A Million Corpses on My Head, at first...

A rather geometric, semi circular moon reminded me tonight, of the inevitable two sidedness of all things in life. It was shining its normal self, following every rule in the book. But beyond its innocent knowledge, the clouds had schemed to bare the macabre just this once. Aligned in parallel curves of handsome length and enlivened by the unconditional grace of the moon, and perhaps a distant sun, they brought to life images of the holocaust, on their infiniteness bounding screens. Gracefull rows of blackness became the all too visible ribs of the lucky survivors. The mass closest to our monthly time keeper took the shape of a face disfigured.
Whilst witing this, sprawled on maohanda's rooftop, I tried in vain to find some semblance of life in the midst of death and all his friends. Unable to do so, continued writing.
THEN,
3.14159 minutes later, glanced upwards, and saw the ribs fading. Stretched my neck, and behold!
In front of my eyes was a baby developing in its mother's womb. The image that is produced by ultrasounds, it almost seemed to move with a life waiting to find its place in an inviting world. My original message, when I got down to writing this, was the essential duality that spares not even the celestial moon; how even that harbinger of things of love and longing, was made to witnesss the worst the world had seen; how its usually inspiring actions had today, in a personally unprecedented manner, opened my eyes to the darkest moments man has known. How, nobody is destined to a life of eternal, idyllic bliss. Bliss must be earned. Its value must be in realized and comprehended. Then came along that cheery little humanling!

Fading death and approaching life HAD to convey that universal message, which has formed the basis of man's existence at its lowest, most pathetic states; that, which from the time of Pandora had been His eternal gift to us. The essential beauty that enveloped every facet of our existence; that makes every day a song of praise; that which is visible in His eyes. That child, is HOPE.

The Cloak of Days Gone Past

Standing at the passport office queue at 7:43am for a counter slated to open at 9:30 can be daunting for the best of us. So, as is very often the case with lifelines thrown by Him, along came something majorly insignificant to add value to the whole experience. Standing 2 steps in front of a Nidhi Razdan look alike girl, perhaps I was perfectly placed under a sepia tinting hemi-cylindrical plastic roof. Viewing the sky and other objects through it added a sense of antiquity which made the flying by planes reminiscent of man's first flight; the building in front of it a reflection of Victorian heights, and in all, produced a sense of the past in a very living equality with the present.

For perhaps obvious reasons this led me to the case where this might have been true with things more animate than those mentioned before. A look back at life, floating between many time dimensions, yet retaining its essential character; at us, moving beyond yesterday's boundaries, yet remaining essentially us.