Tug of war

A couple of weeks ago, I had a tussle with my two selves. I have a practical person sitting inside me on one side, and an out an out adventure seeking romantic crazy whacked out person on the other. and they keep squabbling like siblings. The crazy one comes up with wierd ideas and the other shoots them down. At times I hate my practical self cos it restricts me, doesnt allow me to take too many risks, explore, do something without bothering about the results. But at other times I am thankful for it. I have been saved from falling into the wrong places so many times because of the practical side intervening and taking over. It has given me the strength to keep moving on in life no matter what happens with you. I have come out of depressing phases, bad situations and got a hold on myself because of practicality and I am glad I can do that.

This tug of war has made the spaced out, confused, crazy, unpredictable, random, analysing, futuristic person that I am. And well, I guess I like myself that way. At least I am balanced, i guess.
(Yes, this is one of my narcissistic phases where I am happy with my own self mostly, and discovering my good sides. Isn't it obvious? Will get over it soon?)

TUG OF WAR

Caught between two ends
Both distant and far
A tug-of-war so intense;
None ready to let go of the rope.

But the poor rope
It's plight unseen
It knows not whether to stay or break
It's strength tested to its limits.
Every pull a trauma
grips tightening with time
Equal forces on both sides it seems
None ready to forego the winning honour.

Does it have the power
to decide its outcome?
To end the torture, and
fall lifeless on the ground?
Hanging in mid-air
weighing the options
knowing it can do nothing
It just looks at both ends.

Side A - the Abstainees,
holding back the rope,
Though not pulling it much,
they do not let it go.
Strong as ever
with practicality and sense, they say,
"We look at logic,
our side though hard, yet firm,
no wavering, the ground stiff, cemented,
and the rope must fall here.
'Cos thats sensible,
the result being clear."

Side B - the Bouncers
jump up to defend
with all thier strength they tug
trying to pull the rope to their end.
A little marshy, with soft mud,
the ground they tread on is dodgy;
"But its not hard and will not hurt much.
The rope will fall shakily yet softly;
we cannot say for sure where it will drop, but if it falls far from the line
maybe the fall will be smooth
and it can relax without cuts or sores."
They seem unsure, yet inviting,
as they continue with their excited tugging.

Pullig harder at the rope, both ends try;
the poor rope meanwhile, waiting for the tussle to die.


- © HAEM ROY 

SQUARE WITH ROUND EDGES

This poem i wrote recently gave me my blog title.

SQUARE WITH ROUND EDGES

Look alike… I DO
I am too but a square
The square pegs before me filled
Yet there seems to be space for this spare.

And again hard I try
Jump in, dive in, squeeze through to my peg
Fit into my cubicle in the huge ice-tray
Crawl in slowly, or even edge in leg by leg.

Everytime I manage
Fit in, adjust, and get through
It just seems uncomfortable
The cubicle seems so unfamiliar, so untrue.

I may still be a square and not a round
May not be one of the unnecessary wedges
Yet I feel empty spaces in the corners
Maybe I am just a square but with round edges.



- © HAEM ROY

The 1st!

Well, my 1st entry here.

Getting a broadband connection is quite funky I realised! But its not as good as I thought, especially when you are not home until 7 pm, and then have to fight with your younger brother for the comp, and to add to it, are not used to sitting in one place for long (let alone punishing your eyes with the comp screen)! And staying up late is fine and possible, except that because wake-up call is 5.30 am, the eyes begin to complain and torture you, slowly and steadily!

But anyways, moving on, now that I am here...
I have been in one of poetry moods these days. I am churning out quite a lot of them, and they are very bad either. And now i have finally realised what my style is - alternate, pensive, abstract and allegorical usually. I love the fact that people can extract their own meanings out of them. I guess this has come out of my love for the Post-modern concept of the interpretation of the reader and of misreading. Even when i am reading something, I take delight in the work if I am allowed to interpret it and think about the stuff written or the theme, etc. Isn't it cool if something you read teaches you to argue with yourself? You are the one defending a certain point and you are the one speaking against it too. And even if its not an argument, there is a certain aggressiveness that comes in when you read certain works or even movies and music that makes you want to be vocal, want to speak up, question, wonder, do something.

If I think of movies like that, the first that comes to my mind is Clockwork Orange. It just set my mind whirring away with so much in it that I felt it will burst open any moment. Upturning all notions that you know, it still doesn't seem wrong and you end up questioning even yourself and existence.

A few days ago when i was in one of my self-reflective moods (they come so often!!), I wrote something which even I was puzzled with when i read later. When I made friends read it, some liked it, some didn't understand it and some just gave me blank looks. It's a poem called

CANDLELIGHT MERCIES.

A sudden convoluted minor-looking scratch
throbbing, piercing through;
Cries for mercy
Ringing.
Its trapped, its trapped
Witnesses are but a few

Pretending to see the invisible
Visions of the Psychic?
Sixth sense?
Foresight?
Can a zebra’s rash
Affect how a donkey kicks?

The iron clearing out the creases
Rather creating space
for more to come
Gradually.
Creases that demarcate the cotton
From the Silks, Satins and the Lace.

London’s bridge keeps rebuilding itself
yet the left-behinds peep through
gaze at the crossing vehicles
Speeding
A direction is set again, clearly, accidents and aimless wanderings, will continue.

The candle is in my hand, illuminating
A few metres ahead clearly seen now
but all around the ahead still lies
Darkness.
Your careful steps create screaming echoes
who can rescue you from the future?

Trapped trapped in your own darkness
The candle enlightens just right ahead
Further on the path twists and curves
With dark and dangerous bends
Guiding you is your light
But it shows not the darkness;
The dead end has been imagined
The length of the path unknown.
Still more unknown are the blackouts
Stealing of your matchsticks then
forks, choices, splits, junctions
Candles do not push you around
The sad delight lies in what they show
Too many paths when you need not know.
Brightening when you walk in jest
But winds hover around forever
A blackout looming always
And finally
You reach where you know not.

The sudden minor scratch unnoticed, calls for attention
While the candle is being lighted, honed
The journey will start. All throbbing
IGNORED.
But the screams will continue till the end
Its trapped. Potential help deafened.
- © HAEM ROY