Remembering a scene from life in boarding school.

I had this conversation with an especially perceptive batchmate of mine, he had posted an Owl City lyric quote (which I love) in his WhatsApp story and what followed was a brief exchange which reinstated my faith in good conversation:

So we spoke of nostalgia and I remember saying how I:

…never delete old music, I have everything people think are “trashy” now and whenever I listen to them, I remember how I used to be, who I listened to those songs with, how they smiled when “our” song came up and all of it, and I realize that I liked myself, I was satiated, content, I didn’t have demands and most of the good memories are from boarding so all of it, our farewell bonfire parties, end of school year November chill in the air, the night sky like an endless inky blue sea placid in its starry brightness and I’ve never seen so many stars in my life, I remember stargazing with my best friends, desperately looking for Draco and it was so quiet, no one would speak, we would wait and listen to the wild come alive, and I can’t do justice describing how unreal the night was, the crisp smell of winter air, crackling fire and us sitting away in the dark, overcoats up to our ears, rubbing our palms, huddled together, watching our backs after exchanging ghost stories, warily glancing at the outline the trees made against the sky, distinguishing it from the mountains’, pretending to hear a wolf howl, really hearing one! Bats, the wind, the trees swaying as coming alive, the hills descending with the darkness of the night broken only by the few stars that were peeping from the clouds, then the clouds overcasting the sky, the first drop of an occasional winter spray. And we’re all running inside, current failure, running up to dormitories, candles and fireplaces lit up. Sitting around for dinner, elated about getting home with the pinch of not seeing each other for 3 long, long months. It was magic

Because:

[7/28, 21:17] Ayana: No experience can be disregarded. I’ve been to seven schools and I die to know how it would’ve been to have belonged to one place for 14 years [7/28, 21:34] Ayana: It’s so complicated now. Everything, complicated, convoluted and ill-meaning and self serving all the time. It’s a small piece of paradise to be able to reconnect with memories of innocence. Really, that’s all I have to keep me going. Whenever I’m upset, I close my eyes and go away to kurseong, to those nights, years and years surrounded by perfect quiet with only the sounds of nature and good natured banter

And of course: his extremely valid point:

See, that’s why you ought not to question nostalgia 😛 Yeah, I would say, in other words, that life, Ayana, is simply waiting to see the present in retrospect. Nostalgia is our only way of time travel, by which the human mind uses it’s marvellous faculty of imagination to turn back the very laws of physics-we live at that moment of past, more powerfully than we live in our present, because we acutely try to feel and somewhat succeed in replicating the original emotion again and again. We live powerfully in those moments as our own ghosts. Perhaps the ability to visit our past, our past as we know it, is the best gift humanity has ever had.

I agreed:

[7/28, 22:11] Ayana: I don’t question it simply because I want to keep some things to myself, because it’s necessary to believe in the magic of old times, otherwise there isn’t much to live for, nothing except memories. [7/28, 22:12] Ayana: But I’m also aware that it’s not sacrosanct and it’s painful. But its always better to keep it out from dissection, because, really, bitterness of the soul/mind is directly proportional to time.

And still nodding my agreement to this statement he made:

Yeah. We need to keep certain things out of dissection. Dissect the body, not life.

Do you think agree with me? Tell me what you think.

Advertisements

The Eve of Night’s Reign

I watched the lonely bird disappear in the horizon
The Queen dispatched the warm orange of her day’s Sun to pursue it.
The kingdom of Sky was an endless canvas of yellow,
the occasional orange and red streaking across.

The soft breeze, like satin caressed my skin.

Those were the telltale signs
The time had come.

The dying rays of Sun directed my pursuit
leading me into the canopy of your dwelling
among the trees that stood tall and somber.

I thought I heard the familiar rustle of the leaves
like the forest was waking from it’s enchanted slumber

Had you come for me?

I reached out for you.
Sure enough a branch of oak encircled my waist.
The light is failing fast.
I turn around in your arms
looking through the dimness
into the dark brown of your eyes,
partly concealed under the yards of chestnut.

The musk of pine in your breath entices my senses
the deep wheat of your skin reflects the last of the golden light.

In a tremulous outreach I pick a fly-away leaf from your rippling mass of chestnut.
A hint of a smile playing in the corner of your mouth.

Then in a swish of your cloak
–a kiss on my lips
–a click of of your heels
you’re gone again

Back in the open

The Sun has gone — not into oblivion.
The Queen has retrieved her forces.
Somewhere a monotonous bird calls to it’s mate
The fly-away leaf lays in my open palm, gazing.
The sounds of the forest are returning

I think I hear a thousand hooves
A war horn screams afar — in glorious victory.
The King is here to reign.
Her day is stepping aside.

The kingdom of Sky welcomes the pearly calm of Moon
And the King rides in with his vast, bellowing cloak of midnight blue.

Apolectus

Stood tall the tower of her confinement
far far away from mortal reach

The patch of vivid blue from her window
was forever clear, so vibrant, so distant.

Her tower stood in the heart
of a forest forbidden,
where dwelt the creatures of magic
and creepers and trees that breathed
of treachery.

She longed for an escape
and escape that would hold her up
like a man’s strong arms that held his daughter
or that his lover is lifted by,
up to touch the distant patch
of forget-me-not blue
or lay her down,
down in the dew kissed meadow below
where a soul, laid on the
lush green ecstasy would soothe.

But desires don’t materialize into gallant princes,
princes that will come galloping, to give in
to her whims and fancies then
galloping on horses to whisk her away

For passing of time she used to sit
by the lone window and does so still
immersed in thoughts of unfathomable depths
swirling images in her keep

A silver paintbrush in her hand
drawing miracles on her walls of confinement,
An unconfined spirit,
A high waterfall, exuberant freedom
A blazing sun, righteous anger
A sole ship sailing on high seas,
Tides in her heart
A woman on horseback
an escape, her escape.

Midst sighs of defeat, exclaims of bliss
She planned it, in careful wit.

Then the dark head with endless tresses
like rippling waters of a black river,
unending, winding, unwinding, looked up.
The plan was drawn – fully bloomed
’twas reflected in the spring of her dark eyes
in the summer of the dusky skin
in the flush of her cheek
and in the tremble of her lips

That night by her window
not in contemplationbut in disquiet fervour she sat
holding her brush and hair
she let her breath upon
her bosom splay, her head bent
o’er the casement’s ledge
anticipation writ large
across her poignant face

A trembling palm enclose
the shaft of the silver brush
A stroking move, an intense flash,
A blaze of red hot light
The enchantment had not broken.

A hundred silver fragments lay
in the open of her palms
The gleam of the moon
in the northern sky failed
to camouflage her tears
that now pooled.

Mother Gothel’s enchantment had worked well;
keeping her in this wicked confinement
for eternities to come.
bent double, she curled up in desolateness
and the warmth of the moon seemed cold.

One white landscape away
She was sitting on her ledge
knitting time away
in strands of brilliant rainbow

When came a call of her name
A call that seared through her wintry heart
to touch the softness that still flamed
and thus in secret, she let down her hair.

He was up inside her tower
beside her, spreading his warmth
She was compelled under his tempting touch.
Her lamp ebbed so did her coldness
The darkness grew but only outside
within her there was only light.
The year long frost had melted away

Now she sat in the darkness
The night still young.
Awaiting his arrival.
waiting for his touch to
drive away the coldness
waiting for his kiss to
make the world disappear
waiting to lay in the heat of her bed
a space where only they belonged
a place which held secrets
secrets that made her blush scarlet.

She waited a long while, no call came.
Her lamp was ebbing away
She held her breath
A soft murmur reached her ears

Picking up the slight sound
she ventured into Mother Gothel’s
The key space showed her, two figures
Two figures entwined in intense familiarity
Two figures she knew well. Perfectly well.

The light was out of her by the time
she reached her door, into a tower cold.
no heat to warm her the slightest.

Summer had gone away too soon.
The fire that once blazed in the hearth
had been doused forevermore.

The tears of sorrow never came,
nor the excruciating pain she had expected.

Her entirety had been replaced by an emptiness
A gaping hollow she felt pleased to have.
The fire breathing dragon beneath her tower
had taken her heart, never to return again.

It was then she knew what to do
it was then the key to the lock was secured
it was then she knew what she had to make
it was then she knew she only had to make a Choice.

Apolectus! Apolectus! she cried in bittersweetness

Then she slashed at her mortal bindings
tore away the ropes of immortality
freed herself to fly away or to sink
to oblivion or to eternal bliss
that I cannot tell for sure,
for, it was Always her choice.