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We watch those that do not cry, but we cringe ketchup tears the ones that run when we embarass
Don’t tear away, what is right
Is it right? Yes, so right.
Casual glances are what we have like master chess players in a three-hour game like farmers in a field where corn is growing. Plants and Grants. Spread wings, hold breath and say it: I love you 123 I love you Cause for joy, perhaps not but the keep whispering horses, keep whispering, told you teash, please, tease, freeze, home, hone.
‘In the small of a flame, the roar of a fire.’-I said it.
None but ketchup tears casings of gunpowder from when you shot me when you ripped my heart and held two halves further and furthur apart. You said I love you and you held me kissing my open lips. And my lips they drained, dawned me and you they kept you busy while I went behind you back and took another half a heart and pieced it with mine we crawled and gasped and went. When you said I love you I believed you. That is why you borrowed my wings but you left and never returned. You re-entered my plastic life and kissed it back to a dream. I wept and you wiped. We both wanted the enter the forgotten World
World of ours when even and odd lovers and the prodctions they produce are evdd. Yes like evdd is a number ### where fractions are odd and integers are even like 21/3 or 41/5 or 61/7 isn’t it nice and 123 and l love you
I love you
I love thee to three…….
Forgettable heart, thy doves are flying but thy tears are red…………….
Demarcation/boundaries
Boundaries are the definitive lines that organize space, land, class and so on. So boundaries are there to serve a meaningful purpose. I believe they should be preserved as long as they are not conflicting with others interests. But in the novel (in the skin of a lion), boundaries are very conflicting object and many times the author of characters dissolve this boundary like for example: “This was humanity in theatre, the scar -the old actor famous for playing whimsical judges, who rode the Queen street car east of the city and ate his dinner alone before joining his sleeping wife” (152-3). It is a quotation that speaks of a time between playing a role and playing human. Not speaking of both sides of the boundary but the boundary itself. This reminds me of walking along the wilderness of the 49th parallel where separation is evident in the foliage but not in the skys where blue is still the colour. So as to the question, boundaries are put up in order to be purposeful and they should be preserved. Definitions is a whole other ball game because it is sometimes a very constricting, limiting boundary. In this case literature is confining because many symbols like for example a garden with an apple tree links back to the original sin. My thinking is you are taught to learn that way, you cannot say 2+2=5 because it is wrong. I guess this whole thing links to the fact that a definition is very limiting. Children are great at asking impossibly hard questions and once an answer is given, they always have room for ‘what ifs?!’ blah blah…
Commentary: So I wrote this roughly 5 and bit years back, I think I was immature in my writing. It seems I was on the fence with this issue of demarcation/boundaries/definitions. This response was actually as a ‘on the spot’ writing with the novel: In the skin of a lion as the back drop, using the novel we were to write an essay on the our chosen topic. I remember clearly being exceptionally confused about what my own definition was about definition, demarcation. And then as the deadline neared, it was clear I needed to pick a side, I will keep this a suprise…you can read the essay completely in my next post. 
As renovations of the halls begin to end in our building, I sigh. Here we are beginning to start packing: we’re moving in a week or so, I haven’t kept count.
The halls look wonderful, clean and sterile, the atmosphere of the hospital I visit everyday is reminded to me. I laugh; what irony, I work in one do I have to really live in one too. But these are just the hallways, not the inside of my home. Welcome is here, love is here, comfort is here. Its not a palace by any means. But there is the essence of our past in every dust bunny, every scuff mark. I’m not painting a pretty picture here.
But does it matter, I love this place. It faces the soutwest and the evening sun sets like a bonfire during an ecilpse. Often at times believeing I can take a photo of this, have I stood with our non-digital 24 roller. At 12 that seemed plausible, the sun should look perfect in this. I was misled. The photos were all smears of colour with dark spots everywhere. The parental unit scolded for what it was worth.
Now digging up those wishes to capture the western sun startle me. I look over it and wonder where I was to be standing here. The window is here, the western sun still sets ablaze the periphery of the earth, but sadly or unsadly I have changed. Isn’t that the honest truth? I will miss this place. It has seen all my greatest joys and failures. I have spent close to 12 years growing up here. I have changed as a person, but my essence still exists.
So wherever the sun exists, I will look up to it and imagine those colourful photos, me and my home.
Gray skys dawn
London’s bridge admires
The shortcomings
Too high are the buildings
To admire the sun
I’ll tell you something that will make you think…
Wherver I look, I see your face
The sky darkens on cue
Whatever I say, I say your name
With each raindrop, I sense your fragance
Whoever I meet, they ask about you
I laugh…
It’s funny how you turn up in places
like finding things you thought you lost forever
like wishing to see the moon on a rainy night or a daisy on a winter day
And so… I won’t deny it
But I can’t agree with you
I never will of course
But I’ll let you know
you changed me in ways you’ll never know
I hope that warms your heart
A boy has killed a nasty king
Though its country joyously sings
The court has put the boy in prison
And there he is granted the highest treason
The boy does not whimper and cry
He quotes: “I would rather die.”
His family proudly await his return
But, alas they are to mourn
His treason states that he must die
The actions that follow, make him cry
His famous face still forever kissed
And after his death he is still sorely missed
Is this right or wrong?
When the heart is abused
Tears are shed
When the body is abused
Bruises are purple
When the mind is abused
Thinking is damaged
When the soul is abused
Revenge is taken
My periyappa repeats my name
His clouded eyes; they see me,
Even though darkness is his light
His clouded eyes; they see me,
Even though darkness is his light
His love unfathomable,
Greater by far
Than faith in God.
His smile will live in me
As I live in his memory
lets me sit in his lap,
tells me stories,
those of me, I laugh
I can still hear the train
He whispers: “The house is empty”
chuckles, “I run around looking for you”
“I yell your name”
I laugh
“You are at the well, pouring water from one hand into the other”
“That is when I regretted most being blind”
He repeats it, a light shines
A tear falls
I hush
He breathes a sigh
“You are my music, sangeetha..”
“All I can hear but can never see..”
