A Spring Recalls
Comes in mind, the yellow sky
Crisp air, dry leaves fly
It must be a Fall,
I remember by
School vans wheeling, chirping us
Bidding good afternoons and goodbyes
Tired for the day, yet best of times
Hear mama’s call, ‘Supper first,
You have dance class at five.’
Alley and road,
Trailing mama’s toes
Rambling school stories,
Who’d the teacher scold!
Was it Cooper, or was it, Lee?
Or who’d chased a bumblebee!
Tune of guitars and dancing bells.
Smells like old pages
From grandma’s tales!
Footsteps clip clap hand drums beat
Small rooms darkish, candlelit.
PS: Wrote this one a long time ago… could not complete, every time I tried, I guess flashbacks aren’t meant to be complete… will think about it later… read the glimpse for now…
Photo: ©Moulina Bhattacharya
So who wins?
The one who is angry, despair of life, she writes,
‘Life is a mistake, it is filled with mistakes and errors, you are haunted by your past mistakes, leads you to make a bunch of new mistakes! It is horrible! All I do is wrong, I take wrong decisions, chase wrong paths, and say wrong words! I am done. I hate everything. Please cut me a slack!’
Heat cools down, attention passes on to other things, for a while, she thinks again, she sees again, she starts writing again,
‘It is like writing, you make mistakes, you write again, you learn from past mistakes, you do not repeat it in the new, because you know now, but there comes another mistake, you learn another one. It’s a process, it’s a flux, and hence it’s not a straight line. You make mistake, you learn, you may repeat it again, because it’s a long run. Who keeps the score? If anyone, it’s you. What is your existence beyond life? If you are discussed, when you are gone, if you are remembered, when you are dead, it is by life, by another lived ones. A world devoid of life, might remember you with your elements and matters: carbons and oxygens, to its atomic level, but that’s not you, that’s all, all lives possess some or the same elements, every other life possesses those atoms as in you. Life celebrates life, life of the lived, life of the dead. You do not exist beyond life. Life does not exist beyond life.’
So really, who wins?
Header-image source: IMDB, Room, 2015 movie
The curtain parts asunder
Holograph of Dreams
Dream is such a concept! It is more astounding than its regular apprehension! Once Freud stirred it real hard, not sure if anybody brought a revolution of that range ever again. Well, it is not going to be leaning on such concept or theory. But I wonder why dream has not been subjected to the mainstream episteme! Dream has impact over so many things, such as, everyday thought, emotions (dormant or active), actions (may be) and many more. There are bunch of famous or not-so-famous or even not-known-at-all people put down their everyday dreams, decode them and give them real meaning. American novelist Jack Kerouac composed his Book of Dreams after his day-to-day (or rather night-to-night) dreams. So many people do not even remember their dreams or may be simply ignore them (especially those whose actions are driven by what, is hard to track on). I am a wonderer of dreams forever. Those dreams I remember from last night or the one from long ego, suddenly popped up through a course of actions, felt like déjà vu. I stop, think and try to find out the deformed metaphor hidden in them. I have just a little familiarity with psychoanalysis and this genre fascinates me.
There are certain places or emotions, I figured, keep appearing in my dreams like recurrent themes! Among other prevalent themes like space, decadence, being chased, relieved life, meeting the desire and so on, the theme of landscape is very prominent (more like topographical dreams)! Most of the story revolves around me, discovering a mystery-place led by narrow lanes, not fully impassable but a bit risky, quite secluded from crowd and common interest, as if anyone scarcely knows of its existence! Each time it would appear in different forms, once it was a waterfall upon a small waterbody, placed like a surprise amidst a lost forest. Another time it was a cliff from where the best sun set could be seen: the perfect tint of orange, yellow ochre and burn sienna syncing in a socked paper! There would be a shadow tree, black, unidentified. I would sit there calm in stasis like nothing bad had ever happened to me, like a newborn’s clean slate, only cherishing every scoop of what my eyes could see. A few people would be there this time, but they are strange, as if they do not belong to my world or time, they would walk past me like I am invisible, some of them would carry dry branches fallen off the trees stacked on their head, they would work their own, rustic life, like of countryside. I would have mixed emotions of suspense, worry (of my unnoticed absence/escape from home/ work) yet satisfied of the ‘terrific beauty’ I was relishing (Oh! It rings a bell! Like Thomas Wilson in the island of Capri, straight from Maugham’s story? But it started even before I read the story). Feels like I have travelled the time backward, in the primitive earth when it was not crowded, either with people, or our complexities. Like the narrow labyrinthine lane is a time-tunnel separating the world of now and then. The place always feels like an ideal space for the self to soothe and erase the trampling burdens; a proper escapade. Sense of being chased by unknown danger, impeding thorn walls and fear of exposure remains, for I liked the fact that I am the only one knew the existence of the place and did not want it to be littered by others.
As per the interpretation of my dream goes, I found many aspects. My love for solitude and seclusion or taking the road ‘less travelled by’ is basically inspired by my hatred for being commanded and competed. Even in real course of actions I am at my best when I am unnoticed or away from the race. Comparison and imposed expectations are those thorn walls encumber my brain like a negative reinforcement. I have always been influenced by others’ actions, I had to, that littered my spontaneous self/ space, and I think, I could have had done far better without those mental hydraulic pressures affecting my headspace. At least that is what I think, and thought is pulled away in the Subconscious, eventually bubbles up as dreams. Talking about how dream actually intervenes real actions or emotions seems like another string to pull, but later. I have felt its effect, transitory but effective, because it is a circle, differently processed but it is to acknowledge that one’s thoughts sediment, crumple and evaporate as dreams, hence dreams are the mental projection of thoughts through processed metaphors, sometimes much complex, sometimes linear, but I believe, an analytic mind can decipher its own tricks. I have had some exquisite dreams, difficult to narrate or make them sound Hitchcock-ish, but every time they left me in awe about how our brain works, really!
Postscripts: Speaking of metaphors, even this web space works like a metaphor to me, not like a ghost-space but it is seen/read by people around the globe (especially by those whom I do not even know). Recently I was going through a social media survey by an institutional research group where they asked a very thoughtful yet factual question, to rephrase, it was quite like, whether or not my social media impressions leave tracks of my lifestyle or current status. This space might not have such serious coherence like that of the question but it does feel like the mystery-place, one might read and explore or it becomes solely mine, only this time I don’t have the fear of it being littered.
Photograph: ©Moulina Bhattacharya
Dreamy petal cocoon, stretching on the sepal. I wish you wake…
Through your petal nest, into which you have veiled your pollen chest!
Shine! Onto the sky of the earth,
Put on the Cirrus gown. Enchant the night gazers heart.
Ease your anxious frown! Don’t you remember,
Once you lulled the Lotos-Eaters’ eyes?
Relieved the war crushed brain of Odysseus! When he pulled his train
To your island of perpetual afternoon?
You are the oleander, over the cloud and the sea! Captivated the seers eye!
I can keep looking at you! Forever can be a while…
Spring atop you floret moon…
Bloom away you intrepid lune!
The July moon, shining full! Mystic dark, dimming light,
Smiles the lantern of night… At the lotus plume!
But now with your flourished crest,
I see you drowsing death…
Feathers falling away! Your hour bell tolls!
Day is coming up, You will wane and depart!
But You will come again I know,
As another moon bud!
I’ll see your regal bloom! With my whole heart!
You will surpass my life time… Only with your half-a-day!
We bloom together and wane…
In the same nature-continuum.
Eternal repose of shrouded corpse
Once the string’s cut by Atropose…
Each of the countless peregrines
Travels through traverses
Since the journey begins.
Like in every level
It revamps or repels,
The journey has no end.
The apparent end
Makes it blend
Where it all started.
From dust to dust of the urn
Even chaos follows it’s given paten!
That’s beyond apprehension,
It moves forward,
Seen through retrospection.
Preempted or improvised
Emptied or sufficed.
Lost or regained
It aims to forge into
From where it all started!
Chaos to cosmos you turn
It’s there in the Creation!
The Wordly Legos…
‘Far from the madding crowd,’
‘And dream away a sunny week’
‘Among its drowsy lanes—’
‘Some half-forgotten nook, hidden by the fairies’
‘Out of reach of the noisy world—some quaint-perched eyrie on the cliff of Time, from whence the surging waves of the nineteenth century would sound far-off and faint’
Citation: Jerome K. Jerome, Three Men in a Boat
Photographs: ©Moulina Bhattacharya