this is the story of a crying child. in reality, she did not cry all the time. in fact, she cried twice, maybe thrice for all who can remember, but in this story, the fact that the child cries is why she is the crying child.
it is only a week after her birthday, but christmas is in a month or so. nobody really can remember, because at her age, she has not yet learned to tell the times, and that is all we have to base the story on. one month till christmas, and the crying child asks her father,
'daddy, will i get a present for christmas?' and seeing as she did not get any for her birthday, one would be modest to assume that she would.
'i cannot promise that you will, but if you wait, we'll see,' said dad.
'okay,' smiled the crying child, for though she was yet young, patience is a virtue we can all learn from her.
a week passes, and then a fortnight, when the child has not heard from her father, and now asks her mother,
'mommy, will i get a present for christmas?' and seeing as she had asked now once too many a time, one would be cautious to assume that she still would.
'i cannot promise that you will, but if you wait, you just may,' said mom, and to add, she told the child, 'please ask not again, for it troubles me so that we do not have much money to spend, and you ask it for presents that we cannot promise upon you.'
'okay,' smiled the crying child, for though she was yet accepting, tolerance is a trait we could all do well to learn from her.
soon, christmas came, and went. then new year's eve was to pass. and months on end, till came valentine's day and it faded into near memory, without any present for the crying child. to keep her word, she never did ask of her parents that present, though she hoped very much that they would still gift her something when they could spare. her parents, however, chose to remain silent and feign oblivion and pretend, that if one were to think no present was given by default, then that is the arrangement that all parents have with their children.
not a day sooner, not a day late, the crying child asked her parents together,
'mommy and daddy, i know now that i could not have had a present for christmas. we cannot afford such luxury. but maybe if i am a good girl for another year, a present may be come this year?' her voice trailed off, unsure if question or request. but her parents, they remained silent at this query, to perhaps a deafness only resonant in the child's mind.
a year passes, or at least nearly a year. from the child's perspective, she could not yet tell of the times. a friend, and sister then tells her of what she could not hear and did not see (or possibly chose not to in her little mind):
'my sister, do not falter; my heart, do not cry. know that father and mother have not gifted you for christmas for their money is not theirs to spend.'
'of this, i know,' said the crying child, 'and so i am fine...'
but before she could finish, sister interjected '... then you should also know that their silence is begotten from that they have used what money saved for lavish gifts upon our neighbour - that though you do not know him or of him, there is where you present lies.'
the child, now deserving of the title she hold, cannot come to terms with this betrayal, accepts for what is, and goes to her room. therein, she lies; therein she cries. and till another will present her with whatever she may yet deserve, remains her eyes, her heart, her self.
merry christmas, dear crying child.
Thursday 18 October 2012
Wednesday 17 October 2012
Tuesday 16 October 2012
make today
a walking shade once asked the sun, 'of what is today made?'
and replied none, the sun but shone, as not a heed was paid;
so wandered still, the walking shade, in search of today's own,
until he came to icy chills that suffocate the bone.
though he had none, he thought he did, and so he shuddered so,
but yet he asked, for his answer, against the winds that blow;
'oh, gusty gales, from winter's heart, do you know of today?'
'and what makes it, i now must know, it's secrets that betray...'
before the shade could go on thus, the winds would howled reply,
we'll tell you this, but not until we've traded eye for eye;
'yes, surely so,' now cried the shade, 'whatever that you may,'
'as long as it is mine to give, i must know of today!'
with gleeful stride and sordid smile, the winds requested this:
a half-ounce heart, a one-part soul and then eternal bliss;
'oh, cruel, thee fate! how am i to beget any of those?'
'i'll never know what makes today, not ever, i suppose'.
but maybe in the stead of shade, you've seen the answer now -
what makes today is neither what, or who, or where or how;
and if you think it's made of when, then surely you're wrong too,
what makes today (and evermore) is nothing else but you.
and replied none, the sun but shone, as not a heed was paid;
so wandered still, the walking shade, in search of today's own,
until he came to icy chills that suffocate the bone.
though he had none, he thought he did, and so he shuddered so,
but yet he asked, for his answer, against the winds that blow;
'oh, gusty gales, from winter's heart, do you know of today?'
'and what makes it, i now must know, it's secrets that betray...'
before the shade could go on thus, the winds would howled reply,
we'll tell you this, but not until we've traded eye for eye;
'yes, surely so,' now cried the shade, 'whatever that you may,'
'as long as it is mine to give, i must know of today!'
with gleeful stride and sordid smile, the winds requested this:
a half-ounce heart, a one-part soul and then eternal bliss;
'oh, cruel, thee fate! how am i to beget any of those?'
'i'll never know what makes today, not ever, i suppose'.
but maybe in the stead of shade, you've seen the answer now -
what makes today is neither what, or who, or where or how;
and if you think it's made of when, then surely you're wrong too,
what makes today (and evermore) is nothing else but you.
Friday 12 October 2012
science: then and now
if i have seen farther, it is because i have stood on the shoulders of giants. i believe that's what sir isaac newton said (though i paraphrase because i cannot be bothered to really look it up in detail right now). the caveat of this is that, for the more shoulders to stand on, the larger our range of views. and thence, to see beyond that becomes an infinitesimally more complicated process. exponentially, i should say, but for effect, let's say infinitesimally.
in any case, when i started becoming interested in science, the days were such that an experiment was 'simple and elegant'. hey, let's knock out this gene and see what happens. let's gather a significant number of statistics on an anomaly and see what the maths says. let's try putting x and y in a box for z time, and see what happens in the end. the world was new and exciting and enigmatic, and it was all in discovery to see even the slightest into the dark.
but, i reckon, 50 years from now, the argument will be just as compelling. oh, man, in the 2010's, they had it so easy, experimental design was pretty straightforward. just as how we would compare whichhunting in the dark ages as uncouth and unscientific to todays' methods, so will they with our LHCs and space voyages. i jump in arguments, but i am limited on time.
i suppose, it's all a state of mind - if you are gifted (or lucky) enough to be in the one that fits the age (and this being neither ahead or behind the times), you will be there, at the frontier, a giant of sorts, standing upon others. as for myself? i find that my time would have been in the 80's, possibly 90's. and now, the thrill of science is all too dull and delusioned for me to make much of. i would argue i should have gone into the arts, but we all know where that would end - somewhere unwell like a grotto or in my head.
in any case, when i started becoming interested in science, the days were such that an experiment was 'simple and elegant'. hey, let's knock out this gene and see what happens. let's gather a significant number of statistics on an anomaly and see what the maths says. let's try putting x and y in a box for z time, and see what happens in the end. the world was new and exciting and enigmatic, and it was all in discovery to see even the slightest into the dark.
but, i reckon, 50 years from now, the argument will be just as compelling. oh, man, in the 2010's, they had it so easy, experimental design was pretty straightforward. just as how we would compare whichhunting in the dark ages as uncouth and unscientific to todays' methods, so will they with our LHCs and space voyages. i jump in arguments, but i am limited on time.
i suppose, it's all a state of mind - if you are gifted (or lucky) enough to be in the one that fits the age (and this being neither ahead or behind the times), you will be there, at the frontier, a giant of sorts, standing upon others. as for myself? i find that my time would have been in the 80's, possibly 90's. and now, the thrill of science is all too dull and delusioned for me to make much of. i would argue i should have gone into the arts, but we all know where that would end - somewhere unwell like a grotto or in my head.
Wednesday 10 October 2012
we all look back and laugh
a month from now you'll look back, child, and remember the words,
that every thing she said and did would seem just so absurd;
that promises were left unpaid, and words were left unsaid,
and all the things that could have been will then play in your head.
a year from now, where will all this have come and gone and passed?
should you remember still, young one, the dreams you held steadfast?
or will they have diminished, then, to unspoken desire?
and would the memory of wants evoke in you much ire?
a decade now, a ten years passed! would you still linger on?
would you with your rose-tinted shades still have the will don;
them though you've come to hate the very memory of past,
how would you see her then, dear child, will her ideal form last?
a century, a lifetime's worth of minutes, hours and days,
that could have been spent lounging in the sun's warm, hearty rays;
did you, instead, have waste for them, since you could not see clear?
did you forsake yourself, at most, just thinking then of her?
i would not blame, if you were lulled into a sense of dread,
but know this now, all that you feel is made up in your head;
my little one, remember that you've had good will at heart,
you don't deserve this treatment's end, even if you'd to part.
and either which way comes to be, please hold your creed up high,
and let not her, her wily ways lead your ideals awry;
instead, have faith! utopian child, that you can yet roam free,
know that the grand scheme of things are that what will be, will be.
at least you'll say, a thousand years from now you'd given all, and not the paltry giving of a person half and half,
my child, you've but taken trip, a stumble and a fall, but once you've risen and looked back - you'll do so and you'll laugh!
that every thing she said and did would seem just so absurd;
that promises were left unpaid, and words were left unsaid,
and all the things that could have been will then play in your head.
a year from now, where will all this have come and gone and passed?
should you remember still, young one, the dreams you held steadfast?
or will they have diminished, then, to unspoken desire?
and would the memory of wants evoke in you much ire?
a decade now, a ten years passed! would you still linger on?
would you with your rose-tinted shades still have the will don;
them though you've come to hate the very memory of past,
how would you see her then, dear child, will her ideal form last?
a century, a lifetime's worth of minutes, hours and days,
that could have been spent lounging in the sun's warm, hearty rays;
did you, instead, have waste for them, since you could not see clear?
did you forsake yourself, at most, just thinking then of her?
i would not blame, if you were lulled into a sense of dread,
but know this now, all that you feel is made up in your head;
my little one, remember that you've had good will at heart,
you don't deserve this treatment's end, even if you'd to part.
and either which way comes to be, please hold your creed up high,
and let not her, her wily ways lead your ideals awry;
instead, have faith! utopian child, that you can yet roam free,
know that the grand scheme of things are that what will be, will be.
at least you'll say, a thousand years from now you'd given all, and not the paltry giving of a person half and half,
my child, you've but taken trip, a stumble and a fall, but once you've risen and looked back - you'll do so and you'll laugh!
Sunday 7 October 2012
the widow's kiss
thou, scheming soul, of haunting lies,
of naked half-truths and foul vies;
who spoke of clear winds and vivid blue seas,
and acre-bound trees,
and honey'd blue bees.
and shadowed hearts! unpredictably wild,
that cannot be loved for even a while;
but sweetly gives scent of amber'd embrace,
that cold doth replace,
that hides with no face.
oh, murderous fiend, how subtle thine blade,
that purity killed in sunspotted shade,
by beaches, by leaves, by decrepit huts,
like deep flowing cuts,
no ifs ands or buts.
but cruel! but soft! but tender and disdain, how could one so light be heartened and vain?
with nothing but whispers in darkened ravines,
thou, scheming soul,
and shadowed heart,
oh, murderous fiend.
of naked half-truths and foul vies;
who spoke of clear winds and vivid blue seas,
and acre-bound trees,
and honey'd blue bees.
and shadowed hearts! unpredictably wild,
that cannot be loved for even a while;
but sweetly gives scent of amber'd embrace,
that cold doth replace,
that hides with no face.
oh, murderous fiend, how subtle thine blade,
that purity killed in sunspotted shade,
by beaches, by leaves, by decrepit huts,
like deep flowing cuts,
no ifs ands or buts.
but cruel! but soft! but tender and disdain, how could one so light be heartened and vain?
with nothing but whispers in darkened ravines,
thou, scheming soul,
and shadowed heart,
oh, murderous fiend.
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