Thursday, April 20, 2017

Meenamkulam Beach

I walked to the beach today. Quiet a lovely experience. Here's the path I took.


I had begun by stitching a phone holder onto my bag but that turned out to be an exercise in futility since the phone was touchscreen and so kept getting "touched" by the bag/cover leading to mayhem.

Perhaps I'll use my Raspberry Pi to document the journey next time. It would certainly be a lot easier.

I started off during the evening. Maps gave the estimated time as 1.5 Hours and so taking into account my walking speed and the various elevations in the land, I had estimated 2-2.5 Hours to get there.

At first I was a little unsure of where I was going since the route looked quiet different from the Google Maps route. Those nearly straight lines? They are not nearly as straight as it seems. There are also elevations and flyovers adding to the confusion of an inexperienced walker.

During the last legs of the journey I did find confirmation that I was on the right track by way of seeing the water over the horizon of the road.

I might try going to St. Andrews beach next time, though I am told that the people there are not friendly to the passing admirer.


Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Conversations With Fire

I wrote to you and You,
unexpectedly;
wrote back to me.

Arose a tide of overnight love;
three years in the making,
Bewildered, scared; unprepared,
I sat with my heart pounding, aching.

All this while seeing things as I do,
Not seeing, the sight You had too.
I approach to bask in Dragon flame,
the inferno itself, knew me only by name.

Holding on to, what of You;
rebuilt from memory, I now remember.
Unnoticed; until I do,
my every act seeks You,
like ash seek'th ember.

Zeus's spark, when I approached,
For evermore to stay near the blaze,
My blizzard bitten bones to blame,
the blessed ignited, broke the gaze.

So I'll stay beyond your silent fence,
Throw a rock your way, now and then.
in hope that you'll find the ore;
sometime years and decades hence.

When you do; look beyond your moat.
You'll find a man, still strung to the name,
Held by death, or still drawing breath.
warm from; to your flare, his claim.

A claim he lays, now steeped in longing and desire,
to conversations he had once held with Fire.