The Voice Within

Behind me, A candle sinks Into a pool of wax. Beyond me, The moon rises. Above black mountains- Carboard cutouts propped against a grey expanse. And the moonlight, Bathes me in pure white. I yearn to sit here, To stop the sand slip through my fingers. But you turn and whisper- "Can you not hear the silence wail?" I feel the darkness once more.

"In Greek mythology, the Muses (Greek Μοῦσαι , Mousai : perhaps from the Proto-Indo-European root * men- "think") are a sisterhood of goddesses or spirits, their number set at nine by Classical times, who embody the arts and inspire the creation process with their graces through remembered and improvised song and stage, writing, traditional music and dance. They were water nymphs, associated with the springs of Helicon and with Pieris, from which they are sometimes called the Pierides . The Olympian system set Apollo as their leader, Apollon Mousagetes . Not only are the Muses explicitly used in modern English to refer to an inspiration, as when one cites his/her own artistic muse, but they are also implicit in the words "amuse" or "musing upon". they are the daughters of Zeus, king of the gods, and Mnemosyne, goddess of memory. For Alcman and Mimnermus, they were even more primordial, springing from Uranus and Gaia. Pausanias records a tradition o...

well, this small country(Negara Brunei Darussalam) clenched like a jade jewel by the malaysian states of sabah and sarawak is mostly famous for its bounty of black gold...and its rich sultan...but truly this is one of asia's best kept secrets.Do u know what the best thing i discovered about this country is?it has 70% of its land covered with virgin rainforests!!!....giving in to the call of the green yonder,i recently walked right into those untrammeled jungles.

A short and humorous musical by Adam Stein ('on the lot' contestant)

summer's finally here!!! its time again for chocolate milk,calvin and hobbes,siestas in the sun,frequent trips to the refrigerator(for chocolate milk of course),...blissful days soaked in langour, reverie and words.....

One of my favourite Plath poems: The Moon And The Yew Tree This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue. The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place. Separated from my house by a row of headstones. I simply cannot see where there is to get to. The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here. Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky -- Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection At the end, they soberly bong out their names. The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape. The eyes lift after it and find the moon. The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary. Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls. How I would like to believe in tenderne...

You've seen me here before Behind the black window grill On the third storey You've seen me here before Drowning in the choked air and ceaseless noise That walks in,uninvited You've seen me here before But today,silent and stolid faced You treat me like a stranger. --------- ps-i wrote this poem on a day the skies were really cloudy and seemed like it was going to rain but it did not-all day...but after i wrote this poem ,the very next day,it POURED!

"Sculpture is more divine, and more like Nature, That fashions all her works in high relief, And that is Sculpture. This vast ball, the Earth, Was moulded out of clay, and baked in fire; Men, women, and all animals that breathe Are statues, and not paintings. " H.W Longfellow

'Crazy' by Gnarls Barkeley-introduced by Taz

Have you felt this feeling that rises in the walls of your stomach? Have you felt it rise and fill your body in a tickle? Have you closed your eyelids tight and concentrated on this feeling? This ink and paper cannot capture it enough. These curves and dots,even these fingers shall forget. Why then do I continue to pollute this white sheet, you say? You would know if you could feel that trickle Which ,in a moment can gush and hit the walls of your inside like a powerful wave Before you know it,it has lifted a pen into your hands. And when you rest what you wield, You sense that the waters are calm. ..................... (This poem has recieved a couple of hilarious responses.My friend A on reading the poem thought that the 'feeling' in the poem referred to my digestive fluids as i refer later to 'the walls of my stomach'!!!and the second response came from D who thought that I had set out to portray Exam tension as that was the only feeling she associated with ...

The much awaited Cine club fest-'Moving Pictures' is finally on. Today, I could not resist joining the poster making competition though I had not wielded a paint brush for several months....! 2.35 pm I have completed the sketch. Mariam and I  stop Priya as she walked by to pen a French phrase for our poster.I feel curiously lethargic as mottled shapes slowly appear on the white sheet before me. 3.30 pm I walk across the scr lawns towards the AV room. I am proud!not of the poster that I had just completed (and am carrying),but the collage of colours that has appeared on my fingers...the last time I had dabs of paint on my hands was after art block in school. 3.45 pm I am comfortably sitting beside Obs in the AV room though the air-conditioning inside feels strange..afterall the winter here has not completely faded away and the air outside is still chilly.Impish actually-teasing you at times to wear just a T-shirt while at other times -leaving you puzzling over why you wor...

"How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each prayer accepted, and each wish resign'd." From Eloisa to Abelard Alexander Pope

As I walked down the silent street, My footsteps left behind only echoes. My head hung low, My eyes were fixed on the cobbled path. ...and all the while my thoughts wandered far. the enveloping darkness helped me dissolve time. Impulse lifted my gaze to an unlit lantern that dangled precariously on an iron stump. the sight that arrested my eyes was that of a wooden ladder that rose above the wall it was leaning on. Stretching,straining its frail self... only to rest its limbs on the cloudy skies.

A Beginning is Spinning, Ringing, Singing, Inviting, me.