The Symphony of Silence

In the state of tranquility,

when the Symphony of Silence plays in my mind

 these words reverberate through my heart.

To me,
these words are alive
they live, breathe and waltz in my mind 
to the Symphony of Silence.

These words flow,
unhindered by hesitation
They form the stream of truth that I tell myself.
These words live, they breathe and waltz in my mind to the Symphony of Silence.

If I am ever so blessed
maybe these words intertwine themselves in the hearts of others
like ivy that grows and winds itself so intricately.
I can never be guaranteed of that.
So I'll continue stringing these words like pearls of a necklace
In hopes that it will be worn one day.

In the face of tides and storms of emotions
all I have to wield is my pen
Yet I have never felt like I needed anything more.
These words live, they breathe and waltz in my mind to the Symphony of Silence.

Memories

Some memories are immortalized
as portraits in the mind's museum
others eventually die wandering the streets of a forgotten neighborhood.


They were all in color,
back when they were still the property of the present
and now that the ownership has transferred to the past
some of those crisp feelings still linger
even though the colors have faded to black and white.


Memories are no less than soldiers,
each squad with their own mission.
Sunny memories serve as a comfort zone for a cloudy mind.
Lessons learnt act as defenders of the mind.


With every passing second,
the colors fade to black and white
and a memory takes birth.
Simultaneously oblivion silently murders other memories
their ghosts still wander the streets of the mind.
Had that memory been shared between more than one person
all it would take is another mind that remembers, to resurrect a dead memory.


The fate of a memory,
Immortality or death
lesson learnt or comfort zone
Perception decides all.


I thought of including an explanation for my free verses. It is of course my aim that you're able to understand them without an additional 1000 words but its better to be on the safe side! So here goes:-
This free verse or poem is about memories as you can tell. The first line about memories being 'immortalized refers to how we tend to hold certain memories dear, no matter how much time passes we always find ourselves going back to those memories. Memories that are insignificant on the other hand are eventually forgotten ("die wandering a forgotten neighborhood").  
Flashbacks in black and white and the present in color was a popular tv trend. On a similar note, the present is in color and the past in black and white. And what we call memories today once used to be the present ("ownership transferred to the past .........the colors have faded to black and white")
The feelings when something happens is usually more profound and intense than when its looked back at as a memory.("some of those crisp feelings still linger ")


The comparison of memories with soldiers is far deeper than I have covered. I have only covered two squads of memories :- lessons learnt and happy memories but there are many more! Pardon me I  just couldn't think of a poetic line for 'etc'. Happy memories cheer you up and lessons learnt make you stronger ("Sunny memories serve as a comfort zone for a cloudy mind.

Lessons learnt act as defenders of the mind.") Every second memories are made, even the very action of hitting a key or reading something gets registered as a memory. ("With every passing second.....a memory takes birth")

Any Harry Potter fan would be familiar with the memory erasing spell 'obliviate'. Oblivion is the act of forgetting. Here forgetting a memory is referred to as the death of a memory. I called oblivion a silent killer of memories because we never realize we have forgotten something until we remember it once again. ("Simultaneously oblivion silently murders other memories") 

Usually its impossible to truly forget something, most of the time all it takes is something to jog your memory. We say that we don't remember our dreams but then quiet often when we hear or see something related to the dream the next morning, we're able to remember it. Theres always at least a fragment of a memory floating around somewhere.("their ghosts still wander the streets of the mind") 

Most of the time it takes someone else to jog your memory for you to remember something you have forgotten. 

("Had that memory been shared between more than one person...... to resurrect a dead memory.")

And here remembering something you had forgotten is referred to a 'resurrection of a dead memory'.

There is nothing good or bad, perception is what makes things seem as they are. Much like that its our perception that decides whether a memory will be cherished or forgotten just as quick, whether it will comfort us through the changing times or make us stronger.("The fate of a memory.....Perception decides all")

Another page of the notebook

The feeling of starting on a new page, blank, smooth and plain, waiting to be filled in. Isn't that what a freshly unfolded year feels like? Savor that feeling friends because by the end of the year that sheet of blank paper will be creased and scribbled on with your experiences of the year. But not today, today the page is blank, smooth and plain, waiting to be filled :- So make it vibrant and lively! As for your previous 'page', draw caricatures of those things that didn't go right and laugh them off. I don't even need to tell you about what to do with the rest, do I? Treasure that page, along with the rest. Hope you make the 'current page' the best in your notebook. Happy 2012 everyone! Begin the next trip round the sun with renewed energy that lasts till the end.

The year that has been.....

Tip the hat to the year that bids us farewell,

In all the contrasting experiences we have had during it

here's December, the smallest Russian doll amongst the 12 of successively decreasing sizes

The great teacher time has taught us many different lessons this year

Time has no plan on retirement from this occupation

And for all years to come we shall remain its students

An encore we'd shout

had the year been exceptionally favorable

As we put our hands together,

to the end of a spectacular year

We wave our hands to the departing year

This bitter-sweet goodbye

But we say thanks time and again for the parting gift

A suitcase full of great memories.

On the eve, as we see off the departing year and welcome the coming year with open arms

A word of advice

ill feelings are nothing but excess baggage for the trip ahead,

Cherish the souvenirs of your past travels

And make room for the souvenirs of the journey ahead

The Clock ticks on....

The Big Ben in London, the Rajabai Tower in Mumbai, the Spasskaya Tower in Moscow, Torre dell'Orologio in Venice, the Zytglogge in Switzerland, these are some of the many clock towers chiming away across the globe at present. In this very second, there are millions of clocks and watches ticking away all over the world, even as you are reading this there is probably one ticking away right next to you. Most of the time we are deaf to the ticking but very often we rest our eyes upon its face. Hoping that time would go slower, to relish a beautiful moment or maybe to finish whats undone. Sometimes we beg for it to move faster, to get through something as fast as possible, or maybe so that an awaited moment may reach the present faster. It ticks on, unaffected by the wishes of others, it doesn't compromise itself to receive acceptance or praise of others. One minute continues to be sixty-seconds whether we like it or not. Sometimes its ticks are drowned in the background but when silence is cast its voice is more profound and loud. Maybe it was trying to say something all along. It ticks on in monotony, as though its parroting something. It speaks in a language we humans are yet to master - the language of ticks. Most of the time its 'words' are lost in translation. Maybe its ticks are serving as a reminder of scheduled obligations or alerting people about a waste of time. It continues to tick away, maybe synchronizing to the rhythm of a heart beat or breathing. The needles continue to make their rounds, the incessant ticking accompanying it like a companion on a long journey. Maybe its beckoning for people to hear what it has to say, a message of importance. For how long have we considered it to be a mute, incapable of conveying feelings? And why this false assumption when its screams to be heard every second as it ticks on? Maybe each tick translates into "now". NOW. NOW. NOW. NOW. "Say what needs to be said NOW, do what needs to be done NOW, find happiness NOW". We often participate in indefinite waits and as we do the clock ticks away. How often are we waiting and wasting time? Waiting for the right moment, for inspiration, for someone like-minded to encourage or support us and the list goes on. Act now, while the ticking exists.The clock's ticks are numbered, one day it would stop, it maybe repaired or it may not be repaired. But can the same be said for ourselves? Perhaps thats what the great time keepers are trying to tell us. And the clock ticks on…

Here is where it begins

Today marks the beginning of my quest
My quest to find the realm of eternal happiness
The only route I know is through my dreams
Here is where it begins

These dreams, I have rooted them into the very depths of my heart
I cast an impenetrable shield over it, made of belief in its strongest degrees
Imprinted in my mind are the pictures of accomplishment
Synchronizing my actions to the beat of dream in my heart
Here is where it begins

Drunk with the wine of victory
So I shall be on the day of accomplishment
But will the realm of eternal happiness be waiting for me at the finish line?
Or will the glint of the trophy be all that awaits me?

The realm of eternal happiness, it was always in me,
Dreams and worries eclipsed its presence
Acknowledgement has illuminated it,
It lies in the birth place of gratitude,
Pitched right next to my dream, the realm of eternal happiness
lies in my heart......

My quest isn't over yet,
The realization of my dreams shall amplify the power
of the realm of eternal happiness within me,

The direction I should I go in, the path I must take for this

Either, I do not know

Let this belief be my compass and this hope be my light
Here is where it begins......

Youth

The rolling trophy, the title, the baton called 'Youth'

It's possession dependent

not on when the hair greys or the youthful glow fades

but on when the recesses of the mind no longer inhabit ideas

and the heart no longer inhabits passion.

Its our perspective that is broad enough to erase the mistakes of the past and start anew

We are the slayers of conventional beliefs

who build upon the sweat and toil of our predecessors.

Grateful we are for their sacrifices are the framework of our doings

Brimming with energy, excited by the possibilities of tomorrow

inspired by all those who seized opportunities, fueled by a zest for life,

that's how we live.

We hold no prophecy

But with certainty the day for our successors shall arrive

At its arrival some of our names and faces shall reside in the pages of history

some shall be washed away by the sands of time.

But our work shall be immortal,

and will be the foundation stones of that of our successors

In this relay race defined as the productive segment of life - 'Youth',

we can only hope to do our best

before we pass the baton.