Scene: A young, scholarly priest walks past the banks of the holy Ganga, as a pale yellow evening settles. Visibly brooding, he takes no notice of the sights and greetings around him, and makes straight for home, where, laying the plain jute satchel of books atop a wooden desk, he pulls out a loosely bound one and begins to write, just as the early eastern skies begin to darken.
Tag: thought
Cogito, ergo sum
Jot down the first thing that comes to your mind. In my defence, it did start with one... #1- The first butterfly I ever saw. Deep, dark colours wth intricate, detailed prints (different on both wings, to my surprise), on the dining room wall as we moved into the new house. Fascinating how it didn't… Continue reading Cogito, ergo sum
Strangers On The Way
What gives you direction in life? He is in the bazaar in the afternoon heatas the soft, cool breezeAt the fun puppet showwith the joyful children manouvering the string In the crowded carnivalHe is the kind strangerensuring your safetyIn the dusty eveningby the roadside cobblerHe's making conversation At the alley of handicraftshe's the blissful winkcarved… Continue reading Strangers On The Way
One? Please.
Do you have a quote you think of often? "Into this universe, and why not knowing,Nor whence, like water willy-nilly flowing;And out of it, as wind along the waste,I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing." from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam Other honourable mentions "Ever thus thou growest beautiful, in silence, then before thine answer given,… Continue reading One? Please.
The state of affairs
Walking uncaringly past, with avoidant eyes the home of a crying, needy neighbour.. ..as slaves to one's own lies, by choice, free to choose just another liar as leader.
Séance
But I'm not entitled anymore, to express. I've lost that claim that comes with a certain belongingness, so I remain silent instead and watch it rain, over the hungry mountains... for, I know, the dust will settle.
Drunk
If truth could get drunkand blame his cups for his wordswould they still be lies?
Disappearance
They call it lost lovefor love is a child that cannot disappearjust because he is unwantedso he wanders off by himselfas the bullied in the schoolyardforced to be alone at recessor a little lamb in the forestsent away from its pento live by the lonely streams and be heardcrying softly to the birds at sunset
Lines by candlelight
In the darkest of your nightswhat are you dreaming of? When your lids, as curtains, pallthe windows to your soulwhat are you thinking of? Do your visions play as melodiesor silent monochrome stills… What colours make up your worldWhat lies behind the scenes…show me.. let me in..
Plea of the parted
How did they do it, those parted by wars pain and barbed wires all those years ago?
Ishaisms 
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