....the barking says it all.

9 months, 6 posts & 5 comments (if u leave the spam apart).... tht's the vital statistics of this blog... and hope the above picture says it all. Like all those barking blogs under the black blogosphere (about 100 million at last count), this stands hopefully. Maybe the stars will take a look soon at this dog. Maybe there are lessons to be learned. As the Stoic Philosopher Epictetus says “We have two ears and one mouth so that we can listen twice as much as we speak.” The dogs can pick a morsel or two from it.

Stoicism apart there is this blogger who metamorphed from a War sapped Private in Iraq to a Best Selling (or wud be best selling) author. There is also this blogger from Iraq whose blog "Nom de blog" had created quite a furore. Incidentally it has been 'taken of air' and there are some rounds of gossip running around that it was all hoax run by CIA to put across a Yankie biased version. Just tells the power of new age blogging. Maybe it's more than just incessant barking which i rue it is..... maybe you just have to be a infantryman in Iraq or a citizen in a war ravaged romanticism, a reader's utopia or at least seem like one. All dogs are not born equal... after all

Thru the inferno...for the divine angel

The THe The dry wind blew through the inferno... all ossified bones and flesh weltered noisome on the prodigious river of blood as I ford through it alone. Time seems to become a non-entity as I stroll all bloody, bowed in front of mother fate. A frail apparition of my old self, the evanscent self I proudly condescended over. A year and half and I still follow her, there walking beyond the horizon across at arm length. I reach out to the yonder image and it just hazes out into thin midnight cold. So near, yet so far.... every rising sun and the rising moon greets me to her effulgent effigy, of my divine angel. Like a mirage to an inanimate itinerant on the hot desert; enticing me to Atlantis. Thrusting forward I reach out with every ounce of life only to find it alluring me into infinite. Yet I thrust on and on....prodding forward.

What What divine power propels me to this quotidian ritual?
I search for answers, for the divine angel in heaven beyond all infinity will I never reach. Yet the reparition, of that divine essense follows me like a shadow.
What’s with this?What’s with this? And I found it, listining to one of those melacholic verses from Taal, the pathos of lyrics telling it all....

nahin saamne, nahin saamne ye alag baat hai, mere paas hai, mere paas hai tu mere paas hai.........bichhad ke bhi mujhse juda tu nahin, khafa hai magar bewafa tu nahin

What’s me....in all essense my self, my existence, my divine angel subsisting in me; how will it asunder from my very existance. I will prod on and on, till eternity, till I find that self, till i find her...