Gabirol's serenity prayer.

30th October 2018.

Things get clearer in times of solace. I have heard this piece of eternal wisdom for n number of times and regardless of that, it never made sense to me. Now that I think about it, nothing makes sense to us unless they want to. And that's okay, not everything is a clear result of cause to effect, never is.

Solomon ibn Gabirol said that at the head of all understanding – is realizing what is and what cannot be, and the consoling of what is not in our power to change. So even if I might try to understand a certain things at a given point, this axiom renders it null.

I am wary of the promises, not as a stung person, but I now understand the futility of it, the asininity it presents is bewildering. I for one, had believed that we can always use our words first, communicate, think and rationalize even the most trickiest of situations and for most of the part, I was either too successful or was too blind to determine the course my words took. This in recent times have proved to be fatal to my most intimate relationships - of friends.

Yes I agree that in an age of extreme rote lives people mostly now engage in more prudish forms of association, where it lacks a lot of emotional contents; and rightly so, it's easy, expedient, but that makes sense as it reduces the off chance of getting robbed of one's own existence. I am a bit old school, "rusty old soul", a friend calls me, naturally I prefer things to be more connected or not connected at all. Which I now see has been a grievous fault; my propensity to take matters at an extreme level had always been a problem if not driving things to a point of sudden and abrupt endings. It leads me to wonder, whether there's something wrong in my approach. With age and events I am not growing wise, I am getting tired, my indiscretion comes not from self awareness but from an unbearable exhaustion.

The drivel and the manic misfortunes which just doesn't seems to end boils down to a more refined understanding of human bonds, for me at least; there are people, good in their own accord, who cannot seem to grasp what chances are. Now, it might seem as my hubris speaking, but I understand now that regardless of my best of promises, no matter what I did, the fault lines were always there. If not me then someone else would have came across them.

Do I want to cross the bridge once more or not is not a question for now, and by my estimate, it never will be. But then again, it is indeed a small world after all.

R.

In Poem

I remember you,
in poems and songs,
in an absent minded hum,
on a lazy sunday afternoon dream,
or on a bookmarked page in my second favourite novel;
everyday, against my volition.

In a day of coffee coloured sky
and when it's all drivel, I remember you,
in the corner of my eye.
When your head was on my shoulder
and my words, and your words
had meaning,
When our smiles had pureness
and love was just not a notion.

I remember you on an untuned guitar
and all the wrong notes were unwavering.
And in days to come, when I get old,
when love fades and everything is gray, I will remember how you left.

Feral wolves gnaw at my heels,
as I walk away from the past.
Blood of the ghosts, dried on my sleeves,
a testimony to what I was, what I became,
what I am and what I am becoming.
I walk away from the beginning,
from the ends that I caused,
from the dark under the flame.
I pray that I can walk away.
But the wolves and the ghosts, and
the strains of blood, they never forget.
As Sisyphus I carry my penance,
paranoid, cynical, fake to the core;
I have debts I cannot pay.
I have debts that I will never pay.