Smaller than Life
Why a blog? Simple. Cacoethes Scribendi -- the urge to write! My literary pretensions and caprices bring me here. Like any writer I write to be read. All my posts, though fettered to my small world and trivially myopic, will live and yearn that somebody connects to them someday. Cognitive frenzies, sardonic musings, aimless banters, incoherent ramblings and trivial indulgences; this is simply an episodic narrative of my trivial world -- in a grain of sand… Smaller than Life.


When I am dead,
I hope it is said,
'His sins were scarlet,
but his books were read'.

- Hillaire Belloc

This is my letter to the world
That never wrote to me, --
The simple news that Nature told
With tender majesty.

Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!

- Emily Dickinson

The thoughts of our past years
          in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction

- William Wordsworth

Wednesday, August 31, 2005
A Morning...

Raindrops. He peered out at the sephulcral clouds, which clung heavily to the falling skies, resting his stubbled chin on the window sill. The pen rested on his hand, limp on a sheet listlessly lit by the gloomy skies. He wanted to write a poem.

...A morning

Glistened greener
Bathed in the brightness of morning sun.
When a buzz in the air.
Made my heart beat palpable,
Making me mildly nervous.
When birds sailed over like clouds
On a cloudless blue sky.
And the world appeared clearer
As if through a water splashed glass.
When I suddenly felt responsible,
Born to a higher calling;

It was raining.

"Trauma is beyond eloquence," he chuckled to himself weakly, closing the sheaves of unfinished poems, setting it aside a last time. He couldn't have been more eloquent in thought.

Comments via Blogger:

hi Dileepan,
Surprised to see your blog updated! Welcome back!

lovely poem!

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