Point of Convergence

This I know and know that you do too.

My mercurial self, the moral exigencies, my faked insouciance,

My fifth essence.

Your ineluctable presence, our aching desire,

The forces that inhibit me

We are both there but won’t accept,

Waiting for the other to take that step

It may never come- the oak, the lily.

The chilly waves, the dew, the dusky hue-

It smells of you, eyes, lips, and fingers few..

Our story may never have began, but

That which exists and never began will always be new.

<3

/f

ENLIGHTMENT

And here comes the dense clouds,
sound of thunder heavy and loud,
the dark sky,
for the dry ground.
yet the dryness
spreads around,
my ears want to
hear your sound,
the candle sparks
my image rebounds.
I see and my mirror too,
opens his honest mouth,
an honest shout...
he is the ocean,
he himself is the drought!!!

The Sense of an Ending

The last few weeks have been fraught with talks of endings. The first was The Ending of the Year 2012 (which is still impending), then came The Ending of the World (a hoax that we all enjoyed partying over), and then the worst of all  The Ending of Humanity, I am sure everyone is acquainted with the Delhi rape case. It is one face of the present time I have not been able to reconcile with yet. And yet it is the harshest reality in today’s date, along with the many more cases that have resurfaced to focus in this world of shifty focal point and short attention span. The on-going protests, campaigning and demand for better laws is commendable. I hope we are all together in supporting it.

Life, however, exists in different planes. As these grievous incidents scarred lives in one part of the country I was engrossed in my own cocoon which happened to be on berth no 43, Brahmaputra Mail, unaware reading a book called The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes. This 27 hour long journey was made interesting as my companion, Mr Anthony Webster, narrated me an engaging tale. The narrator was himself was so thoroughly confused that he confused me entirely, almost until the end when The Sense of an Ending ends without ending. But this is only because nothing truly ends.

Even this story was about a kind of ending, the ending of life, suicide and the many effects that it leaves behind for the survivors of the suicide committed. These survivors are not people who tried the act and failed but those who were connected to the perpetuator of the successful act of taking one’s own life. In short the novel is about finding closure and the reason for the suicide of the narrator’s school friend Adrian who ended his life while still at university. Who was responsible for the loss of such a brilliant figure? This is the question that haunts the narrator, the characters as well as the reader.

We witness two suicides in the novel, that of Robson and that of Adrian. The second is only a heightened version of the first, however, because of the possibility of greatness in the latter character his actions inherit the same potential in the eyes of the observer. Mr Webster, the narrator, is the man who “never got it”. But who can understand the dynamics that go on in another person’s head? We all operate on constructed perspectives, which are either based on one’s own views or that of others. In either case it has the potential of being miles away from the momentary thoughts of the subject who committed the action or underwent its ordeal.

I cannot say much more without disclosing the story and I do not want to spoil it for you. So I request you to please read it and then perhaps we can have an open discussion about it in the comments section here?

The Last Leaf that before Winter Falls

 

What are we?
A drop within the seamless sea;
A spot on the endless sky,
I am us, us am I.
Like mountain tops burnt water clad,
I have been silent, silent and glad.
In mute screams, I speak I shout.
A lonely voice, but my hope is loud.
Give me freedom of the stream,
Bound forever I've been.
Let me flow and be free,
Let dawn to my darkness freedom be.
Lonely stands my voice, still alone.
When lines across me were drawn...
Then I did, I still stand tall.
And like the wildflowers that in a desert blooms
I shall fight, I shall fight, I shall fight
The last leaf that before winter falls.

                                  Before It Dies

I am scared  to reach out, afraid of rejection.
There is only so much that a tiny heart can take.
I am scared of my fingers touching coldness.
Killing whatever warmth I saved all this while.
I am sacred of being alone but even more ,
of being left alone by you after you awaken that glow in me.
Like a piece of old sock , you warmed the recess of my heart.
I am scared it might have holes and that everything would slip
and fall and get lost and I will be transported back in the wilderness.
The panic, tears, betrayal, pain blanketing me. Suffocating
every last breath in me .
Yes I am sacred for my sanity.
Its fragile like a spider’s gossamer web.
I am scared darling. Because I can feel you becoming
cold towards me.
I don’t reach out to you but wait tentatively for your look, a touch maybe.
And expecting you to sink me in your warmth.
But I am left cold and it sinks further that I am alone
Even in Us.

-
Farhain

Psychoanalysis

Very recently I came across an article debating the relevance of application of psychoanalytic theory on literary characters. The author argued that such a practice is redundant since these are, as their name suggests, merely literary characters. They are not flesh and bones human beings who have an intellect, and capacity for human emotions. They have not actually experienced any of the incidents mentioned in the story they appear in. And even though they are great models to practice on for those who are new to psychoanalysis, for understanding texts it is entirely avoidable. In other words literary characters are figments of imagination who simply do not have any psycho-emotive intellect to analyse in the first place.

This set me thinking. How productive is application of theories to literary characters? Are these characters and their reactions even applicable to the real world? Well as convincing as the author’s arguments were I take a different view.

Of course we understand that the characters described are not real. But does that mean they are not grounded in reality? What writers write have a strong affinity to mirror the events they have experienced (both primary and secondary experience). What we see, hear or read about inspires us to imagine and that in 99% of the cases is true.  If texts reflect social experience then the characters in them embody the human experience in that society. Here the fact  Thus Psychoanalysis of literary texts does nothing more than expose the psycho-emotional experience of the general human race and explores the number of reactions possible.

Psychoanalysis of literary characters, therefore, only help us analyse the various avenues of human mind and therefore it is an extremely important branch of literary, social and humanistic studies.\\

 

(am thinking about it still,)

 

- M