His Story

He was a colleague of mine, a chief administrator in a school office. He was in his thirties. He has a sad story behind him. His wife ditched him and eloped with another man. He is a Jesus freak. He was looking for a partner to fill the void in his life. By chance he happened to encounter a nurse in the UK who started sending positive vibes to him. She was married but her husband had died. She came from a Pentecostal family. Her mother asked a pastor to pray and find out if the marriage was God willing. He prayed and said ‘no’. I wonder what kind of gift that the pastor has. Isn’t he being cruel and acting as stale fish. I am sure that God will not reveal a plan that will sabotage someone’s life. My colleague became heartbroken. Some pastors are real chains that fetter people’s souls and they have the audacity to call themselves as God’s prophets. What kind of bull is that?

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Abstract

Ripe mangoes
Yellow tainted
Cling in clusters …
A bard’s eye
Longs mesmeric…
Monsoon Kerala,
You are a song of
Rhythmic pounding
Of rain…
Your tranquil backwaters
Are a sedative for the soul…
Twinkling eye of the sky…
A longing nostalgia
To break into an epiphany..
Camus’ angst the
The Sisyphus,
A rebel of existential irony…
I made love to her Anu,
And she became a flower
Of being…
Eternity soak me in your dew…
Let’s time’s dials seal my coffers
As a gift to be in heaven…
Rilke had a soul of poet …
His tropes lick the marrow
Of my bones…
Oh God, you have given
Me a gift to be on earth …
Let me live life in
The poetry of music…
My dear beloved,
I long for you …
When your husband’s
Not at home…
Picasso painted the cubist,
An art is breaking the
Irony of ice…
Shades of a dream
You are picture for a poet…
I am in exile and I long
For bedding my passions
In cave enriched honey…
Dali’s persistence of
Memory an echo
Of poetry in an oedipal trauma…
Angst I shatter you with
The triumph of art…
I listen to Bach
And my soul is caught
In raptures of a celestial
Dream…
I long to experiment sex
Drugs and altered states…
And eclipse into a shamanic
Cabala….
Existentialism, please my
Longings of desire….
A nymph a mermaid
And the muses, you
Are afflatuses divine…?
I divine the tarot
And it gives me a
Weird sense of meaning…
Pound cuts grass into
Poetic peacocks…
Waste Land of Eliot,
A submerged abyss
Of human existence ….
What is the meaning of life?
The soul is an art to exist…
Life’s rhythm found
In the Jazz of the heart…
Rap, you are black of the soul…
Blues, you echo me
Into a verdant pasture …
I joy her many times…
My tongue in her is a
Flicking pasture…
I am tempted like Eve
And I eat the fruit of flesh…
Nirvana you are soaring
In the wings of a bird…
Life’s a lyric ….
Desire lies in transgression…
I find you God in all things of life…
In all creatures great and small.
Astrologers are shenanigans of
Mischief, the vibrate negative
Tunes for the mystic soul…
The bed remained a vacant dream…
Borges springs from an imaginary
Text as an ugly fang…
A night of ecstasy is
Longing for the soul…
I found the seed,
A tiny marvel of God’s
Creation…
The mystic halo of the bard
Is reverberating a
Rhythm of poetry….
I every desert of writing,
There’s an oasis of beauty….
The whirling dervish
Sooths my soul with
Cryptic incantations ….
Life, I have found a
Beautiful maiden in you…
My soul will be in heaven
Written by God in the
Book of life….
My father keeps
Visiting me in dreams …
A gentle soul, a poetic
Philosopher…
My soul stays
Unplugged on
Eric Clapton’s guitar…
I am music when I live…
How much I relish
Good scotch…
Honey is nature’s wonder …
An echo of God with
The sweet taste of music…
How I long to be with you,
You gentle poetic soul …
Where is the end and
The beginning ….
It all lies with God
The maker of Heaven and
Earth….
DNA is a cryptic password,
Breathing to life the genes
Of being human….
Human I am all too human…
Life’s destiny where are you
Taking me?
Life, you are an ode of poetry…
Passion found in poetry …
I live in it in her body…
Eros, you are passions
Of an erotic Goddess…
Life, I have found you
In the joy of meditation…
Peace, I am gentle soul….
The slain lamb of Calvary,
Healed all my wounds of sin…
Words are gentle poetries of love…
I smoke in the temple of God
And I feel sorry for it…
Am I corrupt in my heart?
Beatitudes for the soul
Are temples erected by God…
Beauty you are the soul magnified?
Music is the God of all art…
Life is a mystic mystery…
Where is the song of art?
Let me brothel my desires …
The occult is a taboo for me…
When faced with life’s tempest…
I turn to God almighty for help…
The sky is a painting in abstract…
The moon is a living hymn of the night…
Dreams become prophets of voyages…
God has numbered the hairs on my head…
Lord bless me like you’ve blessed
Jacob and Abraham…
What is the meaning of being?
Reality hits me like a hard savage…
I long to see my generations to be blessed…
God, you are adored, honored and glorified.
Slain was the lamb
But his second coming will be lion…
A bard has sold his soul to God….
Lord have pity on me ….
Have mercy on me….
Lord, I long to travel and write …
I love my life in writing….
How much I long to write for you…
I have stopped hating myself…
Time is set on the wings of a harp…
Poets have to find beauty
In the meaning of life…
The night of passion
Was so lyrically sublime…
We flowed to symphonies
Of ecstasy…
Life is an easy lyric to follow…
Rodin sculpted the
Intellectual in the Thinker…
His gaze is mystic, solemn in thought…
Pop art is a punk crystal…
The gaze of Lacan …
So erotic and sexual ….
Time is a meadow that lies
In textures of ecstasy….
Dreams are memoirs of the heart…
Crystal gazing of a witch,
Hockuspockusabracadabra….
Poetry is lyric of the soul …
I have found her to be an oasis…
We made love like an ocean
And flowed to a dream of beauty….
The past is fond memory…
The present a life lived …
And the future full of expectations…
God, I have found you Christ alone…
The journey of life beyond death
Is a pleasant surprise.
What a joy it is to be in heaven…
Cherubs are living adorations of poems.
To write is to have the passion of origin.
Catharsis, I wonder at your rich meaning,
I am a poet filled with the heart of it.
When will my dreams be fulfilled?
I have set a lot of hope in my heart.

 

Analysis of a Collection of Short Stories

At the end of the Mechanical Age by Donald Barthelme
The protagonists of the story are Ralph and Ms Davis. The story portrays the contemporary age as being dull and boring. But the mechanical age has got its comfort zones. Ms Davis a widow gets married to Ralph. The marriage ceremony is witnessed by God who makes them take an oath: ‘you wedded husband and life promise to make whatever mutually satisfactory accommodations necessary to reduce tensions and arrive at previously agreed upon goals both parties have harmoniously set in the appropriate planning sessions’. The story is vague and lacks depth and form. It resembles an incongruous abstract painting.
Petition by John Barth
John Barth in the Petition writes an epistle to a renowned person from Thailand who is visiting America for a surgery. Barth is very much drawn to Eastern Mysticism and Eastern religions. He extols the virtues of the foreigner’s history. He also describes the contemporary culture of America in ironic terms. One can’t find the essence of a story in the petition by Barth.
Balthazar’s Marvelous Afternoon by Marquez
The Cage made by Balthazar is a fascinating and mysterious story about Balthazar who makes a cage and sells it for sixty pesos. As soon as he collects the money, he buys booze for his friends and gets inebriated. His wife waits patiently for him to come home. The story carries a moral about a person who doesn’t know to handle large sums of money.
The Shore by Grillet
The shore by Grillet describes the movement of three children on the beach. Grillet describes the motion of the waves, the flying sea gulls and the movement of the wind. The author has a lurking fascination for the three children, a strange eerie aura of attraction.
Like a Bad Dream by Heinrich Boll
In Like a Bad Dream, the protagonist invites the Zumpens for dinner. He was thinking of the prized contract that the Zumpen would make. But the Zumpens left without saying anything. Bertha the wife of the protagonist told her husband to visit the Zumpens. Mrs. Zumpen gives him an envelope and told him to raise the price as the price quoted by the next bidder was much higher. The story ends with a happy note with the protagonist being awarded the contract.
Axolotl by Cortazar
Axolotl describes a morbid fascination for them by the author. The author becomes ruminative about them. The story is Quixotic and has no meat of a plot.
In Dreams begin responsibilities by Schwartz
In Dreams Begin Responsibilities the author describes about the relationship of the father with the mother. The relationship is a long lasting and pleasing one.
Solipsist by Brown
In the story the Solipsist Walter Jehovah has an imaginary conversation with God. Solipsism is a philosophy that an individual alone exists. In the conversation Jehovah becomes seduced by the grandeur of thought—he alone exists as God.
Gogol’s Wife by Tomanso
In the story Nicolo’s wife is described as a balloon. As years pass by, Nicolo’s disgust for his wife increases.
The End by Beckett
In the End is a story that describes the solitary life of an unknown person. The description portrays his angst. The story has no proper beginning and end and the narrative is haphazard.
The Waiting by Borges
We find Vilari the protagonist settling down in his new lodgings. In the end of the story, a surprising one we find that Vilari is killed by a stranger.
Borges and I
The author differentiates the fictional Borges from the real Borges. The fictional Borges is acclaimed in the news and has a marvel for hourglasses, sixteenth century maps and labyrinths.
Everything and Nothing by Borges
Everything and Nothing by Borges is a fictional rendition of the biography of Shakespeare. He mentions Shakespeare having been initiated into the rite of sexuality by Ann Hathaway. In an imaginary conversation with God, Shakespeare is revealed by God that he is a theater, he is a mask, and he is everything and nothing.