::~::Life::As::A::Bog::~::By::Gob::~::

Gob's Bog - The Boggy Blog : A Lyrical Tryst With An Alternative Life

Gob
A Gob's Eye View

On a Boggy Saturday, September 25, 2004...

A Hiatus


Gob is called away!

Pardon me, my dear friends; for, an arduous journey is at hand
It takes Gob, far and deep into a treacherous never-never land

Gob hopes to return in a few moons, back to the boggy tale
Now, I'm afraid it's time to board the rickety raft, and set sail!

Gob wishes ye all, many merry days and cheers to y'er health
May the light flood ye, from the bright candles of literary wealth!

On a Boggy Friday, September 24, 2004...

Foreword


...To an epic

"I trust you read the daily news Gob, especially today's essay
And that you had a nice long look at the sketch that came your way?"

"Of course!", Gob replies, setting Nicholas's opening query to rest
Secretly wonders what other details, Nicholas is going to test!

With a flapping around of those great wings, Nicholas paces around
Looks troubled and makes an undecided gentle clickety sound

"Oh, where shall I start, my dear Gob, for, the tale may wear you out!"
"Young souls, I fear, take to my narratives, like the old to painful gout!"

Gob smiles a little inwardly, at this rather amusing allegory
Hastens to promise a patient hearing and set Nicholas's fears free.

Thus assured, Nicholas embarks on an epic tale of old Boglands
Spanning hundreds of centuries that have left their mark upon the sands...

On a Boggy Thursday, September 23, 2004...

The interview


...Takes a surprising twist!

To a maroon ottoman, in a blue roofed hall
Its back towards a splendid, fresco covered wall

Gob is ushered in by the many feathered Wiseman
A redolent breeze envelopes Gob, from a ceiling fan

From a tiny bag, Gob now carefully takes out the blue scroll
Nicholas grins, as Gob's absorbed actions appear rather droll!

But the grin turns to astonishment, as the scroll is unzipped
Eyes go very wide indeed, seeing the blue manuscript!

"Young Gob! Where did you get this relic from beyond?
For, my amazement knows no bounds, so pray respond!"

Gob is taken slightly aback at this rather intense reaction
For Gob expected wise Nicholas to be, not even surprised a fraction.

"Oh wise one", Gob warily asks, "what propels thee to such consternation?"
"Is my finding this simple scroll, some very unexpected aberration?"

The pearly feathers rustle around, as Nicholas summons up his breath
As they fall silent, Nicholas begins a tale, in a manner, as ponderous as death!

On a Boggy Sunday, September 19, 2004...

Seeking Zen...


Amongst feathers!

Gob enters a wonderland, the official Wiseman home
And fascinated, gazes up the curves, of an alabaster dome

Gob's reverie is broken, as a powerful flutter of wings
Fills the air around, with an unseen ripple of rings

Nicholas, with his shrewd eyes, watches Gob, intent
And now proceeds to say, in a sing-song accent

"So dear Gob, what brings you here, at this hour of dusk?
Have you too come seeking, some elusive fragrance of musk?"

"Oh no!", Gob replies, "I come seeking thy mighty wisdom,
So that the light of knowledge can banish my dark thralldom!"

At this, Nicholas smiles, and the feathers rustle again
Gob feels strangely comforted, and very near a fleeting zen

The melodious voice comes through once more, as if in a dream
Gob realizes that the feathers are giving out a peculiar gleam

Iridescent and pearly, they seem to have a life of their own
After all, with Nicholas, over innumerable lands have they flown

"Whatever be your quest, Gob, let's have it out over a cup of brew!"
Gob couldn't have wanted anything more, and beams over a "Thank You!"

On a Boggy Friday, September 17, 2004...

The Sapphire Bell


...At Nicholas's Door!

Gob takes a step, towards the Sky blue door
Which seems straight out of a fantastic folklore!

Eyes are arrested by an embedded sapphire gem
Exactly positioned, and sparkling with stratagem

Gob feels unconsciously attracted to its spherical charm
Is it just there as a doorbell, or to stave off some boggy harm?

Well worth trying it out, for whatever it is, Gob thinks
A powdery bluish glow emanates from its minuscule chinks

Gob quits gazing and rings the majestic sapphire jewel
A cheerful gurgle of a rivulet sounds, merged with a tinkle of a tiny bell

What a pleasant sound, which instantly touches the heart!
Makes one think of the times, when one played with a go-cart

The door opens, and there stands, 'Wisdom Incarnate Nicholas'!
Resplendent in his colourful quills and an outlandish truss!

On a Boggy Thursday, September 16, 2004...

Nicholas Wiseman


"Bog-Brain" Supreme!

So did you wonder, what do Bog souls do?
When faced with an unsolvable riddle from Peru?

Why, simple! All roads then lead, not to Rome
But somewhere much closer to Gob's boggy home

Where the eternal "Bog-Brain", Nicholas resides
Dressed up in his colourful porcupine skin hides!

His lawn, a profusion of tropical blooms
His mode of transport, a pair of retro-fitted brooms!

Reaching his porch, Gob gazes, as usual, in wonder
The wildest of imaginations are promptly torn asunder!

A pristine white shade above, made of a metalled alloy
Is overrun by a bunch of pungent flowers of soy

The floor is tiled in an exotic shade of feral violet
On each tile, is an engraving of a unique cabriolet

Each, proclaiming how well their owner is travelled
Each, a mystical culture, waiting to be unraveled

As for the porch pillars, they are august caryatids
Laid down painstakingly in supporting emerald grids

Encircled by a multi-hued Chevaux-de-frise
Lest, they get disturbed by an occasional truant breeze

If for bog-souls like Gob, Nicholas's porch itself is aweing
Will, what waits within, be straight out of a da Vinci drawing?!

On a Boggy Wednesday, September 15, 2004...

The Dark Hour


...Engulfs Gob!

Taking up the blue scroll again, Gob hits a thought dam
It refuses to budge, even when attacked by a battering ram!

One of those excruciating times when, what Gob knows is not sufficient
When the knowledge to tackle unknown parameters, is pathetically deficient

Times, when the much touted common sense, doesn't come to one's rescue
In vain go all mental exertions; without exception, they draw a blank view

How does one go about seeking clues, when the basis itself is tottering?
Beyond reasonable understanding, all the meanings seem to be faltering

Out of depth, Gob feels, despondent and fatigued
It's a dark hour indeed when one stops feeling intrigued

Bewilderment replaces enthusiasm and ebullience takes a hit
It feels as if life has served one, a rather unjustified writ

Alas! Such times seem so long, and so terribly discomfiting
An interminable aeon spent, just cluelessly sitting

As Gob struggles to cope with this spate of ignorance
Gob's brain slowly recovers to work out a second line of defence...

On a Boggy Thursday, September 09, 2004...

A Way Out...


...Occurs to Gob

What if, Gob thinks, we come out of our daze
Make an earnest effort to clear the haze?

Make ourselves strong enough to resist
From beastly fads, consciously desist

If mindless written words or moving media corrupts
If from our thoughts, many a violent feeling erupts

Gather up our will and move determinedly away
And not come under their devastating sway

Gore may very well be an art, an entrancing one at that
But we all know, do we not, the secret of the sauce filled vat?

So why should our eyes get glazed, seeing the latest firearm?
Are we so stupid to come under its unseemly charm?

Refuse to listen to morons preaching gun laws
We all have the power to perceive its inherent flaws

If we let a few idiots have their selfish ways
We will have eternal darkness for innumerable days

To netherworlds with this violence then, may it never come back
All the vicious souls that worship it, may they fade into black

It's time to move to the next level in our evolution
Where clarity reigns, and not confabulation

On a Boggy Monday, September 06, 2004...

Can Calibans be Ariels ?

Gob's little tempest

Gob seeks an escape out of the paper's hard reality
Dismayed by the depravity, oppressed by its cruelty

Even the sun outside, fails to clear the gloom
The heavy silence in Gob's mind, casts a pall over the room

A dark maroon bound volume, on the lair kitchen shelf
Now holds out some hope of lightening, Gob's wretched self

Reaching out and flipping though it, Gob comes upon a verse
Painting a character in words, illustrative and yet terse

Caliban : the ugly, a slave of ill-fortune
Gropes about in darkness, under the island's sandy dune


How true, Gob thinks, that we are all Calibans in some way
Ugly is our soul, its beauty and warmth, spent toiling away

We don't care what happens, to the rest of our kind
It's just our own affairs that have a grip upon our mind

It doesn't bother us anymore, if a thousand die, or two
We have after all, our own puny goals to woo

So, isn't it best, one may wonder, to mind one's own business?
Leave the planet to its own means, and its occasional grisliness?

Fair enough, but do we ever think, what happens in that case?
If we let the flowers of hope, wither before our very face?

Despots and Tyrants, who have no other jobs to pursue
Rise up among us, and it's peace, which they eschew

Whining then, about the rotten state of politics and power
Will do us no good at all, as upon a dead cause, we'll hover

The same goes for the culture, which we lamely accept as "Trend"
Yet, when it floods our own lives, the dykes, we are unable to mend

We lap up pulp fiction, glorifying hate crimes
Yet despise the same, when they bring us upon hard times

Why, Gob asks, do we not see where we are going?
Our rafts, drifting without aim, desperately need some rowing

Look at our duplicity, in books and movies, it's okay?
It's lots of fun, isn't it? ; but in real life, it's all grey

Flock to the nearest theatre like sheep, buy an expensive ticket
All to see a demented tale of a widow, wielding the deathly wicket?

More incomprehensible, is when real facts begin to resemble fiction
We shrug them off as "freak" incidents, aren't we a walking contradiction?

We intentionally chose to be ugly; chose to be a slave
When the Ariel within us was dying, we chose to dance over its grave

Spent all our money on what the few despots fed us
Sold out our soul; gave it up without any fuss!

We could've been masters or, even better, just free
Could've been Ariels or the carefree Banshee

Gob searches deep, for the evanescent solution
A way out of bondage, a graceful evolution

On a Boggy Saturday, September 04, 2004...

Anguish


Four hundred lives snuffed out, and to what avail?
How hard it is to reach for peace, and yet fail!

Violence claws in, its vicious fangs tearing out life
Worthless has it become, in midst of such strife

Is being mortal not enough, that we quicken the coming of death?
Drag others into misery, rob them of the freedom of breath.

Even in peaceful times, guns seem to hold undeserved glamour
We must be blind indeed, for centuries we have let it enamour

Joining dots, for Gob, becomes such a deadening reminder
When, upon completing it, Gob is staring at a breechloader

When, Gob wonders, will we evolve enough to bury it forever?
The pain doesn't go away, when the truth is hidden by palaver

On a Boggy Thursday, September 02, 2004...

The Apostrophe!

Gob's grammatical epiphany!

Gob's favourite game of join the dots, patiently awaits
As, in today's grammar corner, the little apostrophe baits

Teeters, the newspaper's resident epistemologist
Clears from among Apostrophes, some blurry grey mist

Till now, those tiny marks of punctuation, eluded Gob's understanding
Other diversions on Gob's time, have been rather more demanding!

Gob ponders deeply, whether one would append it after an "s" ?
Were the word not a plural, and used in case of a certain "Tess"?

Say, we were talking about Tess, would we be talking about "Tess's Dog"?
Or would we be chucking the "s" after the apostrophe, out into the wild bog?

It seems, as Teeters so lucidly points out, the "s" goes along too
It's only in the case of plurals, that one can stamp off the "s" with a shoe!

So, it would be Teeters's column and Tess's mangy dog
You would also be right if you said, you hated all the cities' smog

Thus ends a grammatical epiphany, a little confusion cleared
All learnt on the web, without a page being dog-eared!