Words for Saturday

The One Song
Teardrops stain the soul’s windows
As distant melodies from yonder unknown
Wrap their fingers around my heart
A song I never knew, spoke to me
A melody I’ll never know, you see
I barely heard the words to it
And a fire in me was indeed lit
Craning neck and straining ears
I was all flustered, turning about
And my heart murmured with life
For the sweet sound did seem to whisper
Secrets that revive my thoughts most inner
This is to the one song I never even met
A tune I don’t remember but won’t forget. 
                                                               -Miss Daisy






Phantom pain and other feelings

Phantom Pain

Would it that it were
The extreme awareness
Attached to another’s existence
Then severed like a septic arm
But phantom limbs still hurt
The worst kind of pain.
                                   -Miss Daisy

I had intended on writing a rather sappy post today about my feelings/emotions lately and maybe explaining the piece above. I decided not to ‘lay myself bare’ for the world to see. I will say though, that people are not meant to go through so many emotions in the span of less-than-a-week, as I have…and still am?
I hate sorting through my feelings because I have to do something about them. Lazy Daisy- I think it’s too much work. So I write about them, then ignore them until they sort themselves out. Like magic. Because that’s how life works.

Last Night

Last night we died again, a death so deep
I don’t know about you, but I didn’t want to wake
A calm, quiet and dark kind of sleep
When your eyes open, pretend you’re still under, for my sake.
Stay still my dear, don’t you even stir
I’m dreaming of dancing under rainbows
Gradually, the scene fades into a black blur
The setting sun of being in love’s throes.
The darkness is where we belong anyway
That all familiar, welcoming embrace
Not even once did we long for the light of day
Running after this blackness, the thrill of the chase.
So let us pretend a little while longer, no harm done
I won’t hold it against you when it’s time to rise
Memories made will haunt my days when I’m alone
While I count the hours till the day dies.
                                                                    -Miss Daisy 

Neuroscience- Looking into my head




Synesthesia is a surreal blending of sensation, perception and emotion.
Because we live in God’s magical cauldron, we are all different in beautiful, special ways. In my new favourite neuroscientist’s (V. S. Ramachandran’s) words:

Some of us are synesthetes, experiencing the world in extraordinary ways, seeming to inhabit a strange no-man’s-land between reality and fantasy. They taste colour, see sounds, hear shapes or touch emotions in myriad combinations.
About a third of all poets, novelists and artists (creative people in general) have had synesthetic experiences. This is about one in six creative people. Just as synesthesia involves making arbitrary links between seemingly unrelated perceptual entities such as colour and numbers, Metaphor involves making nonarbitrary links between seemingly unrelated conceptual realms. Coincidence?
If you know me, you probably know that I am going crazy over how amazing this is! This is not a neural pathology, however, I’ve gone into a self ‘diagnosis’ mode and decided that I may be a synesthete. Why not? I wonder whether Isaac Newton’s wavelength theory of colour was inspired by his sound-colour synesthesia!! Yes…that league of talented, brainy people who change the world!
Three out of the five members of my family are poets. I found out that my brother is a grapheme-colour synesthete. He see’s numbers with inherent hues. 1 and 4 are white, 3 is grey, 6 is blue, 7 is brown and 10 is red. He also sees musical beats in three dimensional space. That is synesthesia! Small wonder, he is a really good poet.
We both see colours when we close our eyes. I’m not so sure about how special that is. I’ve always thought everyone should see these colours when they focus away from the blackness. The colours I see morph into shapes I know. Let’s put it this way: I see things and I like to think they are glimpses into alternate universes. Magical!
I am a number-line (number-space) synesthete. Too bad I’m not a mathematician (I hate math). I’d have made a genius. I see dates, (days, months and years) time and numbers sequentially, each with it’s very own position in space. It helps me keep track of the past and future, count money and do basic math (when I’m not counting using my fingers). I literally see the future as being in front of me and the past, behind me. I was awake at 3 am. this morning. Recalling that now, I see that moment behind me, on a level just above my head. 3 am. tomorrow is in front of me, above my head. 7 pm. tonight’s in front of me but on a level below 3 am. of any given day.
The year 2001 is behind me just above the year 2000, both closer to my feet than the 90s, say, my year of birth which is behind me, but above my head.

Now, the simplest way to spatially map out numerical sequences would be from left to right (East to West). The way I map mine out seems to be in a North to South ‘hills and valleys’ sort of shape. Oh, I’d love to be a neurologist’s test subject.
I would like to hear from anyone who thinks they are synesthetes. It would be amazing!!

Meant to Happen

That scent arouses vivid memories
Blissful moments when time had stopped
Try to hide the gentleness in your eyes
A little mystery never hurt anyone
These things were meant to happen.
Furtive glances stir pools of emotions
Holding back was never easy anyway
Tears over a sad, beautiful tragedy
Outbursts of private revelations
The world is not yet meant to know.
You never could keep a secret
Tell a friend or two, three at most
They can call it anything but love
Is that where you are going?
Those shoes were meant for walking.
Contentment when your paths collide
You can’t always stand at the crossroads
And moving forward is a journey unknown
That could lead you to a better place
Some things are meant to be.
That scent arouses vivid memories
It’s slowly suffocating you from inside
Masochist, you let it choke you
One part sorrow, two parts happiness
These things happen.

                                                   -Miss Daisy

Sunday Poetry


Can you feel it?
Bare feet on the wet morning grass
The feel of rose petals kissing skin
Lying in sheets of cotton candy clouds
Feather light, weightless hearts
Can you feel it coursing through you
The river that feeds your hunger?
Eyelashes dancing, tickling flushed cheeks
Memories of sun rays warming these arms
And they can rest a while longer
Hands that carry the weight of the world
Can you feel it coursing through you
The flow of momentary release?
Can you see it, touch and taste it
Remain in this moment and really be
Steal away from this life passing by
Take hold of this and live it forever
Can you feel it coursing through you
The streams of certain content?
Make the first great leap of faith
Trust an open heart to break the fall
Meanwhile, breeze tousling hair
Being held in gravity’s embrace
Can you feel it coursing through you
The surge of total surrender?   
                                              -Miss Daisy

Holiday Tuesday


Yesterday morning, I’d been thinking about the dynamics of friendship. How two people can feel like they’ve known each other all their lives, yet they just met. I have a couple of people in my life with whom I have that connection. By a couple, I mean about two people. I don’t think that’s a bad thing, it probably wouldn’t be as beautiful if there were many such people. It makes it kinda special.
Then I started thinking about writing something that will move hearts to come together, something that will change points of views and provoke thoughts in the minds of great thinkers, something that will be remembered long after I’m gone. I thought of writing a piece so remarkable it would shake your world when you read it.

What I did come up with, may or may not be as brilliant as I’d have dreamed. I wrote a poem in the morning traffic on my way to school. I, however, choose not to have it up for the time being for I have a special plan for it…and I kind of want it to remain like a tiny baby in my hands.
What I will put up in its stead, is a poem I wrote while watching the rain fall outside my window. I bet you will never guess what it’s about!!



Rain
Shimmering crystals of light
One two three, they fall down
Sparkly diamonds from above
Soaked up by the ground below
Up close I could number each one
Reach out and take a single droplet
But in the quiet distance
It seems a blurry, misty sheet
Falling diagonally and sometimes vertically
Beating the earth like a great drum
The creatures rise up from underground
To dance in the pouring glory
Won’t you join us then
In a dance of renewal and purification
Where we are brought out of ourselves
And into the oneness of life.
 

Decision Making

I hate these moments when there’s one thing on your mind the entire day and when you think you’ve finally forgotten to remember to think about it, you see a slight movement at the corner of your eye, or hear the vibration of your phone accompanied by the blinking light and you give a start. You think, ‘Confound it all!!’ It’s made its way to your subconscious mind. Not good! The worst part is that you had not dared to admit it to yourself that it was bugging you, because you actually care and are really concerned.
Well, I made a decision that I’m not entirely confident was the right thing to do…wait, okay. Let me say that again, better this time. I made a decision that was the right thing FOR  ME to do. I hate that!! Every time something reminds me of that decision, I feel as though my heart is being wrung. I want to take it back. Who cares about the ‘me’ part? Let ‘myself’ and ‘I’ be happy go lucky for now and ‘me’ can just roll along with it till we all get hurt. At least it was worth it, right?
My decision was meant to lead to something better. It doesn’t seem so right now. I don’t see anything different, or any change. And since I’m a ‘tangible results’ kind of person with expectations always in mind, I’m all bothered. Maybe I need to wait for it, yes? Because this could be one of those life lessons in patience. Again, I hate that!!
I could just decide to mentally flush all this out and start anew. I like new beginnings: nothing to think about, past where it belongs and all of life’s brilliant white pages waiting for me to write and draw on (because I seem to think of life as a drawing book).
I hope someone elsewhere sees this (raises their left hand slightly forward, closes their eyes, gently bows and shakes their head) and says ‘Amen’, since I am going through exactly the same situation as they are, because life’s experiences cannot begin to get original in this century. If not, then my situation cannot get any clearer than explained above without me stating exactly what I am going through, giving names and pointing fingers. Who wants that?
In other news..
I have taken up running on Sundays, because I’ve been lazy, disorganised (did I mention lazy?) and unfit. I feel as though stating this will make me accountable so that this time, I won’t quit like the last five times in the past three years. Yeah, terrible track record. Pun completely intended. Did anyone get that? I will be running, like running track… 


Wish me luck!! 

Matters of the heart

Have you ever had the biggest crush in the world on someone? Like a boy (or a girl, for the guys)? And he’s the picture of virtue and perfection? You can’t even see him in your mind’s eye without that ornate marble pedestal he seems to have been born on.
You gawk at him, not too subtly at times, wide eyed and drooling at his beauty and grace. You try to imagine how it feels to exist as he does, with everyone either wanting to be him or be with him. He seems to move in movie like slow motion, gliding on the strip of air just above the ground on which we, mere mortals, tread on.
And when you really think about it (I may have, a little too much), he must be a descendant of the Greek gods of Olympus. His god-father set him to earth to learn how to be responsible, but you know he was sent here to save you, that is if he doesn’t kill you softly with his heart stopping smouldering glance.
You’ve neither spoken to him nor heard him speak. Only the sound of his laughter, like the rolling thunder in the distance have you heard. And so you imagine his voice will be like a perfectly orchestrated symphony. You long for the day the heavens will caress your eardrums with that gloriously melodious voice.
But alas, the paint cracks and falls off the walls. And the glass breaks as the scales fall from your eyes. Your expression of awe turns to one of incredulity and the beautiful background music halts!! You are sadly brought down to earth, to the place that’s the extreme opposite of Mt. Olympus. He spoke to you and it was not what you expected. 
AT.ALL.

It’s not his voice, it’s fine…perfectly ordinary. It’s what he said…or how he said it? You realise you might have built a castle in your head, whose  mere foundations couldn’t even be dug in real life. He just couldn’t meet the expectations in you had for him. Later that day find yourself in conversation with this boy and you are thinking, ‘This is the boy!! This is the guy?’ You look up to the sky while giving him those furtive glances you ask the heavens, ‘Really?’ You shake your head, for you had lost time in your waking (and dreaming) hours living in fantasies that are just embarrassing when you remember them in light of recent revelations about said crush.

Such is love, or lack thereof. When you wish you’d just held on to his mystery for a little while longer, maybe till the weekend because you have nothing exciting to look forward to. But now, even that is gone. Life’s colours are drained and it’s back to mundane existence.
 
 Mundane existence has it’s high points, though. I was able to concentrate on other things in life and noticed how beautiful this morning was. Enjoy the pretty sky lights.

Haven

Haven

In my waking hours when my hand is not wrapped around yours
I lay me down, just a couple of minutes, to catch a glimpse of you
Along the corridors, I go winding, my mind conducting tours
White washed walls with pictures of your face, a wonderful view
And I don’t mind being alone then
For I make you my haven.

-Miss Daisy.