THE INDIAN COMMENTATOR

Image Courtesy: Google A tear drop spawned in the eyes, Like a sense stirred by a metaphor; The end of words, birth of meaning, Washing the sins of sounds, With the silent poignancy of joy, When you came close To write a song on my soul. There is a bridge that we all hope to find between every ‘you and me’ in this world. There would be words that pave the bridge. There are moments however, when each word we utter is not enough to power or to support that bridge. Then we retreat into the island of solitude and hope for a sign, either from within us or from outside, from the other side of the bridge. In this latest series of i-poems, I wanted to talk about those signs that appear from within us, meaning and delivering a promise that the bridge between us will stand forever. These signs are the wordless sighs and soothing tears of joy.   Dear reader, I hope you enjoyed this “silent poignancy of joy” titled “Songs of the Soul”. A song never ends. It...

Image Courtesy: Google I resisted you like the sun darkness, Until when the needles of time came face up. To rise at the dawn of my life, I went inside you, deep, down, wordless.

Image Courtesy: Google I am land that takes flight On a storm in the desert, I am water that becomes rock On the poles of the earth. I am air in the clouds of the sky That dreams to fill the river. I am the shallowness that reminds depth. I am darkness that shows light. I am ignorance that knows itself. I am the soul that lives eternal. I am a bird that walks on earth. I am an animal that can fly. I am an insect eating the strongest. When the closeness of your toes, Breach the fear of distances, I am all this, except words. 

Image Courtesy: Google I tell you my affection with the sighs, From the caves of mortality. Born in the past, Filled up in the present, Held by future as the child of meaning, The growth of the seed of wordlessness; It tells you that which I felt When your soul lingered with mine.

Image Courtesy: Google The word for love is too short. The word for affection, shallow. The depth of a book, insufficient. Since, in love I became Too vast to measure, Too deep to fathom, Too alive to die; How! I still know not, To tell you my love. 

Image Courtesy: Google II The track of molten joy Is etched upon my cheeks, I fill them up. The wind from the sea of dreams Is hidden in my chest, I blew them out. The drum of eternal life Plays beneath my ribs, I unleash it. Still, the miracle of your nearness In the soil of my ecstasies, Bears no words. 

Image Courtesy: Google A bridge stands for a purpose between every ‘you and me’ in the world. There would be words filling the bridge, traversing from the depth of a beating heart to the delicate and receptive cup of a pure soul. I would rather say I am wordless when talking about this phenomenon, which we usually identify as “words spoken between two”.   There are terms like communication, talk, conversation, dialogue, and even monologue in order to explain this bridge. Whatever name we give it, this is the bridge that brings us together and makes us stay close with each other. But sometimes, we don’t find words to express what we feel, towards ourselves, the other, or God. These are the moments of vacant buoyancy. We float like a weightless bubble on the surface of the river of life and someone comes along in the form of a touch, a gust of breeze or like of a storm and takes us to a destination, according to who they are. We just float towards an unknown destination. W...

Image Courtesy: Google Our client is looking for 100 English writers; we could pay up to $10,000/month with bonuses for writers who deliver good content on a regular basis. No experience required. Payment via Paypal, Check, or a Bank Wire. Mithun Vadakkedathu signed out. But he did not forget to mark the mail he just read as spam. He had been signing up in job sites and this has become his day job. The previous week he had gone to the Parassinikadavu temple and paid for Vellaattam, the worship dance for pleasing Muthappan, the deity of Parassinikkadavu temple, the ancient God of the commoner. Image Courtesy: Google He groped in his wallet which had holes inside and threads were coming off from its bottom. The outer layer of rexine was removed from many places by time. Mithun took out three pieces of paper, three tickets: one red, one grey, one pale white in colour . He murmured; “O God, all my prayers, all the Vellaattam I paid for are gone without purpose....