Ode To Friends

When I was brought into this world,
I held the finger of a woman,
I called her my friend
and the ones she called family.

I was introduced to a man
whom I held in reverence all my life.
He knew everyone in the world
and the people he knew were my friends.

A few years older, and I was sent to school
I met people my size, little, shy and afraid.
Most were busy with their toys
and some enjoyed my company.

When we grew tired of toys, when we were being educated,
the ways of the world were learnt staggeringly quick.
The clicks were important, and I was left out of most
a best friend stood by, amidst the nod and hi-s.

As a well bodied lad, sport domineered over company.
I played, the games my only friends.
I enjoyed the glory and rued the fall.
Sport was a true friend for seasons all.

I sought a friend, when the daze subsided;
different from the friends of past
the hormones blazed, it wasn’t platonic
a relationship, a form of friendship like never before.

Soon goals and ambitions were a vital part.
They took me places, they took me far.
I viewed them as fellows who led me.
They were friends nonetheless in my journey.

Life took me to foreign lands;
and not for the first time, had I been so alone.
I made my peace with it,
called loneliness my friend.

It’s a long way to go before the end.
I’m sure I’ll encounter many such friends.
They need not be human, or material or worth my network.
As long as they keep my company and be my friend.

The Last Note

“I have decided to emancipate myself from this world. If taking my life is the solution, so be it.”

A bullet from the gun lying in his hand did just that. Limbo allowed him to update his last blog. “-Fiction”, He tried narrating the real tale using the last word from his twenty words limit.

Children of Solitude

She approached him with trembling hands. She was not an extrovert; confidence was not her forte. Her loneliness was killing her; she had stopped caring about the conventions of the pretentious high headed world.

Her ‘Hi’ and a smile was acknowledged with a grunt. He wasn’t the friendliest man, yet she craved for his company. “Can I join you.” She asked. He gestured towards the empty seat on the bench. She held his hand as they watched the sunset together.

It was time to leave. The attendees wrapped them with shawls and led them back to the old age home.

Make Your Bed

Usually I slept like a baby. Not tonight though. But I was lying there, trying hard.

“So what’s new in the two-head world”, she asked. I found her impropriety a charm. Gender notwithstanding, best friends shouldn’t have to watch their mouth. “The usual; class, practice and a ride home with the filthiest mouth in town.” I had a few wisecracks up my sleeve too. “You jocks don’t gossip in the showers?” She was good. “Only one head operates under a cold shower”, I retorted, “The new guy was screaming your name though.” Maybe the last line was completely unwarranted. But she did not take offense.

You sometimes wonder if words should be processed through a simulator before they exit your mouth. She was out on a date with the new guy; I had made my bed and I was lying in it now.

P.S: I is not I; an experiment with POV story telling.

War Against The Machine

In a different time and maybe a different place, in a universe much like ours, the life of the people was much easier. They didn’t have to work; hardship had lost its meaning. Everything was a given and none was any poorer. Capitalism and communism were unheard of; they didn’t compete, nor did they strive.

As long as you could fill a form and wait a while, your requests were granted. Simplicity however, was not an attribute that they could relate to. Those forms were scrupulous and every base had to be covered. “How did things get done?” one may ask. Filling forms didn’t create magical gifts to sustain their need! It was a different universe, but the populace was much like ours, greedy. How was that sustained? Well, a few generations ago, the last of the wise men built the world of machines. Now the machines catered to all of the people’s needs; and their greed.

Along came a rebel, a man discontent with this world. He despised the meaningless lives his fellows were leading. He spoke up and was ridiculed; he was glad they still possessed such mortal emotions. But how long could they mock him? He had heard from the fables of a different universe. “First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.”* These words were etched in his mind and he looked forward to the battle, the victory could wait.

Slowly but surely, he gathered support. Over years he transformed people, much like an evangelist. They believed him, he convinced them. He learnt the tricks and the trade through practice. He amassed a large following, hidden from the machines. He didn’t realize then, that the machines were merely servants and wouldn’t care for his visions of grandeur. The people were obviously clueless.

When the time was ripe, he gathered his troops. The eloquent speaker knew how to agitate and motivate his followers. “There is a tide in the affairs of Men”* he quoted. To thunderous applause and blind fury, he led his army to the old fort. A revolution of this scale needed planning. He summoned the wisest from his camp; well, truth be told, he summoned the first few men who were open to his idea. They spent days in the lair, planning every move and every step. There was no possibility left untouched.

The final decision was to set a chain of command. You cannot lead an army without ranks. He designated his followers as advisers and commanders. Every soldier and thinker was given a place in the grand scheme. Everyone was assigned tasks and responsibilities. There was no leeway and the men knew that. The gallant forces were now ready for his command.

The machine of war was now rearing for the war against the machine.

Epilogue:

The army returned victorious. They now had to decide the course of action. The machines were slaves anyway and forms were a set norm. So they decided not to change it. Maybe it wasn’t a different time after all, nor a different place or a different universe. Another wise man would join the ranks of the long forgotten shortly.

* Quotes by Mahatma Gandhi and Shakespeare (Julius Caesar) respectively.

Blurred Reflections

The antique stood in the suburb alley, numb
the colors of the street, as vivid as its sounds
failed to impress the old blind deaf and dumb.

The unforgiving winter sent a chill down his spine
it enticed him with a feeling of life within him
now he craved for a piece of bread and wine.

A hand in his pocket picked change and counted
the other brandishing a cane that found his way
drawn by the smell from a peddler’s shop, chest mounted.

Some noodle and soup, a bowl of Sake served
the transaction made, a few yen short off the trembling hands
with heavier pockets and a trade to ply; on, the lad moved.

Sick and tired, the only life he would ever know
his hands busy making grub to feed the world
his legs bearing the weight of a shop in tow.

Between serving his customers and counting his pay
his grumbling stomach and aching back knew no pain
he was alive and staying so, mannequin-like in his ways.

He walked the colorful streets of sights and sounds, numb
lost dreams and hopes, darkness filled plight in his eyes
the young lad with his senses alive, yet felt, so blind deaf and dumb.

The Butterfly Effect

The Butterfly Effect

Foreword:

Edgar Allan Poe, in his essay "The Philosophy of Composition" wrote “It appears evident, then, that there is a distinct limit, as regards length, to all works of literary art- the limit of a single sitting”. The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America attribute a piece of work with less than 7,500 words as a short story. This however is an attempt, a stepping stone if you must, to produce a composition covering a wide theme and well developed characters.

The Second Act, the accidental name I chose for my blog, and its consequential description is hopefully reflected in what I have tried to produce. A story that stays in the Second Act, so to speak, throughout, and the first and last acts are encompassed in it.

A positive review would provide me the confidence to try and write more exhaustive stories. A good critique will help me write better and improve my current writing before I transcend to the arena of novellas and novels.

Another Day At The Office.

“What a nut!” the young apprentice fumed as he took his seat. “Now, now; I’m sure you knew you’d find such people here.” mocked the senior. “Well yeah. But this guy is ridiculous. He thinks the world is conspiring against him!” the fellow harped on. “Son, I’ve seen worse here. This is an institution after all.” Their focus shifted to the monitor.

The nurse came in with the medication. A Beautiful Mind was paused as the patients swallowed their pills grudgingly.

The Story

On a late summer morning,
they sat out under the li’l tree.
The ol’ geezer speaking,
of all of life’s mystery.

The young ones were so restless,
they craved for some fun and glee.
“A long time ago,
in a land across the sea..”

Their attention captured
by the wise man’s yarn wound late
“a young couple had to part,
for they sought different fate.”

“Well gram’pa,
that is such a shame”
“Hush li’l one, hear me out
‘fore your judgments came.”

“The lad head round the world
in search of fool’s gold and knowledge untold.
The lady, content with her life
stayed back to her chores of old.”

The tale moved, over a decade
through all their miseries and ecstasies, in severance.
The tale moved, the li’l ones to tears
as they laughed and wept, in pittance.

“Then came the day of reunion
they were now not what they had been.
They only had memories
of a different lovely life they had seen.”

“They embraced each other,
not willing to let go.
The decade’s longing,
this moment they showed.”

“Sigh, ‘Happy Ending’.
Oh Gram’pa, I find that very boring.”
“Well Son, in Life you’ll see
you’d crave for such, but they’d rarely be.”