DEATH'S CRADLE - A Song

The morning waves to the night's dark
Trees, upon their dying barks
Dogs, brawling over a piece of bone
The air's filled with cries and moan

It's the death's cradle of eternal sleep
It's never too late to get up and weep
Rise and shine Or give-up and whine
It'll never leave you, in peace again

It's your death's cradle of eternal peace
Just tuck in and be and all will cease
Rise and shine Or give-up and whine
You'd end-up being neither yours nor mine!

The lullabye is now elegy
What suffers, is vitality
Mirrors showing the faces, gone
I've got no mind to just move on

It's the death's cradle of eternal sleep
There's no way you can ever have a peep
Nobody, is your destiny
Give up and plead on your knees

It's your death's cradle of eternal peace
Your legs are locked without the keys
Nobody, is your destiny
Give up and don't take chance, any!

It's the death's cradle of eternity...

SOUND OF SILENCE

Saying it aloud sometimes, makes it mean less than what it should mean. That communication, I do not think can happen anywhere else. Sometimes, there are so many candles around to sustain the light, that otherwise does not exist. The smile, that comes from within us at that moment- that private joke. With whom was it enjoyed? Who shared the smile with you? It makes me think at times. I need not bother thinking about these. There are so many other stories, lying deep within, left to be woven into words. I can think about those. Else, I can take pleasure in spending a thoughtless life. A nine hours of practiced, uncomplicated, precise, thought-free life and the one after that too. Why is that I wish to talk? Talk with this someone deep within? Enjoy a smile that I cannot enjoy with any other soul around, anywhere else?

*****

Have you ever spoken to yourself? Each time I read about Schizophrenia, or be it any other kind of, say- psychosis- you feel you actually have it. That's the beauty of psychology. But seriously speaking? Have you ever spoken to yourself? Sometimes, I do enjoy listening to myself. May be, that is my way of liking myself. Some people do. I know just one other person who does that. She said that to me. No. I do not have Schizophrenia.

*****

As I type these words down, there is some strange voice, so much like mine, that keeps repeating these words along with me. It sounds just like mine. But the difference is this. My voice, can never say these words. My Appa, sometime back told me this. That he thinks that I get possessed when I write. May be this is what he had meant when he said that. Strange words! As though, I am reading into someone's personal journal! I am not supposed to. But when the "not supposed" enters into the frame, it means, it wants it to be heard. These words. Here. The black, the white. They are from the one within. Not mine. Do I make sense? I do not know. "I", here is who? I do not know!

*****

Whenever I say the word "I", I feel that it resonated with some other sound from within. Some say, it has something to do with religion! No. Self is truth. Who am I to lecture on truth. A fellow dunce, in this institution called "Life". When you read me, lecturing you about truth, don't you feel something deep inside churning the stagnant pool that you are? "Who the hell is she to lecture me on this"? Do you hear it? I don't lie!

*****

Talk to it. It does not have any sound. It wants to come out. Help it come out. It has just one means. Giraffes use sound that is beyond human hearing capabilities. They are not mute. So I have heard. The only muted soul, lies deep inside us. Listen to it's voice. Feel it's sound. Feel that sound vibrate through your vocal chords. Feel it's pleasure soaring up through your veins. Feel it's smile on your lips. Help it share it's private joke with you. And remember this! You do not have Schizophrenia!

*****