The sky and the earth...Blue and brown...A most passionate marriage...
But cursed with eternal separation.... Never to embrace again...
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Moments Of Nostalgia...
The waves rise and fall like the sensations in my mind.... one moment light feathers flutter through... the next canon balls cavort in my head like days of contention... People... time... memories seem to flood through... blood stained pages of a diary... a white shirt covered in blood... The world is strange... cuts you like a knife knowing when you'll bleed the most....
Reigning Queen Of Sorrow... First Look...
Pain… My life has been full of pain… endless pain. This is what I want to save him from… a life full of uncertainty, lies, betrayal, moreover a broken heart, pain and sorrow…
I am Niharo Konishi, Jason's mother. I was born on 21st March 1896 in a tiny little fishing village in Japan. I grew up around the sea. I loved the waves, the breeze especially the salty taste of the air. I can even remember it now after such a long time. It seems like a lifetime now. Sometimes I stop and wonder whether I really had a loving family and nice family. This I can only dream from afar and Jason is all that I have right now. I was so little… only a bud really when I was plucked away from my own family… away from the two people I loved more than anything else in the world.
I am Niharo Konishi, Jason's mother. I was born on 21st March 1896 in a tiny little fishing village in Japan. I grew up around the sea. I loved the waves, the breeze especially the salty taste of the air. I can even remember it now after such a long time. It seems like a lifetime now. Sometimes I stop and wonder whether I really had a loving family and nice family. This I can only dream from afar and Jason is all that I have right now. I was so little… only a bud really when I was plucked away from my own family… away from the two people I loved more than anything else in the world.
Negaria
The sword slipped from her hand, slid down and crashed soundlessly to the ground. She raised her eyebrows in surprise… It had never happened before… Not once in her life.
The phoenix was covered in its own flames and when it was completely enveloped in them, she let out a scream… A frightened scream… She felt like she would never see her beautiful advisor again… the one who was always there for her… Her everything since her parents died entrusting her in the phoenix’s care…
She dropped on to her knees on the floor, burying her face in her hands as her tears streamed down her face like two rivulets.
She was known as the sad princess, the princess who never smiled. Kaminari was her name. She was a young slender girl of sixteen when she was brought to the palace… the summer palace of ‘Akemi’. Her parents were the emperor and empress of the island of birds, ‘Tori ’.
*****
It seemed as if a river of blood streaked the horizon, turning it like a streak of vermillion on a bride’s head but this was no wedding. This was war… coldblooded contention. Where, wives transformed into widows, sane into the insane, the overtly emotional turned apathetic in this boiling…inimical…vitriolic atmosphere. This environment was so opugnant that even mothers who are so protective of their progeny were emotionless when their quartered scions ended up at their doorstep…
War like this was never before seen in the history of time… Total annihilation of lives, minds, sanity and sometimes even souls… Blood flowed freely… It was even more common than water in Negaria.
Negaria. The beautiful city of Negaria… The peaceful city of Negaria is now wrought with inferno from hell… This holocaust of contention… of annihilation… of cold blooded war was brought about by a single mistake.
A single innocent mistake was enough to awaken the carnal blood lust that is present in all beings even though consciously they’ve suppressed it… Like a vegetarian shark... When it smells blood there is no stopping its ferine tendencies. Ironic isn’t it. For even the Buddhist monk, the catholic priest and the holy nuns were indulged in this opus… This opus of carnage, inferno and bloodshed.
Mistakes… all of us make them… innocent ones but sometimes even their consequences can even bring hell on earth… Unfortunately… There are no erasers… No erasers at all…
Instruction does not prevent waste of time or mistakes,
And mistakes themselves are the best teachers of all
Negaria became witness to this… At the cost of it’s everything.
The sanguine sun was rising in the far far east. The ground was bathed in red. The light would turn slowly from the dim red crimson to the more unrelenting amber hurting the oculus as the sun moves up in the sky…
Warriors were bathed in blood… their armor reeked in dry blood. Blood from their enemies… Their lives hanging uncertain by the thread of the war’s outcome… Negaria’s warriors were the finest in the land. Yet, this war tested more than their skills… It tested so much more… so much more…
The phoenix was covered in its own flames and when it was completely enveloped in them, she let out a scream… A frightened scream… She felt like she would never see her beautiful advisor again… the one who was always there for her… Her everything since her parents died entrusting her in the phoenix’s care…
She dropped on to her knees on the floor, burying her face in her hands as her tears streamed down her face like two rivulets.
She was known as the sad princess, the princess who never smiled. Kaminari was her name. She was a young slender girl of sixteen when she was brought to the palace… the summer palace of ‘Akemi’. Her parents were the emperor and empress of the island of birds, ‘Tori ’.
*****
It seemed as if a river of blood streaked the horizon, turning it like a streak of vermillion on a bride’s head but this was no wedding. This was war… coldblooded contention. Where, wives transformed into widows, sane into the insane, the overtly emotional turned apathetic in this boiling…inimical…vitriolic atmosphere. This environment was so opugnant that even mothers who are so protective of their progeny were emotionless when their quartered scions ended up at their doorstep…
War like this was never before seen in the history of time… Total annihilation of lives, minds, sanity and sometimes even souls… Blood flowed freely… It was even more common than water in Negaria.
Negaria. The beautiful city of Negaria… The peaceful city of Negaria is now wrought with inferno from hell… This holocaust of contention… of annihilation… of cold blooded war was brought about by a single mistake.
A single innocent mistake was enough to awaken the carnal blood lust that is present in all beings even though consciously they’ve suppressed it… Like a vegetarian shark... When it smells blood there is no stopping its ferine tendencies. Ironic isn’t it. For even the Buddhist monk, the catholic priest and the holy nuns were indulged in this opus… This opus of carnage, inferno and bloodshed.
Mistakes… all of us make them… innocent ones but sometimes even their consequences can even bring hell on earth… Unfortunately… There are no erasers… No erasers at all…
Instruction does not prevent waste of time or mistakes,
And mistakes themselves are the best teachers of all
Negaria became witness to this… At the cost of it’s everything.
The sanguine sun was rising in the far far east. The ground was bathed in red. The light would turn slowly from the dim red crimson to the more unrelenting amber hurting the oculus as the sun moves up in the sky…
Warriors were bathed in blood… their armor reeked in dry blood. Blood from their enemies… Their lives hanging uncertain by the thread of the war’s outcome… Negaria’s warriors were the finest in the land. Yet, this war tested more than their skills… It tested so much more… so much more…
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
The Waiting Violin
The Waiting Violin
I see it lying on his table,
His broken violin, Perfect to the eye,
Yet it carries a sad tale,
Its spirit is broken,
Its strings wrecked with pain,
When he played,
Played his life,
His life on it,
A rose, Lies on it,
Plucking its heart,
And wrecking it with pain,
Only he’s not there,
So it lies waiting,
Waiting for him,
To pick it up,
And play it again,
Only he’s not here,
He’s not here anymore,
So it lies there waiting,
Waiting for him,
To pick it up,
And play it again…
*****
She looked at the violin… Was it trying to tell her something? Surely its strings were not wrecked with pain…. He had been gone a long… long time… Maria picked up the Stradivauss, as if it were a sad little baby craving for its father’s attention and cradled it in her arms… Her long charcoal black hair strewed over it as she gently picked up its bow… And plucked its strings gently… Starting to play very softly… she began to build up the tune till tears streamed down her face, for the violin was so sad, it refused to play jovial tunes and every note was low… a low baritone… expressing how the violin felt at his absence…
Her son bounded up to her and pulling her long black skirt asked her innocently, “Mamma, will the violin be all right?” Her large black eyes which were turned to the azure sky dimmed, her mocha complexion took on a golden hue as the sun rays fell on her, her dark, rose red lips turned down, trembling, as if she were about to cry, her long hair swirled around her face as if it were trying to shield her vulnerability… She finally looked at her son… putting down the violin… bent down to kiss her son, her hair enveloping him completely and whispered softly, “Give it some more time… It’s still in pain…Over your father’s absence…” Her son looked into her tear-stricken face, wiped away her tears and said with a fierce conviction in his eyes, “He’ll be back… Won’t he…”
The sun set in the horizon… Giving the ebony floor and mahogany furniture a warm reddish glow… The amber sun turned into a mellow yellow…. Then into a lovely sanguine… Spreading its rays…. Its glorious farewell to the world… Her son held her face trying to comfort her… Her black eyes gazed at him solemnly… trying to comprehend his gestures… The setting sun’s rays garbed him in a golden cloak… The sun itself formed a lovely halo around his head turning him into a golden angel of comfort… His brown eyes glowed with warmth… The setting sun also bathed the violin in its rays… trying to still its pain… its quivering heart… Feeling the violin, warm in her hands, she looked up and wordlessly handed the violin and its bow to her son. He took it gently from her… raised it and lo! He played a beautiful tune… the warmth had finally seeped into the violin… winter had finally turned to spring inside the violin’s little heart… A nightingale piped up as night began to settle on the world… in this little garden… The queen of the night slowly started opening its blooms… turning the nightly air into a sweet zephyr… a strong spicy fragrance…. The nightingale sang again and gently flying from its perch flew to Maria’s outstretched hands…
I see it lying on his table,
His broken violin, Perfect to the eye,
Yet it carries a sad tale,
Its spirit is broken,
Its strings wrecked with pain,
When he played,
Played his life,
His life on it,
A rose, Lies on it,
Plucking its heart,
And wrecking it with pain,
Only he’s not there,
So it lies waiting,
Waiting for him,
To pick it up,
And play it again,
Only he’s not here,
He’s not here anymore,
So it lies there waiting,
Waiting for him,
To pick it up,
And play it again…
*****
She looked at the violin… Was it trying to tell her something? Surely its strings were not wrecked with pain…. He had been gone a long… long time… Maria picked up the Stradivauss, as if it were a sad little baby craving for its father’s attention and cradled it in her arms… Her long charcoal black hair strewed over it as she gently picked up its bow… And plucked its strings gently… Starting to play very softly… she began to build up the tune till tears streamed down her face, for the violin was so sad, it refused to play jovial tunes and every note was low… a low baritone… expressing how the violin felt at his absence…
Her son bounded up to her and pulling her long black skirt asked her innocently, “Mamma, will the violin be all right?” Her large black eyes which were turned to the azure sky dimmed, her mocha complexion took on a golden hue as the sun rays fell on her, her dark, rose red lips turned down, trembling, as if she were about to cry, her long hair swirled around her face as if it were trying to shield her vulnerability… She finally looked at her son… putting down the violin… bent down to kiss her son, her hair enveloping him completely and whispered softly, “Give it some more time… It’s still in pain…Over your father’s absence…” Her son looked into her tear-stricken face, wiped away her tears and said with a fierce conviction in his eyes, “He’ll be back… Won’t he…”
The sun set in the horizon… Giving the ebony floor and mahogany furniture a warm reddish glow… The amber sun turned into a mellow yellow…. Then into a lovely sanguine… Spreading its rays…. Its glorious farewell to the world… Her son held her face trying to comfort her… Her black eyes gazed at him solemnly… trying to comprehend his gestures… The setting sun’s rays garbed him in a golden cloak… The sun itself formed a lovely halo around his head turning him into a golden angel of comfort… His brown eyes glowed with warmth… The setting sun also bathed the violin in its rays… trying to still its pain… its quivering heart… Feeling the violin, warm in her hands, she looked up and wordlessly handed the violin and its bow to her son. He took it gently from her… raised it and lo! He played a beautiful tune… the warmth had finally seeped into the violin… winter had finally turned to spring inside the violin’s little heart… A nightingale piped up as night began to settle on the world… in this little garden… The queen of the night slowly started opening its blooms… turning the nightly air into a sweet zephyr… a strong spicy fragrance…. The nightingale sang again and gently flying from its perch flew to Maria’s outstretched hands…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)