A Wolf-poem by
BESNIK MUSTAFAJ
Albanian Ambassador to France 1992-7
Translated by Anthony Weir
WHERE DID YOUR FEAR OF THE WOLF COME FROM?
You were born in the city, my son,
so you never went into the forest,
not even for a stroll.
So how did you get your terrible fear
of the wolf ?
So I'm asking you what a wolf is,
I'm asking you what a wolf's like.
All you can say is that he is voracious
and that when he is hungry
the water lapped by the lamb
is troubled all the way up to its source -
which prevents the tender creature from drinking.
Thus it is obvious that you have never seen a wolf,
my little man.
So where in the bosom of the big city
did your fear of the wolf come from?
Was working on a project on wolves when I came across this poem(check out the source: http://www.beyond-the-pale.co.uk/vaskopopa.htm), thought i should share it with everyone. Sometimes one must just not talk but absorb the words and feel them..this is that kind of poem. It evokes the whole essence of this world and the diversity and the disparity that exists between man and animal.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Waiting
Sometimes an eternity passes
and I wait for the sun to come,
lie down and rest in my arms...
There are days like this when the aspect of waiting is elemental. One can't seem to break it down into sub atomic parts and dissect its root cause. But one seems to go through an intense feeling of time marking its pace almost reverberating in the eardrums. And then the distortions come as if they each had an answering need to be a part of this, but instead of bringing in semblance of peace or perspective they seem to create a cause for more of the chaos which lies unattended and desperate for help.
On such days a part of me just flings its self out and watches the other me from the sidelines trying, measuring, attempting to keep pace with destiny’s unknown hand.
Sometimes an eternity passes
and I wait for the sun to come,
lie down and rest in my arms...
Faded music plays in my ear
and I want to sing alongside.
Words flow
but watch the emptiness on paper,
tirelessly agonizing over it.
I wait to be enveloped
and left in the safety of a cocoon to hibernate.
Strangely then I want to break free and shake the world
as if they were contents in a glass,
lying in front of me.
The contents swirl, round and round and mist comes,
creeps over while life is still in transition.
and I wait for the sun to come,
lie down and rest in my arms...
There are days like this when the aspect of waiting is elemental. One can't seem to break it down into sub atomic parts and dissect its root cause. But one seems to go through an intense feeling of time marking its pace almost reverberating in the eardrums. And then the distortions come as if they each had an answering need to be a part of this, but instead of bringing in semblance of peace or perspective they seem to create a cause for more of the chaos which lies unattended and desperate for help.
On such days a part of me just flings its self out and watches the other me from the sidelines trying, measuring, attempting to keep pace with destiny’s unknown hand.
Sometimes an eternity passes
and I wait for the sun to come,
lie down and rest in my arms...
Faded music plays in my ear
and I want to sing alongside.
Words flow
but watch the emptiness on paper,
tirelessly agonizing over it.
I wait to be enveloped
and left in the safety of a cocoon to hibernate.
Strangely then I want to break free and shake the world
as if they were contents in a glass,
lying in front of me.
The contents swirl, round and round and mist comes,
creeps over while life is still in transition.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Restlessness
Still water,
surface tension broken by
the splashing resonance of a stone
dropped suddenly.
Free fall,
broken,
dispersed,
spreads eagerly.
Spirals of wishes ring,
sing and disappear
as stillness
takes over restlessness
deeply submerged, till
the stone and its resonant feelings
become part of the water
floating flat on the bouyant surface.
surface tension broken by
the splashing resonance of a stone
dropped suddenly.
Free fall,
broken,
dispersed,
spreads eagerly.
Spirals of wishes ring,
sing and disappear
as stillness
takes over restlessness
deeply submerged, till
the stone and its resonant feelings
become part of the water
floating flat on the bouyant surface.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
people
prayers of a lifetime etched on a face
the drummer
smiling faces
people from places
where do they come from?
where do they go from here?
In a land called nowhere
what brings them so close
from east to west
and west to east
migrating flocks of people, yak and geese
some imported
some domestic
some looking rather smug and pleased
'stay here', sit down'
'pass the khambir and butter tea around'
'life is short, talk to me'
'Don't stop, move around'
'abundant colours are gorwing here,
but please, no loud sounds'
'capture all, don't spill'
'shoot', 'shhhh....be still!!!
three old men
i watch silently
pictures from Limayuru
blue sky and the gompa at limayuru
Limayuru Gompa
top of the gompa
a train of music
the dance
captured abhi
travel issues in leh
The travel sector in leh/ladakh needs an overhaul I think. It predates to a system that smacks of monopolist culture; Dominated and run by the taxi union the only mode of transport available to any of the surrounding locations is a taxi and the costs are humungous for budget travelers like Abhi and me until we find willing partners to share the cost and that too is limited to a number of only five maybe six if you are lucky (which means on an average you land up spending per location per day travel costs of up to a thousand rupees minimum). The few buses that ply are totally unaccounted for; the system of accessing information is tired and squeaky and grating to one’s ears. Customer satisfaction is far down on my list of requirements I think a whole range of organizing and understanding the needs of the consumer has to be taken into account here.
Each interested traveler seems to land up knocking on almost all the doors that run travel agencies (there’s no centralized system for taxis’; one would have assumed that with such monopolist tendencies they would have at least catered to that) and so each morning and evening one takes a tour starting from the beginning of the market in the left and moving upto the end in the right asking if they have found us partners and since everyone seems to be knocking hence every travel agent worth his name has perhaps the same list of enquiries but all of the them unconfirmed. A centralized booking would have taken into account that if one is looking for shared taxis’ then those that need to travel on the same route can fit into one till there is a need to fill another. So no matter what the origin of the agency one would have not been so hard pushed to waste their time and day looking out for bargains.
Similarly permits need to be quicker. Almost all destinations need one; so without fail one should be advised to get one irrespective of the travel agency but the nexus seems to state that only if you are traveling with them can you get a permit; We of course learnt that the other option is to walk down to the DC’s office and get one made within a day yourself. All you need is a proof of identity such as a passport/driving license/voters Id card or some other significant identity.
Each interested traveler seems to land up knocking on almost all the doors that run travel agencies (there’s no centralized system for taxis’; one would have assumed that with such monopolist tendencies they would have at least catered to that) and so each morning and evening one takes a tour starting from the beginning of the market in the left and moving upto the end in the right asking if they have found us partners and since everyone seems to be knocking hence every travel agent worth his name has perhaps the same list of enquiries but all of the them unconfirmed. A centralized booking would have taken into account that if one is looking for shared taxis’ then those that need to travel on the same route can fit into one till there is a need to fill another. So no matter what the origin of the agency one would have not been so hard pushed to waste their time and day looking out for bargains.
Similarly permits need to be quicker. Almost all destinations need one; so without fail one should be advised to get one irrespective of the travel agency but the nexus seems to state that only if you are traveling with them can you get a permit; We of course learnt that the other option is to walk down to the DC’s office and get one made within a day yourself. All you need is a proof of identity such as a passport/driving license/voters Id card or some other significant identity.
in n around leh
at the gompa next to leh palace
in front of Shanti Stupa
Shanti Stupa
At Thiksey
Shey Palace
At Leh Palace
Saturday, July 01, 2006
travel notes-rock a by baby on the tree top!
Hanging on the top of mountains almost at cliff's edge, must be someone's favourite ambition.
At least the monks in leh/ladakh and surrounding areas spreading further from its epicenter seem to thrive on it. No relief in the landscape can be torturous on nerves as delicate as mine especially when one is trying desperately to hang on for dear life on the stairs that go way up, up, up almost touching the skyline as the clouds seem to descend on you, while the valley below smiles gladly inviting you to miss a step and land in its gutless depth. The bus journey on this mountain terrain can be equally grueling and yet mind blowingly fantastic for each spasm in your chest needs to account for having moved ahead and not stepping back from fear.
Frankly there’s no room for that if you know what I mean…there is only one way on this lonely stretch and that is the road ahead there’s no turning back until you reach civilization’s end and honk for a turn, back to go the same way you came up from. Perched on side tops and sharp angles, monasteries that sparsely inhabit the horizon of these cold dry desert mountains seem equally barren of human space and life until you breathe in its domain and realize there is life here as well.
Walking into the compounds there is a feeling of relief for you are back on flat ground covered on the sides with bare minimum chance of you falling down to death. The view is spectacular from up here anywhere, no matter which monastery you take as an example. The silence is endless till a single lama enters your thoughts and leads you towards the shut doors opening them for you to strike your head inside and smell the essence of a religion that has such a long an interesting history behind it. The Tibetans have stories that need another space and another time and perhaps another journey from my end before I can even begin to account.
I don’t understand the script, nor the scriptures have any meaning for me but the Buddha has a way of overwhelming people who visit and come so far. The almost three floor high statues in Shey, Diskit and Sumer that I witnessed were just that. I stood there gaping, trying to fathom the wonders of this divine being; its presence in my life at that moment was very real unlike anything else. One doesn’t have to be a Buddhist to experience a certain spiritual existence or develop a craving for understanding it and needing it perhaps.
Our trip to Limayuru on the other hand was perhaps divine intervention; coz, till we boarded the shared taxi we were not sure if we were bound for this journey or Tsomoriri or any of the others on our to do list.
So six of us –Theodere (a Swiss student studying environmental engg in IIT Chennai under an exchange program) and Julien (a very young barely out of his teens, Swiss French tutor), another quiet French couple, Abhi and me, we set out early morning on the 22nd to witness the Limayuru festival. The journey in the middle has some enchanting villages that are picturesque and the taxi driver politely gave in to our demands for photo-shoots every now and then. I personally felt not taking the trip to Alchi was a loss for quite a few people recommended it yet the shared system had to account for our decision to forgo Alchi in this journey. The Swiss couple had done it three years back when they first came to leh and the French couple was rather busy on their own. Conversation was polite and friendly with the younger couple. Later when the ice broke we became good friends and decided to take the trip to Nubra valley together. They were the two people we had been looking for all along!
Rest for later, I'm quite sleepy now.
At least the monks in leh/ladakh and surrounding areas spreading further from its epicenter seem to thrive on it. No relief in the landscape can be torturous on nerves as delicate as mine especially when one is trying desperately to hang on for dear life on the stairs that go way up, up, up almost touching the skyline as the clouds seem to descend on you, while the valley below smiles gladly inviting you to miss a step and land in its gutless depth. The bus journey on this mountain terrain can be equally grueling and yet mind blowingly fantastic for each spasm in your chest needs to account for having moved ahead and not stepping back from fear.
Frankly there’s no room for that if you know what I mean…there is only one way on this lonely stretch and that is the road ahead there’s no turning back until you reach civilization’s end and honk for a turn, back to go the same way you came up from. Perched on side tops and sharp angles, monasteries that sparsely inhabit the horizon of these cold dry desert mountains seem equally barren of human space and life until you breathe in its domain and realize there is life here as well.
Walking into the compounds there is a feeling of relief for you are back on flat ground covered on the sides with bare minimum chance of you falling down to death. The view is spectacular from up here anywhere, no matter which monastery you take as an example. The silence is endless till a single lama enters your thoughts and leads you towards the shut doors opening them for you to strike your head inside and smell the essence of a religion that has such a long an interesting history behind it. The Tibetans have stories that need another space and another time and perhaps another journey from my end before I can even begin to account.
I don’t understand the script, nor the scriptures have any meaning for me but the Buddha has a way of overwhelming people who visit and come so far. The almost three floor high statues in Shey, Diskit and Sumer that I witnessed were just that. I stood there gaping, trying to fathom the wonders of this divine being; its presence in my life at that moment was very real unlike anything else. One doesn’t have to be a Buddhist to experience a certain spiritual existence or develop a craving for understanding it and needing it perhaps.
Our trip to Limayuru on the other hand was perhaps divine intervention; coz, till we boarded the shared taxi we were not sure if we were bound for this journey or Tsomoriri or any of the others on our to do list.
So six of us –Theodere (a Swiss student studying environmental engg in IIT Chennai under an exchange program) and Julien (a very young barely out of his teens, Swiss French tutor), another quiet French couple, Abhi and me, we set out early morning on the 22nd to witness the Limayuru festival. The journey in the middle has some enchanting villages that are picturesque and the taxi driver politely gave in to our demands for photo-shoots every now and then. I personally felt not taking the trip to Alchi was a loss for quite a few people recommended it yet the shared system had to account for our decision to forgo Alchi in this journey. The Swiss couple had done it three years back when they first came to leh and the French couple was rather busy on their own. Conversation was polite and friendly with the younger couple. Later when the ice broke we became good friends and decided to take the trip to Nubra valley together. They were the two people we had been looking for all along!
Rest for later, I'm quite sleepy now.
travel notes-invading nubra
No time for rest; we traverse from one end to the other; flitting like flies in a million zones from one to another-ceaseless movement and exertion, for what, one might just ask? However the sand dunes near Hunder (Nubra Valley) called a halt to our efforts and we sank, digging in our toes deep inside the mound of softness that seared up the soles and made us jump at our futile attempts to sample the simplicity and preciseness of being boneless! Our only contribution to the ever-changing pattern was a disturbed and sorry looking tale of footprints.
But peace seeped in, there was quiet; a rush of the wind as it changed its voice for each song across a country that contrasted without giving us reasons: sand dunes in the middle of nowhere and water flowing clean and sharp on the pebbles that since ages memorized the feel of its inevitable touch. Walking on them and slipping in the soft gooey mud is another of its contrasting experiences for nothing beats the softness of this slush and tired feet come to a rest aching to just sink and dissolve. Alas there is no depth here; at least not on the stretch we explored. The green that dots a landscape of barren mountains, dry as toast is sharp and needled baring thorns to those who wish to creep any further inside its abode.
But peace seeped in, there was quiet; a rush of the wind as it changed its voice for each song across a country that contrasted without giving us reasons: sand dunes in the middle of nowhere and water flowing clean and sharp on the pebbles that since ages memorized the feel of its inevitable touch. Walking on them and slipping in the soft gooey mud is another of its contrasting experiences for nothing beats the softness of this slush and tired feet come to a rest aching to just sink and dissolve. Alas there is no depth here; at least not on the stretch we explored. The green that dots a landscape of barren mountains, dry as toast is sharp and needled baring thorns to those who wish to creep any further inside its abode.
Friday, June 30, 2006
This human season
'Well, to me you see it's part of the whole system, the fags.Imperialism, capitalism, exploitation. Small comforts in exchange for the big things like jusice. Fags, coca-cola, a bag of nuts, a nice car. That's what they throw you, instead of giving you your rights. It's what they call a pay off.'
...pg-57
Was killing educational?Perhaps briefly;as a genration is brief. The young sowed horror in their springtime with high hopes for the crop and it rotted down through a long summer. They harvested grief in the autumn of their lives. And did they believe, even as they held their grand children, that there would be an end to it all? After a hard winter killed what was left of them off, it came again, this human season, this springtime of hatred. The young went to it because it was in their nature.
...pg-75
By Louise Dean
...pg-57
Was killing educational?Perhaps briefly;as a genration is brief. The young sowed horror in their springtime with high hopes for the crop and it rotted down through a long summer. They harvested grief in the autumn of their lives. And did they believe, even as they held their grand children, that there would be an end to it all? After a hard winter killed what was left of them off, it came again, this human season, this springtime of hatred. The young went to it because it was in their nature.
...pg-75
By Louise Dean
Saturday, June 17, 2006
travel notes
At the Pass
Time passed by
and I knew not where it flew
for its wings drew no forks across its path
but I followed the eagle’s flight
from Marhi to Keylong
shading the sky
a shifting diorama of landscape
snapped memories of the city structure
matching the eagerness of our transport
that gobbled and digested
my weak angled compositions
around each bend and turn
as I twisted between two large people
sticking out my camera
while a rush of wind
wet moisture
cold awareness
gripped me and invaded my bones
and I welcomed its icy touch
finally standing there at Rohtang
waiting
watching
all things coming to a pass.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Paintings
I am posting four poems under this title.
10.05.06
Warp
Painted in the song of the web, Light
makes its way through the dusty layers of warp
and flies with each gentle stroke of the hand
back and forth weaving a pattern in gold.
Shadows and dust, entwine
around deep colours in faded rust
while crimson edges creep
to cover the forest green.
Painted in the song of the web, stories
swim past old eyes, tracing the thread
with caring fingers gnarled
and too tired to rest.
Caught between light and dark, they wait
each one, poised for flight
Solitary rush cast aside, only the flight of the mind
meets the soul’s limp gaze
and casts its tools aside for bed.
Shalini Pattabiraman
29.04.06
Modern relationships
A blob of red tires and dries up
waiting on the palette, ignored.
On the tarmac, hunched knees,
hands spread out, he feeds pigeons
by the roadside traffic.
Green grows on the surface of textured blue
filling the grays, taking over,
wiping the base.
She sits in the corner watching bodies enter,
exit, through the swinging doors of a cafe.
Tightened beads gather on the glass
bumping bubbles on the other side
leading to their mutual demise.
Pigeons soar, bodies swing, he thinks, she moans,
time stops, frozen in the moment, painted.
Shalini Pattabiraman
12/17/03
When you painted me
As strangers we met.
and your eyes painted me,
chose colours to describe
seamless thoughts in your mind.
I can't see the colours,
only feel cold paint against the soft brush stroke,
singular, and bold.
Cold feels strange,
The soft strokes impersonal.
Your eyes seemed not to choose
to capture my soul.
Nor did they train
sharp angles and planes
like points of doubtful construct.
So when you painted me
my feathers fell off uncollected, untouched.
Shalini Pattabiraman
9th Sept ‘03
Dusk in Digboi
Burnt orange bends over pure green,
flames stolen from around that bend
softly whisper of the burning leaf.
Smoke rises, lifts its hands
and curls around the chimney.
Webs of fine silk weave a mist
matching winter’s slow walk
across deep gorges and valleys.
Low, so low, it sinks,
deep orange buttered with fringes of blue
dark, dark, blue, takes over the orange hue.
Shalini Pattabiraman
10.05.06
Warp
Painted in the song of the web, Light
makes its way through the dusty layers of warp
and flies with each gentle stroke of the hand
back and forth weaving a pattern in gold.
Shadows and dust, entwine
around deep colours in faded rust
while crimson edges creep
to cover the forest green.
Painted in the song of the web, stories
swim past old eyes, tracing the thread
with caring fingers gnarled
and too tired to rest.
Caught between light and dark, they wait
each one, poised for flight
Solitary rush cast aside, only the flight of the mind
meets the soul’s limp gaze
and casts its tools aside for bed.
Shalini Pattabiraman
29.04.06
Modern relationships
A blob of red tires and dries up
waiting on the palette, ignored.
On the tarmac, hunched knees,
hands spread out, he feeds pigeons
by the roadside traffic.
Green grows on the surface of textured blue
filling the grays, taking over,
wiping the base.
She sits in the corner watching bodies enter,
exit, through the swinging doors of a cafe.
Tightened beads gather on the glass
bumping bubbles on the other side
leading to their mutual demise.
Pigeons soar, bodies swing, he thinks, she moans,
time stops, frozen in the moment, painted.
Shalini Pattabiraman
12/17/03
When you painted me
As strangers we met.
and your eyes painted me,
chose colours to describe
seamless thoughts in your mind.
I can't see the colours,
only feel cold paint against the soft brush stroke,
singular, and bold.
Cold feels strange,
The soft strokes impersonal.
Your eyes seemed not to choose
to capture my soul.
Nor did they train
sharp angles and planes
like points of doubtful construct.
So when you painted me
my feathers fell off uncollected, untouched.
Shalini Pattabiraman
9th Sept ‘03
Dusk in Digboi
Burnt orange bends over pure green,
flames stolen from around that bend
softly whisper of the burning leaf.
Smoke rises, lifts its hands
and curls around the chimney.
Webs of fine silk weave a mist
matching winter’s slow walk
across deep gorges and valleys.
Low, so low, it sinks,
deep orange buttered with fringes of blue
dark, dark, blue, takes over the orange hue.
Shalini Pattabiraman
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