To Live

The shadow of the mind follows
the shores of the distant sea.
The dreaded gulfs and the invincible waves,
forging an array of perils.

It matters not what powers I possess
It matters not what strengths I carry.
But the boundless hopes that I possess,
and the limitless dreams that I carry.

Surged by the beckoning spirits,
hopes of enlightenment and freedom.
The powers of frailty will endure no longer,
the crates of despair will be buried forever.

I cannot be deterred or be frail,
I cannot be deferred or fail.
For I am the commander of my will,
and I am the master of my mind.

-akancha

PS: Have taken ample inspirations from my favourite poem ‘Ulysses‘ by Alfred Lord Tennyson and also from ‘Invictus‘ by William Ernest Henley.

Echoes of the obscure vibes

A self composed music infused with self written lyrics and photography.

Lyrics:
Strangers walking past the street,
their cold eyes greet for a while.
Their feelings held beneath the void.
For in the remote corners of the mind,
Nobody knows, nobody understands,
the shadow of delusion runs for a feet,
casting a spell on the desolated eidos.

And you and I, gleamed by indifferent mirrors
of our own creations,
in the land and in the sky
for the time elapsing between us
in the fleeting glimpse passing between us
there’s a spirit that unites us
and there’s a minute separating us
and the begining, an empty space
lacing the constricted ethos
then there’s you and I beyond this frame
trying to bind

Nothing’s there and nothing that remains
that we call as our own
in this strange forgotten town
when the streets turn empty,
the dry leaves whirl around deserted benches,
the cold winds sweep across the alleys
and the dark smoke billows up the skies.
And then from a distant street
clasped by the braced grip of time
echoes of those obscure vibes coalesce.
-akancha

Sailing towards a land of reality

Woke up this morning from the oblivion of obscurity,
sulking every step, as the dark clouds passed by
reaching out for a far world, forged by dreams,
mocked by pretenses of unwavering faith.

Lissome muddy streets, pastel souls and tethered spirits,
strained by the burden of smugness.
Untying the shackles of grimace,
reaching out for an eternal rejoice.

From a far away land beckons a shimmering star,
replete with scent of balmy summer winds,
graced by the dulcet moon, a lovely sheen,
embracing the realm of surreal imaginations.

Watching the winds, meandering the sails,
hitching a ride on a long forgotten sea of destiny.
Immersed in the believes of causality,
sailing towards a land of reality…

…as the time winds, wounding all the heals.

Quo vadis?

Ein kreatives Schreiben auf Deutsch. Ein innerer Monolog von einer Jungen Frau Hansen. Sie wartet gerade in einem Bahnhof.

Wohin gehst du? Das Schicksal fragt mich, als ob es nichts weiß. Es hat keine andere Auswahl, nur mich. Aber, Warum  soll das ein Missgeschick sein? Ja, ich bin in einer fremden Geschichte. Jetzt bin ich ein Ausländer in meiner eigenen Welt geworden. Deshalb muss ich nicht nur für sie, sondern für mich selbst noch einmal vorstellen.  Wer ist mein Vater? Wer ist Meine Mutter? Weiß das jemand? Nein! Ich bin ein Waisenkind seit meinem ersten Blick auf diese Welt. Bis gestern habe ich mit meiner Großmutter zuzamen gelebt. Heute? Ich bin allein an diesem Überfüllten Ort.  Großmutter ist gestern gestorben. Warum hat sie mich hier allein gelassen? Vielleicht finde ich keine Antwort auf diese Frage, Oder?

Seit meinem ersten Atemzug sind die Fünf und Zwanzig Jahre sehr schnell vorbei gegangen. Ich denke immer darüber nach, wie die Zeit meine Zukunft entscheiden kann. Obwohl ich auf einer Kreuzung stehe, sebe ich dieses mal keine Gelegenheit, über meine Zukunft zu entscheiden. Das habe ich bestimmt gedacht seit ich mein Haus in Bad Reichenhall verließ. In dieser Jahreszeit erscheint die Erde in bunter Kleidung, was ich nur erleben, aber nicht beschreiben kann. Herbst, die schönste zeit des Jahres. Rot hier, Grün dort, Gelb in der Nähe, die restlichen Farben verteilten sich ueberall.

Von Oben kommen alle möglichkeiten und deshalb fahre ich nach Norden- Hamburg heißt der Ort und Zukunft ist die Bezeichnung. Wo ist mein Zug? Warum kann ich hier niemanden sehen? Haben alle ihr Ziel schon erreichten? Mein Gehirn läft wie eine Uhr. Es hat keine Haltestelle und ich habe kein Ziel. Ich bin Lehrerin unterichte Latein. Jetzt ist mein Leben so wie diese Sprache- Tot. Was bleibt noch in meinem Haus ohne meine Großmutter? Nichts! Ich brauche keine Sachen, die mich an meine Großmutter errinern. Die Hamburger Universität hat eine Abteilung für Latein. Vielleicht bekomme ich dort eine stelle als Lehrerin. Ich habe die Zukunft nicht gesehen und weiß nicht, was mich morgen erblickt. Ich hoffe außerdem, dass es einen kleinen Strahl Hoffnung für mich gibt.

Ah! Da kommt mein Zug! Nein, es war nur meine Fantasie. Ich denke, ich muss warten und ich werde eine Ewigkeit warten, bevor ich ein Heim finde. Das Leben ist wertvoller als das Warten. Aber, wann kommt der Tag? Heute! Genau! Ja, Heute ist der tag, an dem ich eine neue Hoffnung finde. Heute ist der Tag, an dem ich einen neuen Traum finde. Heute ist der Tag, an dem ich frische Luft finde. Heute ist der Tag, an dem ich ein neues Leben finde. Heute ist der Tag, an dem ich ein neues Ufer finde…

A feeling of love

When I walk past this lonely way,
as the empty landscapes fade away,
from a distance when the clouds
cast a silvery sparkling ray
Then I remember you my love

When I walk past this lonely way,
I see a bleak face hiding away
What sorrows, what rues, molding
her broken heart? She’s hiding them all away.

When I walk past this lonely way,
as the rains drizzle on this drenched way
Black and white images cast in my
gloomy heart, as the clouds fade away.
Then I remember you my love.

When I walk past this lonely way,
those pale lights twinkle away
spreading along the dusty way.
Cluttered or dispersed hopes ?
empty dreams or cirrus feelings?
forgotten lanes in my heart
or fagged veins?

I am not going to cast them away.
A feeling of love when sweeps away.
Then I remember you my love.

akancha
1:26 PM 7/18/2008

AKross Words

I compose AKross Words for a living, yes, surely I am joking Here are some of the interesting (?) clues from my AKross Word:

• It was a bright sunlit day; I was on my way for an excursion in the jungles. The expedition was escorted by a Thunderbird. As the exploration proceeded further, to my astonishment, a Ranger screamed “Ah, what a serene shallow stream of water!” This brought into my focus, a stream flowing quietly and balmy winds wafting along, as we crossed the watercourse.

• Hey you! Is there anybody in there? Let’s keep talking. Alas! But I’ve lost for words and have no high hopes and ‘am comfortably numb now. I thought if it is a momentary lapse of reason? But then I wish you were here on one of these days and give me a final cut for coming to back life.

• French would pronounce a noncoformist from this land as a Pygmy.

• To go impromptu in Rome.

• Music box eats waves.

• Athena’s Roman friend’s wise bird.

• For a few dollars more the bad and the ugly would steal eastern wood from the no name.

• Silent insect sings Hare Rama Hare Krishna .

• The Greek within.

• I, on a cardin’l Dove,
  drain’d a con love, I
  ‘nd a lion carved Io.
  I, an ico’, roved land.

• By the Euphrates riverside lies a place,
  The forefather leaves this base,
  searching for the promised land,
  guided by a divine hand.

• Fate is knocking at my doors, melody is muted by silent scores. While I lay in eremitic bliss of music, in a fifth, obviating dreadful sores.

PS: Answers are available on request.
-akacnha

Kalko kisne dekha?

An attempt made to write in Hindi titled ‘Who has seen tomorrow?’

Kalko kisne dekha?
Aajkho humne bi dekha!
Kaljo likkha, such hai kya
haath ki ye sunhari rekha? [1]

Kuch sunhaira, kuch siyaah.
Is pal ya us pal, hum ko kya patha?
Kaun haara, kaun jeetha! Kaun aaya, kaun gayaa?
Aap ya hum, Aaj ya kal, kisko kya patha? [2]

Waqt ka bankar saudagar
Apna banana chaha ye lamha.
Haasil nahi hua ye muqaddar,
Baha kar Ansu sabaq humne bi seeka. [3]

Kamoshike saath tha hamara dosti,
Waqt ka na sun rahe the hum koi Naghmaah.
Doob rahi thi rooh ki yeh Kashti,
Buj rahi thi shamaa-e-hasti, hum ko kaise patha? [4]

Humne aapko dekha, Aapne bi.
Pyarse ya nafrat se, is laHzah ko kya patha?
Puchiye un be-khataa dilonse,
huve hai jo waqt ka saayese tabaah. [5]

Kaun chala Paidal, Kaun Jahaazse?
Manzil haasil hone par tarkeeb ki kya chinta!
Kaun soye aasmanki chaadar par, kaun mahalki,
Badal saktha hai kya rukh yeh haseen khwaabonka? [6]

Raah dekh raha tha us Manzar ka,
Bauchare gir ayi Falak se yadhonka.
Magar nazaarah na raha us mausam ka,
sirf waqt ke sakht bazooonse fana ho chuka silsilah. [7]

Thanhai ki is dagar me, kwabonki in parwaaz par
Akancha , Aashiyaane badal gayi, Zamaanah guzar gaya.
Manzil na mili, chain na mila,
Tabdeeli waqt ka ye ‘ajab daastaan! [8]

Kal ko kisne dekha?
Aaj tho humne bi dekha!
Kal jo likkha, such hai kya
haath ki ye sunhari rekha? [1]

akancha

Where’s the End?

Well, I have just begun my writing, you are saying from where is this ‘End’ coming from? An ‘End’ is a beginning, a new start for a fresh idea or life as such. only a thin line separates them. Following incident happened on 15th November 2003 at Bangalore, where I used to work. That’s for an introduction, let me start with the ‘End’ then.

Lost in the chaos the four people from Maharastra (A state in India). They waved at me, we were (my sister and me) on our way to KR Market (City market, Bangalore) the grandest of all chaos’. Two men, and an equal number of women and children were ambling by the dusty road, carrying the burden of their baggage. The South End (A street junction in the City of Bangalore) is the end point were their journey towards the unreachable destiny came to an end. The destination was Thirupathi (A temple town in India) but alas they were in Bangalore! Some trucker had driven them till the ‘End’. The end was also peculiarly for their pecuniary thing too! Needless to say that it was stolen together with their hope to reach the destiny. The head of the team waved towards me.

It took a certain distance for me to stop my brakeless Kinetic Honda (A kind of bike) to come to an halt. A glimpse of hope twinkled in their eyes as they came towards me. He asked me if I knew Marathi (An Indian language, if you do not know already, in India we speak a googol number of languages). I said I knew Hindi (National Language of India). He narrated his story in a damp and dead voice that I could hardly perceive. Such is the life. One of the women tried to bolster the voice but in vain. Ha ! I donno if I can do anything more. I handed him Rs50 (About a dollar and 40 cents). Hope sometimes bolsters by the smell of money. Small amount considering the chaos that they were into. I accelerated towards my destination.

Later on that day at MTR (An old and a traditional restaurant in Bangalore) we met an old couple. Strange they too were from Maharashtra!. In search of a home for his son a software Engineer. So much to write, every nuance of this world which embellishes life. Some have lost their home, others are still in search of the home that they never owned (?)…But where is the end?

akancha

Unsterbliche Liebe

Kreatives Schreiben in Deutsch: Rollenbiographie und innerer Monolog:Ich heiße Alicia und komme aus Frankreich. Ich bin 1780 in Paris geboren und jetzt 26 Jahre alt. Ich bin Malerin von Beruf und mein Mann ist Soldat in der Armee von Napoleon. Er ist an diesem Tag in Ägypten (seit 2 Jahren). Wir haben eine große Villa in der Nähe von Versailles. Ich bin seit 2 Jahren allein in der Villa, weil mein Mann in Ägypten ist. Ich habe in Ruhe viele Bilder gemalt. Ich möchte in der nächsten Woche eine Ausstellung machen. Ich habe meinem Mann schon von meiner Ausstellung geschrieben. Ich hoffe, dass er in die Ausstellung kommt.

Oh…Albert, wo bist du? In welchem Land lebst du jetzt? Ich sitze hier in der Ecke und denke an dich. Du bist meine Inspiration und Liebe. Du bist alles, was ich habe. Du bist die einzige Person auf dieser Welt, die ich lieben möchte. Komm schon her. Die Villa ist still und dunkel ohne dich. Ich will nicht mehr leben. Komm schon her!

Hmm..ich weiß nicht, wie meine Ausstellung ohne dich laufen wird. Ich habe ein besonderes Bild gemalt und es ist nur für dich. Wenn du nicht in die Ausstellung kommst, hänge ich das Bild dort nicht auf.
Ich höre einen schönen Walzer von dem Schloss her. Wo bist du? Ich möchte Walzer mit dir tanzen. Errinnerst du dich? Zum ersten Mal haben wir uns auf einem Ball getroffen. Dort haben wir endlos getanzt. Die Zeit war fröhlich. Aber, jetzt, jetzt weine ich immer und ich bin traurig.

Immer wenn der erste Strahl der Sonne in meine Augen fällt…Wenn ich der erste Klang von der Tür kommt…Wenn der erste WInd weht…denke ich an dich…meine Unsterbliche Liebe…

My Fair Lady

She was standing alone at a distance, waving her slender hands. I was not sure if she was waving me a sweet hello or a bitter goodbye. My heart sunk every time her eyes twinkled, but I was quite afar, aloof and unwavering, not quite sure how to react. At a first glance, though I could not recognize who she was. But those beautiful eyes- dark and sharp- stuck my pumping heart and well, yes my brain too- to enlightened of her identity.

Behind her Sun was setting; her silhouette became diminished in size as she moved away. I stood there agape without knowing what to do. For time stops not nor it takes pauses and I thought it had now stopped specially for me. But then it did not. It was a little later that I realised the truth about time and concepts of relativity and that how fool of me it was not to respond to her. I have lost my chance to accost and embrace her and to lose in her ageless beauty. It was too late.
I had met her a year before and it was one of those circumstances or shall I say an ecumenical situations that every mortal would be accosted with even if one desires not to. Meeting her was not really a point that I want to emphasise, but my days spent with her. I can still remember first time we danced when the spring arrived, birds chirped and everything was bright and shiny and vivid. Not a speck of melancholy was around. I held her hands or if she did held them at first? My memory is quite blurred to accurately account for this precise information. That was an event of my life time, romance was on the air. Her sweet smell was lingering around. Flowers were blooming with gaiety as she walked across the fields, lemon grasses waving their heads as if in an agreement with the estimate of her beauty. Life seemed so effortless and meaningful and worth lived for. The days and nights rolled over golden sun lights and blue moon lights.Summer came, only to accelerate longings for my beloved. Destiny seemed to have made collusion with me to bond her with me forever. Hot summer nights, cool winds blowing over the mountains, shiny starts twinkling on the horizon- all seemed to tell a tale, a tale of our lives. She closed my eyes as we stood on the top of a mountain, she gently opened my eyes. Behold! There she was with vibrant colours, every combination that a painter would aspire to paint and capture. That was autumn and nature was dressed in most colourful attire ever, preened to finest details. She then opened my eyes to this wonder. She stood beside me with her gentle smile with an assurance of our eternal relationship.

As we ambled through those lonely paths, dry leaves wafting their way towards the ground, trees deprived of their plush green leaves. Obviously the presage had not struck my mind, at least not until my great enlightenment at the end. As we walked further, her hands seemed to loosen the grip amidst the white snows trickling down- now seemed competing with dry foliages to cover the way ahead of us.

When I woke up yesterday morning, the Sun never showed up at the horizon, so was she, birds no longer chirped, whole of Earth was dressed in angelic white. Am I so soon in Heaven? I was obviously wrong! In the evening, when Sun’s golden rays reflected enigmatically on my trickling tears, she stood waving her hands at a distance. We would never meet again, we would never indulge in the sweet whispers. I could not stop her, she was leaving me, and I presume, forever.
Good Bye Two Thousand Seven.

PS: What can be a more fitting Musical tribute to the year than The Four Seasons (Le quattro stagioni in original Italian)- the violin concertos by Antonio Vivaldi? (La primavera(Spring), L’estate (Summer), L’autunno (Autumn) and L’inverno (Winter), more information and samples at : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Four_Seasons_(Vivaldi)