Leeds Trip

So what is the difference between me and other tourists, well when all the others are out and touring in a beautiful English summer ,I sat out in my dungeon where I would always wonder where had the Saturday gone for all that I remembered during the English summer was what comes after Friday night is Sunday morning. So now back to the difference, last week end when cold winds were trying to chew of what ever flesh I had put on to my cheeks, we set out for a trip to Leeds castle.
The plan was to drive to the castle and come back by the evening, so what did we do we woke up on a morning that was entirely alien for us for months together, oh Saturday is a beautiful day, after our regular activities we started round 10:30 on our way, with ATLAS in hand and a driver who was on the trip only for one sake that is to be behind the steering wheel.

The map was pretty clear but the mind of the navigator was simply on the other end, we got on to the wrong side of the highway and the roads we took were all extraordinarily beautiful except for the fact that they would not lead us to the destination we set out, but who did really care, with the fuel tank full and windows tightly shut, flying at 70 miles per hour was always a good feeling. Finally after few lucky calculations we a hit the highway A12 towards Leeds ,but this was just not the day for me ,with a very weak direction sense ,I am sure I would have not identified west by looking at the setting sun ,We missed every exit we had to take went in search of the round-abouts,finally it was time I relinquished the seat to Vijesh and what did he do, every five minutes he wanted out driver Vivek to take a U-turn and get back to the other side of the road. Between all there was one soul (Shijo) which was not disturbed by all this hallah-bullah, He was in his own world gulping juice and asking for inns. After missing three exits we got out at a service station and took in to a pizza centre as usual we are out to take photos only to be questioned by a location officer, why did you want to take pictures here? Hmm that was an interesting question but the answer I had would have made him faint, what we take photos for…….We set out after accepting hi apologies for questioning us we set out on the hunt of correct way again.

Finally we got to reach M20 and it was back to me to take up navigator and we reached the Castle at around 4:00PM.It was an achievement in itself ,we felt elated hugged each other; we had finally done the 90 mile distance in about 190 miles and got down the vehicle to be greeted by a

LEEDS CASTLE AND GROUNDS CLOSED
OCT31 – MARCH 31
OPENING TIMES 10 AM to 3 PM

Perfect ending to a fitting journey, but then there is always a camera and we had a photo shoot with out car and got back behind the steering wheel, and back on way to room. We stopped for a dinner in a mallu restaurant at Colchester. The day had not been kind on us; it did not matter to us that the city did not have any boards posted showing where we are where we were heading to, for we were already blind and groping in dark or light was not actually going to make a damn difference. All said by the time we reached home it was with a great sense of satisfaction and pleasure we had done it at last; we at least went out together and that was a dream since my landing in UK.

I am still looking for the speed tickets we would get by the today.

what am i saying here

When an eye to eye interaction is helpful to convey most of the things .A nicely composed, true from heart writing on paper would not be able to communicate what was actually meant. When rather wide audience are present ,the author needs to be capable of vending his feelings on the paper rather tactfully and with a fore-sight in to future and be sure to his knowledge of what he meant is conveyed, with out that may be the effort of writing is not worth it.
A man and his feelings are papyrus and what we write on the paper is vinegar, I always felt that there should be that thin shield between the two which would appreciate the combination by making the inner soul wrapped in much secure bonding
, while a volatile bonding means an unwanted combination of both leaving the soul bare to the, unforgiving world.
When a eye contact and a straight speech is enough then why to bare your soul on a medium which potentially holds the door to disaster more in a case where the author is a product of his own doubts? Million dollar question? I pondered over this question for a while and got a zillion answers, again none would stand against the force of spears that would break through the shields of Spartan shields. Well I have been a scrambler for three years now, I am trying to fine that thin line that would shield the papyrus of my audience, and I have to mention who are quite a handful and close at heart.
I have come across quite a few articles which passed me like a gentle breeze but nonetheless it was hurricane for some others. So now that puts me in an other interesting situation is it that I have to cater to those papyri those can take my vinegar (well with a resigned thought that vinegar is not good for papyrus).Well how will it be when a dear to heart community or person is offended by the venom you instigate through the nib or rather the keyboard.
Like many of the question which stem in mind this too has no definite answer, so is it like what that cricketer captain says...”When a move pulls off ,u look a genius and the same back-fires you look stupid”. Well all said I am still writing, perhaps I do not care about the papyri or I think this is the way I an reach a papyri that would like my shielded vinegar. Early days for me to answer the question, well the hope for me is at least there is light at the end of tunnel, that the scrambling does make a bit of rumble and the innocent looking white paper does become a painted wall, Sistine chapel’s or a public bathroom’s wall ,glory or doom, well that is for the papyri to decide.
But it will hurt when the papyrus is a death scroll or a treasure map, but then that is the way it is…..Long time due ,but the weight of failure weighs on the neck as a sword well what a dilemma for a novice what a dilemma….

My Poem has no name

Twilight gives away to night
My body resting on a cosy couch

Mind swirling back in time
In what people call a dream

There i was Curling in warmth
Away from the cold world
in the womb of a lady

Shearing pain ,blinding night
there i was,in to what they call world

Strange voices,some flashes
Shadow moving happily,later i call him dad

A thunder in the distant sky
I see my self in a desert ,my sleep's gone

I look across the bed
There i am away from the warmth
Frail body like a dry leaf

Familiar voice ,i feel cold
Silence prevails,some shapes
desperate,they call me Dad

I move in to a darkness
Calmness takes me in to its womb
I feel the warmth again yet again after so many years.....

Long Ago.....

Long ago I sang a song of love in to air
For some poet said that it would reach my lady's heart

Long ago i wrote a poem of love
For someone had said that it impresses yurr sweetheart

Long ago i danced to to exhaustion
For somewher it was written feelign should be given a vent

All the while i forgot to tell people my feelings
For i had not come across a song or word to do so

Now for a short-while at my death bed
I feel heaven waiting for me with its door open

For someone had just told me how they loved me......

--Sundar M R

Oh Dear Lady

Sparks of bright light
Lights my soul

Lies on the couch
My body sans soul

Thoughts take wings
as legs go numb

Dry goes my throat
Wet gets my eyes

You come in my dreams
Arresting my thoughts

You are in my breathe Lady
You are in my soul

Gardener Roses and the Nightangles

In the garden of his life
Once he thought that he was the master

He could grow his roses ,some red and some white
He could cut his weeds black and blue

Times passed by with no change coming
Then came some nightangles to his groove

Slowly began the adjustments,roses began to dry
Listening to the nightangles he left them to their fate

He knew he was getting it all wrong
He knew one day they would fly leaving him alone

Yet the tunes were so sweet ,he couldn't do more
One day they left him,his heart as dry as his roses

Stars of Confidence

Through a carven window pane
On a lovely frozen country lane

Looks a boy crippled in limb
Shunned frm world thoughts so numb

Sprinkled are bright stars so white
On the dark canvas of the night

Shringking was the moon
The other night promising to be bright

Bringing ripples of thoughts
Shone those gallant stars

Better was he from those
So inconsistent as the moon

T glow was his destiny
Even blessed less......