Monday, August 31, 2009

The Faustian Conflict

GOOD ANGEL.
Faustus, repent; yet God will pity thee.

EVIL ANGEL.
Thou art a spirit; God can not pity thee.

FAUSTUS.
My heart's so hardened, I cannot repent.
Scarce can I name salvation, faith, or heaven,(20)
But fearful echoes thunder in mine ears
“Faustus, thou art damned!” Then swords, and
knives,
Poison, gun, halters, and envenomed steel
Are laid before me to despatch myself,(25)
And long ere this I should have slain myself,
Had not sweet pleasure conquered deep despair.

The Faustian Fall

FAUSTUS.
Ah, Faustus,(65)
Now hast thou but one bare hour to live,
And then thou must be damned perpetually!
Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of Heaven,
That time may cease, and midnight never come;
Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again and make(70)
Perpetual day; or let this hour be but
A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
That Faustus may repent and save his soul!
O lente, lente, currite noctis equi!
The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,(75)
The Devil will come, and Faustus must be damned.
O, I'll leap up to my God! Who pulls me down?
See, see where Christ's blood streams in the firmament!
One drop would save my soul—half a drop: ah, my
Christ!(80)
Ah, rend not my heart for naming of my Christ!
Yet will I call on him: O spare me, Lucifer!
Where is it now? 'tis gone; and see where God
Stretcheth out his arm, and bends his ireful brows!
Mountains and hills come, come and fall on me,(85)
And hide me from the heavy wrath of God!
No, no!
Then will I headlong run into the earth;
Earth gape! O no, it will not harbour me!
You stars that reigned at my nativity,(90)
Whose influence hath allotted death and hell,
Now draw up Faustus like a foggy mist
Into the entrails of yon labouring clouds,
That when they vomit forth into the air,
My limbs may issue from their smoky mouths,(95)
So that my soul may but ascend to Heaven.

[The clock strikes the half hour.]

Ah, half the hour is past! 'twill all be past anon!
O God!
If thou wilt not have mercy on my soul,
Yet for Christ's sake whose blood hath ransomed me,(100)
Impose some end to my incessant pain;
Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years—
A hundred thousand, and—at last—be saved!
O, no end is limited to damned souls!
Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul?(105)
Or why is this immortal that thou hast?
Ah, Pythagoras' metempsychosis, were that true,
This soul should fly from me, and I be changed
Unto some brutish beast! all beasts are happy,
For, when they die,(110)
Their souls are soon dissolved in elements;
But mine must live, still to be plagued in hell.
Curst be the parents that engendered me!
No, Faustus: curse thyself: curse Lucifer
That hath deprived thee of the joys of heaven.(115)

[The clock strikes twelve.]

O, it strikes, it strikes! Now, body, turn to air,
Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to hell!

[Thunder and lightning.]

O soul, be changed into little water-drops,
And fall into the ocean ne'er be found.

[Enter Devils.]

My God, my God, look not so fierce on me!(120)
Adders and serpents, let me breathe a while!
Ugly hell, gape not! come not, Lucifer!
I'll burn my books!—Ah Mephistophilis!

[Exeunt Devils with FAUSTUS.]

Friday, August 21, 2009

My Inseparable Companion


You live in my eyes. You share my dreams. You share my joys. You see me fall. You see me rise. You are the reason the kohl drains away from my eyes. I own you, yet you claim me. You are His gift, you are nearer than ever. My inseparable companion, you are but a drop of tear.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Hope Floats


Hatred makes sense because there's love, sadness makes sense because there's happiness, failure makes sense because there's success. I find happiness in my despair and despair in my happiness. The fountain of eternity just showered happiness on me. Not in a human form, neither in tangible one. It's gift is a joy akin to the one that comes from the fragrance of a woman's body once it has been conquered. It's inside me, much like an unborn child. It will grow and lead a life that never ends. It is the immortal within the mortal. You call it hope, I call it desire.

Sunday, May 31, 2009

Ode to Cynicism

Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot, Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here, The Notebook (film), calligraphy exhibitions. A growing fascination for these means not all's quite well in your life. Did I say my life? No, I meant yours, and you could be anybody. Even me.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

As I walked in the garden of good and evil, little did I know how I was being consumed. Now that I know, I am nothing but a skeleton.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Pursuing happiness

Of all the qualities that people my generation have, the one I respect the most is the sheer irreverence we tend to have for certain things. And a part of this irreverence is the casual detachment most of us have towards a couple of things in life. Something that was a prized possession once (even if in our thoughts), transforms into a memory--- good or bad, you don't know. You gave birth to a dream and began to live it as well. You nurtured it with utmost care and believed in it when others mocked your obsession. You realised that they were right, but pretended to move on hoping for the impossible to happen. You grow with the dream, the dream grows on you. You bloat with the hope of an impending happiness. And then...


.... it is all over. You can't figure out why or how? It's just over. What comes along is another hope, another place where you can find happiness. It is like a shallow pond that has nothing to offer you except for a momentary high. This is when you realise you are dreaming...dreaming once again of greener pastures, those subtle drops of rain and the flower beds. Your flight of fancy has taken off pretty well. Will it come to an end soon. Maybe, maybe not. It's the rise before the fall, its the salvation preceding the doom