Slowly a day, a person, a moment retreats into memory and becomes Past. Even memory possesses a rear inner compartment which falls into time, hastily and smoothly, beckoned by the latter's impatient ticking...
Nothing ever dies And no one is more alive, Than your severe and ironic rhymes. In blind man's darkness I seek my tunnel reddened by distant lights; I don't see the righteous Neither do I look behind. What can I do but advance, Given no light, though gifted a guide. A guide who took me… Continue reading In memoriam J.B.
This evening I feel myself one of the millions trying to reconcile their dreams with a blank page. The real surprise grown- ups face every year, this is it: a book crammed with multiple genres that opens one page a day. The main catch is that no one promised the surprise to be a… Continue reading Reconciliation
Five years ago today, I made my way home across 8000 km of sky, land, and ocean. I'd been away for 12 years. I sat suspended, tasting the feel of Time on my lips, looking down at retreating lands veiling a future being minutely drawn over with dense cloud coverage. I was but a somnambulist… Continue reading The Fifth Anniversary
What do you think of the famous questions dating back to 19th century Salons of Paris, later given the name of the Proust Questionnaire? Marcel Proust, the great author of the 7-volume life-long work "In Search of Lost Time" had answered similar questions twice, however without any part in their invention or wording. I sit, thinking,… Continue reading Proust Questionnaire
"Life is worth living, even in a prison cell" said Artur Rubinstein. These words had always caused conflicting emotions in me. While believing in their completely unhypocritical power, it had always escaped me how they're possible in hard core reality. "Life is worth living, even in a prison cell". A strong and demanding statement which few… Continue reading P.S. on Joseph Brodsky’s ‘In Praise of Boredom’
Autumn Isn't dreary, autumn isn't a maid grown old. Autumn is a maid stripped bare. By rain, by wind, by human hand. Undressed. Left to live with bare essentials. Only thus, she shall come to know the bare essence of things. And waiting for new times she will praise these. What she's waiting for is… Continue reading A thought on Autumn