December

December rolls in,

Come here, hold my hand.

Let me save this warmth

In a jar that will on my table stand,

While I would await.

Alone, under the stars.

Deserted, in the rains.

While wind would wrestle in your hair,

Where my fingers once did find place,

It would be my sleep, my peace blown away.

Remembering your whispers,

I will shiver, and fall.

Without your arms to catch me.

But closing my eyes, I will forget it all.

And find myself in your embrace again.

Your voice would be mine,

Guiding me through the distance.

Your words, your thoughts, mine yours.

But, oh, what a terrible way of existence,

No sun, no moon, no air.

Time is all we don't have.

Another leaf has fallen.

Another petal now brown.

Another moment has passed.

Another thought in mind drowned.

Let it go, let it go.

Time is all we don’t have.

Wake up, and realise,

Desire is another ever-binding trap.

A glance, a touch, an embrace.

None too many, none too less.

Just enough to save me now.

Just enough for sanity to efface.

I counted wrong, a long while ago.

I counted one too many.

The ever ticking clocks that glowed in the dark.

No, time doesn’t wait for any.

Collecting names and moments

Alone, I will. Alone, I shall.

Moments of end sooner here. 

Dementia, oh how you me enthrall.

The Green Monster

A tiny tentacle creeped out
From behind.
And grabbed on, held on,
No slight.
"Harmless", they thought.
The monster smiled.
And readied itself,
For another strike.

They floated ahead,
The tentacle forgotten.
Repressed, Restrained,
Uselessly begotten.
In a world golden,
Red and untroubled.
A sudden flash of green
Unknown, on the surface bubbled.

Desire, want, unprecedented.
Ill, sick, unholy.
Gushing through every vein
Tentacles tightening, unduly.
Securing its grip,
Digging deep.
Right till the soul
The green essence seeps.

Suffocating, smothering
The tendrils, the fumes unbidden.
Feeding on their own fears
Both unknown, and those hidden.
Slowly, engulfing their whole,
No means of escape, no rationale.
The green monster emerges,
And all else fails.

Why do we hide, Bruce?

The winds blew the blue curtains at his window into a messy, convoluted mess. Bruce shivered in his bed, and tossed on to the other side, facing away from the window. The blanket was thick, but it wasn’t helping him keep warm. ‘Count down from 100.’ It always worked. 100. 99. 98. 97. ‘What was that?’ Something flew near his window, but it was too dark to make anything out. Bruce pulled the blanket over his head and started counting again. 96. 95. 94.

The whistling wind broke his concentration. He slowly moved the blankets to peek out of the blanket. The darkness was opaque. Bruce quivered a little. ‘Horrible vantage point. Need to know how to get a better one.’ Another movement. ‘Must not be fearful. Must check it out.’ The branches moved in a weird manner. The moonlight lit up a few of them, and their shadows hid all the others. Bruce climbed out of his bed and slipped into his coat. Cautiously, he walked to the window. The branches made queer shapes. The wind kept changing the branch that was receiving the light. ‘Things are darker in the light.’

When he looked down, Bruce couldn’t see the ground. When he looked up, the only thing he could see was himself, flying in the clouds.  Something moved in the woods outside. Quick, and bright. Bruce wondered what it was. He felt the fear wash over his mind. The dull numbness in the back of his head suddenly grew sharp; his heart started beating faster, and faster still; he could feel a weird sweat trickle down his neck. ‘Fear must be conquered.’ His dad always told him that fears must be faced, but Bruce knew that there were only 2 possibilities when it came to fear- you conquer it, or it destroys you. And Bruce knew, in his gut, he knew, that this darkness had to be conquered.

Bruce tiptoed out into the woods. The rustling of the leaves and the whooshing of the branches were the only sounds he could make out, apart from the screeching winds. He waited at the boundary for a little while, gathering courage, courage and strength. It was a cold night. ‘Just see what it is, that is all.’ Every crevice and nook seemed alive to him. The vegetation that normally looked warm and welcoming to him in the day suddenly started taking shapes that beckoned him to leave, to run, far, far away. A sharp movement on his left made the air get caught in his larynx. Instinctively he ran towards his right, the only sounds buzzing in his ears were those of his own heavy breathing, and of his heavy footsteps crunching the dried leaves. A sudden whisper of the wind at his neck made him scream out loud, but he kept his balance, and kept up his pace. He ran in further, in to the darkness, in to the void.

Just a few rays of the morning sun managed to penetrate through the canopy and reach the floor of the woods. Bruce realised that there was fallen tree a few step ahead. ‘Hide in the trunk.’ Bruce ran faster than he ever had. In one swift movement, he was inside the trunk. He heaved a sigh of relief, and closed his eyes. A low hiss made the hair on the back of his head stand. Slowly he opened his eyes, and saw in the darkness, thirty, small glowing balls of light. A small gasp escaped his mouth, but the dominoes had already begun falling. The bats flew right at him, squealing, sharp, and out of the opening, in to the light. Bruce had hidden his face in between his thighs, but he felt each of the bats’ wings on his head. Fear had frozen all his other senses. He could still feel their wings on his head, but he knew they were long gone. ‘They are gone. They are gone, don’t be scared.’ He breathed. ‘Fear is the strongest driving force. Fear doesn’t need to be eradicated. Just harnessed.’ Bruce was lost in fear, but in a completely different way now.

He heard his name being called in the distance. He didn’t move. He felt himself being pulled out of the trunk, he heard Alfred’s doting voice wash over his being. Thomas hugged Bruce.

“I hid. I was scared. I was scared. So I hid.”

Thomas held Bruce’s hand, and looked at him.

“Why do we hide, Bruce? So we can finally find ourselves.”

You

You aren't my moon,
To reflect everything I bestow upon you
In the dark.
You are my mirror.
Letting the real me show up,
Hiding no flaw nor a mark.

You aren't the wind,
That blows me away,
Or makes it difficult to stand.
You are the breeze
That does me cool keep,
And plays with looser hair strands.

You aren't a dream,
That is gone once seen.
Or right there, and not in my hand.
You are the truth,
Though surreal and crude,
Unbelievable and beautifully unplanned.

You aren't a place
That I go to to hide,
Where someone me might follow.
You are this journey,
That is us, that is me,
And mine, today and tomorrow.

The Ship

A ship then sailed
A twilight then rang.
They trusted in the winds
And downed rains unplanned
A lust for treasures known
And never truly had.
A darkness they misused
Disguised and hid their tracks.
They moved through the waters
Slowly and with vigour
Cautiously placed each finger
Mayhem silent and thicker.
The wind took them in its hand
And decided to play a game.
They held on for the love of God.
Distinctly kept calling out His name.
The mist now fogs the view.
Direction and time,both lost out.
They wait and wait to strike again.
There blows just a tiny seed of doubt.

Who am I?

A face etched with pain;
A beauty unforeseen.
Despair that breaks my heart,
And yet you make it beat.
Why did I find you last?
I'd never have let you bleed.

Who am I, who am I
To hurt him?
You are mine, you are mine,
But you loved him.
Say you're fine, say you're fine,
Oh, I'll make him pay.

'nother love, another love,
In another time.
Rub him out, cut him out
Out of our minds.
Make it stop, make it stop.
Let's let the light in.

The innocence of your heart.
I will keep it safe.
The demons of your past.
I'll give all it takes
In the light and dark,
There will always be faith.

Who am I, who am I
To save you?
All that's mine, all that's mine
Is because of you
You're my light, you're my light
On the darkest day.

Take my arm, take my arm
And, I'll hold you.
Know it dear, know it dear,
That I love you
Through the peace, through the storm,
Will never let you go.

Forgive me.

“Mumma?” a small voice piped from behind my newspaper. I brought down my hands, and looked at my tiny little 7 year old from over my glasses. She was fiddling with her hair, and making that face. That face she makes when she was going to ask me something, and not let go till she had done her thesis. I smiled at her, and my smile immediately replicated on her beautiful face. Her brown eyes were sparkling with curiosity. I put down my newspaper, took a sip of coffee, and raised my eyebrows. “Can I ask you something?” I sighed, “Yes, my love, what is it?” She was still fiddling with her hair. The sunlight from the window highlighted the nutty brown gloss of her hair. Her curls were untamable.  As was she. “Come here”, I signaled to my lap. She jumped off her sofa, and came trotting to me. I pulled her onto my lap, and asked her again. “What did you want to know?” She looked at me, looked me in the eye, and asked, “What is rape?”

I blinked. She blinked right back at me. Her eyes wouldn’t move from my face. And I couldn’t help but look at her. I think I heard an entire minute tick by. I could hear the pulse near my ears. My heart was beating incessantly. I took a deep breath, “Where did you hear this word, Honey?” She pointed at the table. I was confused. She understood. How a 7 year old can read my face, is still beyond me. She put her hands on my face, and turned my head for me. Then I followed her petite index finger to look at what exactly it was that she was pointing to: The newspaper. “I have seen it in there a lot of times. I didn’t understand what it means. So I thought I’ll just ask. ” I kissed her on the head, and held her for a minute. I had decided to never hide things from her, right from the first time that I had held her in my arms. She knew there was no Santa Claus. She knew how babies were born. She also knew why a chapati fluffs up. I closed my eyes, and tried stringing words together to form a sentence.

                The sound of the rain drops beating on the window sill; Loud music; A lightning strikes; The roar of the clouds. Laughter. Uninhibited, hearty laughter. Glasses clinking. More laughter. A room full of merry people.

“Mumma?”

“Yes.” I snapped back to reality. “Do you remember what I told you about sex?”

“Ya!” Of course she did. “When 2 people really like each other, and they get close to one another…”

“Well, yes.” I interrupted. “Well, sometimes it happens, that one person does not want to be a part of the act of sex. And the other person forces that person to have sex, without their consent. That is called rape.”

“That doesn’t sound nice.” She frowned, and pulled her knees to her chin. “Why would they do that? I mean, you said sex makes both the people happy. If one person doesn’t want to do it, then why would the other person force them to do it?”

                Door closing. Lots of goodbyes. Some thanks. Laughter. Engines starting in the driveway. The screeching of wheels on the concrete. Sounds of stumbling across the hallway.

“Some people are selfish, honey. They don’t think of others. They just want whatever it is that they want, and they don’t care about hurting others to get it.” I didn’t know if I was making sense.  “Rape is a horrible thing to do.”

“Do these people who do rape…” “Rapists.” “Okay. Do these rapists get punished, Mumma?” There was no sparkle in her eye anymore.

“Sometimes, they do. Sometimes they get away with it.”

 “They shouldn’t.”

“What?”

“Get away with it. They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.”

“Yes. They shouldn’t. It is one of the most horrendous- I mean, terrible- crimes.”

“I know what horrendous means.” Of course she does. “Mumma?”

I could hear my heart beat. Could she? I knew her next question. She had asked when I had explained about sex. She had asked when I had explained about pregnancy.

“Have you ever been raped?”

Of course she’d ask. But I didn’t know if I could answer. 

                

“No!” “Stop being such a bitch!” The string broke. The carpet muffled the sound of pearls pattering on floor. His hand muffled the sounds from her mouth. The ripping of the satin. The stench of whiskey on his breath. White, hot, searing pain. That tight grip on her wrist. Nails digging into the hot, sweaty skin. Shivers. Anger. Loathing. Helplessness. Disgust. Anger. Fury. Tears. Hot, angry tears flushing down her face.

“Yes.” I gulped. I could feel my face heat up. My eyes were burning. So I blinked. She did too.

“Did he get punished?”

“Sort of.”

“Who punished him?”

“Your Daddy.”

“Oh. Is that why Daddy left? To punish that man?”

“I am leaving; do not try to stop me. Not right now.” “Baby, I am sorry. I am really sorry. I can’t live without you. Please, don’t leave me.” “I can’t stay here. I can’t stay with you. Not after what happened. I can’t. How could you?” “It will never happen again. It wasn’t me. I am sorry.” “I need some time to think. Let go of my arm.” The purple-black bruises on her arm reminded them both of what had happened. “But, I love you baby!” “I love you too. You know that. But I am not strong enough to forget this.” “Will you come back?” “I don’t know.” “I won’t be able to live without you. I am sorry, darling!” “I know you are. I am too.”

“Yes. That was the only way he knew he could punish that man.”

“Do they get forgiven, Mumma, those people?” She looked tired. Or was her face reflecting mine, again?

                

The sound of the phone hitting the ground- she hadn't realized when it slid out of her hand. Even today she woke up in a heavy sweat- to that sound. It had been 8 years, now. The green nylon rope they used as their cloth-line, the stool he used to sit on while he played the guitar. In their own bedroom. She made sure nothing in her new house resembled the old one. But that image never left her head. The police explained that they were sure it was a suicide. They had even found a note.

              

  ‘Forgive me.’

“Yes, they do, love. Sometimes, they do.”

Hozier- Take me to Church EP- Review.

For those of you craving some intelligent, soulful, beautiful music- Hozier is the one for you. Hozier is the stage name adopted by Andrew Hozier-Byrne, an Irish musician. His songs are evocative and meaningful; the music that supports those beautiful, deep lyrics is equally enchanting. You will find influences of Blues, Folk, Community Chorals, Soul Music, R&B and Gospel in his work. His voice is magnificent, it is vivacious and poignant- it is the kind of voice that haunts you- you can NOT forget it; you wouldn’t ever want to. His voice resonates the gravity, the depth of his lyrics. His voice is robust, it is striking- it is filling.

Each song of his is a story- and Hozier is a master story-teller. His words draw you in; the music keeps you still, while his voice entangles you in those beautiful, divine notes- and you don’t know if you are freer or more caught up in all that he has to convey. The lyrics will leave you wondering as to why they hit you so hard- you couldn’t truly relate to all of them? Maybe you could- you do. You relate to the blatant honesty, the alluring mysticism- to the stranger who is telling you things you didn’t know you knew. 

As of now, Hozier doesn’t have any albums to his name. He has, though, 2 EPs (Take me to Church, and From Eden), and quite a few singles.

Take me to Church.

Hozier’s first EP. 16 minutes long. Breathtaking.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYSVMgRr6pw&index=1&list=PL8KVn2EQ_jy2DnkLqjKNQYH3FYfl-1T0C

·         Take me to Church.

‘Take me to church
I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good god, let me give you my life’

The title track of his first EP- the song is all about love- what it is like to love someone, to the point of worship- pure, true, unadulterated love. The song tells us that love is real, it is forgiving, it guides, it is gentle, it is concrete, it is demanding - love is worship-worthy.  The song is deeper (yes, more than this), though. It deals with the discrimination against those who indulge in love which is any manner different from the one that Church (and many other chauvinistic institutions) proclaims. The singer is talking about how his love is considered a sin- how he is considered a sinner. But how only love, and nothing else, has made him feel human- feel clean. The song deals with sexuality, with love, and with the act of love. There are no words that can do justice to the impeccably brilliant songwriting that Hozier displays.

And the music- the American Gospel type layering in the song will entrap you in its purity. The video of the song went viral about a year ago- and has crossed 2 million views- and why not? It is art. It adds to the depth of the song, and shows us the homophobia and the attacks on the LGBT community (through the story of 2 homosexual men) in Russia. The video complements the lyrics, adding many more layers of meaning to a song that has already blown away the mind of the listener.

It might seem as if I am exaggerating. I am not. Give it a listen. You will have a different take on the meaning of the song- of each line- I do, so I know. But will you absolutely love it? I surely do.

·         Like Real People Do

When in a relationship, it ever-so-often happens that one is curious, to say the least, about their partner’s past. This song talks about this curiosity, about this fear.

‘I had a thought, dear
However scary,
About that night,
The bugs and the dirt
Why were you digging?
What did you bury,
Before those hands pulled me
From the earth?

I will not ask you where you came from,
I will not ask you and neither should you.’

The singer shows an interest in his lover’s past, he is worried about what it held and how it will affect them- but he realizes that he himself has a past, and thus he says to his lover, that they both need to let go of the past- to forget the past- and be together- be one, now. Like real people do.

The song is soft, easy on the ears, and has you humming to its simple, yet exquisite tune soon enough. The choral elements of the song make it compellingly more stunning, and Hozier’s deep, layered voice adds soul to the song.

·         Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene

The humming in the beginning of the song, the light strumming of his electric guitar, and those intense, excellent lyrics- this song has you captivated even before you reach the tapping-your-foot-because-it-makes-you-do-so-involuntarily chorus. What this one is about? Small death, or as the French call it- ‘petit mort’- basically, he is talking about orgasms. And what a brilliant way to illustrate the passion, the irresistible, over-powering fervor of this woman he calls the angel of small death, and the codeine scene.

‘With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean,
She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene,
With her straw-blonde hair, her arms hard and lean,
She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene.’

The imagery, the pictures he draws with his words, and that voice, mystic and yet, so believable- it is incredible.

·         Cherry Wine

The video of the song was recorded on the roof of the abandoned remains of a hotel. Early morning, the light, the chirping of the birds- it adds to the soft, delicacy of the song. The lyrics are fairly simple, and yet, the song conveys much more than you would expect at the first go. Hozier’s voice is many, many things. It is rustic, and genuine. His singing is masterly; his voice addictive. The song is soothing, it calms you. When you listen to the lyrics closely, you will find yourself getting slightly uneasy- after all, what he talks about is a lover that hurts him- a love that hurts him. And how he doesn’t care.

‘The way she shows me I'm hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist would be fine
Blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.’

The song deals with a love which is cruel, and mean, and hurtful, and yet, how it is clean and pure to him.

Hozier is a breath of fresh air, a delight to listen to- a melodious, inventive genius, given his songwriting, and that voice- that unforgettable, moving voice- Hozier, is a must-listen-to. I urge you to drop whatever it is that you are doing, and give this mastermind a try. You will not regret it.

They Said.

The scintillating sun, 

A girl, blithe and serene.

They said, a delightful scene. 

Dancing, frolicking, pirouetting.

A sweet summer child, they said,

Swaying in her yellow summer dress. 

Orange, red, pink, and bright,

Flowers adorned her braid,

Nut brown, sheeny, thick,they said.

Eyes glimmer with hope and fancy, 

A smile, they said,as enchanting as can be. 

Pink and glowing, happy.

A white puff moved in the sky,

Unnoticed, tight lipped. 

As also, a shadow, did.

Drab and dreary, dark and grim,

The shadow crept.

Treacherously, they said, he took his place.

She didn't see the dark clouds

That overpowered her dear friend.

The summer child,they said, now bereft of her guard.

From within the shadows of that corner

The shadow moved out.

They said, a lurid being overshadowed her.

They said, someone walked by the corner,

And saw petals,bleak and sombre.

Once orange, red, pink;now without color.

The summer child, they said, unsmiling,  

Walked, stone-faced, solemn. 

A yellow dress, torn, and bloodied.

A scream echoed in the background.

The summer child, didn't flinch.

Walked straight on, along with her vengeful sun.

They said a shadow was found, 

Bloodied, stabbed, and grey.

At the corner down the street.

Nobody knew what went down,

The corner was deemed an unholy place.

They said their prayers, drew their crosses, and left.

Some, they said, had seen the summer child,

Pirouette until the corner, in her red dress,

Just a flicker of a shadow, under her eyes.

I wish.

I wish I wouldn't forget.
But I do.I Always do.
Make a beautiful memory.
Or steal a couple from you.

It's always those I cherish the most.
Is this fate? I wouldn't know.
Are memories made so one day we forget?
Like fireflies-Incomplete and aglow.

It wasn't just a wintry night,
It wasn't a confession nor acceptance of defeat,
At the hands of this world, this big bad world,
In which we live, of which we breathe.

There are some days I reminisce,
There are sometimes I wish I'd known.
That like flames of fire, that glaze and die,
Out of my head memories'll be thrown.

I try to memorize, every cut and every line,
When there is nothing else, this is on my mind.
While I may believe, there is life to live,
My mind is in the past, searching, writhing.