Weight of the abstract

The limelight shines on me ‘cos of what they perceive

As readiness to play the game

And my steps soon become unsteady

As I try to lift a ton of fame

I bend further and my back begins to crack under

the weight of expectations riding on my shoulders

then in one fiery rush, my hope gets crushed

when desperation rolls in like a massive boulder

Disappointment and regret hang heavy from my neck

I’m trying to steer my ship clear of a wreck

A thick fog of negativity hangs in the air

I doubt if I will see even the brightest flare

In a world oozing with fragmented humanity

Solitude weighs down my heart

It will probably take a gargantuan jackhammer

To break its sturdy crust apart

Tons of truth and sorrow often come crashing down

Leave everything in their path destroyed

Amidst all these riots, I still keep searching for

That cherished, precious ounce of joy

Musings

He came back from a walk after dinner and gulped down half a bottle of water in the searing summer heat. He hadn’t felt good in quite some time recently. A rather long time, in fact. Nothing seemed to be able to enliven his rusting mind. A usually refreshing glass of iced tea didn't make a difference either.

He thought about what had gone wrong and when. Nothing particularly outstanding struck him. It seemed that over the past few months, he had become sort of detached from everyone. Involved, being together with them, staying in touch, but still somehow detached. As if some invisible wall had crept up between him and everything else. After some events in the previous few days, he was thinking about the futility and utility of it all. All of it was supposed to mould him, shape him. But into what?

He could be described as an impervious façade masking an undertone of gloom and helplessness and an explosive presence of anger, standing under a cloud of uncertainty. He knew that he was about to be ravaged in less than two weeks’ time, and was almost confident that what lay ahead was beyond his ken. These thoughts stirred around for a while, and as it always seemed to happen in recent times, they vanished. They seemed to have no effect on him. As if they never existed to begin with.

His apparently isolated, stagnant, doubt-filled self then resumed the mundane activities of daily life.

Forty Winks

Around 0100 hrs.

Just saw the latest score of a high profile football match online. Switch off my computer and tube light. Speed up the fan, dress down to my shorts and lie down in bed.

0200 hrs.

Not asleep yet. Random thoughts swirling around in my mind. All sorts of random things spring up and I can't stop thinking about them. Getting frustrated now. Trying to clear my mind before falling asleep, but looks like mission impossible.

0230 hrs.

Still not asleep. Kick around uneasily in irritation. I can actually sense the heat of impending anger rushing through my head. It isn't doing any good in helping me sleep, though...

0300 hrs.

Still stirring about uncomfortably. Find it a little too bright inside my room. Why don't they turn off that damn floodlight? An argument based on logic is out of question since they blame it all on some 'timer' which keeps some of those lamps on at midday and off at 7 pm. Nobody wants to be responsible for anything around here.

Cover up the remaining open part of my window with old newspapers, then go back and lie down in bed.

0715 hrs.

John Petrucci makes his influence felt as my phone starts belting out the delightful opening notes of Glasgow Kiss. I promptly wake up, in a dazed condition, turn off the melodious alarm and go back to sleep. Screw the 8 AM class.

0930 hrs.

Feels good, despite having gone through all sorts of weird dreams in an apparently fully conscious state. I can clearly see what I'm dreaming, and when I'm seeing those things, I'm fully aware that I'm dreaming. I can remember most of it. Some strange phenomenon at work here; can't remember any such thing being mentioned in that presentation on sleep that me and a few friends given a couple of years ago.

Brush my teeth, rush down to the mess for breakfast before they start taking things off the tables. Have a class at 1000 hrs.

Then follows a largely nondescript day loaded with classes, maybe a couple of hours' sleep to utilize time during bunked classes, a lazy feeling stretching throughout the afternoon, maybe a game of football in the evening, dinner and then a generally somewhat productive post-dinner session.

Then the whole cycle repeats. Over and over and over again.

Lone Crusader

Forsaken by everyone, forgotten by all

Standing steady through many a squall

One of the few beacons that show the mark

but unknown to the masses who stay clear of the dark

Alone, he begins his search for the mushrooming menace

He knows that the bad seed has been planted

But the herds of hopeless multitudes are convinced

that this is what some higher power wanted

No one is ready to walk in his boots

He burns the midnight oil while others slumber

Relentlessly he continues his pursuit

but is lost among the sheer numbers

Incredible it is that he's unabated and that

he hasn't been driven as mad as a hatter

He wants to respond to a faint cry of help

lost somewhere in the shallow, loquacious chatter

Misaligned multitudes don't care what he's thinking

They are oblivious to it, but the ship is sinking

He continues his search for the rare like-minded souls

knowing it's beyond him to plug all the holes

Possessed of qualities certain to astound

but lost to the apathy of those who surround;

like a lone wolf, he prowls around,

clueless whether he's the hunter or the hunted