I thought of you, with my bespectacled face
Falling asleep in the middle of a night-shift
I thought I would write a few verses in pace
And mail it to you as my new year’s gift
It beats my comprehension whenever I ask why
It expends a dozen months to start a new year
Perhaps they go by the many stars in the sky
But the concept in my mind is not yet very clear
Why does the year have to conclude in December
Making January the first long month in the calendar
Someone once told me, but I can’t quite remember
A tall tale that I had to be strained through a colander
In December or April or with a November sun set
It matters not now when the past years did end
But remember the good times and people we met
It’s time to bridge gaps and lost friendships amend
So here is a wish that I just blew into the wind
Remember its message with every breath you take
Though weak in body don’t let your spirit be thinned
As through the new year, life’s journey you make
May your heart be filled with happiness and love
And your mind be blessed with wisdom and wit
Make space in this world for another white dove
And light a candle in darkness let us all do our bit
Though near or far, you may have touched my life
In a special way to make me send you this letter
So I pray that you will grow in courage through strife
May the New Year turn all in your life to the better
But again I ask “why?” for I still don’t see the reason
Why December alone is known as the merry ‘season’
To ask simpler queries I may never ever be wise
Why do I write verse when a sentence would suffice?
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Wonderer
Perhaps I am one of those curious creations of God – the kind of creation that God didn’t quite know where to put. I could even be the result of billions of years of evolution. Maybe it took many thousand generations of mutations to turn ‘me’ out of this biological soup on Earth from a single celled organism to the upright organic biped that I am. Who I am and how I got here seem trivialities when I try to figure out what the hell I am doing here now or how I am ever going to find the meaning of life. I am alive on this planet as a result of billions of years worth of biological struggle; but why?
As a kid, I was told that the whole point of life is to do well in school and get myself the best possible job. Then I thought I could pass that to become a cricket star – wouldn’t that be the life! How about a fighter pilot... or why don’t I become an architect? Not as interesting as fighter pilot? But how can you beat the fun of being an astronaut? Could I find the purpose of life by walking on mars? But why not do something more relaxing and become a writer or journalist? I was clearly going insane; thinking about being a journalist in Sri Lanka! Or was I?
A journalist I became for a while. I was covering press conferences held by everyone from elephant conservationists to gay rights movements, walking the streets of the big city and writing features. I still write features every week and get paid for my writing, but I had decided that I don’t want to write for a living. So after spending twenty four years on earth and earning a degree in computing I still haven’t figured out what the purpose of my life is.
Whether it was God who created me with a divine plan in mind, or whether I am the result of chance mutations and evolved on earth – a wonderful accident of nature, I cannot accept that I am here without a purpose; to live a life of ignorance and die a looser. I have a hunch that the reason for my very existence is out there somewhere - not among the stars where I have often gazed in awe at night, but on this blessed Earth – perhaps in the form of another organic biped with a pretty face, star-like eyes, a hypnotizing smile and a warm loving heart. I am - until I meet her – a wonderer on the face of earth.
As a kid, I was told that the whole point of life is to do well in school and get myself the best possible job. Then I thought I could pass that to become a cricket star – wouldn’t that be the life! How about a fighter pilot... or why don’t I become an architect? Not as interesting as fighter pilot? But how can you beat the fun of being an astronaut? Could I find the purpose of life by walking on mars? But why not do something more relaxing and become a writer or journalist? I was clearly going insane; thinking about being a journalist in Sri Lanka! Or was I?
A journalist I became for a while. I was covering press conferences held by everyone from elephant conservationists to gay rights movements, walking the streets of the big city and writing features. I still write features every week and get paid for my writing, but I had decided that I don’t want to write for a living. So after spending twenty four years on earth and earning a degree in computing I still haven’t figured out what the purpose of my life is.
Whether it was God who created me with a divine plan in mind, or whether I am the result of chance mutations and evolved on earth – a wonderful accident of nature, I cannot accept that I am here without a purpose; to live a life of ignorance and die a looser. I have a hunch that the reason for my very existence is out there somewhere - not among the stars where I have often gazed in awe at night, but on this blessed Earth – perhaps in the form of another organic biped with a pretty face, star-like eyes, a hypnotizing smile and a warm loving heart. I am - until I meet her – a wonderer on the face of earth.
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