A Fiddle Out Of Tune

I looked at my face in the mirror one day
And thought of how rigid it looks
Just like a fiddle
Clad,
Collected,
Sad,
Conceited
How a human body resembles a treble
Or perhaps it's the other way around
Curved,
Graceful,
Proud,
And bashful
It was after the first time I touched a violin
And fell in love at first sight
How nice it would be, I thought
To carry myself like a Stradivarius
One of a kind, so rare to find
Exhaled, authentic and ageless
Carved with care
Polished and pared with affection
And amazed I was when I found
How different it sounds
When loving fingers caress its skin
And how it would chide in a arrogant yowl
When its strings are roughly struck
How it would squawk like it has a soul
When its E-strings are wrongly tucked
It happened once that,

Under the pressure of my bow

A string on my fiddle snapped
And hurt my chin
Felt as if I offended a lover
Wounded my significant other
And received a smack so hard
It left an invisible scar on my skin
But I felt the pain of the offender
A roaring storm of thunder
Protesting against my blunder
And bitterness seeped within
It found my blood runs,  infused with my veins
And numbed my perception
My heart ? It contorted, and I learnt that cords
Much like human emotions
Are to be handled with great care
And when I'm not feeling well
My fiddle smells my melancholy
And relaxes its strings
It breaks the rhythm of Vivaldi's Spring
And I wouldn't even notice
That my friend is making noises
Because, you see, there is no greater swoon
More pleasure to the senses
Than a fiddle that's out of tune
But still trying to recompense

Камера Oбскура

Laughter In The Dark

Loath me not for my odious honesty, brethren, for I love thee

Despite thee

But I still wonder sometimes 

How I feel pangs of fervent love for humanity as a whole
Yet I fail to feel for the ones I could call
At times I feel that it is all just a long reality show
And we are the actors; though we don't stick to the script
We improvise, we add and omit
Forget our lines and stall in wit
Till our final moments of throe
Then abandon the show at the peak of the plot
And I've always felt
That I was excluded from this strife
As if I was a witness from the sidelines
And I fell back in the race of life
And decided to sit and watch who will cross that finish line
Trying to figure out when exactly did I lose my will to live
Why do I find bonding so inflictive
And mundane company so disruptive ?
How do I find it perfectly natural to be loved by another
But never work to towards the end of being together
Oh, how I enjoy snatching hearts like a crook
Collecting what I steal in a fancy sack
And then i empty its contents on my bed at night
I set about admiring and polishing my game in content
Put them for show on a grand shelf
And occasionally,
When I pass by them tokens of triumph
Not looking shiny and polished enough
I spit at them in a haughty repulsion
Because they are but monuments ; a nagging reminder of my revulsion
Against humans, one by one
And my compassion towards all of humanity

I never believe in chaste love, Batushka

But I believe in conditional fraternity
Because why love the molecule when you can adore the whole universe ?
When you feel the urge to fall into humanity's embrace
What need could ever exist for a single chum ?
If you think i'm Good-natured
Forgiving, kind, a hopeless fool
You must be blind
You should understand that I never kept sound any real bond
Since the time I've found i was being used as a tool
You should know how I'm genuinely appalled at the sight of unabashed goodness
It seemed that the very essence of human nature is bathed in depravity
And any explicit display of morality
Is essentially chaperoned by an ado of heed
Oh, how I longed to bid this world adieu
I was tired and sick of all this chaotic debauchery
And wanted out of it
Nothing to do with it
But, did you know, even my feelings are in grave dissension
For I love humanity, sir
I love humanity, very much so
For being so dexterous and inventive
In the ways it confuses vice for grace
How it decided who remains a pauper and who gets to hold the mace
How we choose to be humane
When being humane turns to be juicy
And ,alas ! when being our monstrous selves is pricey
It is so funny, I swear
How the entirety of mortal notions are falling to the pits of craze
Oh, and you say i'm wise, but let me tell you this
I would pass the offense, I would turn the other cheek
And I'd let you have it your way at my expense
Because next to the enormity of the universe
You and your fallen existence are as good as erased
And I'm bound to this damned race, mind you

I'm a mere brace for this wall made of Humans, with no humanity
A rigid brick trapped in my place,
And I can't rebel, I'm just a sorry thrall
Could never escape my dark fate, being a part of the grand wall
No matter how much I kick and squall

Though I'm called Candid, kind and forgiving I'm no longer
I'm solely a derelict scandalmonger
I take part in this soap opera because I lost my will to depart

Though I came to life wanting to live so bad

I got hit hard, before i knew what hit me
Now i'm just passing my days,
Crestfallen,
At how i couldn't join the chase

As for allowing myself to be crushed and debased by the weight of human atrocity

Pay no attention, because I do it out of animosity
I got nothing to lose since the time I lost the virginity of my heart
I could never forgive the world for how it turned out to be

And this is my ultimate vendetta, against an entire race

This outward cynicism, being nihilistic and bold

There is no rush to do it apace

Indeed, spite tastes sour no matter how cold

Ties of Compassion VII: Gymnopédie No.1

She was looking into the void absently, as if in a lucid dream, or an engulfing nightmare,
one wing crushed under the heavy tires, and the other flapping wanly,while the car was slowly moving back, pulping her sides, vindictively, like a harmful pest that needs to be annihilated.

Though a few minutes ago,she was a healthy creature,alive,taking shelter from the heat under a car with a welcoming shadow.She had a life,she had a purpose,she might have had little ones waiting for her at the nest to come back, little angels that would rally around her in a gay babble.

i fancied i could hear the sound of her bones, snapping like salt crackers at an afternoon tea table. Every bone that was crushed, crushed something in me, something at the back of my skull,plowed by the root the little sprouts of sympathy that grew on the plain of my heart, the way you would pluck weed, ..I could hear them;

tuk. tuk.tutuk.

I couldn't look away; the scene was so sublime, in slow-motion,magnifique in its cruelty,and awakening in its fatality :

The sun,slaying the earth with its rays
The world, oblivious and busy
I,watching in helplessness...and a slight strike of awe.

Her face portrayed surrender and submission, as if she was waiting for everything to end,so she could fly to her freedom, depart from this life,light and cleansed, her mind at ease, and her soul untroubled.

Was she beholding her life flashing before her ?

I didn't know what was more mortifying, watching this pure being slowly and horridly die in pain, or knowing that there was absolutely nothing i could do. That i , if it was possible to leave my place and run at full speed to where she was, had managed to stop the car by frantically banging at its windows , and succeeded in pulling the wretched thing from below that monster, broken, half-dead, but half-alive, I'm certain that I would've immediately regretted it; forcing the poor little thing to live in pain when she could have left in peace.

There were no bells tolling, not a moment of silence in grievance. She left quietly ,like a spring breeze ,unseen, cool in its passage..just like that. Nobody else noticed, not even the one who killed her,and her body was left in the out for the sun rays to pat on and for the wind to caress.

They still ting; her silent screams, distant ,but clear in my memories, and her fixed gaze towards the horizon.

Why couldn't I look away ?

Baracolle, Op.60

I took one look at his face, and immediately got the impression that it seemed familiar...
The more he spoke,with his animated expressions and smart ,curious eyes, the more i was ascertained of it;
We have certainly met , i don't know where,but we did....some time, in the distant past.

''Excuse me, sir, but have we met before ?''
I never let such thoughts dwell in my mind long.
He turned slightly, and carefully examined my face; ''..............I don't think so; it's possible though''

''I believe we did, I do remember you; you told me about your life before coming here; how you spent your youth in various countries and learnt so many languages", and I went on telling him all the details i could summon,"It wasn't anytime soon, but i still remember all of it''

I was surprised myself at my detailed recollection of someone else's affairs; for i don't even remember the trivialities of my own life to begin with;
I recounted what he told me before in a vain attempt to convince him, though i knew it was very forward of me, and quite unseemly in my position, but it didn't matter much, for if he didn't remember, he shall remain a stranger with a null opinion of me ,and we will shortly part anyway.

I could see signs of astonishment on his face, though; partly because he couldn't have possibly told all these details to a random stranger; but mainly, i divined, because if he couldn't remember our encounter, then it must have happened long ago; which makes it even unbelievable for me to remember with such accuracy.

"that's all true........how is that possible", he said with evident surprise, "though I still...don't recognize you, pardon"

He kept staring at my face, carefully, though astonishment turned to a sort of deep contemplation, with a tinge of embarrassment.

I said it was fine and dropped the subject ;I didn't really care if he remembered or not ,as i didn't tell him so with a certain objective in mind; i just wanted to let him know....and i knew well that he wouldn't remember me anyway; for not many people have my weird symbolic memory after all ...

I don't remember voices, see, i don't remember names, nor faces in particular; but i remember impressions :
this person have made such a memorable impression on me the first time; it's his vibe that remained printed in my memory; and i could recall it within the first few moments of our second meeting, the way the smell of a certain rose can tell you from which mountain it was plucked.

------------------------------------------------------------

Dear stranger, whose name i don't recall, and which i have no need to inquire about, I remembered you because you were the first person that told me that i'm beautiful.

Not "cute",not "fine", not "attractive", but "beautiful" ;  as if you took a peak at my soul before looking at its external projection -the hidden lump that was so inscrutable to me at the time, so bewildering ,confusing,though intriguing in its own way, and then described it as ''beautiful'' to sum it all.

I was caught off guard, you know, I realize that i'm okay looking and that a number of people might think so as well, not to sound like a diva or anything; but rarely ,if ever, does anyone ventures to tell me that directly, in a casual, non-flirtatious way, as if you were mentioning a random observation about the weather :

"............It's because you are beautiful, ma sha Allah"

Who would forget such words, articulated nonchalantly, and without any ulterior motives behind them ?  words said not to impress me particularly-though they did, nor make me feel better as a form of courteousness, but simply to let me know, to communicate to me,out of perspicuous candidness, a random thought that passed your mind, and without the remotest evidence of any sort of designs to be carried off after,as opposed to most of the people that abuse this compliment...

Dear stranger, It doesn't matter if we don't meet again, for the value of a poetic encounter lies in it's non recurrence, the utter impossibility of its happening again. Only then does every word articulated remain precious, and every second have a special significance.

Batushka, you made me feel accepted, deeply understood, you taught me to love myself, then left off, like a cloud hasting to join its sisters in the distant horizon.

Oh,how i longed to tell you all this. But it is of no consequence, for, after all, we shan't meet again. We shan't meet again, but i thank you, and I shall carry you in my heart, I shall remember you.

----------------------------------------------------------------

When it was time to leave ,he suddenly turned and said; ".....I remember you now !",with a wide smile.''it happened long time ago; you have an insane memory !''

I don't know if he truly did, or that he thought that it would be a nice gesture to pretend so, but something tells me,the way his eyes smiled, they way they shone ,that he remembered. Because they shone the same way the first time we met.

Funny, this life.
A stranger can say,with the utmost carelessness, on a random account when you are feeling that life hasn't been kind to you and that you need to get away from it all, at the time you felt suffocated with the world's obliviousness- they can just say one thing, the one thing that you have been longing to hear for so long.

"I remember you"