A Phoenix Rises from its Ashes

 Dedicated to my friends, you know who You are :)

A phoenix is a mythical bird with a colorful plumage and a tail of gold and scarlet (or purple, blue, and green according to some legends). It has a 500 to 1,000 year life-cycle, near the end of which it builds itself a nest of twigs that then ignites; both nest and bird burn fiercely and are reduced to ashes, from which a new, young phoenix or phoenix egg arises, reborn anew to live again. It is said that the bird's tears contain healing abilities of pureness, and their cry is that of a beautiful song.-Source: Wikipedia

In the room beyond that door, which is just like the one I currently am in, I can see a marvelous crystal phoenix. The sunrays from the window, reflects various colors from its surface, not unlike a rainbow. It’s perfect, in every sense of the word. So perfect, it seems mythical, but it is right there, and I can see it, and so it must be real. Every move it makes, it seems to radiate, not reflect the light that falls on it. Every word of its song seems so beautiful to me, so precious, so true. A tear drops from its eye. Even that tear drop seems perfect, perfectly shaped, healing some wound, making things a bit better.

I’m sure if you step in my place, you’ll see it too. As you move, closer, away, as you sway, as you stand still, you notice it imitates you perfectly. It looks so perfect, yet you look for imperfections. It looks so familiar, and you can’t place it. Until, you catch the glimpse of light reflected from its eye, and you realize. It isn’t any crystal phoenix. It’s a mirror, and you are the crystal phoenix.

You, the one with the tear pouring down one eye. You heal the wounds of others with it, ignoring the wounds hidden deep within you, which time hasn’t been able to heal.

You, the one that even when you cry, it seems a beautiful song to the listener. The one that soothes, that calms, ignoring the chaos within you. Melodious, exactly what the listener wants to hear, answering life’s questions for someone, with no one to listen to you ‘crying’.

You, the one that is perfect, ideal. An example for others to follow. You, that is meant to follow a path laid out for you since before you were born. One that leads to things admired, sure, but one you may not have wanted. One you can’t stray from, even when what you do want, is right around that previous turn you should have taken on your path.

You, the one supposed to lead. The one that others can look up to. No guides or aides to help you, but you must lead towards a victorious end. You, that can do no wrong, not because you’re always right, but because you are not allowed to do anything wrong. Only your glories are to be highlighted, your failures, rare though they might be, punished personally, and unknown to a world that could learn from your mistakes.

You, the one that seems crystal to the world, so exquisite, so delicately put together. Everyone appreciates that. No one appreciates how little it would take to break you.

But it does take little to break you. You are that brittle. Maybe one little push, a shiver to the stand you’re perched on. That will be the end of you. You might survive it, but that gleam, that reflection from your own eye, that is what breaks you. You realize your imperfections, you realize your unfamiliarity. You realize them because it’s true. You cannot bear to look at yourself anymore, and that is why, when you do look, right into the eyes of your reflection, you break.

Crumble into fine bits, and finally ashes. They, who you healed, who you soothed, who you led, who you were an ideal to, spare you a glance or two of pity, no more. That, to them, is the end of you. The End of an Era they claim to say, as if they ever knew you. But man’s greatest fault has been his ignorance. They do not realize.

You are broken, you cannot be fixed. But your greatest strength was in knowing you were broken. And so you let yourself ‘die’ in their eyes. But really, you were only waiting, biding your time. What is broken cannot be fixed, but you are beyond broke, you are back to ashes. And only when something is completely destroyed, can something new be created in its place.

And that’s what you’re set to do. Rise again, rise from the ashes. Slowly, but surely. Some might realize it’s you, most won’t, but it won’t matter. What will matter is you. Because, once you're born again, renewed in body and mind, you will be everything you ever wanted to be, even if it is nothing what is expected of you.

The phoenix, reborn, will not be of icy crystal. It will be full of fire within. It will not travel along paths laid down for it. It will soar through the open skies. Flying, resting, soaring again. Never staying. It will lead by example, with its failures being celebrated as much as its victories, its right to its own share of mistakes acknowledged, accepted. It will sing songs, that will soothe, and answer, but they will be songs its learned from its life. Songs about its failures maybe, but songs it is proud of, not about its hurt. Its tears may heal, but they wont be tears of its own wounds that are still open. It will be tears of joy, of victories past. Tears that will heal much quicker, much better.

It will soar, into the open skies, so high, above anyone, anything that can claim the sky. It will fly alone, but that will be out of choice, not necessity. It will be perfect, maybe not to me, maybe not to you, but when that phoenix next looks into its own reflection, it will not look away from itself, nor will it crumble when it meets the eye of its reflection. The fire within it will soar further. It will engulf the phoenix, the mirror, the reflection and the phoenix will further flourish.

It is then that you realize, there is no ice, no fire, no mirror, no reflection. No phoenix. There is only you. Then, and now.

Note: The idea for this post came to me more than a week ago, and weird(pleasant) coincidence that it was, I noticed that a friend of mine had written a poem, titled 'The Phoenix Arrives'. Be sure to check it out. Great piece of work.

(More Than) Empty Conversations

Note: Another long one. Be warned.

I’d had one of those days, when everything was well on its way downhill, and going further down. It was late at night, way past the time I’d be allowed to walk into my hostel. ‘Guess I’ll just have to jump the wall again’ I’d thought, as I made my way down to the sea facing promenade. It was, as it always is, almost full of couples. I found a spot that was well lit and therefore relatively couple-free. I’d settled on the concrete and was blankly staring at the water, almost black in the dark, crashing onto the rocks. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them, and was sort of glad as it was finally letting me blank out a bit.

‘Those rocks’, (I’d jumped a foot into the air), ‘are sharp. They’ll bruise pretty badly. And the water. If the tide catches up, it could get real tricky.’ I’d been trying to get my breath back as he finished with ‘Could hurt someone real bad, but probably won’t kill’. With my senses (and my ass back on the concrete) back, I’d realized I knew the guy. Correction, I knew of him. He’d been one of those guys, that everyone knew, popular, and not necessarily in a good way. I had an easy way of categorizing people like him – Jerk. Great! And he has to be suicidal. Excuse me if I’m not out saving the world and its mortals tonight. ‘Not worth it, if you wanna kill yourself’, he smirked. I decided he wasn’t worth a response, gave him my best What-is-your-f-ing-problem? look and went back to staring at the dark rocks and water.

‘I almost didn’t recognize you.’ Yeah well, remind me to thank all the Gods there might be. As if he’d heard me, and yet, as though he was talking to himself he continued, ‘Your camera. You always seem to be behind it, you seem incomplete without it.’ Before I could think it through, I pointed at my back-pack and said ‘It’s in here. Not feeling much like taking pictures tonight.’ Now I wondered why I was justifying myself to him. And what the hell does he mean, incomplete without it? I’m without it lots of times… sometimes…occasionally. And how did he notice anyway? He’d have to be around to notice, and he pretty sure wasn’t., was he?

I’d never spoken to him, never so much as acknowledged or been acknowledged by him, and I sure didn’t want to start now, when I was at my anti-social best. ‘So, what is a girl like you doing here at a time like this?’ he asked. Two questions immediately arose in my mind. He wanted to be all chatty now? And Girl like me? Again, thoughtlessly, and a bit irritated, I answered ‘My boyfriend ran away with my best friend, so...’ As can be expected, I was greeted with silence. It was my turn to smirk when I looked around and saw his look that screamed too-much-information. Surprising even myself, I let out a laugh, and then laughed some more when he gave me another look that clearly said he thought I’d lost it. Between laughs, I confessed ‘It’s just a phrase my friend uses.’ His look didn’t change, and I explained further, ‘You know when you have a problem that seems to be bigger than the world to you, but insignificant to most people? This phrase is the mother of all such problems’. He nodded, but he still looked a bit unsure of my sanity.

We’d sat for a few more minutes in silence and strangely, I wasn’t minding the company. Even stranger, once I’d started, I wanted to talk more. So I continued. ‘It’s been a really bad day. Just had to get away from it all, you know.’ I didn’t know what I’d expected, but certainly not his ‘Yes, I do.’ I’d waited for him to continue, say something more, but right from the start he’d be the one who controlled our ‘conversation’, and he said nothing more. As time passed us by, and waves crashed at out feet dangling over the edge, we rifted in and out of conversations. Him doing most of the talking, me getting in a few questions, but not all the answers. Turned out, we’d both frequented this place often, but never bumped into each other. I’d thought that in my year and a half in this city, I’d been the most regular visitor at this spot, even counting the couples, but he’d beaten me at that.

Randomly he’d ask me a question like ‘So then what is your boyfriend-ran-away-with-your-best-friend-problem?’ that would follow a completely harmless question like, ‘what other places in the city do you haunt?’ Maybe it was that I’d had a crappy day, or just that I was expecting some deep introspection tonight, but I felt myself open up, like I hadn’t in ages. Maybe I’d sub-consciously known what was in store for the future of this conversation. More times than one, I was more than halfway through saying something, before I myself comprehended the magnitude of what I was telling him. Like ‘when I left home, I was so sure of myself, I knew what I wanted, and I knew I could never get that back home.’ He didn’t prompt, he didn’t assume, he didn’t judge. Maybe that was what made me continue, ‘I left everything behind there, everything. And now, I don’t even know what I’m doing, why I’m doing it or even whom I’m doing it for.’ ‘Sometimes you’re not supposed to. Until the end. But no matter what you do, there is almost always the time and concession to go back a few steps and correct your mistakes.’ While I stared in shock at the profundity in his words, it was his turn to laugh out aloud, as he said ‘that’s a phrase I read somewhere. Personally I think you’re screwed. Maybe you ought to jump.’ I’d almost pushed him into the water then.

Couples around us left, a few more came, but even they left before we’d moved. Mostly it had been just long periods of silence. Twice, I distinctly remembered, he’d handed me those small glasses of coffee. I’d never even noticed when he’d gone and come back. He’d probably got it from one of those vendors, which set up stalls for creatures of the night like us. To my question, ‘Why do you pretend to be such a jerk?’, he’d answered, ‘the same reason you pretend not to care.’ No direct answers. While I’d learnt a lot more about him; that he hated movies, just had to always listen to music (I could see his earplugs dangling beneath his collar, and some music blasting from it), and surprise, surprise, that he was actually well read, I still didn’t know anything about him. But even as I asked the questions, I didn’t push him for the answers.

We’d danced around the questions the other asked, at some point we’d gotten up and walked a bit along the promenade, thrown pebbles into the sea trying to see who could throw it the farthest (even though we couldn’t actually see the stones), none of the things I’d ever imagined I’d be doing that night, much less with him. Honestly, before I’d realized it, we noticed it getting lighter around us, the sun was rising. I’d taken out my camera, for a few morning shots, shots that I never would have gotten considering the unearthly hour for me. He’d got us more coffee, and as we sat drinking it, I managed to get a few candid shots of his, as he answered, or avoided answering a question of mine. ‘What is a guy like you doing here at a time like this?’ I asked. ‘Remember your phrase?’ he asked me. ‘Yes’. ‘I was the boyfriend’. Even though it didn’t answer my question, I thought that was all I was going to get, and went back to my coffee. Surprising me for the umpteenth time, he said, softly, ‘I cheated on my girlfriend, with her best friend’. Needless to say, I didn’t have a response, preferring to slurp at that last bit of bitter black liquid at the bottom of the glass. ‘So you see, I am a jerk.’ We sat in silence for a few minutes, till I heard and was nearly blinded by the flash of my own camera. ‘The hunter becomes the hunted’, he grinned. And a smile crept onto my face, as I looked at the picture. I hated pictures of myself, but this was a good one. Nothing pretty about it, just candid. Me staring out at the ocean, with some of it in the frame, and the soft light of sunrise.

‘Anyway, time for me to go’. Just like that. Abrupt. Just like everything the night had been. Weirdly, I didn’t find it awkward, or rude. ‘Yeah, me too. My roomie’s gonna …’ I stopped at his too-much-information look and smiled, as he stood up and turned to walk away. No goodbye. ‘Hey’, I called out, ‘what were you really doing here tonight?’ I don’t know why I’d asked him that. It wasn’t that he’d have given me an answer then. But then he stopped mid stride, turned around and said ‘Considering jumping down onto those rocks.’ He smiled at the look on my face and waved.

I saw him next a couple of days later in college. We passed each other along a corridor, him with those jerk friends of his, me rushing out. We looked at each other, but there wasn’t recognition on either of our faces, no acknowledgement of that night.

When I’d been uploading my most recent batch of pictures that night, I suddenly realized, I had none of those shots of his I’d taken. Mine, of course was still there. The only evidence.

That was the last I saw him.

That was two years ago.

A couple of nights ago, I happened to go back to that place, not unlike the several other times I had done since then. But that night, I saw him there. He was sitting there at the same spot, where we’d had our last coffee. This time, when we looked at each other, we acknowledged it.

As happens sometimes a moment settled... and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped… for much, much more than a moment. And then the moment was gone.

Note: Credit to my friend (who doesn't want it), for the phrase 'My Boyfriend Ran Away with my Best Friend' as a categorization for earth-shattering problems :-p


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Song Recommendation: Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd

The Greatest Game Ever Played

She decided, this time to win the Greatest Game Ever Played.

She knew the perfect opponent to pick, the player who never strayed.

He owned the game and she’d been hurt at it,

It wasn’t a situation he would forfeit.

And so when she asked him ‘What the rules for the Game may be?’

He said ‘Whatever you want them to be’

He thought he couldn’t lose at a game invented by him

And she thought she couldn’t lose if the rules were hers.

His only condition: ‘No one knows about this but you and me’

Hers: ‘You can’t fall in love with me’

The rules and conditions were quickly agreed upon,

Coz it fit what they each wanted right from the dawn.

And so the Game started, and for sure it was like no other.

No candlelit dinners, no long walks and surely no promises of forever.

Such an easy relationship they had never known,

where regrets and emotional burdens were never borne.

She cherished her little secret; glad the world didn’t know every bit of her life,

He loved that she didn’t cling, and that to pamper her he didn’t have to strive.

So ‘blissed’ were they in their assumed victories approaching fast,

Neither realized the day either should have won was long past.

Alas! As happens often, when things are going too right,

Reality hit them right in the face with a light shining too bright.

While they still followed each of her rules to the book,

The conditions, they both seemed to have let off the hook.

They both wished to share their joy with a world so down in sorrow,

They each had started to wish a little more for tomorrow.

But he still thought the game was his,

She thought she could still bend the rules slightly and still win.

Until one day he could take it no more,

And said to her ‘This game doesn’t seem like mine any more. It has to end’

She knew she could take it either way now, maybe give herself another chance,

But she said instead ‘The rules are still mine, and the ball is now at your end’.

They both knew what had happened. She had given him the ‘trump’ card.

If he wanted to keep this game on, he’d have to initiate their steps on this boulevard.

He still thought the game was his, and could not let her win.

Even as he felt his heart break he said ‘Game over’ and left her in the din.

Neither had lost, but no one won. The game left at a stalemate. The pawns stuck in their places with no place to go

He was out wondering if the Game was ever worth his state. She sat writing her story so that the world would know.

Author’s note: Yay! Another try at writing a poem. This time with words that rhymed :) I find this poem extremely hilarious. Did you get the joke? My poem, my story ends here. But I told a couple of my friends I’d give them a happy ending at least once. If you wish to read, it, carry on.

A day passed, and then some.

They each realized the Game lost would not have felt so lonesome.

They bumped into each another one day, while their lives were still a mess.

At a romantic diner overlooking the beach none the less.

The irony not lost on them, they smiled honest smiles,

They fumbled over the first few words that seemed to lessen between them the miles.

Finally, he asked her ‘What the rules this time may be?’.

She smiled and said ‘Sill what I shall want them to be’

Authour’s note again: I know it should have ended ‘Whatever you want them to be’, but I couldn’t resist :-p 

And I feel like I’ve betrayed myself, but there you guys, there’s your extremely overrated ‘happy ending’.


~


Song recommendation: Far Away by Nickelback

Pictures of You, Pictures of Me

“All photographs are accurate. None of them is the truth.”

 ~Richard Avedon

Each day, or should I say night, as I travel back home from work, navigating through hundreds of vehicles,  cursing at traffic signals that just have to turn red when I reach them, and trying hard to avoid killing pedestrians oblivious to vehicles and moving as if they own the roads, I pass homes, lots of them. At the time I travel home, thanks to my oh-so-exciting job, the lights in most windows are turned off. Some windows however, still shine bright with light. My eyes seem to search for these windows, seek them out in the otherwise dark backgrounds behind streetlights. Over days, I’ve noticed a pattern. If you look long enough, closely enough, these windows seem just like paintings, the view seeming to be almost the same each day. I know it may sound perverse but the people behind those windows, their routines, seem mine now. For the fraction of a second (or a minute or two depending upon the traffic really), that I pass by these windows, I feel like I’m living those moments with them, like they are my family, away from family. Today, I decided to stop and take a picture of each of these windows. Life seems so uncertain; you never know what tomorrow holds. I want to treasure these few moments with my “family”, and what better way then pictures?

Picture 1: A man, old enough to be my father, sitting at a table, eating dinner. The light here is almost always candle-light, like it is tonight, and the soft glow of the flame, lends wonderful color to the image. He sits at an angle, and I can’t see if he’s alone but I assume his wife keeps him company. Oh, for companionship at that age and a wonderful home cooked meal to come home to!

Picture 2: A couple, cuddling together on a couch. The woman gazing up lovingly every few minutes at something the man says, and the man bending down to kiss her forehead or smiling down at her an equal number of times. Oh to be in love, and be loved, and want for nothing more!

Picture 3: A teenage girl, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, with headphones on, dancing away to glory. No particular dance form, but yet so graceful. Dancing without the slightest hint of self-consciousness, she moves from one end of the room to another, sometimes frantically picking up pace, sometimes slowing down to just moving on the spot, the tiny LED’s above her head casting her in various colors. Oh to not have the worries of a ‘grown-up’ world!

Picture 4: A boy, at his study-table, studying by the light of a table lamp. He seems to do it each day, with the same amount of concentration, even when I’m sure the exams have passed and the next one is far away. Oh, to go back to a time when all that mattered were exams or more importantly, the holidays that came after!

While I have several more pictures, these 4 seem to strike me the most. The ones I’ll treasure for years to come, because they represent people with whom I’d gladly exchange my life, if only for a day.

The view from behind the window:

Window 4: Another night, the few hours before daylight creeps back. So little time, so much to study. If only these equations would start to make sense. My back hurts from sitting for so long, am sure I’ll be a hunchbacked old man. My eyes are droopy with sleep, but I can’t give in. not yet. If I don’t study this tonight, no way will I ever be able to catch up. Am already behind, so behind my schedule. At this rate, I will never be able to get into any of the colleges dad wants me to go to. Times like this, I wish I could just pick up my guitar, which I haven’t touched in days and run away. or maybe, if I could just put on a CD and listen to it. With headphones on. I won’t disturb anyone, but just a minute of escape, and then I’ll get back to studying, I promise.

Window 3: there. That’s better. Now all I can hear is the music, filling my ears, filling my world. I’m moving with it, and it sounds so good. No, no, I got to turn it up louder, I can hear them again, need to shut them out. Need to stop moving so much, maybe they’ll hear me, if they would just stop yelling at each other for one tiny second. The yelling, it never stops. Sometimes, it goes beyond that. And so, my music must. I might die old and deaf, but if it means I can’t hear them yell, I’ll gladly take it. I just hope that tonight, they stay out there, and my door doesn’t slam back on its hinges, with him standing there, angry, so angry, and me blanking out everything, bracing myself for the only ting that can come next. The first blow, that’s the hardest. Please, none tonight though. This is the loudest the music can get. Thank God for this music, and for my boyfriend, who got me into it. The sweetest escape. Both him and the music. Times like this, it seems so simple to just run away with him, and leave this all behind. Just him and me, our own little world. No worries.

Window 2: I could keep her here with me forever, I wish I could take us both away to where it was only us. It seems so comfortable to be here with him. So safe, so secure. Too comfortable. I don’t think I could ever love anyone as much as I love her. She’ so precious, yet so brittle. He loves me, I know it, and I think I love him. But why isn’t it enough for me? My search ends with her. She is the answer to all my life’s questions. Eternity would seem a small time frame to spend with her. Will she stay? What am I looking for? Will my search ever end? Only one way to find out. I have to leave, but I can’t let him know. If he asks me to stay, will I really be able to leave? But I can’t be happy here. She’s left her world for me. just as I know she will leave my world, for something she is searching. I cant ask her to stay, but can I really let her go?

Window 1: 14 years. 14 years and counting that I’m having my dinner alone. And I have only myself to blame. I wasn’t the ideal son, but I pushed my son to be everything I wasn’t. Pushed him too far. One wonderful woman left me and broke my heart, and the second chance that I got with another one, I blew. Never did treat her right. My wife’s dead. My son won’t come visit me. He became everything I pushed him to become and in the bargain pushed him too far away to expect him to come back to me. No more than I deserve. I look out of the window, I was sure I sensed a tiny flash, like that from a camera, and sure enough I see a young man there. Did he just take a picture of me? I try looking into his face, like I do for each young man I see, looking for my son. But it’s too dark outside. He puts down his camera, walks towards his car and rides of. Where are you off to my boy? Running away? Or seeking?

… Because they represent people with whom I’d gladly exchange my life, if only for a day.

~

Song Recommendation: Outside by Staind

I haven’t, and yet, I have

I haven’t lived long enough to know if death could be more pleasant than life.
I’ve lived long enough to know that what matters is to make each day  alive count.

I haven’t loved strong enough to understand two bodies one soul.
I have loved enough to know I cant live entrapped with not even my soul to call just my own.

I haven’t read enough to claim to know it all.
I’ve read enough to know that tomorrow I shall read something that amazes me more.

I haven’t traveled enough to know every corner of the world.
I’ve traveled enough to know only one place can ever be called home.

I haven’t been away from home long enough to know what home-sickness is.
I’ve been away enough to know you  can never go ‘home’ again.

I haven’t lost enough to ever have felt I have nothing more to lose.
I’ve lost enough to know I can never get back what I had.

I haven’t ever wanted enough to not want anything more.
I’ve wanted enough to know what a desperate measure is.

I haven't done a lot of things I wanted to do, but when I think of it,

I haven’t, and yet, I have…



Note: The line in italics(I haven't done a lot of things I wanted to do, but when I think of it) was contributed by my traveler friend and fellow blogger Angelo . You can look at some of the pictures from his travels here .

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Song Recommendation: Lost by Coldplay