Friday, November 24, 2006

Chicago Streets

As I walk past the Michigan Avenue
I still can't stop thinking of you
Here and there a pretty face I see
But I know that thing is not for me
I hear some Blues when I cross the road
A different tune, while I am feeling bored
When I start to believe there's so much to explore here
A breaking voice inside me begins to interfere:

Chicago streets, I sing while I walk, girl
Chicago streets, where my eyes search for you........................

The great sky-scrapers touching the Heavens
The busy folks talking into their cell phones
The lady staring me past the glass door of the Fish Bar
Amidst the stranded traffic, the loud honking of the car.....
When I start to believe there's so much to excite me
A cracking sound croons like the waves in a sea:

Chicago streets, I sing while I walk, girl
Chicago streets, where my eyes search for you........................

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

woman in kullu cap




throw not that smirk of indolence
on my poverty, o Princess
give me a crescent smile instead
whence I can see a dream fulfilled



Siddartha Pamulaparty.
Nov 24, 2006.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

.....I.....









what am i but a fallen leaf
lone petal of a wilted rose
blown away by the streams of breeze-
my life is like a yellow sheaf.
dry and worn out in summer's heat!

44˚ 30΄N 18˚ 60΄E



Сапна

England 18 Two Halves




Monday, November 20, 2006

Song...Too Bad

'Tis a very bad song I know, but I felt like writing it and wrote it!!!



here you go, this is my favourite song
come with me and won't you sing along
everybody knows it there's nothing wrong

i'm glad, i'm sad, i'm crazy and mad
i was a nice guy then, now i am really bad
i have ditched all the friends i ever had

and its all because i fell in love
i was on cloud nine in the sky above

if she'll ever...think of me.....
never know what it might about be....
what's in her mind
i will never find
my eyes can't see, i'm blind
more than life, i trust now death is more kind!!!!!!!!
if she'll ever...think of me................
if she'll ever think...of me..............
if she'll ever think of me................



Siddartha Pamulaparty
Nov 19 2006

A Word about Words

Words seem to play their way into colorful feelings of people around us. But the essence of each and every word that is spoken is not perceived in the level at which it must be. They say, speech is silver and silence is gold. I don’t believe it. Silence can be more agonizing than harsh words, at times. So possibly, ‘euphemistic speech is far greater than caustic silence.’ If not speech, at least distinct words have the magic.So, words have a very significant role in conveying the truth in one’s cogitating zone to another’s. Words can be powerful tools in empathizing, soothing, placating a torn-individual. Words can be highly contemptuous in representing dislike, hatred. But the most important advantage of words is their power in expressing love, affection, trust and more importantly the Truth. Words of love don’t come as easily, when there is no honesty in the very process of producing them. On the other hand, when love is entrusted with confidence and reliability, then words keep pouring like fine drops of monsoon rains. And if the meaning of these words is appreciated by perceiving each of them at a deeper level, then the amour will reach eternity in time and space. And perhaps, the world will then be Eden and the people, Angels themselves.
-Siddartha Pamulaparty.
Long Ago in 2002/03.

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Socrates and me Part II (Plato and my Grandfather)

I had recently been thinking about getting back to Plato (read Socrates) but I hadn't had a chance to. Last week (October 19th, 2006) there was a solicitation to my late grandfather in my home town. As a part of this, I had learnt a lot about him. One of such discoveries was that he had translated a book in English titled "Theory of Knowledge" into Telugu. On further enquiry, I found that
this version in English by Cronford was in turn a translation of Plato's work. This part of "theory of knowledge" was associated with a story that Socrates
narrates in "The Republic", book 7. This story is very popular as the 'Analogy of the Cave". I had read this analogy about 3 years back when I was crazily
trying to write a thesis on "Theory of Analogy". Of course, I had lost the Abstract as it was lying on my hard disk which got corrupted. Anyway, coming back
to the actual discussion, I wanted to kind of get back to "Socrates and Me" series I had started last year.
I first read the "Analogy of the Cave", in a book on Western Philosophy, I do not remember the author name now. The story is about how the process of
perception of Truth to a mind that is illusive. In short it takes up a scenario of Enlightenment of an individual and the consequences he would bear in his
society which is still in dark. I think I would not re-write the story because there are numerous accounts of it everywhere in the world. I would rather do
an analysis of my own understanding of the theory and my own remarks.
According to my understanding of the story, Plato tried to depict how people tend to condemn the Truth, whilst believing the illusory preconceptions in their
minds. Many times in History, we have seen the beliefs of people so strong, but limited to just what is passed on over generations, ignorant of the actual
truth. The best examples would be of course, Science itself, and the foremost I can think of in this regard is that between Galileo and the Church.
Galileo when discoverd that Earth is revolving around the Sun, contrary to the then belief that Earth was the centre of the Solar System, the Church did not
just not believe him, but fanatically prosecuted him. I read somewhere that finally Church accepted Galileo's discovery in 1992, several hundreds of years
after his death. A more complicated story is with Einstein's Theory of Relativity.If we go beyond science into philosophy, of course we come back to Socrates. I suppose you know what happened about his prosecution.
Anyway, Plato was trying to explain a certain concept, deriving conclusions from this allegory. The theory popularly called "Forms". The concept of Forms in
simple words is, like various classes. For example, Form of Dogs, Form of Horse, Form of Humans. Again there is enough literature available solemn
commentaries on this Theory of Forms. During my first read of these forms, I was also learning the Object oriented concepts. I found striking similarity
between the two. I was so tempted to write a paper on the comparison of both, with a title "Object Oriented Programming and Plato's Theory of Forms". Of
course it never went of, because while I was doing a small research on the same, I already found a paper. Eventually discovered that there are many who went
through this already. So, as I always was, just left it there, trying to get into something which no one did before.
In a single statement, it can be said that the "classes" in OOPS are equivalent to the "Forms". And the "instance of a class, an object" is like the object, a specific set that belongs to a Form. There are enough papers now explaning the Abstraction, Encapsulation and Inheritance as compared to the Theory of Forms. So thats all with the comparison here.
I would have to spend some quality time in understanding this theory of knowledge and if possible grab a copy of grandfather's translation into Telugu to put together bits and pieces of my own conclusions. It would be particularly interesting because my grandfather being a Marxist and an equally great scholar in Hindu philosophy, would have contribute in his own way to the Gyana Siddhantam.
One thing I always end up is on the analogy between the great Greek thought and the ancient Hindu philosophy. I was less certain earlier, but my feeling now grows that all of the current knowledge, scientific or philosophical originated from my home land, Bharatha Varsha and from the religion that the humankind ideally belongs to, the "Sanatana Dharma".
I shall come back on more as now I am really ignorant of many things which I wish to say. So long now.




Siddartha Pamulaparty
Oct/Nov 2006

Friday, November 17, 2006

Sonnet to the Bard

It is strange that I had taken a long time to write something for someone who inspired me in discovering the beautiful art of writing Sonnets. While there are many who wrote sonnets, Shakespearean sonnets seem like the embodiment of the perfection in poetry...and I began investing my energy on producing sonnets. Of course I tend to make mistakes and some time may write really stupid and meaningless verses...nevertheless, I believe, "when you gotta write, you gotta write".

Here we go then:

How love makes its way into a man's life?
And how a man loves a woman in truth?
It had always been a matter of strife
To my crazy mind while I was a youth.
Then came upon it, one wild breezy storm
On a graceful day, I remember still
An angel of fire in a human form
Stroke it hard with a wand against my will;
I fainted awhile into deep slumber
Woke up in the arms of an unknown God
Counting syllables ten, the strange number
In each of fourteen lines He wrote, aloud.
'Twas Sonnet one one six in His orchard
A bliss on me of the great English Bard.
Siddartha Pamulaparty
Nov 17 2006.
*************************************************************************************
In His own words......

Sonnet # 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.


William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Singing America

Up in the morning
'Tis still so dark outside
I think I hear the door-bell ring
And for a minute I try to hide
Then I remember....
This is America, here I don't 've to wait for none
This is America, where I 've gotta wake up the Sun!!!

This ain't my home
This ain't that Holy Land.
This certainly ain't Rome
There ain't no Gold in this Sand
But I wonder.....
This is America, here I feel I can reach up so high
This is America, where I 've gotta touch the sky!!

What about friends?
I have the one closest to my heart
Who's gonna be with me till my life ends
Who's been with me right from the start
It does matter...
This is America, here my solitude and I are in love
This is America, where I can kiss the Heavens above!!!

This is America
This is America
Where I sing my own Song
This is America
This is America
It seems to me I 've been here since so long

This is America
This is America
Here I see a brand new dream
This is America
This is America
Where I gained back my lost self-esteem.

This is America
This is America
Yeah here I wake up the Sun
This is America
This is America
But No, This ain't my home

Siddartha Pamulaparty
Dt 15 Nov 2006

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Sonnet to Solitude

Heavily my heart, heavily again,
Beat to the melodies of those wild bells-
Relentlessly ringing, singing of pain,
Fueling this burning that in my heart dwells.
Happily my heart, happily with joy
Dance to the music of that insane song
Which I wrote when I was a very young boy
Yelling innocently,something was wrong.
Wake up my heart, wake up every dark night
Amid those purple dreams which were not real
Wake up to see again infinite Light
That taught me the Truth of what I should feel.
And when Heavens with my fate interlude,
Rest in the arms of my sweet solitude.

Probably I can improvise on this. I got the idea this morning. I was not able to sleep, contemplating on the climax of this one. Now before I rest for the day, let me put my heart to rest in the arms of my solitude, which has always been with me, when I am alone or otherwise.
Siddartha Pamulaparty
12 Nov 2006.

Friday, November 10, 2006

Dedication

This is a poem which I wrote for a certain special someone during back in my college....
Perhaps this will be true for every new crush I have, especially my latest one...this is for you!

(Qui aime bien, tard oublie)

She is my Heaven,
She is my Hell,
She is every word-
In the ode that I tell.
She is my hope,
She is my dismay.
She brings in the light
As the sunshine of my day.
She is my fate,
She is my bliss.
She is the only one-
I ever wished to kiss.
She is my Heart,
She is my Soul.
By being in my thoughts-
She makes me whole.

Siddartha Pamulaparty
Date written: May 2002
Date Valid: Forever.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Silence of the Woman I Loved (Stanzas)

A li'l bit of Whitman, Frost.... completed in a hurry, because did not want to spend much time on it...

"Seems like the things that you can't have are the things you want the most".
- Song: East Side Story
Album: Room Service
Artist: Bryan Adams (THE GOD).



In vain I grab my pen again
To write what I have always wrote
Of love and its consequence- pain
And lives ending on tragic note.

It was a foolish disaster
That I happened to fall in love.
Those vivid dreams I saw of her
Were from my small world, way above.

What I never knew was her plan:
That someone else was on her mind;
That she did love another man-
I could not in my musings find.

In every instance of my breath
I feel I myself cheated me;
By losing life and winning death
My tortured soul would be set free.

A solemn dream I thought was real
Made me think she was my beloved-
The reason which made me so feel
Is silence of the girl I loved.

-Siddartha Pamulaparty
Dt: Nov 08 2006
(esp after the last night's torture)

Monday, November 06, 2006

Here I Come, America

Sometimes with one I love
I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse unreturn'd love,
But now I think there is no unreturn'd
love,
the pay is certain one way or another,
(I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return'd,
Yet out of that I have written these songs.)
Since I arrived here, I thought I would start reading the American poets in more detail. And on the initial research, found Whitman, who had inspired me some time earlier.

About four years back, I read in a book on American Literature, a certain poem by Whitman called "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed", published in his infamous "Leaves of grass". In that poem, there were certain lines on death he wrote. I thought it was amazing. It went like:

DEATH CAROL.
16
Come, lovely and soothing Death,
Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,
In the day, in the night, to all, to each,
Sooner or later, delicate Death.

Prais’d be the fathomless universe,
For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious;
And for love, sweet love—But praise! praise! praise!
For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding Death.

Dark Mother, always gliding near, with soft feet,
Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?
Then I chant it for thee—I glorify thee above all;
I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.

Approach, strong Deliveress!
When it is so—when thou hast taken them, I joyously sing the dead,
Lost in the loving, floating ocean of thee,
Laved in the flood of thy bliss, O Death.

From me to thee glad serenades,
Dances for thee I propose, saluting thee—adornments and feastings for thee;
And the sights of the open landscape, and the high-spread sky, are fitting,
And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night.

The night, in silence, under many a star;
The ocean shore, and the husky whispering wave, whose voice I know;
And the soul turning to thee, O vast and well-veil’d Death,
And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.

Over the tree-tops I float thee a song!
Over the rising and sinking waves—over the myriad fields, and the prairies wide;
Over the dense-pack’d cities all, and the teeming wharves and ways,
I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, O Death!

I got inspired by these and wrote my own poem called Great Death on August 13, 2002. Here goes my poem:

With sorrow, pain and grieving rain
Bringing fear now and again
Sweeping up through the unkempt woods
Shaded beneath the serpent-hoods
Dancing wildly with a passion to win
Causing a shiver to the ghosts of sin
Fueling the burning fires of chaste
Charring the wealths of greed to waste
Treating dreams and nightmares alike
Propping the poor to impel their strike
Leaving no traces of bodies and bloods
Washing the dirt of carnage in floods
Thwarting the lights of ephemeral sanctity
With the pervading clouds of timeless blankity
Hollowing the heads of unrefined brains
Sinking impiety and calumny in drains
Welcome the one, whose wrath escapes none
Welcome the one, who has always won
Dark death, dear death, you are welcome
Great Death take us back to our real home.


Other American Poets I am looking forward to read are E.A.Poe and Robert Frost.

Poe's poem "To My Mother" (1894) has some beautiful lines, I keep repeating to myself often:

Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,
The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of "Mother,"

The rest of the poem, for some reason I am not fond of. But these four lines, I will never forget.
I become emotional.

And of course, speaking of Robert Frost, the more I speak would be less. His verse, his rhyme, his metre are just so impeccable. I almost recite his "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening". In fact there is more music in his poems than literature. The last four lines of this poem are awesome:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Simple, yet deep.

And Frost's "Road Not Taken" and other poems are just genius. One of his funny I remember and keep reading to friends is 'Forgive, O Lord":

Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee
And I'll forgive Thy great big one on me.

Way to go!!

I am currently writing some stanzas, again, probably taking inspiration from Whitman.

Thanks for reading thru.

Siddartha Pamulaparty

06 Nov 2006.

Haiku...Is there an answer?

have travelled across

seven seas, countries many

but from here to where?



P.Siddartha
06 Nov 2006

Thursday, November 02, 2006

my Sonnet to America

Thank you America for being too kind
Towards the confused,miserable me
While I was trying very hard to find
A candid place where I can myself be
Away from those things that attempt to bind
And give me a sense that I can't be free-
Corrupting my thoughts, weakening my mind!!
But now by the grace of the Almighty
Here I am as my eager eyes unblind
To see that ahead lies the great glory:
At this land of opportunity are lined
Promises treasured, which I could not see
Before I set my feet on these New soils-
As I stand now, my blood once again boils!


Siddartha Pamulaparty.
Dt: 2 Nov 2006

What am I going through?

The height of being:

MISERABLE...