THE INDIAN COMMENTATOR

VI The Geometry of Loneliness Image Courtesy: Google You are the sand- At the end of the desert- On my tiring feet. You are the teardrop, At the end of a days’ journey In my eyes. The plateau of self-realization, Followed your fragrance, Into the womb of memories. And then… Without the sensation of the sand, Without the dampness in the eyes, The journey I undertook, Seemed at a loss for sense. 

V Image Courtesy: Google Your anxiety was Always funny. I knew always Better than you did. I traveled. I knew the world. I brought its gifts Into your world. I was the dreamer. The Alchemist. I had the smile. When you kept The curves of pain On your lips; Until that day, When my path was full shadows, And the light to fight darkness, Was forgotten at home.  [ To be continued ]

IV The Geometry of Loneliness Image Courtesy: Google The lost star traveler, Gazed, blinded. The stars he thought would guide him, Were invisible now. No one had told him, That he shouldn’t shed tears, While in his quest, Marking his way, Gazing up at the stars. But he cried, Thinking of the one- He’d left behind. For you, my dear one. You are such a tremendous inspiration to me. You deserve this and much more.    [To be continued]  

Image Courtesy: Google This article is partly religious and partly non-religious. I ask for forgiveness from religious people and companionship from the non-religious for reciting with me the Lord’s Prayer given below.  This Friday is the day when Jesus of Nazareth took up on himself the cruelties the men of the world are capable of and died, for redeeming the lineage of Adam. Let us remember him and pray to God, may our saviour come back again, so that we all can repent for what we did to him and tell him how much we have yet to learn to be humans. The memory of Jesus from my childhood brings to my mind the image of a kind storyteller, who loved kids very much. For each lesson he taught, he had a story to tell. With each story he built the pillars of the kingdom of God .   The proclamation of Jesus that only through a child’s eyes one can see God, also proves how much he wanted us to understand the importance of the ability to see and hear though our inn...

III The Geometry of Loneliness Image Courtesy: Google The geometry of a naïve, Shapes with squares, triangles, hexagons, Rectangles, half made, half broken, Half born. All red, With liquid blood, Still trying to thump hard, As it always has been— The shattered heart. I stood near it, With the candle of ignorance, Lost on my way to those dreams In which I thought I could see- You, up close.  

II The Geometry of Loneliness Image Courtesy: Google In the sleepless eyelids, I found the first tear drop, In remembrance Of the tree At the end of the long road; Of the rain, At the peak of summer; Of the moonlight, In the dark; Of the fragrance of flowers, Of the smell of the soil, Of the pain of love, Of the joy of dreams, Of the love for life, Of the truth in lies, And of the lies I slept with, All my days, Seeking you.  [To be continued]

The Geometry of Loneliness Image courtesy: Google I When your reminiscence arrived at me, Like the fire on the bushes, Like the cloud of protection, Like the wall inside the sea, Like the word on baked clay, I melted and waited; As the shadow of a bird, In the heart of the altitude, Moving, but static- still; For the obtuse angle to be acute angle, To move closer in degrees, To your flesh and blood, And embrace the Resurrection- Of your closeness again.   [To be continued]

Confessions of a lonely traveler, who started off for his dreamland  “Love, hear thou / How desolate the heart is, ever calling” —James Joyce Image Courtesy: Google The traveler is primarily a dreamer. His dreams showed him that there was a destiny awaiting him that required his presence to achieve its fulfillment. He trusted the dream and its call. That enabled him to revolt against his parochial family, his own homesickness, and lethargy. The dream supplied the impetus to move on. The journey had begun. The road was a picture of hope and the sun shining eternally above was a priceless gem. The traveler walked on. The wind was a torrent of life. He sucked on it each time the gush of the invisible felt on his face. The traveler walked on. All his memories were signposts reminding him where to return home. The heart of the traveler, though, felt the pull of a two tongued bate. He was missing something, someone. Love—his heart was pulling at his ...

Image Courtesy: Google Every detective story relies upon either a mind that concocts something disastrous, unacceptable to the social, moral and ethical codes or a person simply missing. The detective’s job would be to chalk out this enemy and bring out the complete picture of their antagonism through the investigation. That is where detectives come in. They often carry away the credit of the game and not the villains. Private is the first in  James Patterson’s new series of novels featuring ‘world’s most exclusive detective agency’, taken up and rebuilt by Jack Morgan. Patterson co-authored this book with Maxine Paetro, who worked with him in 1 st To Die , the first book in another series titled, “women’s murder club”, a very disappointing book in terms of its plot. Maxine Paetro Image Courtesy: Google What makes Private special among other ‘detective novels’, is that it has no such poignant antagonists. The story rallies through the personal dilemmas and ag...

Image Courtesy: Google The world has become so narrow that one group of people now have to keep a day for themselves, in order not risk a whole lifetime. Happy Women's Day! A faint glow I see, In the path in front of me. I find the glow attractive, Pleased by it, I move closer, Use it to see farther, further. I take a turn in the path, Find everything there drab and used. The rupture of hope from reality, Leaves me stunned to feel A strange poignancy, In the depth my heart conceals, Inside its walls within my bodily barriers. The pain tells me it’s time, To realize what I saw was just the glow, Or what the glow wanted me to see. The unique language to decipher, The signs of the path I took, Were imprinted in the walls of my heart, Hidden behind the bars of my ribs, I followed the glow to be what I am, Leaving what I hoped, dreamed, coveted to be, Alone, unattended, uncared for, unloved, Just to die and rot in the desolation of...