From emptiness to emptiness as emptiness in emptiness say emptily with emptiness to emptiness some nothingness.
0 Comments
I am
The rain Of Iris Grey. My life's lash long My grave- lid quay. I'm pain unslain and pain I give For pain in pain with pain I live I'm sorrow deep and deeper wrong I deepest seep in depths o' song But o as hueless hearts unwrung But o as hope from hope unstrung But o as fuel on flame unflung I live and lie and loathe unsung Unsaid, unshed, undead dismay I am The rain Of Iris Grey. - Alina Nawab Kidwai Why is life such an anger ebbing on the go?
And hope such a breaker fainting in the flow? Youth- intoxication And expression, tribulation And suppression, dereliction Of thought, of thought? Cynicism is tiresome. (But addiction is addiction!) Sometimes there is just nothing to say. Your words lie in a tremulous state of satisfaction with their unexpressedness. And after a long, long time, If you still have nothing to say, You feel as if there never was anything to say at all. That all that has been said has been useless, futile. That all that can be said is needless, futile. That all that must be said is so inexpressive that it better be not said at all. That perpetual silence is all that can save you from the shame of shallow expression. One can relish in the lightheartedness of emptiness, for in it there is nothing to regret. No words born, so none unsaid. So no regret. But expression in its shallowest form is the deepest place to drown in shame. So beware of hopelessness! You could mistake a lake for a plash and....... die philosopho-mathematically thinking that the shallowness of the world killed you when you actually simply drowned where you could swim. How softly falls your shadow
In this reign of fading light A childhood memory inching Inching out of failing sight How ephemeral is your life And how ephemeral is your plight How rueful your existence For which you so much fight How man, each man a walking trial Man, each man sunk in denial Man, each man an oblong phial Brimm'd 'ith poison breath Its cure a simple death How fated your subsistence And how picayune is your Right How frivolous are your passions And how ruthless is your might How ephemeral is your life? And how ephemeral is your plight? A childhood memory inching Inching out of failing sight O softly falls your shadow In this reign of fading light (For we're trials, Waking, Walking, Waning Right into the night). -Alina Nawab Kidwai If ever there stood a loner ‘neath them gangling falling stars to point at Pleiades pearly in the night so strewn with light like day in guise o’ deadly dark….. You know it won’t be you. For there, this day is smitten with such filth as can’t be written for you know that poor kitten lives where it’s waste-ridden and whatnot. My impossible poetry is now exhausted on this subject. Perhaps the issues of pollution and environmental devastation have become regulars on our news channels, but not our breakfast tables, have they? Gossip can never be dethroned from its dominion. Anyway, let’s talk differently. 63 light years away, we have a planet called HD189733b. Its colour is a pretty azure with plenty of rainstorms of molten glass. According to CosmosUp, “pieces of glass move sideways at five times the speed of sound”. On 51 Pegasi B, temperatures range from 1000 to 2000 ⁰C, and blissful showers there are basically molten iron. When scientists speak of Carbon planets, they mean seas full of crude oil and tar, yellow skies and black, sooty clouds which rain gasoline and asphalt. Diamonds are a plus. COROT-exo-3b is the densest and most massive exoplanet know to date, 20 times the mass of Jupiter and twice as dense as lead. If you ever land on this so hospitable place, your skeleton would be crushed instantly due to extreme pressure. WASP-12b is half as hot as the sun, and there’s a lot more to learn from CosmosUp. Sadly, we do not have such exotic weather on Earth. And that is why, to join the fashion line, we bring in acid rain, smog, Ozone layer holes (‘cause hey, which planet has patches?), toxic rivers, stinking landfills, shorn forests, desertified plains, drought, famine, etc., etc. Remember, you should not compare your weaknesses with the strengths of others. The artificial can never parallel the natural, even when it comes to the hellishness of a planet. The Earth may not rain gasoline or iron or diamonds or pandas, but it does rain water, which of course other planets don’t. My poor sarcasm ends here. The pale blue dot, as Carl Sagan called our Earth, is the only one of its kind. If it has siblings, they’re not so nice, because they don’t ever invite you home! So let not the aforementioned negatives demotivate you. Did you know that for the first time in 35 years, the Ozone layer has actually grown, not deteriorated? We have solar spray paint, transparent solar concentrators, gel-based speakers, earthships, solar farms, ‘Fontus’ bottles, shoes for charging, bio-buses, SolaRoads, photocatalytic cement, EV charging stations, tidal arrays, rain-water harvesting soccer fields, solar mills, vertical gardens and every imaginable advancement in green tech. Perhaps you would emblazon your very own inventions on this list one day. It depends on effort, after all. I suppose the Google doodle told you already, but hey, it's National Day!
I guess I can say that I love the UAE just as much as I love my own country. Let me tell you why you'll love this place: - You'd be safe. -You'd meet the most hospitable people in the world. - You'd have the best facilities and zero gender bias. -It's always peaceful and nobody interferes in your personal life unless you want them to. -The corniche street in any Emirate is beautiful -Arabic food is yummy yummy yummy! Especially the grilled chicken :) -Ask Google if you want to know more. There's a reason why 200 nationalities love this place so much as to make it home;) Perhaps your silence stood so sullen you disappeared in its wrath so you made this day a past that's a dark that's blind and blinding. And a still you're far from finding for you're still with temples minding just that lie your heart's now grinding for the truth's now brazen in your eyes.
You know no metaphor tells no lies. There are lies, pretensions and metaphors. The first we condemn outright. The next we disdainfully dislike. And the last we gladly glorify. All lies. Disguised. Or otherwise. Lies. Perhaps, perhaps in winter's sweet dream I'd dare to chafe those embers at hearth- To gather and sprinkle a fistful of mirth In ashes, in ashes of fire's red dew, In ashes all strewn with flaming red hue, In ashes- in ashes.....like sundrops on yew! Sometimes I think our dreams are nothing but beauteous greed. You'd dream to ace your schooling, and you'd dream to make big money, get famous etc. etc. Or you'd dream to sing or dance or write or fight your way to the exosphere, get famous, etc, etc. Or you'd dream to change the world, start a revolution, get famous, etc, etc. Or you'd dream to get famous, get famous, get famous, etc, etc. It just might become an obsession. Your dream. Whatever it is. Let's think of something Coelho wrote in The Alchemist, something like having a dream you'd love to live but you're scared that it'd be fulfilled, 'cause you can't imagine life without it (etc, etc.)? It just might become a fear. Your dream. Whatever it is. I think whatever you wish to achieve in life should become your passion, your prayer. Dreams for me are wishes I might or mightn't see fulfilled. Like living five winters of hail and frost and mist I've missed. Like playing with embers and chafing my wrists like I did so long ago (etc, etc). I think it's just a dreamier wish. My dream. Whatever it is. Life's a cipher, cipher of zing. And cipher's a pun, and one you live.
We'd know cipher from Dan Brown, of course. I needn't elaborate uselessly. But Shakespeare meant nothing by cipher. Really nothing. I mean: Zero, zilch, nought, etc. Nothing. So life is a cipher of zing. And yours is the side of the pun to live. And yours is the choice for yours is your life. A pun. What more? Your life is a race if you call it so. Or it maybe a dream if you dream some more. Or a test. Or a game. Or a camera. Or a fairy tale. Or a coin. Or a struggle. Or a walking shadow. Or a roller coaster (that only goes up my friend- #JohnGreen). Or a song or a sea or a sunset. Or a knife or a kite. Or a bicycle or a boat or a box of chocolates. Or an arrow or an apple. Or a piano. Or a highway. Or whatever Google suggests. Sometimes I think perspectives of life are the most abhorrent cliches ever. And these perspectives present to your mind a giddying gif or something. Collectively they become a kaleidoscopic mirage. (A mirage still.) These perspectives. But life again is a kaleidoscopic mirage. So perspectives of life become life itself. Or life becomes its own perspective. That's how much perspective matters. Your life is an intersection of entities impalpable rendered palpable by virtue of existence. Love or loss or zest or zilch. Entities infinite. They exist independent of the human mind. [Oh Mathematical Realism!] One common to all is time. So time is an intersection of the individual existing intersections we are. And our life is our time. Hah. One more. I think it is a Fated Uncertainty like you. Like me. An ephemera. You can't ever escape THAT categorization. All is ephemeral. Fated. Uncertain. But every uncertainty has its own principle. (Forget Heisenberg's). Think of yours, perhaps? And I know too the truest definition of life from the Best Book in the worlds: "Every soul will taste death, and you will only be given your [full] compensation on the Day of Resurrection. So he who is drawn away from the Fire and admitted to Paradise has attained [his desire]. And what is the life of this world except the enjoyment of delusion." (Al-Qur'an- 3:185) I watched a presentation about Zeno of Elea and much as I didn't want to go crazy about yet another random crazy science, I did anyway.
Not that I'm particularly crazy about going crazy about crazy things. I'm just prone to craziness. So here's my pathetic (if you've read the Liar 's paradox), really original (if you haven't already made it up yourself), (very) annoying and (literally) meaningless paradox: "I don't mean what I'm saying." Let's see: If this is true, then I mustn't mean that I don't mean what I'm saying. That makes it false. Or If this is false, then that means that I mean what I'm saying. And what am I saying? I don't mean what I'm saying. Which makes it true. Which again means that I don't mean it. Which makes it false.... And this is pure craziness. ;P Twitter, shimmer, glitter, quiver grains of golden sun...Bringing to light each crackling twig in the hearth which beholds all gangling drops of dew with sparks wistful, fistful.
Simpers silent solitude devoid of solicitude at rising falling dwindling dying sanity. Such profanity. A step. Cold breath. Those memories. All come alive. To jig and jive. You dig and dive. From emptiness. To emptiness. And you're thirstiest when profundities have quenched all quietude. All quietude. And on reigns emptiness.
![]() Just a weed, isn't it? But you'd love to make a wish and blow....... I don't know if it'd come true. Don't ask me 'cause I haven't ever tried it. :) I muse and muse and muse and muse ('cause I have nothing else to do!), and when I think of the entity aforementioned, I can't help but observe a striking likeness of a dandelion to persistence.... You've got your heart into something and you just can't let it go.... so you work and work and work and spend some sleepless nights in work and have less fun and more of work and less of talk and more of work and then some more.... And you sow and water and air and sun and reap your work- viola! It's your dandelion of success..... But Fate to trying gales says, 'Blow!' And you're all indignant oblivion...... And as snowflakes in wintry nights descend in silent hueless splendour, the seeds are falling too.... So look up! For each effort of yours is a dandelion again.... :) There are words− so many – behind that sabotage. And there are longings. Longings, longings, longings Haven’t fathomed ever been, Longings, longings, longings Mayn’t ever fathomed be, Such longings as only tenderness can procure from that ruefulness! O− which starlit dark devoid of midnight sun in frosty-dewy-misty glory has seen not misery, nor heard sobs shivery, or grown dim in disgust at humanity’s heartless-mindless-soulless belligerence? And aye, ’tisn’t a mere mirage or a madman’s fancy, but a conflict cursed with longevity like bereavement….. A childhood unremembered− ephemeral as happiness− does carry wounds sorrow deep! Alas, too sad to weep…. Through fields o’ mangled moulds o’ clay and whipping sands chagrined…. A lonesome embodiment of suffering plods away to nothingness…. But listen, do try− For many words do lie Like tears conceal’d Like wounds unheal’d Like red congeal’d On lips oft seal’d. Ephemeral .......childhood. |
AuthorAlina N. Kidwai Archives
October 2015
Look
All
|