maybe a orator who opens hearts like a surgeon's hand,
maybe a poet who personifies illusive emotions,
maybe a story-teller lost in one of his characters,
maybe a artist with the devil's hand of creation,
maybe a farmer who plunders the virgin earth,
maybe a banker who juggles stones and metals,
maybe a writer who scripts his own end,
maybe a cleaner who ends up with all the dirt,
maybe a rider who knows when to take the turn,
maybe a philosopher who harbours thoughts of lust,
maybe a butcher who isn't interested in blood,
maybe a astronomer blinded by the shiny stars,
maybe a seeker who knows what he is looking for,
maybe a mechanic who tinkers the wheel of time,
maybe a soldier whose real foe is death,
maybe a king who rules what is not his,
maybe a alchemist who is lost in luster,
maybe a builder who can't find his own space,
maybe a lover who can't remember his virgin kiss,
maybe a nomad navigating to settle everywhere,
maybe a sailor who charts a course with no rudder,
maybe a gypsy who isn't fed up of tattered colours,
maybe a creator who can't stop becoming a voyeur,
maybe myself, a empty me,
a mendicant rattling a gimcrack rant

i stare as faces go by,
like pages that turn when time flies by,
into those raven black eyes,
lit by a golden ball of fire.

i the dot
that is clustered together

with many others
form the trail of a star

whose blaze tries to
offset the omnipresent darkness.

(e-snap : Meenakshi Bhavan, Thiruthangal Highway, 12/2007)

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