April Haiku Month, Day 11: Jasmine


A CONDESCENDING NATURE LOVER


i googled ‘jasmine’ . . .

disney character turned up

what the! where’s flower?

~ ~ ~

It is stupid and disappointing that when you Google ‘jasmine’, the first results to come are of the famous Disney character from Aladdin, not of the daughter of nature – the jasmine flower. Both web search and image search. I felt sick. Ridiculous humans. Ridiculous artificial intelligence.

Yes, I am ‘judging’ Google. I admit that without Google the world is half dumb. And honestly, I depend on it on a daily basis. But I won’t spare a traitor. Because when the teacher is a traitor, you’ll only grow more traitors. And this coming from a man who also says, “animated movies are the best thing that ever happened to world cinema. it is the only good thing cinema gave us”. Yet, I stand by what I said. Anyone, or anything, which has a huge audience(customers or whatever) has zero error tolerance. The world can descend into chaos if Apple Inc. started using a marketing strategy which says “Cut down trees. Bring us wood. We are building a city out of wood called iCity. We will give you an iPhone”. And people would do it. That is the scare right there. A popular celeb, or brand is followed by people who slowly turn so blind that when their idol makes a mistake, they don’t see it. More frighteningly, they do it too. All of this, I say because the most popular search engine(and much more) cannot expose a cracked up order of precedence to the entire world. Nature precedes everything. I am not blowing this ‘petty’ thing out of proportions, I am concerned.  There is nothing sensible in conducting global warming awareness campaigns to enlighten children, when they google ‘jasmine’ to collect information about the flower and all they could see is an animated princess, beautiful of course, wearing revealing clothes and a golden tiara.

Darn! If you are going to say, ” you could just google ‘jasmine flower’ if that is what you are looking for”, then don’t. Because you probably don’t feel the same way about nature as I do, at least with the same intensity. And I would also take it on me that I couldn’t make my point clear, I suck at describing my theories in the head.

~ ~ ~

This post is submitted at Haiku Heights for Day 11 prompt – Jasmine. This post is also a part of my NaPoWriMo 2013 journey, my first. I am also trying to take up the A-to-Z Blogging challenge which requires bloggers to write a post everyday during all April. I will try to write separate posts for NaPoWriMo and A-to-Z Blogging Challenge IF possible. I sure want to.

I am going to share your everyday Haiku on my Facebook Page. Keep tabs on it too.

Thank you all for reading my haiku. I’ll be reading yours too, and I enjoy each one of your haiku. Your comments always help me improve and motivate myself to keep going.

Thank you and keep writing! 

Tweet me at @WeOweWomen.

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King, Dove, Friend And Peace – Haiku #33


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.

~ ~ ~

Scene I

~ ~ ~

A Dove flying in some mysterious but beautiful place ( First Person – Dove )

~ ~ ~

O’ mother, thank you,

soothing plains, blissful green woods,

wonderful is world.

~ ~ ~

pristine, agile winds,

lift mine spirits to heavens,

wings hardly matter (for spirit).

~ ~ ~

angelic white, mine

plumage, how many hearts changed,

chose peace over battle?

~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~

Scene II

~ ~ ~

A cruel king came for hunting Stag ( First Person – King )

~ ~ ~

( Addresses the Stag )

mine aim wavers not,

arrow tip bellows thy end,

royal dish, thine flesh!

~ ~ ~

( Suddenly he sees the dove above )

~ ~ ~

elegant beauty,

she’s mine, on royal platter,

arrow aims high now,

~ ~ ~

( Addresses the Dove now )

~ ~ ~

O’ dove, thee is mine,

die proud as regal king’s food,

death be upon thee!

~ ~ ~

( He leaves the Stag and loosens the arrow at the dove and she is hit )

~ ~ ~

Ha Ha! King I am,

no being eludes arrows,

Dove slayer king, me.

~ ~ ~

Scene III – Act I

~ ~ ~

A man sees the dove being hit by the arrow and runs to the fallen bird ( First Person – Man )

~ ~ ~

O’ mine friend, tell who

hath brought this upon thee –

my sword rages in anger.

~ ~ ~

O’ mine friend, beauty,

leave this world not, breathe please, love,

god needn’t have you.

~ ~ ~

don’t shut eyes;

O’ blind god, why her;

love, love, friend!

~ ~ ~

The Dove speaks to the man  and at the same time,the cruel king reaches a point where he can hear her speak, he stops and listens ( First Person – Dove )

~ ~ ~

O’ kind friend of mine,

thy love for nature pleases

it is time i rest.

~ ~ ~

promise, little one,

that thy sword tastes no blood, to

avenge mine that spilled,

~ ~ ~

shed blood never, Friend,

keep peace, alive or dead; world

needs peace, give it and……………………………

~ ~ ~

( Dove breathes no more )

( King  comes out of the bushes, the friend of Dove speaks )

~ ~ ~

My King,  great hunter,

none can match your skills, no one

in your whole kingdom!

~ ~ ~

My King, what justice,

do you serve, your cruelty

is the crown you wear!

~ ~ ~

Hadst she not asked peace,

(i) shan’t think twice, i’l behead thee,

my foot on thy crown!

~ ~ ~

( The king speaks )

~ ~ ~

O’ grieving friend of  Dove,

i lay down my crown and sword,

i repent mine wrongs

~ ~ ~

O’ trustful friend of Dove,

ascend mine throne, give peace then

kingdom needs her, peace.

~ ~ ~

O’ true friend of Dove,

forgive ,  i will show myself

to no eyes again.

~ ~ ~

( The king goes into the wilderness in repentance and to keep the kingdom running, Dove’s friend ascends the throne.

He speaks : )

~ ~ ~

every battle now,

that we shall be part, be for

peace, not blood or pride .

~ ~ ~

every battalion,

shall bear white flag, symbol peace,

remembering dove.

~ ~ ~


Tweet me at @sankarajayanth

I don’t know why, when i saw the prompt the first thing to come to mind was “alive or dead, peace.”.
maybe due the ever eluding peace, for which runs a daily quest for me and that my tired mind and soul longs for a piece of it.
And peace = dove, as many things i relate to nature. And i thought of presenting it this way.

And later when i was half way through, i remembered a childhood story : hunter kills a pigeon but the pigeon’s wife gives shelter to hunter,
to satisfy and do justice to the dharma of comforting the guests, she jumps into flames to become the food for the guest.
My story, i think, was almost the same. So, i thank that childhood story and whoever wrote it.


Suggestions and corrections are most welcome, I’m still learning Haiku.

This post is an entry in Haiku Challenge for April 2012 at Haiku Heights. The prompt being ‘alive’.


Arms Of Forgiveness – Haiku #20


you are in for a long set of haiku ( abberated ones ), have patience if you can manage. 🙂

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O’ Love, in thy arms,

of forgiveness, is written

mine exile,  hidden

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, in thy arms,

of forgiveness, a thriving man,

who hurt thee in past

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, in thy arms,

of forgiveness, a broken man,

who hurt thee, never

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, thine virtue 

hath me breathing hard, why blind,

what sin i doth thus?

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, thine virtue,

forgiveness, hadst me exiled,

someone else got closer.

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, speak ‘least now,

i question not in arrogance,

what sin i doth thus?

~ ~ ~

if to -try to ebb

thine pains served by life- is to

sin, then i did sin.

~ ~ ~

if to -hide my name,

in humility- is to

sin, then i did sin.

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, what hadst i

done, that hath me pushed into

this vile emptiness.

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, in angst, i,

ask thee to see, difference,

in love and true love.

~ ~ ~

O’ Love, in thy arms,

of forgiveness, is written

mine exile,  hidden.

~ ~ ~

archaic (old English) words :

hath = has

hast = have

hadst = had

thy / thine = your

thou / thee = you

doth = do / does

~ ~ ~

i started writing it as a haiku,

but the inner feelings caught me in a grip and dictated me to write this, even if there were abberations from the rules of haiku

~ ~ ~

one thing i want to tell not in haiku :

forgiveness is a great virtue,

a very great one indeed,

but in excess of it,

shall, many a time,

sinners thrive,

while all along, good ones get the woeful plate of plight.

how strange.

how harsh.

how forgiving ( yes, sarcastic in deed ).

~ ~ ~

This post is an entry in Haiku Challenge for April 2012 at Haiku Heights. The prompt being “forgive”.

She Sells Shells – Haiku #24


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dreams big and hopes high,

she sells sea shells on seashore,

buy one, help her smile

~ ~ ~

a haiku inspired by the famous tongue twister “she sells sea shells on the sea shore”

can’t get it right once, not once 😀 :O

~ ~ ~

Suggestions and corrections are most welcome, I’m still learning Haiku. :)

This post is an entry in Haiku Challenge for April 2012 at Haiku Heights. The prompt being ‘seashore’.

Life And Wheels Moved On – Haiku #45


This post is submitted at Haiku Heights. The prompt is ‘mask’.

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you see me not love (dear);
help comes; heals wounds; i wear mask
named humility.

~ ~ ~

far away you went;
still wondering who it was;
life and wheels moved on.

~ ~ ~

distance grew much now;
same humility hinders;
from seeking your love.

~ ~ ~

love is not to ask;
but to give away; like blood,
from mother to child.

~ ~ ~

hope filled eyes; i wait;
will your ever see through the mask;
forces act against.

~ ~ ~
( The below is the text from which i framed the haiku. I couldn’t put in everything in Haiku. So, read on if you like to. It’s long though, don’t say i din’t warn you. )

while he dared, i cared.

expressing all is never always right,
it only takes boldness.

to hold back expressions take a lot more,
of love, faith and hope;
in truth, it takes a herculean boldness, more than what it takes to express,
but none sees it, just because there was an absence of my expression,

so, if boldness weighs more than love, care, faith and hope,
then yes, i was a loser right from the first moment,
the moment when i chose to hold back,
knowing too well what it takes and what it gives me.

one day hardly goes by,
with this question not torturing my mind,
“don’t you see this yet?”,
yet and again, i hold back from asking this loud.

why, ask me “why?”,
i might just yet stay mum, for the answer i have for you will stump you.
so, instead i choose to see you hurt because of my silence, than because of my answer,
i choose to see you hurt less while i still have the option.

but as no question should go unanswered,
i would give you these words,

“let your heart be honest with your eyes and with itself”

now go,
the journey is yours to travel,
the answers are your to unravel.

the journey would still end at where i am,
the answers still leave a part of the question untouched,
“why did you stay silent when you had so much love?”,

that, my love, shall be answered after you complete the journey,
the reason for making you search for the answer yourself is to prepare you,
for the eventual leash of my held back love.

a little apprehension lingers deep down though,
time is a thin thread, that i am playing by,
i fear i might not radiate and transfer enough reason into you so that you don’t give up on the journey that i put you to,
i fear, time might crop doubts in your head,
and if you submit to them, you would be convinced that i was a fool,
and you would distance yourself from me.

but doesn’t truth always win, as told by the meandering bards,
that’s one gamble i took.

now we go to where this started,
what it took to take this gamble, that might leave me with nothing if it went wrong.

my love,

expressing all is never always right,
it only takes boldness.

to hold back expressions take a lot more,
of love, faith and hope;
in truth, it takes a herculean boldness, more than what it takes to express.

Oh wait,
didn’t i tell you that i would go along with you through the journey, masked in a cloak of invisibility?
oh sure i din’t, because the quest for truth is one you should not skip,
though i knew it would impress you if i told i was coming along,
and it would raise my stature up a notch at your heart,
but i choose to hide my presence and lose a chance to have you love me.
but this journey is not about me, this is about you,
and that along with my enormous care is reason enough for me to wear the cloak of invisibility, in humility,
and walk along.

Oh darn!
while he dared, i cared.

that’s all i need you to see.
that’s all i need you to learn.

~ ~ ~

Time, Vision and Other Uncertainties In Life


each day seems to drag on,

unwilling to kiss the next,

whether you’d come, willingly yield to my love,

or not,

oh! the uncertainty of time.

each blink of my eye wishes it was the very last,

unwilling to rise again,

tears,

half held up, half let down,

no one will ever know, half glad,

no one will ever know, half sad,

the bright but blinding white fog,

hides but all,

oh! the uncertainty of vision.

each breathe that was to come, seems to stalk,

turning the present one into a rock,

that rolled,

too fast and away,

that, yesterday’s fragrance of the bloom is now a mere remembrance in delusion ,

so small that i may not feel it slipping away through my fingers,

so subtle that my breathe might not even know that it just missed to sense the last air of life,

and so escape sometimes, from my grasp, even the remaining wisps of memories that let me survive,

oh! the uncertainty of the very life.

 

 

 

Tweet me at @sankarajayanth

Why Did I Name My Blog ‘Black and White Heart’ ?


.
.
named my blog black and white heart,
many wondered what it meant.


how can a blood-red heart be black and white,
how, ask me how.

when there is love for even subtle, generally-ignored things like a crumpled autumn leave,
when there is sympathy and empathy towards the weaker beings,
when there is a zest to know why one has to be strong while another has to be weak,
when there is the kindle flame deep inside, burning only to seek truth, when there are questions burning to be fired at the injustices of the world,
when there is this void of unknowable knowledge, as to why there has to be so much suffering in the world,
when there is this herculean rage inside, to bring down the traitors of humanity,
when there is a special respect for women,
when there is again a murderous rage inside, for how most men treat women,
where there is angst to show people how aberrant us human lives have turned,
when there is this restlessness and immensely overwhelming pain looking at how we humans sabotage our own well being,

what else do I see but the colors – white and black,
which form all world for me,
every speck of sand,
every breeze of air,
and ever drop of the sea.

swinging between extremes,
my heart is but black and white,
void and veracious.

FINDING NEVERLAND


putting his pen aside;
the writer walked to the family who were struggling to fly a kite to its pride;
the widow and her four sons tried until they were tired;

they welcomed the writer’s help;
he gave the kite’s lead to the youngest kid and asked him to run when he heard the yelp;
the kite soared into the sky, helped by the air’s palp;

all rejoiced the moment, he noticed, except one kid;
he was Peter, thoughts and worries he was unable to rid;
the writer knew what he had to do, and did;

he created Peter Pan;
Peter Pan never aged, he flew like a kite and he talked to fairies;
he lived in a fairy world called NEVERLAND.

the writer’s creation brought tears to the whole family;
and forever the writer lived on, as a legend,
whose imaginations started with a kite, which lead to FINDING NEVERLAND.

~ ~ ~

I was inspired by this movie, FINDING NEVERLAND, which is the real life story of J.M. Barrie, who created the famous character Peter Pan. This movie tells about what incidents led to Barrie creating NEVERLAND, a fairy world, which even today is seen as a benchmark by authors for writing and creating fantasy worlds.
This post, reflecting the first of many such incidents which led to the creation of Peter Pan, was very challenging to attempt, but was a great experience. I recommend everyone to watch that movie, a masterpiece for my eyes.

~ ~ ~

Tweet me at @sankarajayanth.

Submitted at One Single Impression.

This Ain’t Giving Up On You


i let you go today,

without putin’ up a fight,

i let you fly away,

without showing you my  broken heart,

 

this ain’t givin’up on you,

oh by the way, you look great when you’re dressed in blue

but hey, this ain’t givin’up on you,

this ain’t givin’up on you.

 

*imagine some faery music*

 

i trust you too much,

too very much,

i believe you would return someday,

realizing what you’d left behind today.

 

until then,

my love,

i would build our home,

with a fairy song,

birds and thunders singing along.

 

now go, i am letting you go today,

without putin’ up a fight,

i let you fly away,

without showing you my  broken heart.

 

this ain’t givin’up on you,

oh by the way, you look great when you’re dressed in blue,

but hey, this ain’t givin’up on you.

A Struggling Painter


Submitted at Sunday Scribblings for the prompt “In the beginning” .

Story of a struggling painter.

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canvas clean,
ideas struggle and stutter in the beginning,
painter’s heart beats slow, yet tiring,
color-dipped brush dries and dies,
the holding hand becomes wet with tire and disappointment,
meanwhile, time paints its ever-spinning wheel, to perfection,

painter pumps his heartbeat into the dying bristles of his brush,
they stay alive, only to come close to death again,
unless the painter solves the puzzle of idea-less-ness soon,
painter looks around for inspiration,
the sky makes it even tougher for him,
by changing colors like a chameleon,

canvas still clean,
he is yet to begin his painting,
he looses all hope, convinced that he is out of ideas,
packing his color bottles and brushes,
he looks around for one more time,
we wonder what kind of inspiration is he seeking,
that the nature is unable to produce.

a sudden roar, ear shattering screech,
a little drop of water falls on his still empty canvas,
what inspiration he found in it we know not,
he unpacks everything in a jiffy, he knew he had very less time,
opens the lids of red, green, blue bottles,
splashes the colors onto the canvas,
and he smiles,
then roars in exultation,
we wonder what evil got into him in these few minutes,
that he spoils his canvas and then shouts in merriment.

and then a torrent of gusty rain poured down.

he moves away from the canvas,
shouting in joy, spreading his hands wide and taking the rain right through his soul,
his joy was enormous,
he went and looked at his canvas now,
controlling his joy, he grinned,
returning home without a painting would have been a big disappointment for him,
and for many,
happy that he managed to pull it off,
he packs everything and goes home.

he sends the painting, along with a little note, to kids at the orphanage he grew at,
the note read,

”  A Painting for you all,
From Mother,
with love.    “

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p.s: just like a follow-up for the above story, this picture was one of my posts a yesterday. In a way, it was my inspiration to write this story.

—————————————————————————————–

The Scarlet Bond


crimson bushes conjure spells;
hold me tender is their call;

spell bound;
reckless hands get the scarlet wrath;
tender hands get the scarlet fragrance;

i would say;
you could be a little more cautious (in life);
is the message you try to teach.

where from did you learn this art;
of filling heart;
with black and white;
in equal parts;

you spill black, when i finally am settling in the too bright white;
you paint white, when i eventually start seeing solace in the dark black;
why these unbearable swings of torment;
why not paint me scarlet once and for all;
so that,
i fly away with white wings,
into the black void,
breaking bond with the scarlet forever.

~ ~ ~

This poem is written for One Single Impression. The prompt for the week is ‘crimson’.

Glamour Carries Gloom (Poetry, Photography)


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glamour carries gloom,
world sees only what is abloom,
plenty endured, millions fell
even before color pigmented.

rest while you can, they say,
how can i, while my heart is battered hard and sulks in dismay,
i wander to share their pain,
of all those buds and leaves.

Gone Before The First Blush
Broken and Brown

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.

.

.

.

.

while even then, no one cares,
broken and brown, no wind dares
to sway them away from under their mother,
there lie their graceful graves.

tears trickle down my face, boon or bane,
while new buds grow plum, memories of the fallen wane,
in my melancholy hides a tale,
of a depressed heart that hides its name.

~ ~ ~

the backdrop sets to both nature and also human relations. Of course, they are hardly different!
click the images for larger view.

~ ~ ~

This poem is written for One Single Impression. The prompt for the week is ‘depression’.