Non Omnis Moriar

There was nothing about the scene that wasn’t picturesque; the blue sky, the regal peak, the crisp air, the disturbing stillness. He stood there alone, scanning the mountain from the foot, right up until the peak. Trying to find a crevice, that would fit him perfectly; For surely, he thought, that is what the mountain was meant for, to find that sweet spot.

He looked at each rise and fall of the mountain and tried to calculate the spot with the least probability of being affected by a landslide. He then brought out a pen and paper and estimated the height of every tree on the mountain. He used geometry to then find the nook and crannies with the most sunlight. As day turned to night, he worked assiduously by the moonlight, just standing by the mountain. Trying to find his place in the mountain.

As he started losing count of the variables and equations and his fingers grew stiff around his pencil, he grew frustrated with every stirring of the wind. Finally, frustrated he shouted into infinity, “Have you no mercy?! How savage is it to throw a child of the Earth into this complexity, just to find his crevice!”.

As he sat freezing in his defeat, recounting his convoluted calculations, a steady voice replied back, “Oh child of the Earth, there is no crevice for you, neither here nor in any corner of the infinite universe. And in that is the greatest mercy bestowed upon you. For the majestic mountain and it’s crevices will crumble in the face of the gale. But you, the child of the Earth, are not born to be destroyed, your soul walks hand in hand with infinity. There is no crevice which can contain you.”

~Rishika Sudhir Dhody

The Night

It rises slowly and silently

            to the muted beat of the moon rise,

                        with the stars twinkling in applause,

                                    Lo and Behold, the Night has risen.

The glimmering waters dance with the force of the moon.

            The wandering mind locks its gaze with the audaciously mellow night,

                        then it relives the laughs of the day and quietly sheds tears for pain

                                    Lo and Behold, the Night has risen.

There are no rainbows to light a pathway in the infinite sky,

            Nor any chirping birds to fill the air with their mellifluous sounds.

                        In their absence, unadorned, the charm of the changeling dusk grows.

                                    As the need to decorate slips away the mind meets the soul,                                         undone.

                                                Lo and Behold, the Night has risen.

The twinkling stars hold steady from one moment to the next,

            the twinkling stars move across leagues, even in their perceived stillness.

                        From one moment to the next the night changes the world,

                                    then again, nothing changes at all, magic breeds reality.

                                                Lo and Behold, the Night has risen.

Little by little, the air becomes still, with every step,

            the footsteps get lighter and quieter.

                        In reverence to the passing of another day,

                                    heavy with the memories of every breath,

                                                the eyes close to the world.

                                                            Lo and Behold, the Night has fallen.

~Rishika Sudhir Dhody

Letter to an unknown soldier

To commemorate the centennial of The Great War, all were invited to write a letter to an unknown soldier, whose statue can be found in Britain. More can be found about it here.

Here's my entry:

Dear Unknown Soldier,

This is a letter from the future, for the past. Today, we commemorate 100 years since The Great War, your War. It is strange how more often than not it takes the destructive forces of war to strengthen the thread between the future and the past.

It's not like wars were not fought before this and let me assure you, that wars will continue to be fought after this one as well, but this one will forever be known as the Great War. So, what is it that makes it Great? I don't know the answer to that question, maybe you will at the end of this, whenever that comes. Do write back to me then.

Even 100 years later, I can't help but shiver at the courage that you must've been possessed with to fight in that war. No war is fought for a just cause, all wars are fought because the soldiers have the courage to put one foot in front of another. I can't judge you for your sins and nor can I praise you for your good deeds; All I can do is admire the courage that you have to face one of the darker moments in history and believe that light lies ahead. Maybe that's why a war is fought, for Hope.

Even though your heart is filled with courage and you have faith in Hope, you are about to face some tough challenges ahead. Much like a seer, I can tell you that trenches, death and pain lie ahead. But as all seers I may be wrong. Maybe yours is a different story. Maybe the Great War that you are a part of will truly pull humanity through the darkness, into the light., one human at a time. Even a century later, I hope for the latter.

As the war begins, this letter must come to an end. I hope that this letter from the future serves as a warm hug and a heartfelt wave with the quintessential twinkling eye to remind you of the reassurance and wholesomeness of the human touch and expression, as you courageously set out in your journey to save mankind and find the world that Hope promised us all.

With a centennial filled with hopeful Smiles,

Rishika Sudhir Dhody

When

Numbers. They were used to quantify.

10 deaths, 50 deaths, 116 deaths. Now they all mean the same.

They all mean nothing.

Numbers. When did they lose their ability to quantify?

Peace. It used to be the status quo.

Rockets, Missiles, Rebels, Terrorists. Now they define the norm.

The day is now incomplete without a tempest wrecking peace.

Peace. When did we let go of it?

Sympathy and Empathy. They led the world to help to heal the hurt.

Mutilation, Rape, Explosions, Child Soldiers. The wounds only get deeper and deeper.

There is no medicine available to blanket the festering pain.

Sympathy and Empathy. When did they decide that we were too damaged to heal?

Love. It used to make the world go around.

Indifference, Ignorance, Hatred. Now the world has stopped in a cold cavern.

The wheels have stopped moving and the quicksand of desolation is sinking fast.

Love. When did we lose the audacity to revel in it?

~Rishika Sudhir Dhody

There is a Land

There is a land, in the realm of imagination;

A land, where the rainbow shines through at every smile,

and snow trembles from the clouds at every frown.

There is a land, in the realm of imagination;

it is beautiful and it is invisible,

it is real and it is surreal.

There is a land, in the realm of imagination;

The air that pervades is there is happiness,

sometimes insignificantly still -

and sometimes swingingly strong.

There is a land, in the realm of imagination;

it is beautiful and it is invisible,

it is real and it is surreal.

There is a land, in the realm of imagination;

Where flows the stream of morose-ness,

the stream which can push afloat - and pull inwards.

There is a land, in the realm of imagination;

it is beautiful and it is invisible,

it is real and it is surreal.

There is a land, in the realm of imagination;

Where the demons and angels fight,

and where the war and peace reside, side by side.

There is a land in the realm of imagination;

it is a fantasy and a sliver of reality,

it is but vapor and it is the home of the mind,

there is a land in the realm of imagination.