Memory of a Home

…the door closed gently and with a last soft whisper the Smith family said goodbye to their old home.

As the evening drew on and the street lights outside lit the bare rooms dimly, a small boy sat in the middle of the room holding out his hand and hummed the beginning of the Batman series.
He got up …the little kid went out to the window and yelled out that he’s coming to play.
The boy vanishes…

An elder boy came out to the living room the lights outside lit his face, he seemed to be glum over something kept staring at a phone…
The elder boy vanishes…

Now a young man is standing at the big window and staring outside looking at the fountain below and the dimly lit street watching people going by…feels the wind ruffling through his hair and looks down and sees his old friend standing and staring up at him …his face lights up and he rushes out for that long walk…
The young man vanishes…

The house is now all but silent.
And with a heavy sigh the Smith home says goodbye.

Thank you Varun for unintentionally inspring this one... will miss calling 6220.

A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen.

• Edward de Bono

The travelling inn

The travel inn

For the traveling

Our man a simple man went to the market square, one evening

Came across he a group of the king's people in great turmoil

“‘Tis the matter fellow countrymen? Our man asked the woebegone ones...”

“It is our king my good man, our king!”

“He changes not the rations during this time of famine and incessant drought...”

“The cows are dying and the crows are crying in glee

Cried we have and the womenfolk too! At the very feet of our obstinate HE”

Our man scratches a brow and cracks a knuckle

Says "Hmm quite a jimmy that be ...quite a jimmy" and left off with a throaty chuckle...”

And through the square and into the palatial garden's green...

Marveling at the contrast between our kings parlor

And the dry earth of the square and the humble country man living in squalor.

So he climbed up not unlike his fellow men ...but with an ace up his sleeve.

Sat the king upon his satin lined throne

A grape in his bowl and keeping him company a chicken bone....

The king on seeing our man waltz in let out a cry

"Ai wait a minute you !where do you think you be strollin!??"

Our man looks around a bit..And with wry smile says...

"This is nice ..Very nice thing you got going on around here chappy"

"...chappy??!here who do you think you are?"

"Oh…me? I’m a traveler and this is definitely the place to be when rest is the need, is that gold?"

"Err yes...but this is a palace and i am the king!!!"

"Oh you almost had me there ....how much for a room 'sire'?"

"What do you mean how much for a room?"

"Well ...this be a travel inn, a nice one if i may say so, so I was -"

"Hey you! This is my palace! Why do call it a commoner’s travel inn???”

"Well 'sire' who lived here before you?”

"My father the king of the land before me..."

"Indeed! and before your father may his soul be blessed"

"My grandfather of course!..."

"Is that so ...and before him?”

"Why my great grand- here are you putting me on??!!"

"Oh so who built this travel inn?”

"Well its been in my family for generations..."

"Indeed....so your great grandfather, you grandfather and your father where are they now?"

"Well they are dead you oaf!"

"Oh come and gone have they ??...sounds then that this place is a mighty old travel inn..."

And with that ominous line our man left the king to sit and ponder upon a mountain of thoughts.

And as he laid himself to sleep that night

death gripped him and he shivered in fright.

He wondered if this was the last light in his lamp.

If so then he'd be remembered for nothing

So that night he sat upon his throne and called for paper and ink

He wrote out rations and decrees like a mad man

And when the sun arose stretching its hand

The king's decrees were made known and that took some time to sink

The commoners rejoiced amazed at the kings sudden change of mind.

They now called him wise and called him kind

And on his gates is written for all to see

"Life is long until it is short; make do with it while you be."

-mithrandir

Corner.

Standing in my little place
Where two walls meet face to face ,
Its the place I go to,
When there is no,
Place I can go to.

Its my hall of fame where I'm sent in shame,
Its the place I go when I feel I must
Lay all my stuff ...ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

Its in the middle of my head ,
Just sharper instead .
Its the place I run away from...
Where my silly tunes I hum.

Its the place without a future ,
Its without a past suture .
Its my tense for my tense present sense,
Where I hit my head when I sense it gets dense.

Its the place where this brick
of this wall meets another brick in that wall,
The place where I go
When I
feel that I need to wander like a random faceless old goner
My lost space ,my corner.

- mithrandir

Will you fly away?

Who do I sing my songs to ?
Who will hold my hand...

Is there something to do
Won't you help me understand ?

Will you see what I sing and sing what you write?
I may not even be,be what I may seem...

Do you have to stick by the rules?
Rules that make as much sense...
As things gone by... in the present tense

Am I walking in life or flying through a dream
Can you tell me the time?
Will you light up that light that shows me my way?

Will you tell the nightingale his night is now day
Will you tell him he's out of touch,
Singing the same old tune,
It loops over again...
And he might just fly away...

-mithrandir

War and Piss : Let there be Loo

-I don't like latrines(author heaves sigh of relief...the truth is finally out),I'd read this blog quite long ago and laughed out(but sighed in relief ...atlast i stand not alone) of the various notions the author had dealt with.

-I hate college loos specifically (not that FrCRIT has one constructed under thatched roofing or anything...we got good stuff there),it just that people like me ...we don't like moving around so much between lectures, so we pretty much come into the loo with a loaded gun.

-Now by logic one would think the glass is quite full here ,easy stuff to spill out right...but there you are standing there with about five other people there flanking you...and my fellow bretheren we are under drought conditions.

-Now this personal hygiene...so lets try and keep it personal..."sachin kya shot marra bey!"...or..."abey kaunsa lecture hai ?"...and sometimes (often in my case)..."tiffin mein kya laya rey ...?chivda ne?...rukh haat dho ke atta hoon.."...these i tell you is exactly what makes watering the plants a super tough ordeal.

-There are some lads who love sports and hence will not let go of an oppurtunity to test their "Rooney"tackle ...now I got nothing agains camradrie or any such knightly ideals...but ...give a man a moment of piss...

-I mentioned the pandav problem above...what the hell does one do if you have four other guys standing there and there is but an inch space...I wish I was vertically challenged at this point of time...alas...

-The traditional loo art is often a relief...
Man has been at the forefront of scribbling out his life be it the ancient caves...or our homely school bench.
But the loo is unparalleld when it comes to art...
Ex:
"Look left...Look right...Look up...Look down...abey idhar udhar kya dekh raha hai ch^&*%^& kaam katam karke kalti maar!"

"You must be this high to be on the ride."...better still
"You must be high ...tobe on the ride."

"Aim for the stars..."
"To stop train pull chain..."
"integration formulae...balanced chemical reactions..."
"make piss not war(chembur karnatak...ssc exam...hope such works are still there.)"
"latrine out order...use ladies..."

-If there are conclusions to be made then I am sorry to say this author has been called upon to make sure that the plants are watered...

Over and ...out.

-Mithrandir

song with no tune

The Lost Music was his way of talking about the way he believed that old wives' tales and dance tunes and folktales were just the tangled echoes of something that's not quite of this world ... something we all knew once, but have forgotten since.

• Part One: The Hidden People, "The Quarrlsome Piper"

-Charles de Lint

Aroused from the dreariness of life,

By the four knocks of fate,

A light in that dark hour of your strife,

A partner in your hour of hate...

Pull your soul out above this damn monotony,

And dance to that thunderous beat,

To name it a song or divine symphony,

The creator himself will stop in awe for this...his creation's feat.

When the entire world screams at you ...

You turn this song up... a few notches up ...just a few

Shut their trap it sure does, like the fall of cold rain

On dry minds... gone insane ,them hearts gone inhumane.

And it settles down again and the darkness shall creep once more

For this is no bards tale, no happy ending in store,

And you cower down under the laughter of fools.

Masters of nothing, slaves to their own tools.

No hope, no ray of light whence backed up alone in that corner of yours,

And beyond hope ,beyond all cures...

You see the baton in your hand ,

And you turn up the volume once more ...

And you make your final stand...

Music is like a dream. One that I cannot hear.

(Conversations,1804)

Ich werde im Himmel hören! (I will hear in heaven!)

Said on his deathbed,1827(Last words)

-LVB

-mithrandir

Anger: rewind...

All the world is mad, except thee and me, and even thee's a little mad at times.

Like an agitated stream my thoughts froth,

As a shackled beast his freedom denied,

Too much you love that your fury would loath,

Tortured mind, his love still defied.

Can I hate? Can I break? Can I smash and unleash the darkness within?

Old man! hunched low, shroud of peace and humble smile ,all but holy,

Are you annoyed hmmm? Are you irritated hmm? stored away in a corner from my kith and kin,

Shift of stance... poised to strike... glance that says...are you watching closely ...

Shroud is torn... sky is cast... hell break loose,

Theres something crawling in the night,

Halo or horn I'm no ones to choose,

My anger is my pain and my love my might .

Can I lay blame? Can I share my pain?

Oh really I can?

Please ...Away! my hatred is nobody's to scan

Leave me be... leave me be

I have nothing! no more... my life... my love... my soul

It is all for you to see

Withered wand and and shattered whole...

Passerby pass me by,

My anger lost, for love I find

The hour is dark, the end is nigh

Old ways will die, when teeth will grind,

Through dark ways he comes with light anew,

Fathom over the riddle ,over this confused cue

If there is an answer, it is for no one to find...

An uncoiled spring... always left to wind ...