December Sky III

Yes, it’s that time of the year-the best time! With December, comes the beautiful, enchanting December sky. Following my own little tradition, I give you December Sky III, expressing some more magical moments I witness year after year in this month.. .. .. ..

You know you love the december sky,
when life gives you opportunities to just feel high.
You know you love the december sky,
when you have no control over the curve of your smile.
You know you love the december sky,
when you feel the cold and sense the warmth inside.

You know you love the december sky,
when you break a heart, but find the bond.
You know you love the december sky,
when you discover the amount of love that comes around.
You know you love the december sky,
when you can sing your heart out and it’s not just a sound.

You know you love the december sky,
when november gave you a peek of the magical theme.
You know you love the december sky,
when you saw a brother win his dream.
You know you love the december sky,
when you were standing next to him, proud as a team.

You know you love the december sky,
when you get lost in a pair of beautiful eyes.
You know you love the december sky,
when you pray for a rain dance filled with surprise.
You know you love the december sky,
when you steal pretty smiles, starry glances and silly lies.

You know you love the december sky,
when you miss them loved ones, but they’re jus t a click away.
You know you love the december sky,
when you silently wish for a prayer and dream of a new ray.
You know you love the december sky,
when you yearn to live a colourful today.

You know you love the december sky,
when you feel the spirit to get what you desire.
You know you love the december sky,
when success eludes you, but promises to meet you after the ball of fire.
You know you love the december sky,
when you get to eat sugar coated ecstasy, and it promises to take you higher.

You know you love the december sky,
when you see the lazy sun, after the power moonlight.
You know you love the december sky,
when you lead the breeze into your smiling face, without a fight.
You know you love the december sky,
when you touch the wind with your bare hands in a night flight.

You know you love the december sky,
when you taste the honey on a day so sunny.
You know you love the december sky,
when you wish to get marching on a long journey.
You know you love the decmber sky,
when only a smile can brighten a misty morning

You know you love the december sky,
when you’re dancing in flushing meadows.
You know you love the december sky,
when you’re watching flashing lights.
You know you love the december sky,
when you’re standing in front of gushing waves.

You know you love the december sky,
when you’re electrified by the sound of music.
You know you love the december sky,
when you let that music burst into your veins.
You know you love the december sky,
only because you can.

December.

Morning Comes..
Mist, Dreams, Smiles..
The missing jig-saw piece in your arms,
makes heaven seem not as alluring.

The day has been long coming.
For reasons known and untouched.
The day has been long coming.
Simply for what they had and hoped.

As the sands of time trickle,
grain by grain by grain.
The Sun spies through the curtain of clouds.
And the crooner croons by himself.

Specks of life stand and watch,
Others join in the revelry,
But most hold what matters most to them
close, closer, closest.

It's time to walk,
an unknown destination beckons
Three sisters by the corner.
They wave, we smile.

This'll do say the unspoken words.
What was to be a cup and no more,
leapt to something from the past.
The day had made his exit

Guess he felt we didnt need him anymore
I think we were ok. I think we were stronger.
God's house had closed. it didn't stop the prayer
Thank goodness for that

The wind decided to help with her gusto
grips were tightened and steps quicker
the smiles were more genuine now

it was good.
it was grand.
it was normal
it's what we had missed.

Miss Darkness.

As the leaves change outfits,
and seeds are lain.

As the chimney smokes,
and bodies inch closer.

As the sun gets lazy,
and we embrace tighter.

Miss Darkness,
You've never looked prettier.

Souls are still taken away,
Cries are still unheeded,
Dignity is still snatched,
My soup is still cold.

A group of equals linger,
yet, the one that completes, is far.
Second chance to laugh out loud,
yet the protagonists are mute.

As the wind begins to run,
and smiles become herculean.

As water begins to stand still,
and our noses not so.

Miss Darkness,
you are a vision today.

Clohes are ripped,
Wombs are emptied,
Tongues are tied,
Morality has moved.On.

The gaze is permanent,
None are seen.
Nothing is registered.
A barren land to be tilled.

As clouds converse,
and shade sought.

As we lie,
In a little while, it'll all be good.

Miss Darkness,
Would you fancy some company.?

Hands are empty,
and nothing to offer.
The soul needs a tickle,
and you seem to be just what it needs.

I AMsterdam..

Hey Hey Hey..
The Sun is out and the clouds persist,
It warms the heart and tingles these fingers of mine.
Breathe in.. Breathe out.

We're all trying to make sense of it.
What was meant to be the destination,
could it just be a detour to the real adventure.?
The map I had believed in, is incomplete.

Prophets of all shapes and sizes.
Colors of peace and that of hatred.
Of love and some of solitude.
Reminiscent of a guitar string plucked.

There are smiles and there are smirks.
There are winks and brushes.
Most are warm, a seldom few, distracted.
Faith; it keeps the world revolving.

From the West, they come.
From the East, they come.
From the North, they came.
The South, not far behind.

Strangers nearer than family.
One became two and yearn to recapture old form.
It's not rocket science, it's just everything that isn't.
Hey, Hey, Hey. Breathe In. Breathe Out.

I feel I am home,
Yet, the furniture is askew.
Everything beckons and I've re-found my lost half,
hopeful for the hills rather than the valleys.

Goedendaag en tot ziens..
Dit is mudi, idum, marie en muxxxi met liefde.
omdat ik AMsterdam

Good Day to you too, Sir.!

It's a good time going on.

Now.

Yes, it is.

I've got Johnny Nash singing and it feels alright. Yup.!

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It's gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)
Sun-Shiny day.

39 days since I last worked.
29 days I spent in MY gypsy-land with MY gypsies.
10 days before I see the Rainbow. *crosses fingers and knocks his wooden table*

I think I can make it now, the pain is gone
All of the bad feelings have disappeared
Here is the rainbow I've been prayin' for
It's gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)
Sun-Shiny day.

It's been a while since i clickety-clacked the keys and with the new day dawning, the fingers do seem that little bit better tuned. He's just broken into chorus and the foot has begun to furiously pedal.

Look all around, there's nothin' but blue skies
Look straight ahead, nothin?but blue skies

I feel good. =)

"Tragedy is an Artist's best friend". I still believe it with all my heart. But, just this once, let's buck the trend and rage against the storm. I think I've wallowed in tragedy of whatever design, nature, reality or imagined for far too often. It may come back and when it will, we'll deal it with in our very own special untrained way.

But for now, let's enjoy this small teensie-weensie tiny corner of joy.

During my prolonged, nay, endless viewing of the telly, I seem to come across this cliché of a Wedding being the one and only thing a Woman truly cares about. It's surprising and I truly wonder how strong this actually holds out. They make it sound like how a Match/Race Day is to a Guy. (Another cliché, that the latter is only for Men and I know plenty of women to buck the trend. However, for argument's sake, let's go with this).

Let's focus on the latter tradition for a few lines now. I know we ALL have our rituals, traditions and mention-nots. The ritualistic donning of the colors, the waving of the Flag. Furious swaying as you try and sit in the same position throughout the entire ceremony (read: event) for the simple fear of jinxing them. Singing/Humming along the songs/anthems. It's not just your team, it's "Us", "We", "My". Absolutely no tolerance for lame, immature jokes by them social wannabe watchers. To celebrate like you just won a Billion, Gadzillion Green Ones with every Goal/Overtake Maneouvere. And finally, the celebratory drink afterwards. Ofcourse, it could also be the disconsolable 'pick-me-up' drink too. We are but creatures of habit.

I once burnt KFC as I tried to reheat it on the micro (?!?) while the game was on. Yes, it's an old story but definitely not a rare one amongst my kind. I am NOT ashamed.!

Isn't it funny, how after reading it all, people wonder "So, what point is he trying to make.?" he he he Silly Mongooses, I NEVER have a point.

Aaaanyhoo.. (Y'know, I've never really understood that term). What is that even supposed to mean.? Is it Anyhow.? Anyone.? Any..who (are we talking about here?). Bleddy 'ell.!

I could easily just slipstream unto my detest for this new-fangled SMS lingo (ugh!). But today, is 'Happy Day'. So, THAT, will be for another day and another poor victimised reader plus Shruts, Sue, Rich and the Miz..

Today, I'm going to spend time with Mum,Dad and Sana. Crack silly jokes, laugh out loud and pray my Embassy visit goes just fine in a couple of days. Content =)

Today, I will think of the times to come. Of adventures to be had. Of my life with the Rainbow. EEEEEEEEE =)

Today, I will also look back on my last trip with the gypsies and other passing nomads with a Monster-Smile and a slightly lumpy-misty heart. Soon again. =)

I feel good.!

And now, excuse me while I wait for reality to kick in..

Something Human

When I touch the sky each day,
I have a world, to pray,
Some more to say.
Feeling the sound of the empty in my cave,
I am but a newborn, bound to be a slave

There’s something human about my stride,
There’s something human in the way I smile
There’s something human about the way I fight
But it’s all just a myth, as you see through my guile
And now you wake up again until you can sleep a while

When I pray for a new feeling,
I can see myself healing
And a little song I hear,
Humming itself in my ear, year after year
I’m on a journey that is not over, but the end is here

There’s something human about my stride,
There’s something human in the way I smile
There’s something human about the way I fight
But it’s all just a myth, as you see through my guile
And now you wake up again until you can sleep a while

When the light decides to shine,
I’m an angel defending the crime.
The bells have no chime,
Coz I’ve sold them all for a mere dime
In this life, I may not reach my prime.

There’s something human about my stride,
There’s something human in the way I smile
There’s something human about the way I fight
But it’s all just a myth, as you see through my guile
And now you wake up again until you can sleep a while

This one's for the kids..

Now, let me tell you a story.
Of a time, when you asked for water and got gasoline.
Being good was bad and bad was ok.
Don't shed a tear, that's not what we need
Pay attention to the rhythm instead.

They fail me sometimes, these words.
Take the baton, we've all followed once.
The fabric is now ripped.
Let's stitch it our way now

* Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha... *

Do you hear that.?

No.? ..shame.

The old colors are now dead.
The riff still plays.
The're calling out, wanting to be heard.
You'll hear them, soon enough.

Just wrap my arms around.
It might get loud and the parents are out.
Just wrap my arms around.
There are no rules, there are no laws..

Smell that, my puppies.
That would be a verse.
Taste this, my flower.
This is disappointment
Feel that ye rascals.. Mischief is its name.

The old colors ARE dead.
Now, we paint anew.
Today we fly.
Tomorrow we dive.
The magic is all around.

We were invincible too.
As you are now.
Rebel. It's why we live.
Laugh. It's how we live
Celebrate.! You are story-tellers.


Note: This flurry came out thanks to this very interesting little telly bit I managed to come across - "It might get loud". A session between the legendary Jimmy Page, The Edge and Jack White. They swap influences, creations, inspiration and best of all jam music the way it's meant to.

The Death of History.

Those green patches he got on, aint so new.
His cap's just as dull as they are few.
It wasn't too far ago when the moon brought light.
Now it brings the darkness that eats within.

The flag they raise is a chameleon,
changing colors as and where they rage from.
The drums they beat are hollow,
The skin they beat is callous.

Could you whisper in my ear.
What it feels like to be near
How it feels to scream out loud
maybe we are just not meant to shout.

And as it happens,
For a moment, all the pain ebbs away.
Just one moment. That's all, y'see..
Remember that, for all else is just your own garbage.

The're talking in their sleep
It's keeping me awake, without a dream
The whimpers are overtaken with hushed tones
they aren't asleep, just our talking dead.

The street musicians written his tune,
so the reviews are left in ruins
but then he's tightened those chords.
just like the cocked guns and locked targets.

The memory is not what it was first,
rusted metal and a stoop for passer-birds
How many have gone underground they know not
The reason for their being lain down, they care not

Have you ever touched the night..
Have you ever watched the wind blow..
Did you ever feel the glance,
Ever been blinded by the Rainbow..

Post Script: The last verse was taken more or less from a musical piece written by the Stones that Roll. It takes me some place else. Some place nice, pretty and dream-like. I like it.

Tic-Tac-Toe.!!

I want to write for a living. Just write. No pre-decided topic or direction. Just write, like I think, like I ramble.

I want to ramble on my love, which is football, a certain rainbow and maybe the mad gypsy troupe. I want to ramble on my love for quaint drinking joints or my love for the beach. Maybe my fear of all the creatures under the water unseen by my handicapped eyes. Sometimes, I think I'd make a great cartoonist only to be dissuaded by my never-dying need to be appreciated. I'd love to be a song-writer, even if I can't carry a tune and I wish I had held my stubborn chin till I got those drum lessons instead of the darn piano. Shame, I still can't play a note and have completely forgotten to read one.

"Have you ever seen the rain..?!" - sings John Fogerty and I yearn to be a hippie backpacking across the fields waiting to get anywhere and nowhere. I think I'm a romantic, with a tendency to romanticise everything and yet I find the greatest comfort on my couch, watching a game and munching on some meat.

Ah.! A wannabe Rainbow-Hopper and yet a slave to the Concrete-Jungle, whimper I.

I have spent some amount of time wondering why I can't write anything meaningful anymore. My last 5 or so attempts have yielded nothing that even I, a soaring egoist would want to beam over. The lack of tragedy was blamed for the lack of 'penmanship' by them voices. Tragedy, after all is an artist's best friend. One very close gypsy however, reckoned it was during moments of dizzying elation that he saw flashes of brilliance in these typed words. Besides trying to be nice, he might just have a point. After careful delibration, it has been decided that it is not just profound grief or toe-tapping, hip shaking joy alone for that matter that bring out the juices but rather an extreme sense of being. Whether that is achieved by the former or latter is irrelevant but it does tend to bring alive every microcosm (Yes Suzie, I couldn't resist) of thy self. =)

Yesterday, a colleague of mine passed away as he lost control of his car and crashed into a divider. I hear he was a young boy who was to get maried in 10 days. I didn't know him. I didn't even know he existed till the news reached me, yet I felt the anguish. More so, with regards to the fact that I tend to live my life without any thought that every breath is a gift. And, as soon as that thought comes in, I block it out with something inane like the popping of a button from my shirt at the most inappropriate of places which cannot be hidden and definitely not ignored.

Keeping pace with topics that seem to flit around, I really don't understand how people can get names wrong even when the're replying to an email at work. I mean bleeding hell, it's right there on the mail-id. Morons, I tell you.! The only way to calm me down with this, is another sojourn through the many football sites on my favorites list as I travail for any scrap of information on the upcoming events, the ever-delightful transfer gossip (What? Beckenbauer to put on his boots for Liverpool to help stem the rot.?!), previews of games I will be watching and compare my player ratings with the various post-match editors. Yes, I have a non-existent social life but I love it nonetheless. Immensely.

I also realized I have zilch cooking skills, absolutely zilch. Just the other day, I looked forward to some left-over KFC, fries, coleslaw (gaaaa...aaaaaah.. drool and all included) and all I had to do was re-heat it. Just re-heat in a simple-to-use microwave. 15-20 secs, you would say.? So would I. But, I'm not sure what, was it the Champions League Final or the Brain-freeze thanks to the upcoming meal but I put it as 20 mins.(!?!) *yes, I can be that distracted* and as is obvious promptly forgot about my dinner only to notice something was amiss when mum & dad walked in from their dinner outside and a very disturbing odor of burnt meat wafted in. sigh. Let's just say, I have never seen charred meat as that before nor have I tried to ignore the burnt smell in the house to avoid them going further mental. Oh! and the game was a joy. Not that I had any preferences, especially since that lucky two-shoe robben and his once in a trillion shot. BAH!

Anyway, more to the point of this long tedious narration, the above incident has only added more strength and conviction to my belief on how I shall tackle my cooking inadequacies and at the same time help thy rainbow with the culinary bit.

Enter Child#1.

Now, what use is procreation if they are unable to repay some of that 9 month labour - some would say only the missus has to bear this, but Hey.! I'm sure we have as much to deal with it as they do. Anyway, so once they are old enough to be coherent say, we gently nudge them onto their life-long 'passion' which ironically would be cooking (!!) Can you imagine, a hard day's work and wanting to cook.? Heck no.! I want the beach and a cold chilled beer. Therefore, I plan on creating a whole gamut of lil mutts and flowers to take care of the cooking, house-keeping, groceries, chores et al. =D I must say I'm mighty proud of myself and all that's left is to get the rainbow on board. *eeps*. =)

And, to top it all, it's barely 2 months before I pack my bags for Amsterdam. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! and Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!!!=D

I was going to name this "Write says Fred" but then again word play has been so wonderfully used by my fellow gypsy earlier so I shall refrain from sharing his thunder.

Damn would you believe it, but the team in front of me just ordered KFC for lunch. Effing 'ell.!! I wonder if the'll let me heat it up for them.

*snigger snigger*.

A Writer on the storm

A writer on the storm, I’m a poet out of form
Awake from a long sleep, I stand at the brink of dawn
Rigging the thoughts of an honest mind,
I convince myself to have done no crime.

The old song has hit a new note
Dressed to kill, I run out wearing my black coat
The alley of fortune has let me walk it again
Darker is the night, so is the hour, through this lane.

The fire bird came home to me, brought some glee
She kills the silence, only to save me
And now our music is louder than our feeling
Hold the smile; it’s the key to my breathing.

Beneath the fire of passion, unfolds the story,
Of a sleeping desire that holds within, a little fury
This feeling has pushed me to the helm of unknown
Now I’m gone, but my shadow waits all alone.

Thinking of the loudest laugh that made me cry,
I figure, this is a speech that’s bound to be wry
Blowing in a wind, the boat ride is not free
The dock awaits the rocky rider and the beloved sea.

Letting go the still moment, the night has finally turned to dawn
The touch and the passion have left, but they’re still not gone
A brush of skin has poked an old wound
One that seems to remind me of a long gone moon.

dance rocky, dance

wiggling like a snake,
i'm here today, bluffing to the fake.
i'm the clown who wept to sleep,
laughing crazy, as the dream forgot the leap.

i fell into a ditch, on my back
trying a new trick, i gathered my stack.
a plane of dreams flew me down to this world
and i became a new pot everyday, to the same old mould.

a little brat, who missed the last train,
i'm now a street act in the next lane.
dancing to the jungle beats, i was born for the stage
now just an actor stuck in a script, with no page.

waltzing with every night star, i lived in the sky
seeing the magic of a shooting star, i'd feel the high.
down i came with the rain, when the stars died
but i stand in front of you, smiling, that i tried.

my game is not done, and i will arrive
the curtain call is sometime away, so don't stop the jive.
i will do my own, only mine, and pay the toll
by the time the show is over, i will have played my role.

Tressling..

So many souls on a do-it-yourself trip.
The manual out the window, ready to rip.
Do you also see them through the fog within.?
Squinty eyes, pudgy fingers and lithe bodies pulsating..

I've got stars on my hands and clouds under my feet,
I'll even throw a brick on that glass house if you'll let me drum the beat.
We had a hole and we had the plug..
but shouldn't we rather wait for our turn on the magic rug.?

A feather that's come loose, run it by your skin lightly.
Close your eyes and let the touch guide you dreamily..
I know you know the tune,
Come on hun, hum it under this full moon.

I felt i was meandering through and without a reason
not a tear or a frown but a clue not found.
You have been the rhyme and the color in the day.
And now, you are just a whisper away..

Stand under a wooden railway..
Watch the train of life rush by, above you.
Feel the smell of metal on God's breath..
And we wonder, isn't life just beautiful.?

Today. Is our day.
Today. We begin our life. Again.
Today. Is you. Is me. Is us.
Today. Is a beautiful day.

and it struck me now..

..and the song played one last time,

and the bride danced to the rhyme,

and the fool wept over his last dime,

and it rained down at the climb,

and you felt the cold in your spine,

and it struck me all in my prime.

..and the illusion began a long time ago,

and the truth was lost in a shadow,

and now it threatens to land a heavy blow,

and the boat has lost its row,

and now I am the arrow, you’re the bow,

and it struck me now when I’ve lost the flow.

..and the feeling is new and not old,

and the greed is wild, but not too bold,

and the story is waiting to be told,

and the cowards are new, in an old mould,

and the strangle is strong, so is the hold,

and it struck me now, when I have no gold.

..and the war is over, but not the fight,

and the land is thirsty, but none can feel the plight,

and the sky is praying to see a kite,

and the window is open, but there’s no light,

and the child cries, as it tries to hold on tight,

and its struck me now that I’m the only knight.

..and now the book is filled with words and feeds

and the pages are confessing our deeds,

and the story is wound in some beads,

and the writing is bad, so are our needs,

and we may have lost the time to plant new seeds,

and the sun will set on this tale, on our weary pleads.