Archive for October 2007

Tagged…:) Questions To Die For

October 28, 2007

Self tagged following Seige‘s open-to-all tag 🙂 let’s see what happens:)

[Layer One: On the Outside]
Name: Y Lens 🙂
Birth Date: 23 December
Current Status: broke…
Eye Color: brownly black
Hair Color: Bald (hah!), um, black? brown? brownish black?
Righty or Lefty: All Righty 🙂

[Layer Two: On the Inside]
Your Heritage: some apes…
Your Fear: nightmare, daymare, crowd, enlightenment…
Your Weakness: movies, especially oldies (Japanese, Italian, French…)
Your Perfect Pizza: I don’t Pizza a lot…mmm…cheese?

[Layer Three: Yesterday, Today , Tomorrow]
Your First Thought This Morning: Damn!
Your Last Thought Before Bedtime: Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse Rinpoche 🙂
Your Most Missed Memories: running after cows (and bulls too) during winter vacations

[Layer Four: Your Pick]
Pepsi or Coke: Coke
McDonald or Burger King: (—)
Single or Group Dates: single dates!
Adidas or Nike: Adidas.
Tea or Nestea: Tea (what’s Nestea?)
Chocolate or Vanilla: Chocs:)
Cappuccino or Coffee: Coffee (as black as the moonless night:)

[Layer Five: Do You…]
Smoke: yup.
Curse: sometimes.
Take showers: yes…
Think you are in love: i don’t think so…

[Layer Six: In the Past Month]
Drank alcohol: nope.
Gone to the mall: yup.
Been on stage: nope.
Eaten sushi: yup.
Dyed your hair: nope.

[Layer Seven: Have You Ever…]
Played a stripping game: i played hide and seek…
Changed who you were to fit in: what’s the point? i don’t fit in anywhere!

[Layer Eight: Age]
You are (mmm…were) hoping to be married at the age of: Thirty Five…

[Layer Nine: In a Girl/Guy]
Best Eye Color: brown/brown.
Best Hair Color: brown/black.
Short Hair or Long Hair: shoulder length/short as mowed grass

[Layer Ten: What Were You Doing]
1 Min Ago: dodging McDonalds or Burger King
1 Hour Ago: watching Pleasure Factory
4.5 Hours Ago: Reading Kiran Desai’s The Inheritance of Loss.
1 Month Ago: Four Hundred and Ninety Five?
1 Year Ago: Somewhere in Cambodia or Laos

[Layer Eleven: Finish the Sentence]
I Love: my neighbours…

I would like to tag this to…
Everyone who reads this…:) except Seige…:)

Advertisements

Water and Earth

October 26, 2007

Someone told me ninety nine percent of our brain was water. He didn’t tell me what the other part was.

Maybe earth, I assumed.

Footprints of the Blind

October 24, 2007

‘I can see! I can see!’
Bluffs the man, blind,
as he ran straight to a pole.
‘I’m sorry,’ says he to the pole,
‘I’m blind.’

Their voices,
folding like waves
across the tired ocean,
people laugh,
the echo – a dull thud –
dampening his woes.

‘Where am I?’
Pleads the man, blind,
‘Anyone?’ asks he.
Ripples of laughter
hang in the air,
sad, loathsome, unkind…

He feels the earth
with his hands,
bare and blind;
concrete, cold, hard, dry…
Million steps
people have walked,
but the footprint of the blind,
a few…

Between sleep and dream

October 24, 2007

‘Wake up!’ said a voice, thin and brushing away my sleep.

I smiled and waved my hand. I might have said something. But moment between sleep and dream is so poignant that we forget almost everything.

The voice faded into the recess of sleep. Sleep slithered like ether, at once soothing.

How many times did I wake from a dream to realize I was still dreaming? I touched a dream once. It was wonderful!

Skyline overcast with beauty, melancholic and almost dreadful. Why must beauty be so heartbreaking and gruesome? I could see myself in my dream. Yet, I asked, how we never see the sun in our dreams?

Far across the horizon, where mountains fold up upon mountains, where the sky’s tucked up behind the mountains, where the mountaintops touch the sky, time has lost its purpose. Cattle graze the parched hillsides, harness bells tinkling in the wilderness. A calf runs up and down the hill, its tail pointed into the sky. I could see the cowherd dozing off under the shade of a tree.

A tiny stream trickles quietly through the thickets, clear and refreshing. Wild flowers sway in the gentle breeze. Here time stands still. I seemed to be the only one moving, yet without a purpose.

I could only immerse myself in contentment, a feeling so vague and at once remote and empty. Why must happiness be so sad? Why am I crying?

But then, this is just an illusion, a dream, fruitless in the real world. What reality do I speak of? Contentment is just an illusion. So is reality. Is enlightenment the same?

‘Wake up!’ said a voice. I continued to sleep.

I Killed my Buddha

October 23, 2007

I realized the seed of Buddha in me – Buddha nature they said – seedling it was. I plucked it off. It died. Better kill it than let it thrive in infertile Buddha land.

Lamentations…

October 22, 2007

I loath the dream of an ugly frog, nurturing hopes of tender kiss from some princess to enliven his chivalry and royalty. I am not a frog. I am not a prince. I am not the ugly duckling awaiting my revelation in some reflective pond.

What’s this world? The question persists, looming over my head like halo over some Buddha. Buddha had the answer. He died with his smile. So must I?

I hate the truthfulness of the drunkard. He philosophizes this life winefully. Yes, you know everything. You can do anything…even break the glass that you drink from…or shout at us to make your points heard. ‘Sorry folks, I was drunk last night,’ will you tell us. I don’t speak loudly. I just observe, and maybe smile at you and the world surrounding us…nay, I don’t even laugh too loudly. I don’t drink.

Love? You say grudgingly…what about it? I ask. You smile and disappear into the crowd.

I hate the affection of a whore. Call me heartless. Call me cruel. Let me rather live loveless than to barter such affection where the love shimmers with the thickness of the purse. Let me be. Such affection does not prick my sentiments nor my sensibility. How must you trust the promise of a horny man?

You may shout your lungs out. You may kill yourself. The wall’s a wall, whether a rose-coloured glass or rose of bricks. There lies our crematorium.

I hate the freedom of the captive. Let me be imprisoned in a free world than be freed in glassed confinements. How can there be freedom in prisons? How could liberty thrive at gunpoints? Ideology is a farce, a mind game played along x-axis and y-axis. The only median is a cross between Osama bin Laden and George W. Bush decorated with other leaders of equal caliber.

Form and Formless

October 20, 2007

Why am I formless?
A ghost asked me once.
I said I don’t know.
I didn’t know.
I’m formless too,
I should’ve said.
Life you lived,
and the life you died,
which’s better?
Then he bluffed me
of the death he died.
I’m dead,
he said without emotion.
Yes, I know,
I wanted to tell,
but I just nodded,
half asleep half awake,
I saw it clearly,
it was only me I saw.
You’ll be dead too…
he said and laughed.
The laughter hurt my ears.