when questioned about
object through silence,
the question is leading.
when questioned about
The wind caught the tip of her hat. The hat danced on her head for a mere second before flying off with the wind. The distance grew further and further between the hat and her outstretched arms. The look on her face was as if a part of her had died.
We are still not sure which part.
i can wish a thousand things,
but that’s just wishful thinking.
i can build a thousand things,
and now i’ve built something.
I walk by a park and pause for a moment. The trees stand still, unswayed by the wind. The leaves fall in a slow and calm manner, as if it were a pace of their own choosing. The autumnal colours are fantastic. I take a deep breath and find a smile on my face reflecting the joy of the experience. Such beauty in nature, I think.
But is the process of nature intrinsically beautiful? The tree is losing its leaves. The leaves are dead. Their range of colours could be an expression of pain, a slow progress towards death. Is this beautiful? Have you seen a sick child’s colour change? Seen them turn pale or blue? Could this not also be beauty in nature from a tree’s point of view?
We could say that this is only natural – it happens all the time – leaves fall and grow again. So do humans, we die and more are born. Just a part of nature. How beautiful, yes?
A leaf in the wind may indeed be beautiful. But is the fungus eating away at the leaf also beautiful? What about the lost ant sticking onto the leaf for dear life? Also beautiful? Is it beautiful if we didn’t know about the fungi and the ants? So that the less we know the more beauty we see?
Nature is beautiful, but it is also ugly. And that’s okay. The tree, the leaves, the colours and the wind – all a part of nature – are beautiful, but they are also ugly. We too are a part of nature. We are beautiful but we are also ugly – in all our parts and all their sum. It’s okay.
“who the hell are you?” she says.
and i wonder how odd a question that is.
“who the hell am i?” i repeat,
with a rippling inflection on the i.
i take a seat and turn the table,
“who the hell are we?” i ask.
well, who the hell are we?
look at us.
we rise from the ashes
and we fall from grace.
we split into classes
and divide by race.
we try and hide pain
and yet it’s on our face.
we’re all so individual
and still so interlaced.
who are we?
look at us.
we’re just objects in motion.
just objects in space.
Sometimes I will speak in broken grammar to people who were sleeping but are half-awake. I quite enjoy it. It also might be a form of torture.
Sometimes I wonder whether birds ever wonder what it would be like to walk like humans. I often wonder what it would be like to fly like a bird.
Sometimes I can’t get enough of the sounds of laughter but sometimes I can’t stand them – just the sounds themselves. Though I suppose it is better to have the sounds than not.
Sometimes I like to listen in to conversations of strangers who are trying to make sense. Sometimes I will listen in even when they are not trying to make sense. It’s fairly safe to say that sometimes I like to listen in to strangers’ conversations. And also stranger conversations.
Sometimes I will say “have a weekend” to people on a Friday, have them say “you have a good weekend, too,” and feel like I one-upped them.
Sometimes I will say “have a good weekend” to people on a Thursday or a Wednesday just to see how they react. Sometimes I will lie about the time.
Sometimes I will say something and then repeat it in my head (sometimes more than once). I have a feeling many people do this.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if those with shelter had all the umbrellas and those in the rain had none. Then I realize I don’t have to really wonder much to see it.
Sometimes I think a lot and say nothing. Sometimes I think little and say a lot. Sometimes I do both.
Sometimes I wish the earth had more moons. Just one or two more (not asking for much) and all visible at the same time. Sometimes I wonder whether I would wish for more moons even if there were more moons. But either way, the single one will do.
yunhi kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayaal aata hai
Preamble: I had sent a few links to this friend via MSN.
Ron: do you do any work other then send links and update facebook?
me: not really.
me: i have to sit here and look pretty. that takes effort.
Ron: for you that takes lots of effort
me: oh, snap!
me: i should blog this conversation.
i was thinking
about you a lot,
but it wasn’t you
i was thinking
a lot about.
depends on the eyes.
depends on the words.
depends on the day
and the night that came before.
i got close to a butterfly
for a beat or two.
it fluttered its wings,
i lost a beat or two.