Better than Faith

“The things by which our emotions can be moved – the shape of a flower or a Grecian urn, the way a baby grows, the way the wind brushes across your face, the way the clouds move, their shapes, the way light dances on the water, or daffodils flutter in the breeze, the way in which the person you love moves their head, the way their hair follows that movement, the curve described by the dying fall of the last chord of a piece of music – all these things can be described by the complex flow of numbers.That’s not a reduction of it, that’s the beauty of it.” – Douglas Adams in Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency

Gentle fractals rise and fall
Capture all that's mystical
Emerges music exquisite
In respect of the master's visit.

Yet what visit? Such paradox -
As master is that subtle fox
Who in infinite momentum
Is dynamic in equilibrium.

Whizzing ceaselessly, yet static,
That blissful resting kinetic
Composed, composing composition
Of his united reflection.

Myriad of changing forms and lines
The distinct furs of sweet felines
Is her in yet another shade,
Connecting life - of what lives are made.

Universal, yet personal;
The triggers soft, affectionate -
That guide tears and happiness
All in cause of her finesse.

Twisting in strands the secret key
Of Individuality
Makes universe most wondrous;
All in virtue of the numerous.

Elusive in duality
Her wave-particle entity
Who prospers in her connection
That weave intimate emotions.

Relations mathematical
Define each of the particles
That ride on joyous harmonics
And delight all with nature's tricks.

So scoff not: "He's no musical!
No member of the cathedral,"
For He the small, yet vast as all
Unites what's truly beautiful.

This poem is dedicated to my mother, for being crazy about the arts, teaching me to be crazy abuot the arts, and for desperately wanting a poem dedicated to her.

Fading the light...

A poem on the effect of underage smoking on society, in India.

They lure you in while you’re still young;
“Smoke our brand, and you’re up one rung!”
Disgusting at first, then it begins to grow on,
And soon you’re hooked, you’re now their pawn.

Walk down the street and there they are,
Packets lined like soldiers, battling at par.
Twists out of a chimney, she weaves through the air;
Her beauty, the devil’s ultimate snare.

Expected to work miracles with grades,
Your mind’s full of ticking grenades.
Your family’s in absolute disarray
And recently, you realised you’re gay.

Your father’s left you, your mother’s broke,
You saw your girlfriend with another bloke.
Your insides gnaw, your anxieties overload;
Without this vent, you’d surely explode.

The strike of a matchstick, the birth of a flame,
The click of a lighter, set fire to the shame.
The silent pressure of peers drives you to sin;
It almost feels comfortable to peacefully give in.

Your emotions are heightened till they could break,
Inside, you laugh, cry, scream at every wake,
Your boyfriend does it by the chain…
“Just one sniff…” you think, “if only to ease the pain?”

Your Grandpa died of cancer last year,
Your mother’s lungs inspire mounting fear
All-pervading whiffs of tobacco are home to you,
It’s slightest absence seems to give you the flu.

You say it’s illegal, since when?
That kid they’re selling to couldn’t be more than ten!
I’ve heard laws are stringent elsewhere.
From where I am, they surely don’t care.

Statistics pile up in the economist’s notebook:
A million teenagers hanging on the industry’s hook.
Millions of tobacco-related deaths a year,
Cripple generations everywhere.

We are impressionable to infinity.
We could make, or break a society.
Victims of influence, we walk this earth
Fading the light of this age's worth.

I'll admit, this isn't among my best poetry, but I felt like I needed to broaden myself in my work. While this poem might not flow as well, it is the first social piece of poetry I've written, so I guess it's a start. :)

Fuscus

Something similar to the "Visualization" piece.

Sometimes soft as conditioned fur
The melting in one's eyes,
Sometimes smooth and dry to the touch
As polished mahoganies.
Yet elsewhere he is rough;
The ancient bark of the banyan soul.
And always kind, through thick and thin,
Talisman against the foul.

Traverse the spectrum, bitter through sweet
And lo, there you'll find him smile
Whether it's dark or milk you like
He flows deeper than the Nile.
The coffee bean of vitality,
T'was his creation no doubt.
And so he'd like to remind you with
Each pouring of the spout.

The skin of the East, that rustic feast
Of cultural extravaganza,
I meet him now and then in Grandma's
Wicked chicken-do-pyaza!
Wooden doors and wooden floors
The sifting sand between your toes,
Wherever you may find his touch, you'll see
He's vanquished all your woes.

The earth in which we plant the grain
Of life: green, fresh and young,
Though deep within his power thrives
His presence: a humble hum.
Willingly did he pass, his rightful title:
“The almighty source of life”,
To his younger brother Albus
Sans struggle or strife.

Poetic Visions

Whispers like paper thin
Skeletal reminiscences of pear-shaped leaves,
Green woven in union with White,
Like two threads in perfect harmony
Through the fabric of eternity.

They float calmly, peacefully downward
To where, nought knows but them.
Two profound spirits, wise,
From the gain of acceptance's emblem.

Pain

A poem inspired by a severe, persistent headache and a desire to write something different. Enjoy. :D

Pain
Is
Beautiful to some.
Revered by some,
And dispelled by some.

But the poor soul's done nothing
To none,
So why,
Is she
The loner?

For even when embraced,
She's the alien,
To be feared.
Though she causes grief,
She only helps, you see?
Why
Don't
They see?

She jabs from inside,
Thrusts forth, from outside,
Engulfs you
In
Her power.
Yet she knows when to see
Defeat,
For she only tries to make you stronger.
I repeat,
She only wants to make you stronger.

But such is her destiny,
She is despised by all,
Feared,
Rejected by
All.
For that is the secret of her power,
You see:

In their hatred and fear,
Their lives they strive to clear,
of her uninvited residence.
And once they succeed,
They have strength indeed,
Thus her purpose, achieved.
She has the power of defeat, you see,

It seems a thankless job to me.

Visualization.

The course of electricity that rushes, burning, yet cool; startling yet mild and comforting...

As the ancient beckons at you over the semi-lunar glasses.

You are translocated to an ocean, cool and caressing: like your bed under you on a cool morning, only softer. The sensation embraces, making way as you slice your way through, yet providing that resistance that inspires to move on.

On a warm, beachy day.

The ever soothing virtue of the lapis-lazuli.

Soothing, yet as depressants in some.

The dark night that cradles the moon and dons the stars like jewels nestling in her royal-ascending velvet... regal, yet possessing that lightness and swiftness of movement that the royal does not.

They who find themselves able to lure to sleep softer than the softest lullaby, and yet reveal their presence in the icy cold splash that wakes as no other to startling reality, all while stifling a laugh behind their liquid, supple fingers.

Warm she can be as well as cool, burning brightest in those stars. The calmest though never the weakest of the elements. In her rage and destruction, she still possesses that serenity.

She, who represents the house of wit and intelligence in a school of magic.

The majestic neck of the peacock, the emanating scales of Saphira, as in the Firesword of the rider. The last female of a fading race, battling to uphold the immense majesty in serene ferocity.

As the skin of the preserver of peace, an eternal smile on his lips. The shade of the voice of the protector who consumed the poison to save his universe from its wrath.

Of one, liquid syllable.

A Wonder.

There come certain experiences in life which leave you no choice but to simply stand and stare in awe. My encounter with the Grand Canyon was one of these.

I remember learning about the different types of rocks in 3^rd grade. Mrs Nundee, our class teacher had shown us a picture of the Grand Canyon and told us that not only did the Canyon contain all the three main types of rock in abundance, but that the numerous layers of rock dated back to near the beginning of the Earth. The bottom most layers are as old as the Earth itself!

At that time, I had simply found this an interesting piece of information, as I ‘ooh-ed’ and ‘aah-ed’ with the rest of my classmates. I never guessed then, that I would ever be able to actually stand at the top of the Canyon and encounter the magnificent creation.

We journeyed from Las Vegas to the Grand Canyon. The drive was quite an experience in itself! As the landscape melted slowly from desert to forests and red rock, my family had trouble stopping me from clicking pictures by the second and using up the precious battery and memory. As we left Nevada behind us and entered Arizona, the rocky hillocks rose on either side of the road and I could see the various colours, layers, and types of rock that made up the body of the hills. At a glance, it would seem to consist of mainly red rock. However at closer observation, one could pick out an array of colours: scarlet, orange, white, purple, and grey.

When we finally reached the Grand Canyon National Park, it was freezing! Some of us who were wearing shorts or leggings decided to pull on a pair of jeans. After all, how could we enjoy in such discomfort, shivering too much to do anything else?

The jackets and jeans we pulled on helped a bit, though it didn’t banish the shivers completely. We took a number of buses to quite a few viewpoints to get a good look at the Canyon.

The experience was truly awe-inspiring. As I stood there and looked down at the uncountable layers and layers of sedimentary, metamorphic and igneous rocks, I was speechless. I felt absolutely humbled in front of the age old canyon. I could see the lines the Colorado River had carved in the rock as it had journeyed, formed and transformed the Canyon to what it is. What amazes me is that today, even after 2 billion years, it still continues to do what it has done over the millenniums.

We had hoped to watch the sunset over the Canyon, but unfortunately the sky was far too cloudy. Nevertheless, the beauty we witnessed was not to be underestimated. We might not have seen what we’d hoped for – the crimson sun a different hue on every facet of every stone in the canyon as it set for the day. What we did see was how the shadows cast by the clouds threw the shapes and lines the Canyon could show us into greater relief. We saw the golden-orange band the sun’s light created on top of the clouds as if to say, “You guys can never conquer me completely!” We saw the orange light reflect off the edges of the white clouds towards the top. We also saw several ancient trees with branches in various interesting, twisted forms.

And even though we didn’t get to see the gradual setting of the sun, we did get a spectacular view of the fierce, burning ball of gold seconds before it bid goodbye for the day! So despite the odds (the cold and the clouds), the Grand Canyon didn’t disappoint us. It gave us a memory, to be cherished forever after.