Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Let your light shine

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

-Nelson Mandela, Inaugural Speech 1994

Friday, March 23, 2012

Different Kinds

There are different kinds of smiles
Happy, content, blissful
Sad, resigned, wistful
Bright, vivacious, infectious
Innocent, darling, precious

There are different kinds of laughter
Heartfelt, booming, unending
Mad, hysteric, heart-rending
Nervous, forced or silent
Breezy, casual or strident

There are different kinds of dances
Energetic, strong, virile
Bleak, hum-drum or puerile
Graceful, swaying, uplifting
Spell-binding, engaging, hypnotizing

There are different kinds of poems
Witty, clever and funny
Happy, lyrical and sunny
Arcane, esoteric, full of fun
Or just plain eccentric like this one

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

A rainy day

Dark are the clouds, gray is the sky
A gentle breeze blows, and the leaves rustle by
Wet is the ground, cool is the air
The kids stuck inside grumble, "It's not fair"

Tires spray water as the cars speed by
Well-dressed passers-by nimbly step aside
Bright are the umbrellas, glistening is the road
Raindrops collect on white flowers,
Leaves tremble under their load

The crows try to shiver themselves warm
as pesky flies begin to collect in a swarm
Trying to keep time, trains whistle past urgently
Shuffling passengers at stations wait, just a bit impatiently

An earthworm wriggles out of a sated burrow
Two toddlers look on curiously as a snail crawls along slow
Skinny waterfalls form, mist swirls on the distant hilltop
A rainbow arches proudly nearby, making people stare and stop.





Tuesday, February 7, 2012

To Kill a Mockingbird

I had always heard of this novel but it was not until recently that I actually read it. This Pulitzer Prize-winning modern American classic was originally published in 1960. It is the first and only novel written by Harper Lee. The narrator of the story is a young girl whose father is the defending attorney for a black, crippled man wrongly accused of raping a white woman. While that may seem like aggravating content, the novel is anything but. It is a funny, happy novel with a tender, uncannily believable portrayal of a precocious child's world view.

The story is set in Maycomb County, Alabama of the 1930s. The reader is introduced to the narrator, Jean Louise Finch aka Scout, her elder brother Jem, and their friend Dill. The first third of the story is mostly about the idyllic childhood of these children. You can't help but love these characters, even as they keep landing themselves into trouble all the time. As far as the feisty Scout is concerned, no trouble is ever too serious. A classic example of this is toward the end of the book. Jem has fractured his elbow and lost consciousness, and Scout asks of the doctor in a very matter of fact way- "Is he dead?". It is a delightful insight into the mind of an eight-year old trying to be a nonchalant adult, when ironically the real adults are in a tizzy about Jem's condition.

The second third of the story is about the case of Tom Robinson, a black man being tried for alleged rape of a white girl. Atticus Finch, Scout's father, is the defending lawyer, and his character comes to life in this part of the story. This is my favorite part of the book. It depicts the racism deep rooted in many white Southerners of that period, and brilliantly contrasts that backdrop with the white Atticus Finch's sense of honor, fairness and courage. His final statement to the jury before they leave to decide on the verdict is inspiring and soul-stirring. An excerpt:

"Some Negroes lie, some Negroes are immoral, some Negro men are not be trusted around women-black or white. But this is a truth that applies to the human race and to no particular race of men. There is not one person in this courtroom who has never told a lie, who has never done an immoral thing, and there is no man living who has never looked upon a woman without desire.....

...Thomas Jefferson once said that all men are created equal...There is a tendency...for certain people to use this phrase out of context...The most ridiculous example I can think of is that the people who run public education promote the stupid and idle along with the industrious-because all men are created equal, educators will gravely tell you, the children left behind suffer terrible feelings of inferiority. We know all men are not created equal in the sense some people would have us believe-some people are smarter than others...some people are born gifted beyond the normal scope of most men....

...But there is one way in this country in which all men are created equal - there is one human institution that makes a pauper the equal of a Rockefeller, the stupid man the equal of an Einstein, and the ignorant man the equal of any college president. That institution, gentlemen, is a court...."

The last third of the story is mostly about what happens after the verdict. Since the verdict was unfair, this part of the story is important to give the reader some closure and end the novel on a relatively happy note. A very satisfying and gripping read indeed.

After reading the book, I started reading up on Harper Lee. I was delighted when I found out her reasons for never writing a book again: "Two reasons: one, I wouldn't go through the pressure and publicity I went through with To Kill A Mockingbird for any amount of money. Second, I have said what I wanted to say and I will not say it again".Now that's the kind of thinking that deserves the highest respect! I have always felt that creative art has to be inspired. I mean "creative" here in the absolute literal sense of the term - art that "creates" something, like groundbreaking, original literature, painting, poetry, film, dance and so on. I have never understood the practice in the publishing business of giving writers hefty advances for a book on a topic that the publisher chose because it is in vogue. I wonder, how do people who write for a living get "inspired" in time to meet their deadlines? One could argue that Harper Lee's incredible success with her very first novel caused her to freeze and decide that it was futile to try and live up to it. That she didn't want to sully her reputation. That it is actually cowardly to not try and risk failure. I lean more toward thinking that Harper Lee had integrity enough to not fake it when she wasn't inspired enough to write again..ever.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

When she smiles, it's sunshine

There are people all around me,
But all I see is her.
Those pearly-white imperfect teeth
And clear large smiling eyes.
She looks at me and smiles a bit
And then I realize,
When she smiles, it's sunshine
Pure, sweet, joy.

I wonder what she'll do today.
Will it be a new word,
Or a whole new sentence?
Jump a little higher, or run a little faster?
Hug a little tighter, or smile a little brighter?
I watch closely so I always can remember
For when she smiles, it's sunshine
Pure, sweet, joy.

Peaceful in her sleep, tumultuous when awake
Never a dull moment
Even when being good for my sake.
I want to see her future, hold onto her past
But nothing trumps the present. A reminder - Not so fast.
For when she smiles, it's sunshine
Pure, sweet, joy.