Stop killing me. I am already dead. Do not you see? Nothing left of me but a white pale corpse. The tips of my fingers left hand gently dabbling in the soft warm puddle of blood beside me. I am all alone except for this incessant annoying humming of an insomniac mosquito. I do not know what it keeps it awake till now. I do not know what torments it. Dreams? Night’s solitude? Or possibly my eyes? I hated it with all my heart. I wanted to kill it; crush it between my fingers. Yet I felt too lazy to lift my hand to search the air for a sleepless mad mosquito. Let it hum for all I care! Let it suffer alone for all I care! I have got enough suffering of my own! I have other bigger things to think about other than figuring out a new modern technique to squash a stupid mosquito in my palm. I will kill it with my indifference. I am not playing that old-aged game again with a crazy insect. I have my own drama to attend to. Though I am the only actor to take part in it, I have to rehearse! I have to know my role at heart. I have to give out an extraordinary performance. I have to dazzle myself. I am the only actor and this sweet tender indifference of all the things surrounding my existence is my stage. This world I am living or it is living in me. It really does not matter anymore. We are both so indifferent to each other.
The mosquito is gone. Did I win? It does not matter. I am just happy that it’s gone, that it does not buzz within my ear shot anymore. It’s dark. I can feel the weigh of night softly brushing against my skin. I have always loved the dark. It’s like the friend I have not had at day. I take my showers in the dark. It’s not that I hate to look at my naked body in the light. On the contrary, I feel more naked in the dark. I feel its nebulous arm around my waist seducing me to other worlds, darker worlds; worlds in which I shed the last remnants of my human nudity. In the dark, I feel so full with my nakedness, my reality. I also like to write in the dark. I am actually writing in the dark at the moment. If it’s not for the darkness I would not have been able to write anything now. I do not even know if I am supposed to be writing this now or not. All I know is that there is a massive impetus making me want to let this cry out. The cry of a man, human being, tender soft substance.
I once knew a god or he knew me. I once had a god or he had me. Does it matter which way it goes? It might matter to you but not to me. It’s just “it once”. Nothing more. To know or have a god is to love him, to take care of him, and above all to fear him. We think that…… I would rather stick to the “I”. I think that I feared god because I loved him and did not want to upset or make him angry with me. That is not true though. Now I realize that all my fears were just one big pompous lie. I just wanted to lie to god about my love for him. I faked love, without my knowing, to win out something out of nothing. I wanted to trick god. I would show him how much I loved and feared him so that I book myself a place in heaven, in nowhere, as if I were waiting for a heavenly key to fall down from heaven as a reassurance, a prize for all my anguish and agony on earth. I just yearned for something tangible in my hand to believe. I was scared that god might stab me in the back, outfox me, and lock me out of his endless kingdom. I knew that nothing would drop from the sky no matter how long I begged, no matter how long I knelt on my four, no matter how long I prostrated with face in the mud in front of god. I consoled myself with the idea that this key might be kept for me as a final surprise in my grave. I liked that fantastical illusion. I would have clung to any illusion anyway. As much fantastical as it might sound, it’s frightening. I remembered the white shroud, straitjacket, that I would tightly wrapped in when placed in that dark desolate hole like a mother placing her child in its crib. I will be enrobed in my last legacies on earth. How would I look like? I do not want to imagine myself imprisoned in a shroud. The mere idea of it suffocates me, drains my lungs of air. Would I be able to tear it up? Would I be able to move my limbs to break free of that white cloth? If I am too lazy to smash a mosquito, how would I manage to rip off a white rag? A cold thick drop of sweat tricked down my spine. I hate constraints. I hate prisons on earth and under earth. I just want to be free, free of everything. Are there in anymore tricks in the bag still? Would god tolerate one more trick? He must if he believes that he is a real true god. A knife! Bury me with a knife in my hand.
I used to love a god. I do not know if I still love him or not anymore. I just know that once day I loved him so much, like a child would love his most cherished toy. Did he love me back? I do not know. God, do you love me? Do you hate me? Do you remember me? Do you miss me? Do you need anything from me? He would not answer. He might be sleeping or busy with something else. I will try to call him out later.
Almost 8 years back at this very time I could have been praying alone in the dark bathed in my tears. I would pray in the dark too. Did those tears mean anything back then? If they meant anything, it was that I loved god so much. Alone in the dark with extended hands my soft murmurs drowning the frenzied beats of my sunken heart. Alone in the dark I stood with hot tears furrowing deep warm crevices on my cheeks just for a sad colourless flower to grow in. Alone in the dark I stood with my heart tethered to the moon because that’s how I always imagined god, a huge white wing endlessly hovering across the moon. Where did that god go? No idea and I do not care. Did he desert me? Did I desert him? Well, I would say that he deserted me and he would say that I am the one that deserted him. We will keep blaming each other, accusing each other. God vs. man. I am sick and tired of this joke.
Again, where is he? Is he that heap of flesh and blood nailed to the cross? He cannot be that one. That image of bloodied flesh is repulsive. I refuse to kneel before a helpless mass streaking with blood. Where was he before the crucifixion? What kept him away? I do not want other people to die for me. Is he an apparition? If he is so, then I am a sorcerer. I will conjure up my own apparitions.
Where is he? Where am I? One of us has got to perish. We two cannot live together in the same person, the same world. There must be a gentle separation. Each of us should find his way.
You know what I did? I drowned god in a tear. In one single cold tear. A tear of a human is fiercer than a raging flood. I shattered him with a heartbeat. With one single heartbeat. A heartbeat of a human is more thunderous than the eruption of a volcano. He lies dead in my palm like an autumnal dry leaf.
My eyes are still moist. Tears are what make me human. Just to feel I am a man, a free man. My heart is still bleeding. The knife I paid for my freedom is stuck in there. I will never pull it out. I will keep it there, a living sign of my divine suffering. I will push it deeper into my heart with every step I take down the road of my freedom. I want to feel its heat surging through my heart to branch out to all my body like an electrical bush rose just to make me feel even if for once that I am a human being with a tormented yet living heart. I will march down the road, a free man, with a knife stuck into my heart dripping with lyrics not yet spoken.
Stop killing me! I am already dead. Do not you see? With a gentle yawn, God awakens, a handful of ashes in his hand. Gods do dream too.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Snatches from my Memoirs (UK)- Part Two
Part two:
All the stationeries and shops I searched did not bind papers. I was desperate. I had got less than two hours before I had to move to the train station. I tried calling up my friend and his phone was closed. I was literally in a pickle. I started to panic. My head was clouded over with cold fear that I gave up on searching and decided to go my school department and tell Jackie, the Department’s Coordinator, about it.
- Hi Jackie! Do you know any place around here where I can get my research papers bound? I used to go to the student’s union shop and to my utter astonishment it was closed today.
-I really do not know. Let me see how thick it is.
-It’s not that thick. It’s about 85 pages
-Well, I can do that for you. Just leave it with me and I’ll do it.
-Oh, thanks Jackie. You are a life saviour. You know I am flying home today
-Oh really?
- Yes.
-Great! Safe home trip.
-Thanks!
Relieved, I went back to my room. I put the final touches and made sure that I had everything I wanted in the bag. I had got two more hours to go before leaving to the station. I came online and threw a post or two in the ES. There were two of the ES girls online back then
It was 3:00. I had to shut down the laptop and put it back in its case when suddenly a tremendous thunder clap tore through the sky. It was the first time ever I hear it thundering with that unprecedented force in the UK. It rained a lot but all the previous rains were quiet and peaceful. I drew the window’s curtain to gaze at the blackest blanket of clouds that I ever witnessed hovering ominously over my residence. I was like oh my God this ain’t finish any soon! Only then I came to understand that this day of my life was like no other. It was raining in buckets. Heavy big drops of rain were mercilessly lashing at my window.
I had to leave or I’d miss the 4:10 train to the airport. I was thinking of taking the tram to the train’s station since I did not have much baggage with me for I shipped most of my stuff. Though the tram’s stop was not far away from my block, I thought that getting a cab would be safer and faster.
The taxi dropped me at the station at 3:30. I purchased a single ticket to the airport and went to the platform (it was 6a lol) to wait. The rain started to ease away yet the skies remained grey still. It was 4:00. Ten more minutes to go. 4: 10 and no sign of a train. I looked at the electronic board overhead just to make sure that I got the train’s time correct. It read 4:10. I was not mistaken. I was wondering what might have gone wrong. The trains were always on time. At least I was used to that fact: the punctuality of trains in the UK.
The minutes trickled away and still no sign of an approaching train. The people around me started looking at their watches apparently thinking of what I was thinking: what went wrong. A while later the board’s announcement changed. Now it read: Train to Manchester Airport is delayed!
I was like oh this is surely not my day! Everything was either closed or delayed! The next train would come in an hour’s time. I absolutely could not wait that long. I called up for a taxi.
- Hello, can I have a taxi to the airport please?
-Where from?
- The train station!!
- It’s for £65.
It’s OK. I need the taxi immediately please.
The taxi arrived after one minute or so. I did not even expected it to arrive that fast! I talked to the cab driver about what happened which was the start of a prolonged chit chat. We talked about the UK and the good and bad things about living there. He moaned about the huge amount of taxes he has to pay every month. And I as usual was faking my sympathy with him. I told him that I do not have to pay taxes where I live. He was Pakistani his name was similar to mine. He then started raving about how good our name is! I told him that it is BLESSED! He could speak a little Arabic. He used to work in Saudi Arabia and Turkey prior to his permanent stay in the UK.
It was still pouring down when I arrived at the airport. He asked me what terminal my flight was at. I told him it was terminal two. Emirates always operate at terminal two because I had flown on Emirates twice before at that very terminal. It was all automatised to me by then. I arrive at the airport and walk straight to terminal two. However, I could not find Emirates airlines check-in desks anywhere in terminal two this time. I was taken aback! WHAT? This just cannot be! On what used to be their information desk, a paper was stuck that said that they have moved to terminal one!! Terminal one meant one heck of a long walk!! I was fasting by the way
To get to terminal two I had to walk for 20 minutes hauling my bag behind me which weighted 27 kg at the check-in counter. That was a real physical pain. By the time I arrived at terminal one I felt like all my strength had drained away. The string of delays did not end at the train station. The flight had always been delayed for about half an hour. Why? Because the aircraft had not arrived yet lol. The buzz phrase of that day was: WE APPOLOGISE FOR THE DELAY! I got sick of apologies!
I boarded on the plane. I was drunk with limb-wrenching tiredness. I tampered with the TV screen fitted in the seat trying to listen to some soothing music. I could not find my type of music so I clicked on a movie. It was Angels and Demons. I just watched a few minutes before I slouched back into a slumber. I opened my eyes to realise that we were flying over the Gulf and in less than two hours we’d be arriving at Dubai’s Airport. I did not feel like sleeping anymore. The snacks trolley was next to me and the blond flight attendant asked me whether I wanted coffee or tea. Tea. Any milk? Yes, please.
I put the cup of tea on the tray attached to the seat in front of me. I took my first sip and put it down again. It did not taste good to tell the truth. It was without sugar. They served sugarless tea. I placed the cup on the tray and tried repositioning myself on the chair when all of a sudden and as if it were a scene taken from a bollywood movie, the cup of tea slid down the tray to pour all its steaming content on my jeans!!I was frozen to the spot. Waves of shock were pounding against my temples. My forehead broke into cold beads of sweat. I could not move for a minute or two trying to get in terms with what had just happened. That was the last straw. That could not happen to me. Not now! Not on that day in that place at the very time ! Two hours before I had to go the packed airport! I have had my share of jinxes already! Thank god that it was still dark at that time and the cabin’s lights were dimmed and the chair next to me was empty. No one noticed the accident even the old woman sitting closet to me.
I looked down again at the stain on my jeans! I was like oh not there! The cup of tea dropped on the most embarrassing place of one’s body imaginable! I was like oh people would think that I wetted myself while I was sleeping on the plane! I wanted to do something about it but I could not think of any! My head was filled with ice that numbed my senses! I grabbed a tissue and helplessly started to wipe away the inevitable. It was useless. A full cup of tea penetrated through the fabrics of the jeans. A while later, I summoned the last remnants of my courage and pulled down my shirt to the farthest end it could reach downward and hurriedly scurried to the lavatory. In the full light of the loo, the scale of the embarrassing catastrophe which took place right down my waist began to materialise in front of my eyes! Hysterically, I started to clean the huge stain with water and toilet paper. Nothing had changed. I just hoped that the plane would take more than two hours before landing! If it was still the beginning of the flight, there would be enough time for the blotch to dry out and it would calm me a bit but were nearing the end of the journey which made things all the more worse. It was the pinnacle of embarrassment!
Throughout the remaining time of the flight I kept sopping up at the damp patch. The old woman noticed my frenzied state which I helplessly tried to mask with my usual nonchalance. I told her everything. I do not know but I felt a bit relieved after telling her about it. She consoled me in her typical English manner. A few minutes before the landing she asked me whether it dried out or not and told her that it nearly disappeared. It did not actually fully dry out but the hot wave of air that met me once I stepped out of the plane in Dubai was hot enough to complete the two hours’ time job.
All the stationeries and shops I searched did not bind papers. I was desperate. I had got less than two hours before I had to move to the train station. I tried calling up my friend and his phone was closed. I was literally in a pickle. I started to panic. My head was clouded over with cold fear that I gave up on searching and decided to go my school department and tell Jackie, the Department’s Coordinator, about it.
- Hi Jackie! Do you know any place around here where I can get my research papers bound? I used to go to the student’s union shop and to my utter astonishment it was closed today.
-I really do not know. Let me see how thick it is.
-It’s not that thick. It’s about 85 pages
-Well, I can do that for you. Just leave it with me and I’ll do it.
-Oh, thanks Jackie. You are a life saviour. You know I am flying home today
-Oh really?
- Yes.
-Great! Safe home trip.
-Thanks!
Relieved, I went back to my room. I put the final touches and made sure that I had everything I wanted in the bag. I had got two more hours to go before leaving to the station. I came online and threw a post or two in the ES. There were two of the ES girls online back then
It was 3:00. I had to shut down the laptop and put it back in its case when suddenly a tremendous thunder clap tore through the sky. It was the first time ever I hear it thundering with that unprecedented force in the UK. It rained a lot but all the previous rains were quiet and peaceful. I drew the window’s curtain to gaze at the blackest blanket of clouds that I ever witnessed hovering ominously over my residence. I was like oh my God this ain’t finish any soon! Only then I came to understand that this day of my life was like no other. It was raining in buckets. Heavy big drops of rain were mercilessly lashing at my window.
I had to leave or I’d miss the 4:10 train to the airport. I was thinking of taking the tram to the train’s station since I did not have much baggage with me for I shipped most of my stuff. Though the tram’s stop was not far away from my block, I thought that getting a cab would be safer and faster.
The taxi dropped me at the station at 3:30. I purchased a single ticket to the airport and went to the platform (it was 6a lol) to wait. The rain started to ease away yet the skies remained grey still. It was 4:00. Ten more minutes to go. 4: 10 and no sign of a train. I looked at the electronic board overhead just to make sure that I got the train’s time correct. It read 4:10. I was not mistaken. I was wondering what might have gone wrong. The trains were always on time. At least I was used to that fact: the punctuality of trains in the UK.
The minutes trickled away and still no sign of an approaching train. The people around me started looking at their watches apparently thinking of what I was thinking: what went wrong. A while later the board’s announcement changed. Now it read: Train to Manchester Airport is delayed!
I was like oh this is surely not my day! Everything was either closed or delayed! The next train would come in an hour’s time. I absolutely could not wait that long. I called up for a taxi.
- Hello, can I have a taxi to the airport please?
-Where from?
- The train station!!
- It’s for £65.
It’s OK. I need the taxi immediately please.
The taxi arrived after one minute or so. I did not even expected it to arrive that fast! I talked to the cab driver about what happened which was the start of a prolonged chit chat. We talked about the UK and the good and bad things about living there. He moaned about the huge amount of taxes he has to pay every month. And I as usual was faking my sympathy with him. I told him that I do not have to pay taxes where I live. He was Pakistani his name was similar to mine. He then started raving about how good our name is! I told him that it is BLESSED! He could speak a little Arabic. He used to work in Saudi Arabia and Turkey prior to his permanent stay in the UK.
It was still pouring down when I arrived at the airport. He asked me what terminal my flight was at. I told him it was terminal two. Emirates always operate at terminal two because I had flown on Emirates twice before at that very terminal. It was all automatised to me by then. I arrive at the airport and walk straight to terminal two. However, I could not find Emirates airlines check-in desks anywhere in terminal two this time. I was taken aback! WHAT? This just cannot be! On what used to be their information desk, a paper was stuck that said that they have moved to terminal one!! Terminal one meant one heck of a long walk!! I was fasting by the way
To get to terminal two I had to walk for 20 minutes hauling my bag behind me which weighted 27 kg at the check-in counter. That was a real physical pain. By the time I arrived at terminal one I felt like all my strength had drained away. The string of delays did not end at the train station. The flight had always been delayed for about half an hour. Why? Because the aircraft had not arrived yet lol. The buzz phrase of that day was: WE APPOLOGISE FOR THE DELAY! I got sick of apologies!
I boarded on the plane. I was drunk with limb-wrenching tiredness. I tampered with the TV screen fitted in the seat trying to listen to some soothing music. I could not find my type of music so I clicked on a movie. It was Angels and Demons. I just watched a few minutes before I slouched back into a slumber. I opened my eyes to realise that we were flying over the Gulf and in less than two hours we’d be arriving at Dubai’s Airport. I did not feel like sleeping anymore. The snacks trolley was next to me and the blond flight attendant asked me whether I wanted coffee or tea. Tea. Any milk? Yes, please.
I put the cup of tea on the tray attached to the seat in front of me. I took my first sip and put it down again. It did not taste good to tell the truth. It was without sugar. They served sugarless tea. I placed the cup on the tray and tried repositioning myself on the chair when all of a sudden and as if it were a scene taken from a bollywood movie, the cup of tea slid down the tray to pour all its steaming content on my jeans!!I was frozen to the spot. Waves of shock were pounding against my temples. My forehead broke into cold beads of sweat. I could not move for a minute or two trying to get in terms with what had just happened. That was the last straw. That could not happen to me. Not now! Not on that day in that place at the very time ! Two hours before I had to go the packed airport! I have had my share of jinxes already! Thank god that it was still dark at that time and the cabin’s lights were dimmed and the chair next to me was empty. No one noticed the accident even the old woman sitting closet to me.
I looked down again at the stain on my jeans! I was like oh not there! The cup of tea dropped on the most embarrassing place of one’s body imaginable! I was like oh people would think that I wetted myself while I was sleeping on the plane! I wanted to do something about it but I could not think of any! My head was filled with ice that numbed my senses! I grabbed a tissue and helplessly started to wipe away the inevitable. It was useless. A full cup of tea penetrated through the fabrics of the jeans. A while later, I summoned the last remnants of my courage and pulled down my shirt to the farthest end it could reach downward and hurriedly scurried to the lavatory. In the full light of the loo, the scale of the embarrassing catastrophe which took place right down my waist began to materialise in front of my eyes! Hysterically, I started to clean the huge stain with water and toilet paper. Nothing had changed. I just hoped that the plane would take more than two hours before landing! If it was still the beginning of the flight, there would be enough time for the blotch to dry out and it would calm me a bit but were nearing the end of the journey which made things all the more worse. It was the pinnacle of embarrassment!
Throughout the remaining time of the flight I kept sopping up at the damp patch. The old woman noticed my frenzied state which I helplessly tried to mask with my usual nonchalance. I told her everything. I do not know but I felt a bit relieved after telling her about it. She consoled me in her typical English manner. A few minutes before the landing she asked me whether it dried out or not and told her that it nearly disappeared. It did not actually fully dry out but the hot wave of air that met me once I stepped out of the plane in Dubai was hot enough to complete the two hours’ time job.
Snatches from my Memoirs (UK)- Part One
This is quite long. It's about 2,700 words so bear with me if you feel like reading through it anyway
Part one:
Though bad luck is not something new to my life, it was not before September, 1st for me to experience the unluckiest day in my life. That day made me realise that my previous strings of bad luck were not as bad as I had initially believed. Now I really regret the amount of breath I wasted cursing those moments along with my personal demons. Oh well, it’s too late to regret anything now. I just want to tell you about my day.
It was a fine day; clear and breezy. It was one of the days when you get the chance to appreciate the awe-inspiring colour of the sky in a place where the clouds are the prominent predators of sunshine. It was my last day in the UK and soon I would be flying back home after spending one full year in England, North Yorkshire. My heart was gripped with sadness thinking that the day when I had to leave this place had already come. I used to it. I loved it. It was like a second home to me. I even could not bear staying in my room knowing that I had to leave it forever. Everything in that room had become part of me. Every piece of its furniture has merged into my body and so departure was like tearing off raw slices of my flesh. The imminent hour of departure felt heavy on my soul and lumps of bitterness started to form in my throat.
Anyway, I started packing since the night before but I had not finished yet. Though I could have done with the packing in one day, the compulsive complacent part of me makes me always leave a thing or two for the last crazy minutes. It might be a bad thing to some but it is a sweet bad habit to me.
My flight was at 8:55 pm. I still had plenty of time in the morning. Well, it was not a free time that needed to be killed in a typical Mikhail Alexandrovichian fashion. I had to do two inevitable things: handing in my final assignment and closing my back account. I had printed out the research a day before and I only had to get it bound which had never been a big deal to me since it would not be the first time for me to go to the only place in the whole of the city that I know it can neatly bind up the 85 pages of my research. So I had to get finished with these two basic things before midday since I had a train to catch at 4:11.
I did not sleep that night. I left my room at 9:00 heading towards the Students Union of my university to get my research papers bound. Ten minutes later I arrived at the glassy doors of the Union. The big hall was unusually dark. It was closed! It was the first time in my life to see that particular place closed. I thought that I had come a bit early though deep down I knew very well that it was not too early. I waited till 9:40. Nothing happened. 10:00 and still the door remained frozen. I did not know of any other place where I can go to bind my papers. I rushed to the city centre, nonetheless hoping to find one. I did not find anything there. All I could see were Marks & Spencer, Next, Look, River Land, O2, BT, The Royal Scottish Bank, Cathedrals, the big white Wheel of the city slowly moving around, and a plethora of human voices.
It was hopeless. To me it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. I then decided to do the other thing: closing my back account. I headed to the bank. It was Barclays and was situated right opposite to the big wheel of the city which looks similar to the London Eye if you have seen or heard about it.
One of the bank’s staff asked this random question:
Do you want to make a payment or withdrawal?
Oh, no. I am actually here for something else. I’d like to close my account!
It was an awkward moment and I cannot help myself laughing every time I remember it.
Anyway, I took my place in the queue. There were six staff members on the semi-circled counter. My turn had come.
* How can I help you sir?
* Hi, I’d like to close my back account please (handing her my card)
* Any particular reason sir?
* I am going home.
* Why? Do not you like it here?
* I love it really but I had to go home (faking a sad smile lol)
* So when are you going home?
* Today.
* I see. Do you have any identification card or document like a passport?
* (Slightly shocked) I do not have my passport but I have got my ID card. Is it OK?
* We are sorry we do not accept that.
* A moment of silence. She started asking me some of the most random questions I have ever been asked to make certain that I was the real card holder.
* When was the last time you withdrew money? This morning.
* How much? £50
* What is your phone number?
I had to check it on my phone because I do not even memorise my UK phone number. It’s not that random though but I just did not feel there was a reason to remember it there lol Or simply because I was too lazy to do so!
* What is your mother’s last name?
* What is your postal code?
She went on with her questions. Though I was pressed for time I enjoyed answering her questions because they were easy. They were about me. The feeling of success in front of that lady was extra sensational.
So, that is me now?
Yes, that is you. (Smiling to each other )
Do you know how much cash do you have in your card?
I really do not know.
You have got quite a lot lol
I laughed faking yet another smile lol
She got me the cash in a white envelope.
Oh, you were right. That was really a lot!! I have to keep it in a safe place lol (giving her my typical teasing look =p)
Yes, you should =p
I slid the envelope in my laptop’s bag in which I was carrying my research papers.
Part one:
Though bad luck is not something new to my life, it was not before September, 1st for me to experience the unluckiest day in my life. That day made me realise that my previous strings of bad luck were not as bad as I had initially believed. Now I really regret the amount of breath I wasted cursing those moments along with my personal demons. Oh well, it’s too late to regret anything now. I just want to tell you about my day.
It was a fine day; clear and breezy. It was one of the days when you get the chance to appreciate the awe-inspiring colour of the sky in a place where the clouds are the prominent predators of sunshine. It was my last day in the UK and soon I would be flying back home after spending one full year in England, North Yorkshire. My heart was gripped with sadness thinking that the day when I had to leave this place had already come. I used to it. I loved it. It was like a second home to me. I even could not bear staying in my room knowing that I had to leave it forever. Everything in that room had become part of me. Every piece of its furniture has merged into my body and so departure was like tearing off raw slices of my flesh. The imminent hour of departure felt heavy on my soul and lumps of bitterness started to form in my throat.
Anyway, I started packing since the night before but I had not finished yet. Though I could have done with the packing in one day, the compulsive complacent part of me makes me always leave a thing or two for the last crazy minutes. It might be a bad thing to some but it is a sweet bad habit to me.
My flight was at 8:55 pm. I still had plenty of time in the morning. Well, it was not a free time that needed to be killed in a typical Mikhail Alexandrovichian fashion. I had to do two inevitable things: handing in my final assignment and closing my back account. I had printed out the research a day before and I only had to get it bound which had never been a big deal to me since it would not be the first time for me to go to the only place in the whole of the city that I know it can neatly bind up the 85 pages of my research. So I had to get finished with these two basic things before midday since I had a train to catch at 4:11.
I did not sleep that night. I left my room at 9:00 heading towards the Students Union of my university to get my research papers bound. Ten minutes later I arrived at the glassy doors of the Union. The big hall was unusually dark. It was closed! It was the first time in my life to see that particular place closed. I thought that I had come a bit early though deep down I knew very well that it was not too early. I waited till 9:40. Nothing happened. 10:00 and still the door remained frozen. I did not know of any other place where I can go to bind my papers. I rushed to the city centre, nonetheless hoping to find one. I did not find anything there. All I could see were Marks & Spencer, Next, Look, River Land, O2, BT, The Royal Scottish Bank, Cathedrals, the big white Wheel of the city slowly moving around, and a plethora of human voices.
It was hopeless. To me it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. I then decided to do the other thing: closing my back account. I headed to the bank. It was Barclays and was situated right opposite to the big wheel of the city which looks similar to the London Eye if you have seen or heard about it.
One of the bank’s staff asked this random question:
Do you want to make a payment or withdrawal?
Oh, no. I am actually here for something else. I’d like to close my account!
It was an awkward moment and I cannot help myself laughing every time I remember it.
Anyway, I took my place in the queue. There were six staff members on the semi-circled counter. My turn had come.
* How can I help you sir?
* Hi, I’d like to close my back account please (handing her my card)
* Any particular reason sir?
* I am going home.
* Why? Do not you like it here?
* I love it really but I had to go home (faking a sad smile lol)
* So when are you going home?
* Today.
* I see. Do you have any identification card or document like a passport?
* (Slightly shocked) I do not have my passport but I have got my ID card. Is it OK?
* We are sorry we do not accept that.
* A moment of silence. She started asking me some of the most random questions I have ever been asked to make certain that I was the real card holder.
* When was the last time you withdrew money? This morning.
* How much? £50
* What is your phone number?
I had to check it on my phone because I do not even memorise my UK phone number. It’s not that random though but I just did not feel there was a reason to remember it there lol Or simply because I was too lazy to do so!
* What is your mother’s last name?
* What is your postal code?
She went on with her questions. Though I was pressed for time I enjoyed answering her questions because they were easy. They were about me. The feeling of success in front of that lady was extra sensational.
So, that is me now?
Yes, that is you. (Smiling to each other )
Do you know how much cash do you have in your card?
I really do not know.
You have got quite a lot lol
I laughed faking yet another smile lol
She got me the cash in a white envelope.
Oh, you were right. That was really a lot!! I have to keep it in a safe place lol (giving her my typical teasing look =p)
Yes, you should =p
I slid the envelope in my laptop’s bag in which I was carrying my research papers.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Short Poems 1
All the best
They all wish me “all the best”.
They never know that “all the best” is no more than a bitter gasp
Lying dead on the rock I carry in my heart.
-------------------------------
A dreaming sparrow
A sparrow is dreaming at the windowsill.
A breast swollen with the songs of life
Eyes two heaps of massacred stars.
-------------------------------
Departure
Like a frightened shadow,
You departed.
Leaving behind a broken hour of sensuality
And a scorpion wedged between the ribs.
------------------------------
Dead words
Speak no more of love
The words die on your lips
Dream no more of death
The funeral procession has already dispersed
The frenzied dust froze at the wings of time and never came down.
---------------------------------
The moment
The moment I always waited for trembled
Like a lemon’s blossom caught in a gust
Alone
Like a sick jasmine tormented by the moonlight.
There was a hug
The heart bemoaned
A kiss
The lips cracked
The hand
A shadow suffocating against a wall
The moment was nothing but a spurt of pain.
-------------------------------
Tired
I am tired
I am tired of being tired
Death: Are not you tired like me?
I forgot that you never get tired
It is only me who is destined to tiredness
Tired of dying a thousand deaths in a bed that is not mine
And a time that is not mine.
They all wish me “all the best”.
They never know that “all the best” is no more than a bitter gasp
Lying dead on the rock I carry in my heart.
-------------------------------
A dreaming sparrow
A sparrow is dreaming at the windowsill.
A breast swollen with the songs of life
Eyes two heaps of massacred stars.
-------------------------------
Departure
Like a frightened shadow,
You departed.
Leaving behind a broken hour of sensuality
And a scorpion wedged between the ribs.
------------------------------
Dead words
Speak no more of love
The words die on your lips
Dream no more of death
The funeral procession has already dispersed
The frenzied dust froze at the wings of time and never came down.
---------------------------------
The moment
The moment I always waited for trembled
Like a lemon’s blossom caught in a gust
Alone
Like a sick jasmine tormented by the moonlight.
There was a hug
The heart bemoaned
A kiss
The lips cracked
The hand
A shadow suffocating against a wall
The moment was nothing but a spurt of pain.
-------------------------------
Tired
I am tired
I am tired of being tired
Death: Are not you tired like me?
I forgot that you never get tired
It is only me who is destined to tiredness
Tired of dying a thousand deaths in a bed that is not mine
And a time that is not mine.
A poem to my late grandfather
A memory,
Captured in a bird’s throat.
A heart,
Nestled on a thorn.
A palm tree,
Drowned in a thicket of light.
To the shores of twilight,
The birds fly,
Bathing their songs in the solitude of the horizon’s
Orange belt that separates them from death.
The heart impaled on a thorn,
Like a cicada crushed between the jaws of winter,
Bleeds alone in the stillness of pain.
A god in tears,
An inflamed violet wound.
A mouth full of seashells.
A heart impaled on a thorn,
Bleeds green and sand.
Like a passing desolate breeze
Over a tormented eye,
I imagine you there leaning against a palm tree,
A water statue of memories
Your hand light as air,
Caress the shell of a cicada.
Like the palm tree you drink the
Brilliance of the world.
Still like a stare overflowing with anguish,
Elusive like a passing shadow of a sparrow’s wing.
You disappear like a mist in glass
Or perhaps you merge into the palm tree like a cry
She hides you inside its heart lest you devour all the light.
Dust?
Light?
Are you lost in a wind?
Or are you hidden inside a tree?
I do not know.
The winds never speak to me.
They never howl out your name to me.
I just feel their moans like those of an injured dolphin
Whenever they pierce my chest.
The palm tree never speaks to me about you either
I look at it growing taller by time
Enshrouded in its own pride
It has risen so high
I know that it would go up no more,
It would pierce the sky no deeper,
It would hide away the birds no farther,
I press my ear against its trunk,
Hoping for a human’s pulse,
A warmth of a human’s blood,
A sigh of a weary throat.
I search for light
A luminous breath that would trickle
Out of an aging wood.
Feeling the tree with my hands,
I look for a crack, a secret path of ants.
I find nothing.
I thrust my fingers into its outer shell,
And I hear a sound like that of a breaking vase in a void
Resonates in the pit of my stomach
In despair I cry out,
A cicada flies away wetting my forehead with its silvery warm water.
The stream of water cuts its way through the thick grass,
Gurgling muffled agonies long stored in a pit of darkness.
Blades of grass,
Burdened with solitude and sunlight sink beneath that metallic sheet,
Sparkling tresses of a dead mermaid.
O flowing water!
What secrets of my grandfather do you keep within the foliage of your mercury cells?
What do the murmurs of your condensed drops say?
What memories are locked away in the hollowness of your belly?
What is that yellow streak that winds through your breast?
Is it an orphaned sunbeam or the unspoken suffering of a drowning sailor?
What earth have you stained with your kisses?
What dust have you dissolved into dreams?
O flowing water, hot in winter like a knife,
Cold in summer like the hand of an assassin.
How many angels’ tears did it take to create you?
Speak to me of my grandfather!
How was he like?
How did you capture his reflection in your mirror?
Did you sense his strength and love when he dipped his fingers into your bowls?
Did you feel his weight when he sank his feet into your eyes?
Tell me,
What did his eyes say when he sat at your bank alone in a mist of remoteness?
What was he thinking of then?
Thinking of you Great Master of life, vein of eternity?
Or perhaps thinking of his own grandfather just like me
Or of a grandson he knew he would not see?
Did you see the faint quiver on his lips?
The shadow of an angel’s wing over his whitening beard?
Did you hear the beats of his heart?
A cacophony of rain and fire,
That tears off the silence of the moment,
And rests on your rock like
A huge infinite pause,
A shivering cold pulse,
A dried up blood drop on a cross.
O water, enemy of death, trader of grasshoppers!
You taste of flesh, feathers soaked with sweat
Everything dwells in your emptiness:
Memories of glassy reeds,
Nostalgia of cracked earth,
And poverty of silent cries
Tell me ancient water,
Did my grandfather shed a tear into your tears?
If yes, please give it back to me.
O bird in a haze of purity you migrate,
To the shores of twilight
Where God, dappled with a fine spray of waves,
Sits on a rock, a nostalgic memory flutters through his eyelashes.
O lonely god! You are huge as a mother’s touch,
An orphan’s tear,
A martyr’s wound.
You, migrating bird, perching on his shoulder,
Along with your fellow birds,
A cluster of insomnia,
A chandelier of feathery stars.
Your silhouettes cast a shadow across his neck.
A black sword of longing freezes in the middle of an empty blood vessel.
Talk to me bird, voyager of the skies,
Friend of the clouds,
Enemy of gravity.
Did my grandfather's glance wound your breast?
Did his walk shake your nest?
Did his dreams disturb the glow in your eyes?
Speak to me of the shine in your wings.
Where did you come with it from?
Is not the footprint of my grandfather’s fate?
Speak to me of the lemon’s twig in your beak.
Where did you steal it from?
Is not the twin of my grandfather’s finger?
Speak to me of the crown over your head.
Where did you dig it out from?
Is not the artery of my grandfather?
Speak to me of your stained feet.
What blood did you wallow your tiny feet in?
Give me back that drop of blood.
It’s not yours anymore.
My dear grandfather,
I might not understand death just yet,
I might not understand nature that always speaks to me about you,
I might not understand the world in which I imagine you,
I might not even understand you, forgive me if I do not.
However, I feel your presence within my soul,
Expanding like a divine breath, a prolonged murmur of the universe.
I am sad. I am sad because I lived in another time.
The minute that bore you had been stripped of a different clock.
But I will always create and re-create you in my heart,
A chalice overflowing with your memories.
These words might not reach you, but they are you!
You are the alphabet I create.
With every single word I write, a new memory of you sprouts wings in my heart.
Just imagine how many birds you have given life to on the tree of my heart?
You turned my heart into a song.
Your grandson,
4/10/09
Captured in a bird’s throat.
A heart,
Nestled on a thorn.
A palm tree,
Drowned in a thicket of light.
To the shores of twilight,
The birds fly,
Bathing their songs in the solitude of the horizon’s
Orange belt that separates them from death.
The heart impaled on a thorn,
Like a cicada crushed between the jaws of winter,
Bleeds alone in the stillness of pain.
A god in tears,
An inflamed violet wound.
A mouth full of seashells.
A heart impaled on a thorn,
Bleeds green and sand.
Like a passing desolate breeze
Over a tormented eye,
I imagine you there leaning against a palm tree,
A water statue of memories
Your hand light as air,
Caress the shell of a cicada.
Like the palm tree you drink the
Brilliance of the world.
Still like a stare overflowing with anguish,
Elusive like a passing shadow of a sparrow’s wing.
You disappear like a mist in glass
Or perhaps you merge into the palm tree like a cry
She hides you inside its heart lest you devour all the light.
Dust?
Light?
Are you lost in a wind?
Or are you hidden inside a tree?
I do not know.
The winds never speak to me.
They never howl out your name to me.
I just feel their moans like those of an injured dolphin
Whenever they pierce my chest.
The palm tree never speaks to me about you either
I look at it growing taller by time
Enshrouded in its own pride
It has risen so high
I know that it would go up no more,
It would pierce the sky no deeper,
It would hide away the birds no farther,
I press my ear against its trunk,
Hoping for a human’s pulse,
A warmth of a human’s blood,
A sigh of a weary throat.
I search for light
A luminous breath that would trickle
Out of an aging wood.
Feeling the tree with my hands,
I look for a crack, a secret path of ants.
I find nothing.
I thrust my fingers into its outer shell,
And I hear a sound like that of a breaking vase in a void
Resonates in the pit of my stomach
In despair I cry out,
A cicada flies away wetting my forehead with its silvery warm water.
The stream of water cuts its way through the thick grass,
Gurgling muffled agonies long stored in a pit of darkness.
Blades of grass,
Burdened with solitude and sunlight sink beneath that metallic sheet,
Sparkling tresses of a dead mermaid.
O flowing water!
What secrets of my grandfather do you keep within the foliage of your mercury cells?
What do the murmurs of your condensed drops say?
What memories are locked away in the hollowness of your belly?
What is that yellow streak that winds through your breast?
Is it an orphaned sunbeam or the unspoken suffering of a drowning sailor?
What earth have you stained with your kisses?
What dust have you dissolved into dreams?
O flowing water, hot in winter like a knife,
Cold in summer like the hand of an assassin.
How many angels’ tears did it take to create you?
Speak to me of my grandfather!
How was he like?
How did you capture his reflection in your mirror?
Did you sense his strength and love when he dipped his fingers into your bowls?
Did you feel his weight when he sank his feet into your eyes?
Tell me,
What did his eyes say when he sat at your bank alone in a mist of remoteness?
What was he thinking of then?
Thinking of you Great Master of life, vein of eternity?
Or perhaps thinking of his own grandfather just like me
Or of a grandson he knew he would not see?
Did you see the faint quiver on his lips?
The shadow of an angel’s wing over his whitening beard?
Did you hear the beats of his heart?
A cacophony of rain and fire,
That tears off the silence of the moment,
And rests on your rock like
A huge infinite pause,
A shivering cold pulse,
A dried up blood drop on a cross.
O water, enemy of death, trader of grasshoppers!
You taste of flesh, feathers soaked with sweat
Everything dwells in your emptiness:
Memories of glassy reeds,
Nostalgia of cracked earth,
And poverty of silent cries
Tell me ancient water,
Did my grandfather shed a tear into your tears?
If yes, please give it back to me.
O bird in a haze of purity you migrate,
To the shores of twilight
Where God, dappled with a fine spray of waves,
Sits on a rock, a nostalgic memory flutters through his eyelashes.
O lonely god! You are huge as a mother’s touch,
An orphan’s tear,
A martyr’s wound.
You, migrating bird, perching on his shoulder,
Along with your fellow birds,
A cluster of insomnia,
A chandelier of feathery stars.
Your silhouettes cast a shadow across his neck.
A black sword of longing freezes in the middle of an empty blood vessel.
Talk to me bird, voyager of the skies,
Friend of the clouds,
Enemy of gravity.
Did my grandfather's glance wound your breast?
Did his walk shake your nest?
Did his dreams disturb the glow in your eyes?
Speak to me of the shine in your wings.
Where did you come with it from?
Is not the footprint of my grandfather’s fate?
Speak to me of the lemon’s twig in your beak.
Where did you steal it from?
Is not the twin of my grandfather’s finger?
Speak to me of the crown over your head.
Where did you dig it out from?
Is not the artery of my grandfather?
Speak to me of your stained feet.
What blood did you wallow your tiny feet in?
Give me back that drop of blood.
It’s not yours anymore.
My dear grandfather,
I might not understand death just yet,
I might not understand nature that always speaks to me about you,
I might not understand the world in which I imagine you,
I might not even understand you, forgive me if I do not.
However, I feel your presence within my soul,
Expanding like a divine breath, a prolonged murmur of the universe.
I am sad. I am sad because I lived in another time.
The minute that bore you had been stripped of a different clock.
But I will always create and re-create you in my heart,
A chalice overflowing with your memories.
These words might not reach you, but they are you!
You are the alphabet I create.
With every single word I write, a new memory of you sprouts wings in my heart.
Just imagine how many birds you have given life to on the tree of my heart?
You turned my heart into a song.
Your grandson,
4/10/09
Welcome
Hoya all!
On Feb 4, 2010 this blog came to life.
I would like to welcome you all.
I will see how things are going to come about in here lol
On Feb 4, 2010 this blog came to life.
I would like to welcome you all.
I will see how things are going to come about in here lol
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