GOODBYE KISS...

I must emphasise I did it again, with this poem: This is a song by the way. My second attempt at songs, and the first one completed (I stopped the other deliberately knowing I'm heading the wrong way). And again, I doubt very much, that this could be sung in any time under ten minutes. Probably you ought to cut down on the music score, and take away a few minutes of background music. But that's gonna hamper my song for sure, which means this is gonna be the next November Rain, in terms of Length!!! :D Let's hope you relish the goodbye kiss (And I mean the end of my song, not the picture I posted :D)

GOODBYE KISS

A thousand hesitations,

More than a man could ever face;

I felt in a single moment,

My personal End of Days.

Hit high on a frenzy,

Insanity made me sweat;

I sat limp on my old couch,

Sketching on new Blue Velvet…

When an age it takes, to conquer,

For even the mightiest king;

I took a moment for the telephone,

To pick it up and sing:

“Hey.. Girl!

Know you’re feeling sad;

Livid, waiting to break-up,

On your man seen being bad…”

“But Wait!

Need to tell you something before;

That girl’s just another friend,

Baby, you’re something more!”

“Oh Babe!

You’re a mark on my heart!

Indelible, as long as I live,

But if you still wanna part…”

“I’d say okay!

Just for you to know,

That your word’s my mandate,

However far you may try to go…”

“Girl, you’re all my life,

The crystal of my Atlantis;

You don’t know how I’ll miss you,

Oh Baby, give a Goodbye kiss…”

I could sense, I heard her fume,

Could even scent her sweet perfume;

More than a line, she didn’t resume,

“I presume”…”You’ll meet me today…”

I hung up, dazed, looking around,

Echoes in my head resound;

Angel’s given me an extra round,

Of sound… I didn’t know what to say…

‘No problem if she forgives me,

What if she said she didn’t care?

What if she chose to dampen our love

To a friendship… Now how’s that fair?!’

“Baby!

A friend’s just an excuse;

‘Especially when a woman wishes,

It’s sure for no future use!”

“So Honey please, let’s rather part,

A wound’s better, o’er a broken heart;

And, your love lesser will I miss,

If you say goodbye, with a goodbye kiss…”

“Goodbye with a goodbye kiss…”

“Girl, you’re every breath I take,

And every single move I make,

Is for you; for the love we share,

Oh Please don’t tell me you don’t care!!!”

“Baby, give a goodbye kiss…”

……

“Say goodbye with a goodbye kiss…”

‘I finally met my Angel,

Moments after her call;

In the park, said it’s quieter,

Than the downtown mall’

‘Took no time to get there,

Lot longer to walk;

To hell with the saying, ‘cause

Tough was the walk in the park!’

‘And tougher was it to talk,

Was the wind which spoke for me;

My eyes were a second option,

Hers were for me to see…’

‘Gosh! She was pretty…

Hair blown by the breeze;

Communicating with her brow,

Asking me, “Is it so?”

And I smiled a “Yes”, with ease…’

“You’re in every part of my heart,

Girl! Let’s not stop, let’s just start;

Saying goodbye can never suffice,

Even with a Goodbye kiss…”

‘My! Did I say how her lips align?

In a moment, they were onto mine,

She kissed me… No prior sign,

And stepped back, eyes fully alive…’

‘I said nothing, before and after,

Not deliberately, I didn’t know;

She beat me, saying a single line,

“Goodbye love… Until tomorrow…”’

‘The sweetest words I’ve ever heard,

Thrust me into a state of bliss;

Words better than her best,

Even better was her Goodbye kiss…’

Girl!

Better was your Goodbye kiss…

Your eyes!

Better was your Goodbye kiss…

Your words!

Better was your Goodbye kiss…

……

“Girl, you’re all over my heart,

Shall never stop, let’s always start;

Afresh; a goodbye can never suffice,

Even with your Goodbye kiss…”

“At this!

Even with your Goodbye kiss…”

You’re the crystal of my Atlantis…

Hey.. Girl!

Better was your goodbye kiss…

Oh she said goodbye!

……

Goodbye with a Goodbye kiss…

I worried on my ‘hit or miss’…

Goodbye with a Goodbye kiss…

Goodbye with a Goodbye kiss…

Goodbye with a

GOODBYE KISS!!!

This is an original work of P.KARTHIK and any unauthorized use or use without proper permission or documentation or the writer’s consent is a criminal and punishable offence.

© COPYRIGHT PROTECTED

THE SPEECH OF SILENCE

MOVIE: THE FLIGHT OF THE RED BALLOON (2008)

DIRECTED BY: HOU HSIAO-HSIEN

STARRING: JULIETTE BINOCHE, FANG SONG, SIMON ITEANU.

RATING: ****

This movie, a remake of THE RED BALLOON, a 1956-Academy Award winning film by Albert Lamorisse, is supposed to have been one of the films that enthralled critics, viewers, one and all at Cannes early this year, the others being ‘4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days’ and Gus Van Sant’s truly engrossing ‘Paranoid Park’. These two are pieces of information I did not know before I watched the movie, and I am sure that in case I had known this, my subconscious mind would have compelled my lips to mouth (Or my fingers to type in this case!) that what I had watched was indeed a remarkable film, something I could easily have forced myself to believe even. I’m not to be blamed for this, for critics these days seem to be redefining ‘boredom’ as ‘excellence’ what with films like ‘Gerry’ (By Gus Van Sant again!) receiving critical acclaim. Film Directors and respectable critics could share a few jokes indeed, but should it be at the expense of a common film aficionado?

‘The Flight of the Red Balloon’ isn’t stupid by the way, if you people have started to take that angle of thought. My point is just that good movies can be taken in ways more interesting than this. Mr. Hou seems to have exploited the celluloid quite effectively indeed, for events in this movie are a spectrum indeed but just vaguely distributed. There’s nothingness on a grand scale, followed by a short-scale occurrence of a lot of things in quick succession that is quite overwhelming, especially since that type of an occurrence is typecast whenever the frazzled and extremely preoccupied Suzanne (Binoche) walks into the frame. And Hou also emphasizes upon a sort of gradual unfolding of conversations and sequences even, an example being a sequence in a train, where Suzanne talks of a very important postcard of hers from her adolescent times, and it’s just her till she hands out the postcard to Song (Song Fang) sitting opposite to her, who again translates whatever she said, to a third man, a Mr.Zhang, to whom actually, the postcard is presented. A similar thing occurs in a telephonic monologue in a cab, with visual exploit of reflections upon the transparent glass, by Suzanne, that’s one of the two crucial monologues in the movie, and is no doubt, expertly photographed.

The film essentially begins with a beautiful conversation between Suzanne’s son Simon (Iteanu) and the imaginary red balloon that’s actually the red balloon Hou’s film boasts of, in which he innocently asks it to come down to be with him: An indication of the boy’s loneliness, for he misses his mother’s true love, what with her being too busy over her puppet plays and eviction of her once-friendly tenant, who seems to have taken a liking towards not paying rents though having a good stock in his bank account. Simon also misses his sister who’s living in Brussels alone, while his Dad is lodged at Montreal, trying to do some justice to a book he’s working on (Suzanne is divorced, obviously). The Red Balloon appears friendly: In fact, it proves to be more than just a Red Balloon, for once it leaves him safe in the train he’s expected to board, it wobbles all over a picture-perfect Paris, finally leading to a bus, out of which a Gabriel-like girl, Song Fang, A film student in Paris, hops out to meet Suzanne at her theatre school: Song is Simon’s newly hired Nanny. Suzanne tells Song in their first car trip that she doesn’t seem to be shy: Song disagrees, saying she’s a bit. But as the film progresses we agree upon Suzanne’s point.

Those bold, yet limited words of Song when she gets to spend a lot of value time with little Simon is what makes him open out to her. She doesn’t care to ask why he says his sister Louise is merely a ‘pretend’ sister; nor does she hesitate to say “I guessed so”, when Simon innocently says his parents are divorced. She has a camera on her that she uses to record whatever Simon does, and he in turn films what she does, and that includes his expertise on Pinball-playing, as well as Song’s first pancake-making lesson. She says she’s making a film on a red balloon, which points out that, incidentally, the red balloon is everywhere: On the side of a building, as a painting, wobbling outside a window alongside Song’s reflection, above Simon’s skylight as he sleeps under it. The Balloon is a nice metaphor of the imaginary world that unites Song and Simon – A bond he has never been given a chance to share with his mother. She’s more like a sister to him, for his sequences with Louise always appear to follow or precede those he shares with Song. Simon hardly speaks with her, and Song hardly ever speaks (!) but still, between the naturally introverted Simon, and the reserved Song, their silence is what ultimately speaks…

Juliette Binoche appears to be a certainty for every good film made contemporarily in France: Michael Haneke’s ‘Cache’ had her, and here she is again this year to captivate one and all with a beautiful and good-humoured portrayal of Suzanne. She does great justice as the woman who is helpless about her present state, of things that happen and how she wished they weren’t that way: Her desperation shows when she badly wants her daughter to move with them, so that she could be with her. Fantastic again, is the scene where Suzanne and Song discuss Song’s film called ‘Origins’ which, according to Suzanne, told of things she had neglected so long. “I felt like I could almost hear my dad pacing about the room, and my mother slamming the door”, says Suzanne excitedly, as Song simply smiles and expresses her thanks. Song Fang is beautiful as the courteous, just and measured Taiwanese girl, who develops a nice friendship with the person she’s supposed to develop: Simon. Simon Iteanu as Simon is every bit of the kid he’s portrayed on screen, and the match of his real and cinematic names suggests that the director could very well have used his true mannerisms on screen, for he seems to be natural in whatever he does, be it swinging about a lamp-post or asking his mom ‘Why she’s in such a hurry’.

Excellent photography, especially in truly dramatic sequences involving a blind piano-tuner, and those involving transparent glass windows make it wondrous, visually. The music score is good too, perhaps an extra edge it is in the penultimate sequence again, where the sounds of the man tuning Simon’s piano are the only music in the background and that music in turn is beautifully arranged. Some nice shots, particularly (as mentioned before) the gradual unfolding of characters involved in a conversation, as well as a sudden cascade of occurrences after ages of silence. The puppets are symbols of Song’s strong ethical backdrop, which also serve to alter Suzanne, and help her rediscover and re-establish the love she has upon her son. ‘The Flight of the Red Balloon’ is an addition to the collection of nightmarish child tales, where the only problem of the child is his/her negligence. Hou doesn’t want Simon to be neglected: He has his angel to take care of that. An angel who kisses Simon good night as the Godly Red Balloon supervises from above. And you smile at how lucky a child Simon is…

‘The Flight of the Red Balloon’ isn’t a drag: It’s just my review of it that is. The movie had a load of things for sure. The only problem is that it’s director Mr. Hou chooses to tell them to us in the sober way he thinks life actually is…

THE MONK WHO SOLD EINSTEIN...

At the beginning of this poem, I told myself that this would be the first time I am going to edit a poem of mine, because all my previous ones have crossed the 100-line barrier, one that's proving to be too much of a hindrance to me. So I sat pre-planned, that this one is surely gonna be a 70-liner: Nothing less, nothing more. And I erred again...

I should not have sat with a mind full of thoughts, I should never have lived with a stuffed mind, stuffed especially in the involuntary part. For again I wrote a hundred and thirty lines: And again I felt I shouldn't edit... Well I could ask you folks to judge for yourself, not much of words to say that! But it takes a whole lot more: Cause 130 lines make a whole page on here!

Still I thought I had to say, for this is the first time I convey, my true feelings: One without love. One a whole lot higher. Something that the world's neglected: Something the world's never wanted to believe. Something I certainly believe in.

Something that can't be real for sure: Something that beyond all this, is actually the truth...

This is how my poem ends: These are the last few lines. Hope you enjoy it: Enjoy it enough to say you truly felt my point :)

THE MONK WHO SOLD EINSTEIN...

“Listen up son, for these could be my last,

My last words ever spoken;

Scream to the world that the force exists,

My conscience thou shalt bear as a token.”

“Never should you believe in a single God,

One’s too good to be true;

It takes a whole lot more for the world to function,

Now, may the force be with you!”

Speechless was I, at his last oration,

Speechless to even utter a goodbye;

Without air enough, to even shed tears,

Seeing the great man at my feet, lie…

Dared I didn’t, to even touch,

With my scientifically tainted hands;

I simply looked at that humble figure,

Overwhelmed by those pure strands…

I closed my eyes, leaking a drop out,

My contribution to the teary sea;

As I thought of questions I never asked,

And things he never said to me…

My tutor… The monk who sold Einstein,

No end can ever exist to his spirituality;

Before I asked, he left me in total trance,

The monk, who sold Einstein - “Amen”, said he…

SONGWRITER ME!!!

I asked myself before I put pen on paper: What makes a songwriter? Imagination... Fantasies... Dreaminess... (The three are nearly the same I know!!!) rhyme schemes... (Swear words? Nah!!!) Yeah I guess that would about be it. And more than that, you need to mince words: Tell only half of what you wanna say. And the song demands some screams, shouts, moans, blah blah. That's the crooner's job ain't it?! Then if a lyricist's job is just to write with the above qualitiies fused as one, I asked myself almost immediately:

WHY NOT WRITE A SONG???

And an EMPHATIC song! A song that is not gonna be written by any male songwriter (Let alone females!) 'cause we all know what flirts those people are, starting from Lennon to John Mayer (I know they're the most sensitive people, but when they themselves are flirts, what's the point talking about others?!). And what song's that gonna be??? It's gonna be: And it is - WOMEN AREN'T WORTH IT!!! Yes Women aren't worth it! My latest venture to solve paper mazes with ink (If you're wondering how that works, it means I'm figuring out what design on paper looks right, which means what is gonna sound right, which in turn means that I'm speaking a bit abstract, which qualifies me as a pro song writer!!! Already :D) And this is how the first stanza goes...

I also wish to emphasise one small thing over here: This poem is never anti-women. That's what people need to understand. This is just a first stanza and assuming this is all is a bit of stupidity when I already quoted it's just the first set of words, and that means that you could very well expect an anti climax over here...

And I think I'm proving the statement "Writer's mind changes often" and that's not it exactly because I'm an emoter rather than a writer, and as emotions are even more drastic than words, I guess that's the way with me... :)

WOMEN AREN'T WORTH IT!!!

Stalled upon a sign: It condemned him to;

Puffs on his cigarette, between shivery fingers two;

Wets a cloth on his face, odd on a windy day,

Needless break of sweat, without a heat ray…

Buddy! What’s wrong with you?

Why so anxious? Why so tense?

Tell me in what way, this makes sense!

Stuffing with idle dust, no flick of sand,

Those pretty roses you hold in your hand!

Brother: Life’s not worth it, n’ tell you something,

Women are worth lesser, so learn to sing:

‘Tis said while men go woo,

The dame’s meant to shoo;

Bill set it: To him my big boo!

‘Cause we know that ain’t true…

‘Cause WOMEN AREN’T WORTH IT!!!

Yes: Women aren’t worth it!

Your flowers're worth more than them,

They give their scent off, 'n ask no gem,

What more's a woman, than the attached mayhem?

Believe me, you could do better without 'em!

'Cause WOMEN AREN'T WORTH IT!!!

எளியரே...

இந்த இணைய தளத்தைத் தொடங்கிய முதல், ஒரு முறைக் கூட என்தாய்மொழியாகிய தமிழில் நான் எழுதவில்லை... தமிழேன்னைத் திட்டியது: துரோகிஎன்றது. நான் எழுதத் துவங்கியது தமிழில் தானே! என்னைஏமாற்றுக்காரன் என்றாள் தமிழ்த் தாய்.

அதனாலும், தந்தை பெரியார் மீது நான் கொண்ட அளவுக்கடந்தப் பற்றாலும் நான்எழுதுகிறேன், என் முதல் தமிழ் கவிதையை... தமிழாயிருந்தாலும், என்தனித்துவம் சிறக்குமென நினைக்கிறேன். பின் எல்லாம் உங்கள் விமர்சனம்: அதற்க்கு முன், இது என் எண்ணம்...

வண்ணமில்லாமல்...

எளியர்

முரண்பாட்டுக் குவியல், நேர்மாற்றுக்
களஞ்சியமாம் இப்பூவுலகம் - அதில்
கண்கட்டப்பட்ட மனிதன் வாழும்,
இயந்திரப்படுதப் பட்டதோர் வாழ்க்கை...
கடுங்குவியலிலும் நான் கண்டேனொரு மென்மை:
கண்டு மெய்ச்சிலிரத்தக்
கையளவு உண்மை;

முரண்பாட்டு மூட்டைக்குத் தானாகப்
போடப்பட்ட முடிச்சினை நானாக
அவிழ்த்துச சேர்க்கிறேன்,
அவ்வழகியச் சில்லறையை...

ஆனால் நிறைந்தச் சோற்றுப்பானைக்குக்
கூடுதல் பருக்கையல்ல இந்நாணயம்;
வயிறு வாடிய பிள்ளைப்பயிற்றின்
அரியதோர் பெரும் பொக்கிஷம்;
பசிஎன்னும் கடும் புண்ணுக்குச்
சுக நிவாரணம்: வன்மையுடன்...

நாணயச் சின்னத்தின் மேல் கறைப் படியுமோ?
எந்நாளும் பொன் நாணயம் மாசுருமோ?
வாழ்க்கை முரண்பட்டாலும்,
நாணயம் பலியாகுமோ?
"பதில் தெரிந்ததே கேட்கிறாயோ?"
என்பார் அம்மனிதன்...

மனிதர்களிடையில் அவர்
என்ன வேறோ?
இல்லை அம்மனிதன் தான்
அவர் பிரானென்று சொன்னாரோ?
மற்ற சுயனலவாதிகளைப் போல்,
மற்ற 'மகாத்மா'க்களைப்போல்?
தன்னைத்தான் புகழ்ந்தாரோ?
இல்லை அம்மனிதருக்கு
அந்த அவசியம் தான் உண்டோ?
வேறு என்ன சொன்னார்?

அவர் புகழையா?
இனப் புகழையா?
மதப்புகழையா?
இல்லை... மனிதப்புகழை!
நாமும் சொல்வோம்,
மனிதரினமவரால் பெற்ற
மதிப்பற்றப்புகழை...
நாம் சொல்வோம்!

உருவெடுத்து, நம்புவியாளப் பிறந்த மனித தெய்வம் ஒன்றே,
அறம் சாய,
தருமம் சாய,
சமத்துவம் சாய,
தான் சாயாமல்,
முரசெடுத்தொலித்து,
மார்புத் தட்டி,
வேங்கைக்குரலேழுப்பியதாம்:
உலகில் கடவுள் இல்லையென...!!!

பாடுவோம் இவர் புகழை!
முரண்பட்டால் இவர் மனிதரில்லையோ?
இல்லையென்றால் இவர் பிரானோ?
இல்லை முரண்பாட்டு மனிதர் தானோ?
தன்னடக்கம் கொண்டவரோ?
(ஒற்றுக்கொள்ளமாட்டான்,
இவர் பேச்சைக்கேட்ட எவனுமிதற்கு!)
இல்லவே இல்லை...
இவரே மனிதர்,
இவரே அன்பர்,
இவரே எளியர்,

..............................

இவர் தான் பெரியார்!!!

இவருக்குப் பின் யார்???

LES SANDS...

This blog post of mine is essentially made of two parts: One is a funny poem I managed to string (Not without satirical reason of course!) together during what could be the longest intra-city bus journeys I had been through, and that sojourn gave me this one, which I think could also be the rudest poem I ever have written: A close look, you need to be sure of that! And that close look, you'd better take, right here:

LES SANDS



Once there was a girl called Sandy,
Who was sweeter than the sweetest of candy,
One fine day, in either the start of spring or its fall,
A guy remarked that she was a total doll;
Pat she replied: "You're not a girl to play with me!"

This folks, is what I understood to be a 'Limerick', something with this kind of a rhyme-scheme, that I learnt from one experienced writer in this field of poetry. Except for the trivial fact that it took me just five minutes to string this together (Didn't connect so well!) and also except for the fact that this poem never actually came out of my heart, save for one slight twinge of a feeling that said serve girls right and thanks a lot to them for always turning up with incomplete sentences and wrong choice of words. And btw, again, the title's not french, when the entire poem is written in American-English!!!

If you did not understand the poem till this point, then there's something odd about you, and if you don't even after you finish reading this post, then there's something seriously wrong with you!!! I'm sure boys wouldn't fail me: We need just a lone read to ensure we get all mischievous usages right, and probably a minute more to come up with all smiles... :)

And as I want to say, Limericks are not proving to be my cup of lime tea (The only drink I sip on) and though I could be coming up with another one before I close my eyes for a blink or a wink, I feel you need to feel something to pen those down, and in essence as I did not feel anything but a bit bored as I wrote this, I say to myself: "Brother, stop this kind of exploit immediately, and try for a better one instead..." And so I said yes...

So wait up till my next post, and make sure you get this poem, 'cause this is in no way, abstract :)

Until then, it's good bye from...
Rithkak Upur.