I'm spring-cleaning my system (and I don't mind the fact that it's not spring where I live!) and I found this piece of poetry I'd typed a long time ago. Now normally, I don't type poems. I find that it shorns the poem of some of it's lyrical beauty... but somehow... I really like this piece. And if I am in the mood for it, I might post some of my other poems as well...
This poem was written when I was working in Cognizant. I was 'benching' for a few months (That was the only thing I ever did in that place! So... not much of a 'work' experience there!). And one day, I decided I would do something useful (I was not given a system yet... so... my case was pretty much confined to the conference room where we waited day in and day out, hoping to get into some project).And that was when I started folding paper cranes. I made loads of them. And any person who knows the symbolism behind the japanese paper crane will tell you that if you were to complete a thousand cranes, you would have one of your wishes come to pass. Well... I wasn't sure if that was true... but making the cranes is sure a lot of fun. And somehow... making those cranes inspired me to write this poem.
As for now, here I present...
A thousand cranes in the sky
A single wish buried deep
But Myriad fetters binds the mind
Secrets ancient bidden to keep.
The soft treads of muffled feet
The mute sashay of crimson robes
In the shrine where the divine meet,
For a part of which the soul now gropes.
I live in wooden mansions high and old
In lore ancient and forgotten
The heart sans feeling has grown cold
The material manifest now all rotten.
A miko, a virgin without a heart.
I wave the beads in contemplation.
My dances of solitude now start
And a lock is clasped on all temptation.
To mend a broken heart, I
Chose this fate and lonely life.
But it has chilled my soul and I
Cannot feel any more strife.
Blessed indifference… I craved
And my need was answered well
My heart from further hurt is saved
But in eternal cold, I dwell.
A miko, a virgin without a heart
My voiceless feet on wood now tread
And in my eyes, the wise and smart
Shall discern a dead past that once bled.
I've had very bitter experiences where my works were stolen and published under other names. So... please... draw inspiration from this poem. Don't steal it? And if you still do... then I guess that makes you sub-human and there's no use talking to the likes of conniving thieves.