It was late in the day. The dusk sought release among the unkempt leaves of the massive tree. The pale moon seemed to bide its time. The giant tree though, seemed at peace. It was home to a million insects. And a zillion emotions. Unerring to the minute, the dark cheeked nightjar flew noiseless around the foliage. It sat on the forked branch in familiar comfort, its distinctive call breaking the chaotic silence.

The ashen owl blinked. The dung beetles on the ground kept burrowing, as if in haste, for eternity’s sake. The sun was past its prime, the smooth transition almost second nature, from orange, to crimson, to green, yellow, violet and purple. A blink and miss. It was gone.

[continue reading…]

Lone, The weary man walked his shadow home,
A journey own, miles to go, galaxies galore,
Beneath the searing sun and sky blue bold,
Rays foretold his fate, crimson brow furrowed,
As thirst adrift bade on parched lips cold,
A Tree’s shade willed and the feet on parole stilled.

Hearken his heart beat, hymns solemn and stately wild,
Memories prayed, flitted with the sunlit leaves,
Ballads pranced haste, swan-songs fond and bare,
As the accordion voices rose, the mind meandered,
A melody in spate, held by wasted truths to truce,
The dreams deluge then, of ballads born and reborn.

The chapel chimed, the sundown missive as the dusk dulled,
The nightingale rhymed, no reason as the breezed lulled,
Shadows and stars in silent gaze, the man arose swelled,
Soul-bound, the Journey Home, The Journey Within.

‘Tis sacred moment, a candle lit a flame,
A song in haste, in a moment’s wake,
The reflection swayed, a refugee pale,
A prisoner of the breeze, lost in time.

Whilst the man in the mirror froze,
Musings rose, mortal medley waves in race,
The visage wilted, as the deluge rose,
Stillborn in ebb and a race to tide.

The haunted past held its peace, sated,
Yet breathless, chained cold to echoes sold,
The voices spake, shameless, haggard,
Of dreams lost and the longing past,
Of love and lust, on tempest trust,
Of conquests cold and bygone eras old.

The silence caved, the heart stilled in beat,
The soul braved, for symphonies to spate,

The winds woke wanton, the breeze broke space,
The mirror lanced its light, to sight,
Seasons in riot, delirious truth so be told,
The zillion images danced, around a candle bright,

And in the womb of time, the silhouette drew images true,
A faceless fossil, The nameless nomad and the Trespasser on earth.

The mirror is not a good thing sometimes. Many a time it shows what you dare not see. Yet, we cannot ignore the mirror.

Hold on, well was that a good opening line, an attention grabber? I just feel like I am struggling here.

Yes, the opening salvo sounds a little barren. Not exactly what I wanted to write. I would phrase it ‘jaywalking copy’ if I were to let my thoughts echo loud. Defintely neither here, neither there.

[continue reading…]

Sir Henry Cooper, the man who once had Muhammed Ali on the mat in the their controversial bout of 1963, was once in a conversation with the Baroness Edith Summerskill, about the brutalities of his sport.

The conversation went like this.

Baroness: “Mr. Cooper, have you looked in the mirror lately and seen the state of your nose?”

Cooper: “Well madam, have you looked in the mirror and seen the state of your nose? Boxing is my excuse. What’s yours?”

[continue reading…]

In March this year, the Farmer / Panda update hit headlines and in April, a second version of Panda hit the web sphere. May saw Panda 2.1 and finally by the end of June, Panda 2.2 update sought to add more teeth to Google’s quest to clean up the search results. All through these tumultuous months in search, Google Dance was the norm for quite a few sites affected by the update. If in 2010, the buzz words were new web indexing system (Caffeine) and long tail queries ( Mayday), this year with Panda on the prowl, the clarion call is all about quality, social assent, solid credibility and user experience.

[continue reading…]