The Music of Variance

"In your light I learn how to love.

In your beauty, how to make poems.

You dance inside my chest where no one sees you,

but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art."

~Rumi

Meant to fly...

Couldn’t fly, in the blue blue sky…
Couldn’t see thru the naked eye…
Burned too hard, burned too long
Saw everyone burn along…
U can blame me, cause I didn’t try
Rushed to every light like a firefly.

But the sky in my eyes??
Don’t tell me it’s a lie…
Just a dream dat I saw…
With open eyes??

Sailed along on every ship…
Waited to get my soul ripped,
Feared every gentle drop…
Tamed every feeling dat cropped
Behind the crust my haven lies
All too high!! All too high!!

But the feather in my palm??
Glowing and calm!!
How could it get blown
Away in the winds unknown?

But now…

Can you take me through the door?
Make me see the untouched shores…
Can you show me a dream or two?
If you want I’ll hold it for you…
Had never seen a star so bright
Yet not blinded by its dazzling light
The sublimest of beauty lies
Here in my haven high…

Couldn’t tame the dreamer though
Even when the strongest currents flow
Embraces every slightest night,
To bring the alchemist to life…
Coaxing thru the lowest troughs
Finding its way against winds rough
Here in my haven high…
I realize we’re meant to fly!!

I can dream no more...

My feet don't catch the rhythm at nights.
I don't spend the mornings transfixed on flowers.
I can finally tolerate the ways of the world,
And neatly toss away its hours.

They say I smile more and live more,
And rightly do they judge.
Cause in all its polity, I shunned my innocence...
A mask in my face I smudged.

I once had a song book,
From which i sang to myself beneath the moonlight.
Be with like minds form smiles to laughs,
And life flowed from those heights!
You may find that book in the darkest pit of my closet,
And the lonely guitar stands in a mourn.
Tethered, I foolishly look around the world before me...
Cause I don't sing no more...

I dare not question anymore...
till i become a sad painting on the wall.
Adamantly oblivious to 'living'...
Can you raise the dead by a call?

I fear being with myself,
I fear truth and its stare,
Dreaming made me love myself...
But I can dream no more!

Anusha :)

Human Love

Why is control the sole human motivation. We want to control everything around us. Specially other people’s life. No matter what mess our life is into. We love to give advices and paint ideas about how one’s life should be, how one’s behaviour should be, How the world should be.

Me: Why do you want to help me out?

Human: Because i love you.

(echos of the same sentence again and again in the mind Followed by visions.)

Father: Where are you going?

Me: Friend’s place.

Father: why?

Me: I need some notes from her.

Father: oh, so i’ll get it. You stay. Its late.

Me: Its only 6 in the evening.

Father: It’ll get late while you come back.

Me: Huh? I think it wont, i can do it myself.

Father: Why are you so short tempered? Im saying this only because i love you. You would never understand.

(Whisper in the head: Possession in disguise of love.)

Mother: What do you want to have for lunch?

Me: Anything will do ma!

Mother: Hah! How will i give you anything, its after such a long time you have come home.

Me: Well i just want simple Curry and rice, dats what i have come here, to have food coked from your hand.

Mother: I’ll cook you chicken.

Me: I really dont like chicken ma.

Mother: What will you think dat ma didn’t even give me good food and didn’t treat me well when i went home, I must make something good.

Me: I wont say anything of dat sort, just cook your normal stuff ma!

Me: Well im cooking something good because i love you.

(Whisper in the head: "Compulsive behaviour to please” in disguise of love.)

Sister: What are you talking about?

Me: Yes im serious i have opted for Psychology as my major.

Sister: What the hell is wrong with you?

Me: i dont understand? Whats wrong with psychology? I like the subject and i think its my calling.

Sister: Well your calling bull shit! Your calling wont fetch you money, You understand money? Something papa supplies you with every month. Well wake up! Get practical! What will you do studying psychology, do research. Gwad why do you always have to take the wrong decisions? You listen to me, you are not taking no psychology, you understand? You will take up Finance, it will fetch you a high paid job in the corporate world. Well look im saying all this because im your sister, i care about you and i love you.

(Whisper in the head: Control in disguise of love.)

Uncle: why do you talk to your father that way?

Me: Didnt you see how he talked to me?

Uncle: Oh he’s your father, he scolds you only for your good.

Me: Yeah right!

Uncle: You are such a talented and intelligent girl. You probably will do really good in life. But look at that grumpy face of yours, between who was that guy you were talking to in the dark last evening? (with a sly doubtful look.)

Me: Oh just a friend. And it was dark because there were no lights, i didn’t have a choice in that.

Uncle: Oh yeah, i see.

(Manipulation in disguise of love.)

Human love is soo full of disguise. Im not sure if im am capable of understanding this emotion at all. This whole concept of love gives me a feeling of synthetic bliss and a way to achieve a paranoia or a make believe sense of reality. How can a conditioned being give you unconditional love? How do i believe you when you say “I love you”? Can you believe yourself? Would dat “I” in the “I love you” know unconditional existence then how can it claim love? Would dat “I” love itself unconditionally? Is not love skewed in your perception? Is it not over rated? Or in sudden realization (when all the make-believe love becomes like too boring to take) would you not pity yourself at promising too much. Hey i am a human please, not GOD!

Exactly my point!

(Looking for absolute in a world full of dualities...)

If Men Could Menstruate

by Gloria Steinem
A white minority of the world has spent centuries conning us into thinking that a white skin makes people superior - even though the only thing it really does is make the more subject to ultraviolet rays and to wrinkles. Male human beings have built whole cultures around the idea that penis envy is "natural" to women - though having such an unprotected organ might be said to make men vulnerable, and the power to give birth makes womb envy at least as logical.
In short, the characteristics of the powerful, whatever they may be, are thought to be better than the characteristics of the powerless - and logic has nothing to do with it.
What would happen, for instance, if suddenly, magically, men could menstruate and women could not?
The answer is clear - menstruation would become an enviable, boast-worthy, masculine event:
Men would brag about how long and how much.
Boys would mark the onset of menses, that longed-for proof of manhood, with religious ritual and stag parties.
Congress would fund a National Institute of Dysmenorrhea to help stamp out monthly discomforts.
Sanitary supplies would be federally funded and free. (Of course, some men would still pay for the prestige of commercial brands such as John Wayne Tampons, Muhammad Ali's Rope-a-dope Pads, Joe Namath Jock Shields - "For Those Light Bachelor Days," and Robert "Baretta" Blake Maxi-Pads.)
Military men, right-wing politicians, and religious fundamentalists would cite menstruation ("men-struation") as proof that only men could serve in the Army ("you have to give blood to take blood"), occupy political office ("can women be aggressive without that steadfast cycle governed by the planet Mars?"), be priest and ministers ("how could a woman give her blood for our sins?") or rabbis ("without the monthly loss of impurities, women remain unclean").
Male radicals, left-wing politicians, mystics, however, would insist that women are equal, just different, and that any woman could enter their ranks if she were willing to self-inflict a major wound every month ("you MUST give blood for the revolution"), recognize the preeminence of menstrual issues, or subordinate her selfness to all men in their Cycle of Enlightenment. Street guys would brag ("I'm a three pad man") or answer praise from a buddy ("Man, you lookin' good!") by giving fives and saying, "Yeah, man, I'm on the rag!" TV shows would treat the subject at length. ("Happy Days": Richie and Potsie try to convince Fonzie that he is still "The Fonz," though he has missed two periods in a row.) So would newspapers. (SHARK SCARE THREATENS MENSTRUATING MEN. JUDGE CITES MONTHLY STRESS IN PARDONING RAPIST.) And movies. (Newman and Redford in "Blood Brothers"!)
Men would convince women that intercourse was more pleasurable at "that time of the month." Lesbians would be said to fear blood and therefore life itself - though probably only because they needed a good menstruating man.
Of course, male intellectuals would offer the most moral and logical arguments. How could a woman master any discipline that demanded a sense of time, space, mathematics, or measurement, for instance, without that in-built gift for measuring the cycles of the moon and planets - and thus for measuring anything at all? In the rarefied fields of philosophy and religion, could women compensate for missing the rhythm of the universe? Or for their lack of symbolic death-and-resurrection every month?
Liberal males in every field would try to be kind: the fact that "these people" have no gift for measuring life or connecting to the universe, the liberals would explain, should be punishment enough.
And how would women be trained to react? One can imagine traditional women agreeing to all arguments with a staunch and smiling masochism. ("The ERA would force housewives to wound themselves every month": Phyllis Schlafly. "Your husband's blood is as sacred as that of Jesus - and so sexy, too!": Marabel Morgan.) Reformers and Queen Bees would try to imitate men, and pretend to have a monthly cycle. All feminists would explain endlessly that men, too, needed to be liberated from the false idea of Martian aggressiveness, just as women needed to escape the bonds of menses envy. Radical feminist would add that the oppression of the nonmenstrual was the pattern for all other oppressions ("Vampires were our first freedom fighters!") Cultural feminists would develop a bloodless imagery in art and literature. Socialist feminists would insist that only under capitalism would men be able to monopolize menstrual blood . . . .
In fact, if men could menstruate, the power justifications could probably go on forever.
If we let them.

(Not that I am a feminist, but after years of atrocities faced by women on the hands of men whom I think have simply "Lost it!". I have rather met men who are sensitive who know that women are equal, may be different but a creation no less than us, maybe more, as some men look up to women as enigmas but I have also seen a few less evolved men who take women as some meek creature subject to their ego gratification. But things against women have really gone to extremes at some places to give birth to Eve Enslers and other feminist. Even I feel the brunt of such things when I get a simple eve teasing comment from a passer's by and I think if such a small comment can make such a profound psychological impact then what about girls who have been sexualy assaulted, as if they had no personal space, they couldn't call their body as something belonging to them. Any fuckin person says and does any fucking thing to you and does not feel even a wee bit shameful or guilty about it. This is really sad and a sign of a really less evolved soul.

I have never faced a situation like this. May be because of luck or also that I was very outspoken and strong in my opinions since I was a kid. When my uncle's and parents used to tell me I couldn't do a thing because I was "a girl" which was very accepted by the girls around, I could so very much sense the tone of "Oh-My-God-you-are-a-girl!" as something of an attempt to control and over-power the free spirit and decision making ability of the girl. And if that was with someone like me who questioned every belief and detested every dogma then what about the sweet-souled girls who look for harmony in every relationship. Who is ready to sacrifice her beliefs and her desires to keep people around her happy. I have seen this in my mother and in my aunts. And much so in the society around us, Yet they suffer relentless sorrow in the hands of their husbands who take their years of sacrifice to understand their worth and sometimes not even that. Why cant women stand up and draw a line? What is their to loose? Why cant they say in pronounced terms "This is what I want"? I think you really need to ask the universe in clear terms and you get it, then why condemn yourself to sorrow? Why this obsession for security for certainty? Even when it gives nothing but surety of suffering. I guess women have a larger role to play than men in this whole scene. They have to understand that marriage and staying at home and not participating in societal issues are actually recent concepts developed by a patriarchal society. And STOP FEARING for God's sake!)

May faith be with you! :)

Its been a long time since i dreamt, a long time since i left my self loose and painted. Rather I'm finding the once harsh, real world very tolerable and sometimes enticing. Is it deadly? Is it suicidal? Is it destiny? I don't know. But i fear if its like "The child is grown, the dream is gone." kinda thing. I don't even feel inspired by anything or anyone anymore. Like i used to when i watched the poor, or a documentary on Da Vinci, or a portrait made by Michel Angelo or an essay written by Nietzsche- "I have become comfortably numb."

Strangers!

Strangers they are all…
How I love strangers!!
And how I hate them…
Wish I could abate them…
The tussle of the lonely hour,
The juggle of the bustle,
Captured in the labyrinths,
Thoughts eager to jostle.

A fake smile is all I can do for you today,
An empty heart you’ll find dismayed…
There are no ties for me, except my own mind.
It runs too wild, leaving me behind.
Love I don’t deserve, until I find love in self.
Yet frittering away myself for want of pelf.

I don’t know when the fight begun,
I don’t know when I joined the run.
But solitude is my only weapon and field.
Deception my disguise and shield!
I don’t know when this cloak I’ll shun…
And when will end this marathon!

A foot against another I’ll keep.
No more delusions I’ll allow to seep…
The beauty and love I want to see
I will first make its haven in me
Don’t see me as I seem to be…
Don’t try to be my canopy…
The maze is mine and I will know,
How will I have to end the show!

So strangers you will all remain,
And loving life I will maintain.
No zone of comfort I will seek,
No secure ground will make me meek.
The challenge of becoming whole…
Being the mark of an ambitious soul,
And when everything to my self I’ll turn,
I’ll know I fumbled and I learned.


Now the seeking has begun,
To first be and then become,
I seek nor seeking nor the sought,
No more wallowing in traps of thought
In love’s reverence,
I’ll find my existence.
And find me in everything,
And everything in myself!


“The whole secret of existence is to have no fear. Never fear what will become of you, depend on no one. Only the moment you reject all help are you freed.”
----Buddha