…with my head in the sand

what lies beyond the horizon?
over the seas on the other side;
foreign lands, eclectic people, ancient cultures
but what if for me, the world ends at the shore?
my world ends in my own land,
in familiar territory.

what can be learnt from other people?
from civilizations beyond my own;
new languages, exotic lifestyles, novel experiences
but what if for me, my world is my society?
my world ends in my own neighbourhood
amongst friends and family.

what is the truth about my own land?
in my country, of my people, today.
we ruled the world in ancient times but are feeble now.
but what if for me, the present is in the past?
my world is in my own head
lost in delusional memories.

what is my goal in life?
to learn from my mistakes, and to learn from others;
trial and error, the journey more important than the destination.
but what if for me, life’s purpose to achieve perfection?
flawless people, perfect community, idyllic life,
a utopian existence.

what is the value of diversity?
people of all races, religions and beliefs;
living in harmony, peaceful and tolerant.
but what if for me, all “others” are enemies?
to be suppressed at all costs
leaving me alone in this world with only my kind.

what can be gained from pride?
in myself, my culture, my heritage;
hold my head high, live with dignity.
but what if for me, my ideal is everything foreign?
distant lands, alien cultures, unfamiliar existence
living an empty life.

with my head buried in the sand
there is nothing beyond the horizon
no learning,
reality never prevails.
life is spent in a endless pursuit of the unachievable
the world is one dimensional
in the shadow of my dreams.

- satyajit venkatraman
february, 2010

nowhere road

outside the window there’s a path,
across the mountain to the other side.
clouds all around swirling in the night,
capturing all in their velvet clutches.
leaf-strewn steps lead ahead
pines, oaks and maples everywhere its green.
a stream gushes from a source unseen
a bed of pebbles like crystal in the water.

the stream becomes a river,
down the rapids and through the falls.
yellow fields – sunflowers dancing in the wind
with no care of life or time.
rich, sweet smells in the air,
chirping birds drown out all other sound.
fertile pastures everywhere around
speak of affluence and prosperity.

nowhere road is going to take me home
with the waves at my feet and spray in my face.
nowhere road is going to take me home
where the grass is green on both sides.
nowhere road is going to take me home
where snowy mountain peaks sparkle like a million soft fragments of pleasure.

the river loses strength, the land becomes dry
and majestic waves of golden sand rise.
dust in the wind and sand in my face
covering everything around in a coat of gold.
the desert is a masquerade for gold, oil
and wealth for all alluring.
dunes shifting and ever changing
revealing richness of life and lessons from ages past.

endless sands fade into shores of a vast sea;
hypnotising rhythm of the surf, the breath of power.
a gentle, sleeping giant
preserving the immense force within.
hidden under the sheen of soothing waves
brilliant walls of vibrant coral, full of life and forever boundless.
deeper still lie dark caves, creatures ancient and timeless
tell a tale of ages past, of freedom, simplicity and trust.

nowhere road is going to take me home
with the waves at my feet and spray in my face.
nowhere road is going to take me home
where the grass is green on both sides.
nowhere road is going to take me home
where snowy mountain peaks sparkle like a million soft fragments of pleasure.

from the depths of the ocean comes a surge
of walls of mountains breaking through the surface,
the water wanes after a brief struggle
content to chip away at the surface for centuries of ascendancy.
majestic they rise above all now for all to admire,
a crest of silvery snow for a crown.
in a panorama of mountain, ocean and pastures overgrown
lies a man entranced in his dream.

nowhere road is going to take me home
with the waves at my feet and spray in my face.
nowhere road is going to take me home
where the grass is green on both sides.
nowhere road is going to take me home
where snowy mountain peaks sparkle like a million soft fragments of pleasure.

satyajit venkatraman
january 2010

...its dark outside

it’s dark outside; sharp as needles,
the cold invades layers of warm clothes.
soft drops of icy rain and snow fall
gently on sleeping roofs.

footsteps on the pavement
tread gently, exploring and unsure.
as the night’s snow turns to ice
more falls like silk from above.

cold alleys pass by
mesmerizing reflections peek out.
strange lights sparkle at every corner
many colours – red, orange and green.

the occasional sound of tyres on wet surface
tread gently, exploring and unsure.
flashing red once in a while
exploring the line between speed and safety.

the Tower is dim and the parks empty
famous landmarks lie abandoned and vacant.
no tickets on sale now
no people milling around.

now the footsteps are surer
and the stride confident.
fresh, cool breeze in the air.
making good time, but some way to go.

slowly but surely light asserts itself,
rays of sunlight through the dense shroud of clouds.
soon the houses will be empty
and people everywhere.

he must get back to the start
and begin the transformation to the routine.
solitude and peace will soon disappear
and he will blend into the millions.

for a while there was a thrill (or was it a fear?)
of being alone (but in a world of marvels).
no one to share (and no one to please)
but it was just a morning routine.

December 22, 2009
about my morning jog

dream

there was this guy, just a simple fellow,
enough above and enough below
opened his eyes one morning
and said to himself, while stretching and yawning
“how long have i been asleep?
and are those hours mine to keep?”

he had taken his life where the winds blew
and didn’t realize how fast time flew.
he had not read his life’s text
twenty one day and fifty the next.
“thirty years gone by as one,
how did i miss all the fun?”

as far as he could remember
he was full of life, be it March, July or December.
off to work he would go
eager to give his all and grow.
“you’re a great guy they said,
nothing to stop you from getting ahead.”

day after year of his life went by
he worked, he worked, all he would do was try.
he did what he could and always thought
that he was not the best but better than a lot.
“did that make sense at all?
or was it just to soften the fall?”

stuck in a rut of a life so cluttered
he never rose above to see what really mattered.
it was his strength and also his weakness
that he didn’t see the danger, the depth and the darkness.
“was it so since the beginning?
or, all the while, become more threatening?”

into his life people came and from it people went
he never stopped to ask what it meant.
they know what they want just like i do
part of the plan, like the one for himself he drew.
“is that how i got to where I am today?
weary at night and tired by day.”

all that happens around him he doesn’t understand
strange people with strange habits in a strange land.
a small fish in a big ocean he has become
and he can only hear the constant hum.
“it’s the water, you know
just like me, going where the pipes want it to go.”

it really was only in his mind
the hum of a toy, the kind you could wind.
running along, swift at first but grinding to a halt
just running out of steam but without a fault.
“i am that wind-up toy,
old, plastic, and of no use even to the little boy.”

how long had he been asleep?
and were all those hours his to keep?
twenty, strong and all his life before
he realizes as the alarm drowns his snore.
“although very real it did seem
it was all just a dream!”

now feeling refreshed, he awakes
as above the horizon the sun breaks.
off to work he went forgetting
all about the dream he had and, at the end of the day expecting,
“you’re a great guy”, they said
nothing to stop you from getting ahead.”

running the wrong way

at two, you learn to run,
and it seems like fun.
when you get going you don’t really know
if you go where you want to go.

at five, you simply run.
when school is done
and you go out to play
all you want to do is let your legs flay.

at fifteen, you run after pleasure
and nothing can measure
up to the joy of discovering
a new thing that’s exciting.

at twenty-five, you run for fun
because you know there is none
that can get you despondent
in your pursuit of merriment.

at thirty-five, you run against time.
every clock that can chime
reminds you that you have to feed
several souls full of greed.

at forty-five, you run to get away
every time the sun greets the day
all you want is to escape
from all the red tape.

at fifty-five, you run to save
so you have to be really brave
to attain the grace
that you promised yourself in the first place.

at sixty-five, you run only if you have to
but you really don’t want to
because you’re tired of the dreary
race to destiny.

at seventy-five, you realize that you’ve been
(and that you really should have seen
much earlier in the day)
that you were running the wrong way.


sv: 21st July 2009

for some reason the titular phrase has been stuck in my head for days, so I thought i’d start writing again with this in mind as the theme.