On Sandman

I have been missing for some time now because I have finally got something I have been saving up for for a long while now.

Yup, I got the first two volumes (out of four) of Neil Gaiman’s Sandman.

 

 And after reading the first one, there are so many thoughts swirling around in the mist of my brain that I am in the process of collecting them and trying to save them, to try and pin them down and talk to them, let them talk to me, to understand them in a way, if they let me.

And for those souls who are crying out for Sandman, I must regret to say, I am in love – not with Dream/Sandman, but with Death – the beautiful, mysterious stranger who we all meet at the very end, I love her and what she stands for, how she is represented in the series.

And with volume two to look forward to over this weekend, I am, at this moment, perhaps the most satisfied I have ever been.

Thought for the day

   Just when I think I recognise my face finally, my hands reach behind and peel off yet another mask;

I wonder sometimes if I will ever run out of masks.

Lament of a non-poet

So many forms to choose from -

The abab of the casual rhyme

The phonetical wheel of the sonnet

The simple joy of a limerick

The endless romance of the ballad;

But it’s free verse all the way

For me and my thoughts;

My thoughts

If I might call them mine

Do not structure themselves

In a neat order as they arrive;

Rather they float in like so many minute particles of sand

Sometimes they trickle in, like a gentle flow

At others, they are strong torrents

Mercilessly crashing against the walls of my mind

Demanding an outlet;

And in the time taken

To remould them

Into the required phrases

They fade away

Lost again to me

For they are capricious by nature;

Alas then, I can be no poet;

For I cannot seranade nor yet use metaphors;

I can but put these thoughts down

As they flash through

And they set themselves into a pattern

Creating their own structure

Flimsy though it might seem.

Sacred Fire

I am looking now into the dancing flames

A ravenous and demanding master

That demands more and more from the priests

Encircling it;

There are many hands outstretched

Whetting its appetite

With a dollop of ghee now

And a luscious looking fruit at times;

I too have a demanding fire

In me

But I know I cannot afford any of the sacrificies

It demands;

They tell me it’s a sacred fire for them

That mammoth beast they keep feeding

Something for Dhanvantri – the God of Healing

And I pray and wonder – does He heal hunger?

The King of Ithaca

For Writer’s Island combining the prompts of “Legend” and “The Return”;

Have you heard

Of the King of Ithaca

Who, despite feigning madness

Still was a part of the Trojan War?

Have you heard of he

Who jumped onto his helmet first

To avoid being the first to die?

Have you heard of his silver tongue

And his sharp wit

That made Achilles, the great warrior, pay heed?

Odysseus, they called him

Father to Telemachus and husband to Penelope – the shrewd

She who outwitted men for twenty years spinning the same shroud;

Odysseus, the canny, the wily, the cunning, the brave

Odyssesus, he who helped defeat Troy

With the idea of a wooden horse;

Odysseus – he who escaped Cyclops

And the one eyed giant

Tying himself to a few sheep;

Odysseus, blessed by Athena

Sung to by the Sirens

Yet escaping their lure;

Odysseus, he who returned

To his kingdom

After twenty years

And defeated the horde of suitors

Who dared to threaten his wfe;

Odysseus – The legend of a man who was strong and clever;

Odysseus – diplomatic and blessed;

Odysseus – A warrior God to me.