An ode, A promise...

Momentary bliss with you 'round,

Nature - you are beauty profound!

Soulful colours, your own splendour,

Sights to behold - "How!?", I wonder...

Nature - you are beauty profound!

With curves, certified to astound;

A grand feast for those truly bless't,

How enchantingly art thou drest!

Soulful colours, your own splendour,

Blinding rage, tears you asunder!

The rising tide, the spewing flame,

Ne'er shall you be the human's game!

Sights to behold - "How!?", I wonder...

Beseech thee - pardon our blunder.

One Earth, we inhabit and share,

We promise, O Gaea - we care.

---

Notice something different..? 

That was my first attempt at a style known as the retourne. Like so many other French forms, the retourne (from the French word, retourner - to return) is all about repetition. 

A retourne is comprised of four quatrains (four-line stanzas), and each line has eight syllables. The pattern goes like this - the second line of the first stanza must be the first line of the second stanza. The third line of the first stanza should be the first line of the third stanza. Likewise, the fourth line of the first stanza must be the first line of the fourth stanza.

Retournes need not rhyme. But considering my penchant for rhymes, I ensured this one did. :)

An Unborn's Plea...

Staying in your nurturing cradle,

Counting away to daylight,

I feel a poke so cold, so... fatal,

Embryonic dreams would never take flight.

A Princess from the fable, I would grow to be,

As the doctor went about his work,

Longing for a Prince to set me free-

I was numbed by a surgical dirk...

There is no room, for me, it seems-

The unfortunate result of sin.

Gaia's breasts, but with life, teems...

Yet, I am decreed: a has-been.

A future undone, a mother's strife...

A Freedom that never covered me.

"Please protect an unborn life"

This is my humble, dying plea...

(Afterword-)

"Alone on the cold table, silence cries...

Snatched in haste from a mother's womb,

It will be discarded once it dies.

The trash can will make-do as it's tomb."

---

Will be away from Blogsville for a week, populi. Au revoir.

Peace.

Gaia's Indignation

Tearing away in cellular bloom,

An emergence from maternal womb.

Crying and crying, whilst she bled and cringed,

A new life wriggled...

Laws of avarice would not be infringed.

And as you grew - you cried and craved;

All of Nature, you decreed, enslaved.

Guns to grenades - your designed assault;

While Gaia, but writhed...

Her creation had come from a bottomless vault.

Tartarus opened! It all spells doom!

Divinity devoured by unholy gloom...

Unimaginable chaos from creatures unseen!

Most holy Mother! Save us!

May thy Holy rapier smite the unclean.

Yes, she does, with a wave of her might!

Nature's fury overcomes the slightest of blight.

And so, "life" returns to it's womb...

As flesh and bone and ash and dust,

To the eerie warmth of a stone-cold tomb.

---

Just a gentle reminder... Do not play with Nature. The moment She decides to set things right, brace yourself for a pretty bumpy ride.

The Price of Freedom

I'd love to read your views on this topic.  Feel free to make yourself heard... Gratias.

Greetings one and all.

I scoured the internet for some of the best quotes on today's motion, The Price of Freedom, and the following statements appealed to me.

1. “The price of freedom is eternal vigilance” : Thomas Jefferson , third President of the United States of America
   
   
2. “A desire to resist oppression is implanted in the nature of man” : Publius Gaius Cornelius Tacitus , senator and historian of the Roman Empire.
   
   
3. “If you will not fight for the right when you can easily win without bloodshed; if you will not fight when your victory will be sure and not too costly; you may come to the moment when you will have to fight with all the odds against you and only a small chance of survival. There may even be a worst case: you may have to fight when there is no hope of victory, because it is better to perish than to live as slaves.” : Sir Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill , Nobel Laureate, renowned statesman, historian and a former Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.
   

Profound statements indeed.

When our freedom is at stake, how do we react? We don't shirk, we don't placate, and we don't send regrets. Instead, we unleash the might of our army, our navy and our air force. Our men and women are placed in harms way; that is the price of freedom and it is often high…

It isn’t enough to desire freedom. Every human being on earth seeks freedom. However, freedom is defined in different ways by different people of differing environmental influences. Freedom means something very different to those who have only known tyranny, as compared to those who have only known freedom. For those who have lived in bondage, no price is too high for freedom. For those who have never known bondage, freedom often has little meaning.

Like life itself, which we assume will last forever on most days - we hardly appreciate freedom or life until we are on the brink of losing it. Then, often only then, do we grasp a deep appreciation for what we spend most days taking for granted. Must it come to the brink before we wise up? If so, I think we are getting close, too close for comfort anyway.

Freedom from something is not the same thing as freedom for something.

I may have freedom of speech, but for what purpose? There may be a free press, but to what end? Freedom without responsibility is misguided freedom at best.

Freedom is about choice. It's about choosing between what we want or makes us feel good and what is true to who we are as social beings and members of a global community. Freedom is about discernment and dialogue. It's about searching for the best choice that fits the truth of what it means to be in union with other countries.

Freedom is not about unilateral decisions or coalitions made up of the strongest military forces. It's about finding solutions to hunger, the spread of AIDS, displaced populations, the oppression of women, and other humanitarian concerns that have little to do with bombs and guns.

The price of freedom must not be limited to the number of lives given or those injured. The price of freedom is about living with less so others may have more. It's about listening when, as a nation, we have become so accustomed to doing the talking. It's about learning to see through the eyes of others before choosing our course of action.

Freedom is a collective movement that assumes a collective responsibility. If we are to find hope in all of this, it can only be through the renewed efforts of the United Nations to recover the unity of the international community and to take a leading role in rekindling the embers of freedom in the truest sense of the word.

Our freedom did not come free, and we know that. This dignity of humanity was earned by others at the greatest of costs. That's right. Earned. And they did not give freedom to us. They merely loaned us this marvel. It is ours only so long as we are willing to guard it jealously, to defend it, and to fight for it. We must constantly pay the price for freedom else it will be ripped away from us, as has happened to so many of the world's peoples of the past and of today.

But what is the price?

The price is caution. We must exercise these rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness very carefully. Whenever our actions begin to usurp the freedom of another person, we are beginning to destroy freedom for all.

The price is vigilance. We must be suspicious of practices that endanger freedom, and. cautious of people who promote such practices. Insidious encroachments will silently strip away our freedom little by little if we are not on guard.

The price is action. We must stand forcefully against threats - move actively against prejudice, bigotry, and unequal treatment of our countrymen. If you and I don't stand up for our rights - who will? But we cannot be hypocritical and consider that only us Indians deserve freedom. We must also be prepared to assist those in other countries. If we really believe in freedom, then it must be a belief in freedom for all people - the freedom for those of all countries to live in the way they think is best.

The price is education. We must study all the meanings of freedom - must learn when to be cautious, when to be vigilant, and. when to act.

The price is blood. We must defend freedom with our lives when necessary. This price bas been paid by many, so that we could grow up in freedom. If we also must die, it will at least be with the memory of freedom's sweetness. And the price will be paid for those who remain.

Sure. the price of freedom is high - in its cautious exercise, in vigilance, and in action - and in the blood of those who would enjoy freedom' s loveliness. But the choice is simple. To live enslaved and die, never knowing individual dignity - or to live - and perhaps die - as a free human being.

Of course, there are a lot other aspects of “freedom” which I may not have touched up on. One of them being freedom from emotions. I leave you to ponder over a very short story. 

Suppose you see a group of children playing on an oft-used railway track. You also notice an abandoned track nearby where a lone child amuses himself. You spot a train coming in the distance and you see yourself vested with the power, nay, freedom to switch the train's path. Will you go ahead and push the switch? Give it a thought. The cost of one life that knew it was an abandoned track over of a group of children..? That one life you probably choose to sacrifice may be one too many, for the track is abandoned, remember?

That said, freedom, from whatever it is, just isn't free.

Thank you.

---

Oration is something that has always spurred me. Addressing a sea of optic spheres that stare at your every gesticulation is not the easiest of tasks, per se, but I must say I have always enjoyed the prospect of addressing a body of people. After all it is the listener's loss, not mine! *smirk*

Jokes off. 

The Price of Freedom happened to be my last performance as an orator (back in university, March '08). I will upload the audio when I get my laptop fixed. You just read the transcript (of what supposedly was my first and till date only prepared/researched speech) and I really appreciate your patience in reading it in it's entirety.

That Christmas Eve...

Cold winds shrieked as they hit against the window pane. It was nearly two hours since the shop had closed. After all, it was Christmas tomorrow; and who would want to be late for home on Christmas-eve? The residential area was not near by. Not a soul stirred in the desolate road... None but one. A waif. Whose gasped breathing seemed to be a desperate attempt at keeping his young lungs warm in the biting cold.

Little Ronny stood under the light of a lamp-post which was right outside the glass window... Stood. He stood so that the exposed parts of his already under-nourished body could try and absorb some of the warmth that seemed to emanate from the nebuluous light. Ronny could not sit. The pavement was too cold for his raw bottoms. He tried to balance himself by standing on his toes. He needed all of the faint warmth that his near four-foot frame could grope for. 

It would be Christmas soon... Ronny continued to throw hungry glances at the window. Hungry because his stomach ached. Hungry, also, because his will ached. He remembered promising his little sibling "that pretty-pretty pink doll which shhmiled shooo cutely"... That doll lay right behind the glass barrier. Ronny wished he had the strength of Samson - to break the glass. Ah! The lamp-post! But suddenly he wished he hadn't. How could he steal? His dead parents would not like it. But how could he refuse his sister... He knew the pain of an unfulfilled wish. His parents could not afford him an action figure. His sister was all innocence then. She knew no material pain. But now, she had grown into his treasured possession. His little Ree. He winced at the thought of a Christmas tainted by her tears...

There was a brick lying nearby... It was too big for his little hands. Nonetheless, he decided to give it a go. A faint rustle stopped him in his tracks. He looked around. Was there someone waiting to pounce on him? Kidnap him? Or worse; arrest him and throw him in a dark gaol cell? Any plain-clothesman on duty? Ronny's little mind raced... He spotted someone... Was it the beggar? Yeah..! It was "the beggar with the red eyes"... He was towering and gaunt. Ronny feared he was up to no good. But then again... How could anyone be up to no good on Christmas? It just didn't seem right!

All of a sudden, it started raining... The rain came down hard. A storm during Christmas was pretty much unheard of. Ronny ran across the road and hid under a shade. He began to sob... Heavy sobs. He was already drenched. Little feet do not have a long stride... The soaked countenance camouflaged his tears. The sobs became a wail, which was in turn drowned amidst thunder and the fulminating clouds. Then lightning struck and the gale howled. Party-poopers gate crashing a silent Christmas.

*** *** *** *** ***

Ronny woke when the faintest of sunlight blessed the Earth. He seemed all warm... "I must be having a terrible fever. Poor nanny will have even more trouble because of me." His thoughts were interrupted by an ancient voice. "Aww, Sonny boy's awayke awre yew dearie... Slept well?" It was the beggar. Ronny trembled at the sight of those bloodshot eyes. Warmth gave way to a tingling chill... The man, but smiled. "Aye, me lad... Wan' me ol' bag o' bones to tayke yew 'ome? No? Naaw there yew gow... Merry Christmas!" He thrust a bundle under Ronny's arm. Ronny took a look at himself with his bleary eyes. A few more layers of clothing, however ragged, adorned him. The beggar reclined against the wall and watched the numb, bewildered boy silently take leave.

Day broke. News of the strong winds, the sudden rains and the devilish lightning taking out a bent lamp-post began to spread. However, there was no news made of the limp cadaver. For, a stone's throw away from the lamp-post was a bare, gaunt body lying lifeless on the cold Earth. The eyes were red. But there was a tranquil serenity about the face, which also bore a pacific smile. Upon finally being discovered, there were talks that he resembled some Saint Nicholas. Humankind is not new to gossip.

Ree would have her Christmas after all...

*** *** ***

"He wishes for the cloths of heaven" (William Butler Yeats) came to my mind as I wrote that story. It is one of my favourites...

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

*** *** ***

Here's wishing you and all your family a very Merry Christmas. May the Holy Spirit usher in times of affluence and well-being. Let us try and bring a smile on someone's face. 

Peace on Earth, goodwill to men. (I love that hymn!)

A reason to Pray...

My search goes on, seemingly vain…
Traumatic times are a regular phase.
For at each turn, I behold only pain.
Oh why should my people see such days?

I see my land bathed in innocents' blood…

I fear her future is decreed thus bleak.
As I await His light – the cleansing flood. 
I remain entranced by this surreal mystique.

I hear a moan, I hear a cry…

The land is too blood-soaked to till.
As we wait for it all to dry; 
The twisted folk deem more blood, to spill!

What times are these, which we live in…?

Beneath clouds so dark and skies so grey.
I listen’d to tales of the Devil’s grin…
And unto Frey, did I turn to pray.

O Lord! May Thy rule stay Divine…

For our hours on ye Earth are entirely Thine.
I pray – as this sun sets in decline, 

It brings peace upon this beloved land of mine!

---

I wrote this in the wee hours of today. My sincere condolences go out to the families of (Anti-Terrorism Squad Chief) Hemant Karkare, (Additional Commissioner) Ashok Kamte, (encounter specialist Inspector) Vijay Salaskar and all those bereaved. I fervently hope things return to normalcy soon.

Contorted Reality will not have 50^th post celebrations. Instead, please join me in lighting a candle here. 

Ad majorem Dei gloriam.

She

There she stands - head held high.

She wants no aid.

No, none at all... She resides,

Behind a bulwark barricade.

She wants no part of them people.

For unto her, they had brought only harm and hurt.

She stands alone - all by herself,

The stoic and stony introvert...

Her life, she leads the way she wants.

And in the darkness of night,

Those shy, silent tears, she lets weep

As she awaits a new day’s light.

---

Okay… I am my worst critic; this isn’t the best of poetry that I have written. A writer’s block coupled with pending assessments is a pretty lethal combination :( Ah well… 

Hey! I heard today is/was International Men’s Day… And I came up with this post? Just a humble attempt; dedicated to womanhood and the stoic women I have met in my twenty-two (and counting) journeys around the sun. Peace be upon ye.