October 14th 2019

Morning cruised around smoothly. I took two classes of Geography, one the Geography of India and the other Geography of the World. I felt happy as the 9th and 10th graders were active and attentive.
It’s evening now and I am looking at the colored sky, the setting of the sun, all melodious epiphany. Yes, we can learn the art of the novel by looking at nature.

I pondered on certain Biblical thoughts mainly the concept of sin. All humans are sinful because of the Sin of Adam and Eve. But there’s a difference. A child who dies won’t be punished for the sin of Adam and Eve and will partake heaven. The second sin is the sin from knowledge, a deliberate, scheming sin such as adultery, murder, covetousness and the whole lot. A mature human can be judged in Heaven based on the sin committed by willful knowledge.
I also thought about death. Though I was an atheist, the fear of death made me a theist. The dreams I had of monsters are very frightening. I have a fear-phobia-complex. I sometimes think that any moment that I might die. I also think that I might have an accident. I am also afraid of committing suicide.
What is the Manna for writing? The sounds, sights and smells of nature are favorite tools for a writer. Writing is like: in Wordsworth’s words: I wandered lonely as a cloud. The colors of the sky are singing a synaesthesia. Nature is the embodiment of the soul and becomes a text for writing. The manna of the clouds poured a celestial music. The brook played the Song of Songs. The waves frolicked in laughter. Wind kissed my cheeks making me glow with joy. Thunder grumbled in rage.

Writing is a painting of words. Writing bequeaths art in the form of figures of speech. Syria is a wailing banshee. The sword of Damocles hangs precariously over Hong Kong. A white beard covered the earth. Fortune is a Goddess of luck. The ribs of freedom started protesting. Seasons are a joy of music. I have a money-empty pocket. Rock-bulldozing rhythm makes the brain go berserk. Cure the tempest of my mind with an apothecary. Palestine let nectars of freedom fly as dove making a homeland to live. Dramatize life on the stage of the theater. Let not the poison of angst become the dread of your soul. Let dreams be saddled by fortune’s wand. Eye not lust: Eye Love. Patience is a wretch of oppression. The heart is a nation o love. Slam a fist on corruption. My neurons are a punch bag.

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The Rainbow

Once upon a time there were fairies who lived inside the rainbow. They were a happy go lucky lot and lacked nothing. The prince Mosque descended on to the rainbow and did dastardly things. He shut out the colors and light of the rainbow and waged a war with them. Then came the prince of Good Time, the Sun. He felt pity for the fairies and besieged Prince Mosque. He dethroned Prince Mosque and gave back the rainbow to the fairies.

Rachael

She is a favorite grandmother of the tiny hamlet. The youth of the village are especially fond of her. She is liberal, permissive and celebrates a free spirit and heart. Youth flock to her pastures to learn the first games of sex. She has serviced both fathers and sons. She is a nymphomaniac never getting tired, always wanting more. She is doing great service to the nation as a skillful instructor.

Jolly

Jolly is woman an ordinary housewife who attained fame and notoriety as a serial killer. She is a black widow who came to the limelight as a serial killer. It was when her children died and were taken to hospital, doctors felt something fishy and did an autopsy. The results showed poisoning by cyanide. Then the earlier graves of her husband, in-laws were dug and the results showed symptoms of cyanide. The motive for murder is lust, adultery and desire to appropriate wealth. Strange are the ways of the human mind.

Nobodynothing and Somebodysomething

Nobodynothing and somebodysomething are twin selves of a struggling writer. Nobodynothing is an earth of reality, doing a menial job of teaching English to high school students. Somebodysomething aspires to be an established author who longs to travel to places, to smoke clove cigarettes, attend literary symposiums, visit art galleries to make love to the women in his life and many more. The self is an illusion stuck between nobodynothing and somebodysomething.

For Tibet Uyghur and Hong King

Oh Fascist Fang of China,
Your obeisance
To communism
Is trite hypocrisy………
Look at how
You poison
Your people –
The Tibetans
The Uyghurs
And Hong Kong
You don’t have
The breath to
Unlock their chains
And make them
Free democracies ……
Your massacre
Their people,
You loud mouth
Their cultures…
You venom of
Fascism,
Let these regions
Have their homeland and
Experience democracy’s
Heart and soul