Kaafi Kafka hai

There was a man in a freak show

His master yells: Come one! come all!

The man that eats nothing, nothing at all!

The man he ate nothing for forty days

The master he made money because it was a sight to see

The man he ate nothing, there was to his liking nothing to eat.

On the fortieth, his master- he fed him, though he protested

The man wanted to fast, for the food was stale

The man wanted to fast, he wanted nothing but in vain.

His protest, led to violence and his master, he did strike

In prison he was put, in silence he sat, to wait

In prison he was put, they offered, but nothing he ate.

An hour before the hanging, the door opened

Like every other day, a plate slid in

Unlike every other day, he paused, the quail was like sin.

His fast was broken and his will was put to waste

The fast now broken, the man, on the noose

The fast now broken, the hunger for life, he could not now choose.

-mithrandir

Based on The Hungry Artist by Franz Kafka

3 Non-working Fans

~mithrandir

“Winston Smith: Does Big Brother exist?
O'Brien: Of course he exists.
Winston Smith: Does he exist like you or me?
O'Brien: You do not exist.”
~George Orwell, 1984

Coward

I stand at a crossroads today

Knowing not why or when I have come here

Not knowing why, makes me question the veracity of my experiences

Not knowing when, fills me with answers that I know are false

I thus stood at the crossroad today

And for the longest time nothing happened

And it was good

It was good because I was for once sure of this feeling

And this feeling was cowardice

True and naked

I spat away at the dust of comfort that had settled in and I went down one path

I walked long and hard

Thinking that I knew why and when I had set forth from cowardice

I stumbled at the end of that day

Only to realise in cold sweat

I stand at a crossroads today

Knowing not why or when I have come here.

mithrandir

"Find out what you're afraid of and go live there."

Chuck Palahniuk

Paper Cliché

The writer writes the story.

It inspires the poetry in the poet.

Who yells it atop the roofs and roads.

The people hear it and are shocked and some are inspired.

The father tells his wife, she tells her daughter.

Who tells her little brother.

He sleeps on it and dreams of it.

Years go by and the brother sleeps the dream away in prison.

The air is filled with the words.

On death row now, the inmate is asked,

"ANY LAST WORDS".

He narrates the story.

His little boy writes those last words down.

The writer,pauses and tears the paper and throws it away.

~Mithrandir

 'And that's the thing about people who mean everything they say. They think everyone else does too.'

~Khaled Hosseini 

Pick-up Ettan: Part Fiction Part Childhood

Every morning all the kids in the block used to wake up, brush and dress up and eat breakfast," One should never go to school on an empty stomach!" Says Pick-up Ettan. Pick-up Ettan is highly disciplined when it comes to what enters his Pick-up and what leaves his Pick-up.

Pick-up Ettan's get-up is a white pant-shirt combination. On special occasions a white shirt-white mundu. His Pick-up is a yellow 3 wheeled beast with a black round head. No horns required. It goes "tup-a-tup-tup". And everybody stands in attention at the gates, waiting in to be swallowed up and taken to the ooschool. On bumps the Pick-up, she goes "tuppam-tup-tuppam". It was a musical beast that Pick-up and Pick-up Ettan, that most venerable of conductors.

Once the Pick-up went "tuppam-tup-tuppam" over the bump and came down heavily with a "tappusss...". We reached school late that day. Pick-up Ettan got yelled at a lot by the ooschool maash (teacher). We didn't see the Pick-up or Pick-up Ettan the next day. After a few days, one evening we saw Pick-up Ettan, a forlorn figure with eyes closed under a tree.

His get-up of white and white pant-shirt, was dirty that day.


~mithrandir

Written and Unwritten

I met this girl once, we gave each other many books.

She gave the ones that were already full and written to read from.

And I gave her blank ones, unwritten- for her to draw in.

And there was happiness.

-mithrandir

Note to self

Pick a match stick, light a smoke

Burn a few lungs, live a dream

Open a bottle, pour out your heart.

Hide away the bore you are 

Smile a fake smile , live everybody else's lie

Be with all those who call you-friend, walk away

Nag about life, pretend somebody gives a shit

Look up at the sky and as everyone sighs, 

Hold your breath and wait to die.

~mithrandir

" Take a writer away from his typewriter and all you have is the sickness that started him writing in the first place. "
~ C Bukowski


onism - n. the awareness of how little of the world you’ll experience


Imagine standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with strange place names like other people’s passwords, each representing one more thing you’ll never get to see before you die—and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out, you are here.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IrBlmpqh8T0

~ The dictionary of obscure sorrows

Oxymorons

I closed my eyes and opened my mind,

I saw you in the cold, wrapped in a warm blanket.

I was far away behind you,

But you turned and were closer than before.

I took one step and walked far after,

You were sitting and leaned back to a time to come.

I didn't know how to play but in boredom I whistled,

You strummed your tunes endlessly, to sadly deaf ears.

~mithrandir

"Peculiar Travel Suggestions are Dancing Lessons From God"

-Mr V (and le petit chat)

The shepherd who missed Christmas

It was a cold and dreary night when the shepherd woke,

Alone, neither man nor sheep, there was naught but smoke.

He cursed at everything available at hand and made for the door

Hurried tracks, shoddy packing up and the planning was poor.

"What would have scared the Moses out of them..."

He wondered and something above him shone like a gem.

"You... are late... aren't you now...the Lord's been born"

The shepherd looked like somebody had popped his corn.

"I'm a free man...I don't abide no lady or lord !" said he.

The voice coughed irritably.

"Your compatriots arrived to be witness to the birth of a God."

Eyes weary he barely caught the last word.

"Most poorly organised and publicised then"

The voice had had enough of the world of men.

"All these gods, they come and they go..."

"With millions and millions in tow..."

"This one will be different...this one is God for mankind"

The shepherd huffed," What god is difficult for a commoner to find"

The voice said," He is going to preach love and peace..."

"Really! who milks the sheep eh? who makes the cheese?"

"I don't want no lord, show me a God who can find his sheep!"

The voice was a symbol of silence allowing these words to seep.

"In due time he will look for you, leaving aside all the rest."

The shepherd snorted, winked and gestured in jest.

"Though you have missed him, he will seek you."

"When he does, I shall prepare him good bread and some stew!"

The light was now dimming, this seemed a lost cause.

He fired a last one,"Best let the big G find me or old Moss"

A feeble voice now spoke, "This is heaven we are talking about."

"Green pastures and a bright sunshine, now go away and don't shout."

The light was gone and the shepherd was all alone.

In the distance many stars now brightly shone.

The shepherd inhaled in deeply the sacred night,

And was glad of this sacred sight.

He was of simple mind and of simple need,

Good food, laughter and sleep and no better life to lead.

~mithrandir

"But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?"
Mark Twain

Homelessness

Man walks out of the house,

The streets are made of laughing people,

The sun is low and the ears of the man are full of laughter.

People laughing in joy,

People laughing with other people,

People laughing at other people.

Man walks out of the house,

And it begins to rain,

The streets are full of umbrellas and raincoats rushing by.

The rain is acid,

The rain pours through,

The rain fills him like a bucket without a base.

Man walks out of the house,

He flicks at his lighter, though he does not smoke,

The gas is low and the flame is extinguished.

Smoke fills him,

Smoke curls around him,

Smoke is his only companion.

Man walks out of the house,

He is filled by an overwhelming void,

The emptiness is oddly comforting.

Life rushes in him,

Life flickers in his eyes,

Life leaves him without saying good-bye.

~mithrandir

"He who cannot give anything away, cannot feel anything either"
~Friedrich Nietzsche

Some water and two islands

A little cat sat at the beach one night.

Drying her paws after a night soak, stretching away in the sand.

Dreaming in the silence a million things that could fill up the bright moon above.

A little cat sat at the beach one night.

Never was there such a meeting of two nearly equally matched entities, the sea and that little cat.

Kneading away at the sand with her paws, she made mountains and castles and demolished them all.

I saw a little cat at the beach one night and I smiled my years away.

~mithrandir


“What's your name,' Coraline asked the cat. 'Look, I'm Coraline. Okay?'
'Cats don't have names,' it said.
'No?' said Coraline.
'No,' said the cat. 'Now you people have names. That's because you don't know who you are. We know who we are, so we don't need names.” 
― Neil Gaiman, Coraline

As he stood by

The beautiful flower she grew

Soft child of the grass golden was her hue

Shade from the sun and warmth when cold

By a gnarled mangy tree, the years make him old.

The beautiful white doe dances by

Without fear of the sly looks or the arrows that fly

She dances without cost and sings as she sighs

She curls down at dusk in a warm grassy knoll

By a gnarled mangy tree, his friends make him whole.

Careless children, tramped on by without glance or stare

Saw only a petal upon green leaf

Tore they down that blessed gown and raped as they went by

Soft water’s child and friend of all

Light as a whisper heavy was her fall

The gnarled mangy tree, he wept without end.

Whispers in the dark  and cold metal snaps in place

They watch with rapt attention as the fair doe moves about in grace.

A life that was meant for peace and play

With a flash and a bang, a bloodied body on the grassy knoll she lay.

The gnarled mangy tree, he had had enough.

Invoked he the wrath of the wind and fire of the sun,

Tore he his hair and snapped out a bark and let out a run.

Each limb fora hundred bullets and wizened old bark for what was left in that gun.

With a voice from the first sun and moon, he let out a roar and an ending groan

With a hideous cry he fell…the gnarled mangy tree, now is no more.

-mithrandir

Looking and Seeing.

A nomad sees a tree,

The shade is enticing.

A man sees a house,

The home is inviting.

The rich man sees the sky,

The heights are alluring.

The poor man sees the corner,

The two walls are life saving.

The dying man sees his life passing,

The sequence is revealing.

The dead man sees nothing,

The seed now is growing.

~mithrandir

" Two men look out through the same bars:

One sees the mud, and one the stars."

~Frederick Langbridge

Onwards

I woke up one morning,

And found myself in a deep sleep.

I reached with my toes,

Searching for some semblance of reality.

I reached the edge of the bed,

And was sucked into a deep chasm.

I fell endlessly, my scream rang silently,

I landed into a fleshy carcass,

My eyes opened and it was a new day.

I stepped out of the house, 

And felt it disintegrate into ashes.

Detached with only the shirt on my back,

And worn out shoes, I stepped forth to find the world.

I traveled the narrow alley ways and the deep blue oceans,

I immersed myself in the throngs of the peoples of the vast world,

And damned myself to the solitude of my own being.

In the chaos of it all, I felt the silent whisper of inevitability,

It spoke empty promises of finding the self and of oneness.

I hung my head down and plodded on.

The darkness of the night and the nothingness of it all,

The bleak stars my solace and the deep shade my shelter,
I plodded on.

"What's wrong with death sir? What are we so mortally afraid of? Why can't we treat death with a certain amount of humanity and dignity, and decency, and God forbid, maybe even humor. Death is not the enemy gentlemen. If we're going to fight a disease, let's fight one of the most terrible diseases of all,
Indifference."

August 11, 2014-Williams

Surreal short stories during odd moments

Sleep came swiftly in the auto after 3 days of insomnia, at that hour it came to the driver as well.

Neither felt the sickening crush of the crash.

The blanket is being pulled away.
You try and shoo away the cat with your foot.
 To realise that she's sleeping by your head.

And that you are alone.

So you stop.The pulling stops as well.

You stare blankly at your feet.

Nothing.

Deciding to go back to sleep, you hear

“Turn the fan down or give the blanket.”

The cat is sitting by your feet.

-Mithrandir

We climbed a hill that day...

We climbed a hill one day,
Not knowing what was on the other side.
Not caring what was on the other side,
We climbed a hill that day.

On the trail we slipped,
Sometimes we even fell.
The air was chilly and the rain had her own will,

We climbed a hill that day.

On the top we reached, each in his own time,
On the top we reached, each in his own way.
All were students on the hill that day...
We climbed a hill that day.

On the top we were told to face another reality,
On that hill we reached a fence.
On that hill we were reminded how privileged we were,
On that hill I remembered our seeds were planted by a man.
And that man came from a reality...
A reality on the other side of the fence.
We climbed a hill that day...

 On my way down I was without breath,
The journey tested my grit and I passed.
But a sense of awe was within me,
I touched upon the memory of someone that was far beyond my reach.
We climbed a hill that day...
And met a memory on the way.

-mithrandir

And his soul was filled with joy, and for a moment he had to pause to recover his breath. “The past," he thought “is linked to the present by an unbroken chain of events all flowing from one to the other." And it seemed to him that he had just seen both ends of the chain, and when he touched one end the other trembled.

The Student, Anton Chekhov

I want to grow up to be a kid.

If you don't have a struggle uphill the journey down the slope won't be as fun.
Knowing that you can make the journey up gives the courage to stick your hand in the dirt. again.

The trick with age might be to feel like a kid every second you-

-Feel like your knees are giving out

-You ain't good enough for the world

-You can't see well enough

-You regret more than you reminisce

The trick with age might be to feel like a kid every second.
-Mithrandir

Roverandom

Upon his wings I am often carried away,

To a childhood of running and laughing,

Lost in those unfathomable eyes,

Like immersing myself in an ocean of memories...

Each lattice...a frame for a thousand smiling days.

-Mithrandir

Pain

The monster cries out, resonating

 every chord of its being.

The silence gets louder without when the cries are defeaning within.

For resonance is singularity - the point where meaning breaks 

a sizeless, shapeless, timeless nemesis.

Constant, unending, unhealing, unhealed.

The monster yells

" I rip my own flesh, with my own teeth,

my nails dig deep to the bone.

In hope my suffering is tantamount

to my vicious venom-barbed throne"

The discord of fate be paralleled by

the discord of pain.

Will two grant tolerance

for the unbearability of one?

Pain! Pain! Oh god-awesome pain!

Proof of the living and bane of the dead!

The monster cries

"Pain, oh Pain! Grant me perspective(as only you can).

Come now, pull me away.

Tear out my heart,

and every other part, rid me the scars of the bygone day"

Death? Death is nothing; not a thousand times one!

A tarnished soul even, may be purified.

Life after life, like a diamond in the rough,

etching one layer at a time.

But what of the stone that was parted and cut - wrenched disjoint,

forever lost?

Where is Nirvana? Or the hope of peace?

A sliver of sunshine for the broken soul?

What was once half full, perhaps, or half empty;

naught now but the shards of a shattered bowl.

The Hum

The doors they're closed

The windows are broken

The child's favorite toy

But he lies away ...put in his corner

The heart its beating the mind its waking

The knife is out to stab in deeper

The truth was asked for like a ticket

The ticket was bought, was bought for free

The ship has set sail for better prospects

But the anchor is sunk and cut away

The ant it likes the rays of the sun

So you hold the magnifying glass a little closer

The instruments are great and so are the players

But the tune is gone, we are all only humming

All I want is you, will you be my bride

Take me by the hand and stand by my side

All I want is you, will you stay with me?

Hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea.