It has become very popular these days to "let go of thought". But I love silence and I love to think.These two had never asked me to choose between them. Poetry is simply my journal of thought. Here is today's entry. Thou Art A broken flower of the world shoved in a glass jar on… Continue reading Poetry as thought
How does a young human being go about learning of its inner self? In this era of the new "great depression," seeking answers too often resembles standing in front of a shattered mirror with a pile of fractured and broken pieces and no reflection. Whilst outside booms the 21 century. Seeing no reflection, one just… Continue reading The Age of Emotional Innocence
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...
Years ago, growing up and doing a lot of reading, I would often get bored with long monologues .Today I'm ashamed of the fact that not having the heart to skip them, I used to skim over them, which I found to be a more conscience-friendly way of helping them out that other ear. Things… Continue reading Cupping Time
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.
"Santa exists, but he definitely doesn't bring presents!" - I was all of a sudden struck by the philosophical repercussions from this remark of an 11 year-old student of mine. What a way to rephrase the eternal grown-up complaint of existence! And then, suddenly, in a typically adult postscriptum of self-doubt: "He exists, doesn't he?"… Continue reading Of Santa, Kids, and Astrophysics