Still looking for that pearly oyster

In order to get things a bit sorted on this blog, I’ve been proof reading some of my old posts that have been put under Uncategorized, since my merge to WordPress from Blogger. (Nearly all nicely categorized!).

And I stumbled on this post I had written after I had done my final presentation on my internship in my graduation year at college:

If you read it, after the link (there’s a nice Calvin & Hobbes comic to start the post, I wrote on what it would be like after graduating and looking for my first job. More than 3 years on, I can only say this:

If I knew now what I knew back then, I’d be living in ignorant bliss; but unfortunately I know now what I didn’t know back then and that’s a bit unfortunate.

I knew I would have to put up with a lot of things, but there are still surprises every day. Communication is key. Words! As Auden put it “Words like axes” or was it Sylvia Plath? Indeed: Plath! (Gosh I do miss those English Poetry classes!)

After whose stroke the wood rings,
And the echoes!
Echoes traveling
Off from the center like horses.
The sap
Wells like tears, like the
Water striving
To re-establish its mirror
Over the rock
That drops and turns,
A white skull,
Eaten by weedy greens.
Years later I
Encounter them on the road
Words dry and riderless,
The indefatigable hoof-taps.
From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars
Govern a life.
(Poet: Sylvia PlathPoem: Words – Volume: The Collected Poems –Year: Published/Written in 1963 )

– and no, after this poem I’m not going to put my head in any oven (like Plath) unless it is to check if the chocolate cake is done!

Every day is a battle with words, interpretation of others or by others, words with intent, words with ulterior motives, hurtful words, complementing words, lying words… It still amazes me every day how words/communication can be so influential on making or breaking a project. So indeed, they can be like axes.

Well, behind my desk, I sometimes do believe everything seemed more promising back in college. The world as my oyster, ready to be picked and opened, to find that pearl… but as it is, sometimes you have to go out and pick several ones to get to that pearl (if there even is one, maybe it’s a con!). But still. Nothing lost. Future’s filled with oysters. Who knows; in 3 years time, I look back very differently at this period. Maybe I’ll be still blogging then too,  to comment about it. :p


Frost bites

Thick mist in the street makes it difficult to see the right door.
Everything seems like the same grey doorstep.
The cold makes it difficult to focus
and the mind keeps wandering away.
The layers of clothes are unable
to stop it reaching the bones.
Every step crisps under foot.
Reminding that every step counts and is counted.
The veil of white,
transparant distorted filter on reality keeps me slow.
My eyes are deceived,
the road I know is slightly out of focus
by the distorted vision of grey.
The need to walk faster,
to get closer to warmth is the motivation.
But the cold sets me back.
If only it would melt the icey path
that is keeping me from getting to you.
Only if the mist clears, I’d be there sooner.
To be embraced by your warmth,
and frost is left outside.

Stone faced

Sitting in the same chair day after day
Static in space and time, porcelain face, smooth and stern
Arms and legs outstretched as if fallen from a building so high
Into this old-fashioned chair, with these old-fashioned clothes wrapped around the limbs
Not a crease, not a scratch on the china
Static in space and time, though porcelain face is yellowing
Eyes beneath the cold stone see
everything through its limited vision
from its fixed place, only moved slightly when dusting or not at all
Unnoticed, still, integrated fully in its scenery
Always static, always locked in space and time
Lifeless and yet being a representation of it
Posing as if being life, but never really grasping it, too artificial for that
Porcelain face, china doll, never been played with at all


gravel under foot
breathing regular
at the beat of the steady heart
the rhythm is set
path is fixed
road unknown
as long as legs carry the body
keep on going
lungs fully opened
head clear of thought
always focused on the next bend
the next climb
setting new targets
untill that tree
untill that bench
made it
still able to push on
always further
limits shifting
as long as legs keep going
keep breathing

burn red

burning red its colour is
as it’s cold to touch it burns with warmth
at simply the sight of it
it’s roundness can be held in hand
like a glass of wine
the smile only emphasizes the glow
and you cannot but smile
as unsuspected it has appeared
as durable and remaining it will stay

up and up

As it rises up it stifles the boy
He feels numb as he wades through the water
Coming up to his chin already
He is focussed on the liquid surrounding him
continuing forth as it goes up and up
Not seeing her and her reaching hand
his eyes do not meet hers
Though seemingly close by
It’s as if miles separate them
Yet the reverse is true
And words spoken are unheard
It is waiting now
Waiting for the water level to drop
To be touching the ground again with both feet
And the paralysing cold to leave
Waiting while trying to reach
Waiting to walk together in the same tread again


Eyes searching through the room
No thought passes the mind
Observing, watching, noticing
No word is formed of any kind
Taking in the room so peculiar
Watching the strangeness becoming familiar
Turning round to the face beside
In the room, not alone, watching by my side
Saying nothing, but really there
Searching eyes locking through air
Blue in blue in gaze they met
Thoughts pass mind but words unsaid


like little strands of tiny beads that tumble on the floor beneath
they all were severely pushed together
now dispersing on the tiles and free
rolling by, in all directions to places out of sight
the girl just watches, not able to follow the sudden broken flow
like little seeds they feed on doubt
of where they’d go and if they’ll be found
are they all there, are any missing?
in the end you just remain guessing
on knees it looks like another world
with tiny beads looking strange and absurd
the cord lies bare
invitingly so
for the new strand to be
accordingly, no
for the beads to have broken, the girl must have tucked
at the cord, breaking flesh, where the strands must have cut


it is like water rushing towards a steady dam
the unsuspected, sudden power paralyses every inch there is
the passion with which its force is blown is received with utter shock
and as the water retreats itself, the dam still remains
only slightly the result of the bang is observed
but as unstoppable nature is, the water is bound to come
and the dam can either stay there, closed and take it
or open it’s gates and reveal the water to what it has kept it from:
it’s inner land, waiting to receive the water
with anticipation and hope for fruitfullness
so it can blossom
but carefull that the force will not drown what is already there

Wednesday blues

she feels confused and not amused
highs and lows fill out her day

she wants to speak but words are lost
she can’t express, can’t say

amid the crowd, she’d love to shout
but nothing seems to come

she’s used to keep everything deep
not bother not disturb no problems

but that’s not healthy and that’s not good
the reason often not understood

there are those days when just one drop
will make the bucket tumble

and after the flood, she gets right back on top
clean slate and just going forward

some days are highs, some days are lows
sometimes it’s just how it flows


the warmth of the smiles could melt any snow
the faces inside are glazed with a glow
the light that shines through the glass is of you
who shakes the small globe, remembering, you do
the silvery snow descents from it’s chaos
revealing small pictures, so happy, of us
containing a history, built there by two
but the promise of more travels within it, that too
so when I’m not near, it sooths me you know,
that I’ll always be smiling at you through the snow
until the next time you’ll see me again
and all the love that I’ll give you then

by Fab for HD, just because –
I know I am not good with words, am no Coleridge or have the knack to write like beautiful lyric writers do, but I write with what I know, about what I know and with honesty

Lyrical Mozarts’ balls

(Got your interest now, don’t I? *wink wink*)

It has been days and still it’s gnawing
somewhere deep inside it hides
it still resides, wanting to take over
and give in to the craving, the hunger…
lying there it’s taunting me
luring me with its promise of satisfaction
oh, when I think of undressing the confinement in which it is wrapped
I would shred it to pieces
to smell that fragrant smell of sweetness, the dark chocolate coat with its bitterness inside!
but it’s the last of its kind, alone
one not yet devoured in haste like its peers
now I regret my foolish actions
one remains
on my table in its box
each day
for me to see

Being lyrical about a treat can be considered insane, but bear in mind that these chocolates come from Austria and are hard to come by. Mozartkugeln or Mozart balls are filled with hazelnut nougat and pistachio marzipan praline centers, draped in dark chocolate. Hmmmmmmmmmm.

Evaluating in rhyme

Another year of getting older
responsibility on each shoulder
searching still for things to be
of significance to me

Have I made my mark on life?
when’s the day I learn to drive?
questions, pondering and dreaming
playing, laughing, sometimes reading

A quarter of lifetime has already passed
time to think “future” and thinking it fast
what is to come for me, who will I meet?
I’m taking the steps, no, jump with two feet

Evaluating’s fine as long as it’s that
and birthdays are terrible for doing that
but living a life is day by day
and I guess it’s just better doing it that way

Poem for Nono

You light my heart up with your smile
So innocent and so pure
The way you keep discovering
Each and every little thing
Around your little life
Your godmother I am with pride
And this I say with much delight
For you are such a sweet and smart little boy
You love a love so unconditionally
And experience life so fully
And scream with joy when learning something new
You’re only three and yet I feel
like … you seem to have always been there
I hope you grow up into a fine young man
and keep the same purity as now if you can
For you’re witty and pretty with your strawberry blond locks
I’m just simply glad you are there