ATTENUATION

*Gleam of a thousand carbons*



And depth of a million miles below,
Into the mist of blindness
A thousand rows of enigma,
Wings, a hand's length, grew anew
As she dropped through!

Hitting the silver sheets of blade
Sharp across,
Into the spine of her remnant guts
As they split across in the air.

Up goes a gust of chill
Brackish and hot in the skin lined caves.
And through the ventricles of a
Kindred spirit.
Anonymous.As it may seem.

She wakes up.
Blurring into the blue.
Hollow, viscous, callings from around.
A simmering golden crown.

"Is it him above?"

Immersed in the fluids of
A million tears from infinity,
And unknown horizons' withered away sweats,
She ate the sands of gold
And stood the testimony of aeons
Called Time.

Feet stuck into the weeds never seen
Her soul, a wandering star in
A galaxy of multitudes of unforgiving heavens.
She peered into the eyes beneath the trench
'Never there.Never anywhere.
Watching her all the while
Till a no' seen.

She went down those drains
With these reins.
Chains.

To travel with these foams
Bound again...

Image courtesy: http://goldwallpapers.com/data/media/1/ws_Deep_blue_sea_1024x768.jpg

PARADOXIA

Shroud me in a wrap of malignancies of senile
Youth,
Dip me in the sunset of a golden
Dawn,
Wake me up from the sunny dream of a cold
January morning,
Slither me into the slumber of a majestic horizon
In the chill of the Arctic,
From which I'd wake
And keep travelling,
Knowing never the
Calling of The Wind!

Image courtesy : http://ninja921.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/dream-weaver.jpg

THE TREE

The Man,
The miniature,
Of the tree beneath which
He stood,
Big, brown, bony.

Reckless crusader from
The hills beyond
He waited for,
Hills as worn as him,
Hills as ancient as
The Tree,

Waiting to be perished,
Waiting to be gorged.

" The Destroyer!"
Eyes beneath the gnarled palm glared,
Looking above,
Beams blinding the gleam of the
Golden crusader above!

The sky so insipid
As are the lands below,
Parched like The Man's throat
Drowned in the sea of his heart.

"Another dry day,
Another broken field,
Another broken string of my rope,
Another broken will of mine! "
*
The Tree,
The Minister
Preaching dogmas
From The Emperor above,
Seated on a golden disc
Melting pots of revenge
And Pride!
*


Fractured figments
Of lives,
Lived and unlived
In the same day,
In the same breath.

He let off the rope,
The eschewed soul.
" Not today. " , he whispered
To Her,
He knew, never knew.
*
A tiny nudge on
His brown, concrete legs.
*
He built today
Yet another empty temple,
Pillars brown with
The deprived sands of his land.

A shrine
As green as their wombs,
Once fertile!


Image courtesy : http://www.mi40k.com/wp-content

EVERY LOVER'S DREAM!

What is it that keeps me away from you,
Oh Violet of the dawns
Of heavens Unknown and above!

A glass? A moat?
A few inches of wet, green, cold grass?

My feet get thicker,
My heart never heavier!
As I dream to embed in life,
To the sculpture in your arms
Forever!!



( P.S: A passing thought moulded into a poem, about something I've seen! )

THE TEMPLE OF LIFE

Baby steps in the
Garden of heaven.
Today, now, from here on
Draped in gloom like

'An aubergine'

Landscapes of another life
Spent in the fields of innocence.
Small white legs
Running, scampering
Falling and rising,
To the pines where the foxes belong
And across that silver line of
Bliss and boats with
Long statues of men
Like Gods far distant.

I swallow a lump
Of these molecules,
Of yesterday's dews, mildews
And a child's untaught feelings,
In a garden of rotting jasmines
Which once with nothing but yearn today
Holds the shrine of my
Me!


Image courtesy: http://www.photographycorner.com/galleries/data/1608/ccc51-24---Childhood-Memories.jpg

SOMEDAY..

Someday, when the embers of prejudice
Fizzle out with the death of an age,
Someday, when I watch the sunset with
Him besides our golden lake,
Wistful glares, colder flesh
Hair, the kith of the moon above us!
Someday, when enough of our wits die
And charms fail their magic
To devour the lust in every seeking mortal's eyes
His, mine and theirs.

Someday, I shall hold his hands forever
And enter the tunnel
Of our never ending days!

Image courtesy: http://rachaeleliz94.files.wordpress.com/2011/01/i-am-becoming-holding_hands-2.jpg

SYLVIA

A tear shed by her
Falls on my window pane
Already marked with dews of a cold rain.
So I see no salt, I see no pain
Oh is it because I have no gain
From this rainy day, a bit grainy day
Of yours, I am bound to share.

For all the grays of our molten blood
And sweet trickles of spit filled with
Uncalled happiness and unmet dreams
We have yet learned to chuckle at those gargoyles spilling
Venom! Venom! Everywhere!
Lets not look there my dear!
For our eyes burn with innocence
And theirs with
Uncouth decadence.

But sometimes and still some sunny times
I remember, I regret and I paint
That rainy day when the gray of the clouds
Made the grass greener and
The buses redder
And I forgot to see her
Singing a song for me..

Image courtesy: http://wvs.topleftpixel.com/photos/2008/04/raindrops_glass_bokeh_colours_01.jpg

SUMMER SIESTA

*
Heat, water.
Dissipation.
Anticipation.
*
Oggling the yellows of
Mangoes, jackfruits and
The succulent summer paradise.
Nectars to fill
The lasciviousness’
Of a silly walking
Languid slight.

Lovers groping here and there
For shades under
Uncle trees with jolly dark paunches.
In sunned rooms with
Red drapes and weak willed chairs ,
Torn and yet amused to watch
This burning spectacle.
The cigar still racing into their mouths.
Well versed teaks for
Motions of schadenfreude.

Quiet sepia relics
Of the gones, comings and
Reticent expectings.

Another summer for the hornbills
To gawk by.
Open, openn, opennnn :

“Aa” “Aaa” “Aaaaa”


Thy mouths for
Drops of mercy,
Like us too.

Wells dry, our hearts cry,
And still the smiles gleam
Under the heats of a
Well loved month of
Solar warmth!

THE SPIRITEDS

The floor is lit
The music is on,
What are you hiding
In that corner for?

The rule in here
Is to dance.
Not to watch.
So what are you
Waiting for?

A prayer to leave?
A soul to bereave?
Of your mortal self
This stale old heart
And foggy specs.

Join the game
You already have.
Kick it out ,
Let it out.
You gotta’ survive.

Come get into
The groove of this
Rhythm.
The beat of this
Asylum
'Coz the music here
Is not gonna' last enough
To revive..

Image courtesy: http://www.customsoundroadshow.co.uk/Disco_Lights_on_Dancefloor_287230238_std.jpg

AFTER DEATH

Embers to long
Lulling me into
Soft cradles of
Silk,
As sleep.

I lay like
An open Jughead,
On a tray as these other
Cowheads,
Munch away to oblivion
Of their physical lumps
And snorty drools.

*

Senses coasting
Through a tunnel,
Long and narrow
Perhaps with a
Light
In the other
End.

Baby steps
Descending,
Slipping,
Transcending
Into a pit
Inhabited by
Myths.

*
My eyes open now,
The barn echoing
Silence.
Bovine tummies grinding
The hay and some
Gurgling with vomit,
Breaking the contentment
Quasi and tamed.
Humans, such rusted machines!

I shut myself
Ears in the crevices
Of strong folded arms,
And look out,
A nook I get by the window.
Thousands of years pass by
‘Twixt the wings and my eyes
Of solitude, of past, of future,
Of magnitudes of lives.

In this majestic nothingness
Called Sky
Lay the jewels of a Queen,
Legendary, unnamed
Loved and hurt.
Every diamond is owned here
By her touch,
Every feather of ivory
Carries her scent,
Every cold whisper
Has an unending tale
To bereave what was lost
Between her lover and she,
Promises enduring
Everything else.
*

Temptations arise
From every corner
Of a limited sky to my eyes,

“ Is not our life
Like a star?
Sucked into a blackhole
Upon decay and no more..
Bowels of which
Do not allow lights from
The bright sword of Surtr
To escape even in closing
Rays."
*
Or perhaps that is called
Eternal life!


*
And I rest on that tray
Flexed and folded
In a can defying
Gravity,
My head cocked,
My soul docked,
By the shore of brown land
Where the foamy waves of dreams
Die or drown
In the sea of wisdom.
*

Ruefully ,
Willfully,
Wistfully,
I crinched, I slept.

While the man outside,
Valour and still waiting
In dripping coats
And hat..


Image courtesy : http://www.spacetelescope.org/static/archives/images/screen/heic0211h.jpg

THE LEAP

So it has been a day of avid blog reading for me pretty much. And I must say that I pretty much find pinks, creams and whites in every other link in all these blog hops a bit too optimistic for reality. Not to mention quite pinky Barbie-ish. But hey who am I to condescend the mindset of all these cheerful and happy bloggers out there, who are perhaps hoping to drink the left out wine in the glass.

Or maybe I should blame my toothpaste too. For being red and white striped ( for late bloomers like me, red + white = pink, in primary school drawing classes ).For reminding me these colors before I sleep on a gray-brown bed.

Ah! I surely do miss poetry. I do write them, but only in my journals. And I should cover up my hiatus for not reading them. I am having the pre-jitters of travelling anyways and that I take up as a good enough excuse to go under a hibernation from everything that I cherish doing.


Only if every one of us had a toilet bowl in our house to flush down nothing but insecurities. (WTF!)

Like a friend said yesterday, life has to move on, but nobody knows to where.. And getting back to ground zero after a two year hiatus is just making me feel like a baby all over again. Now if I could pull out a rhyme-o-meter poetry here, I could snuggle up in my little pit of niche. ( there I go again! )

But today, as in everyday, but especially today (ok!) I wish all my loved ones have a better tomorrow, all those reading my words have a better life from here on and nothing but love happen to them in their lives in every sort of manifestation.

[So much lovey talks for that vehement black background I hold up against the face of my readers~ if I have any ;) ]

And taking a dear friend's pearls-of-wisdom-words into consideration: I shall try being less angry. I shall breathe and I shall smile.

(Although I know tomorrow something unjust shall make me go foul tempered again, especially since I come from that part of the world).

Life's a crime for
The Ones who believed
Were sinners
Of past..

No more past, only a colorful future. Pink, creams, oranges, blues or gray. If that is your favourite colour ;)

I take a leap
Holding the hands
Of my dear friend.
Faith!

Image courtesy: http://www.timeoffun.com/pics/High-Hopes/High-Hopes-1.jpg

MY 'WORLDLY' EASTER WOES

For all those know-it-alls out there..
Try Geosense-ing, as I'd like to put it, and see how Russia, Canada, Brazil, and in my case the entire Europe, United States and Africa can drive you bonkers.

No matter how much ever you try analysing the world map and the queer mistakes you make while exactly pin pointing the yet unheard of locations (or you thought so!), you are going to stray. I began it today and I know I will soon get tired of it too, but it is thrilling as long as it lasts (now what doesn't??!)

Geosensing (allow me the liberty) took me back to 10th grade when our geography Ma'am would relentlessly hand us out blank Indian maps and a list of much elusive locations to perfect our national geography, but today I realise our curriculum was anything but complete. This Easter I realised that I really didnt know the location of Taiwan!

Of course you can play it alone, at least beginners better, lest you want to have sour experiences like an arrogant moi of having to play with a firebrand 10 year old geeky kid (this is purely my assumption) who knew the world better than me and asked me whether I was new to the world in itself. Or try a much wiser option of playing the game alone to boost yourself up.

Quite deservingly, I almost choked on my own humiliation and decided that I am only going to pit myself against another a next time after mastering my own sense of geography and look out for who's-better-than-who scores.

So here I am, adamantly deciding myself to play this game to shut off my ignorance until I point out where exactly Azerbaijan's 'famous barn' is located in. :D

And for all those know-it-all's who knew it all about this game beforehand, don't be an imprudent fellow Homo Sapien and make me look like Mumble from Happy Feet, alright! I will definitely plan up something for you. I know that you know that I really dont know who I am fooling ;)

Till then,

Yours GPS-lovingly..

[P.S: In case you want to try and test your 'worldly' knowledge, here's the link, and of course do let me know how pissed off or proud you were. Either ways no harm ;)
www.geosense.net ]


Image courtesy: http://ursispaltenstein.ch/blog/images/uploads_img/game_geosense.jpg

WHY EASTER BRINGS ME HAPPINESS..

As yet another Easter closes in, I am, as always taken, back to a very fond weekday in my early childhood, when upon the sudden realisation that the next day is a holiday in school because of Easter, I was overjoyed like any other seven year old kid. For this very nostalgic reason, to date Easter is a well cherished festival in my heart, a festival that once bought me an unexpected heap of happiness..

The afternoon I heard this news became all the more golden despite of all the heat and the tension of attending an unwanted dance class. Every other stone I had to step on, to endure all those long toiling hours to 'tha-tha-thik-thik-thais' seemed bearable forever, because of a good Easter that would eventually give me all the time with Mum and toys the next day. At the risk of sounding a tad dramatic, let me tell you, I still enjoy a pang of happiness when I think about that afternoon.

Perhaps that incident bears a metaphor to Easter, in my mind. Just when I thought life couldn't get any more worser for my fragile bones and a highly restless seven year old mind, I get a resurrection of joy in the form of a holiday!
But then thats my own stupid thought, better kept closed in a box, but you know....

Anyways I wish all my dear and near ones a Happy Easter..

When Christ bore the cross, He bore all our troubles with Him..
When every nail dug into His flesh, every heart had His name inscribed in them forever..
Faith outlives everything else... Faith is the only panacea for a depleting mankind.
Amen!



Image courtesy: http://www.art-wallpaper.net/Christian-Wallpapers/images/crucifixion-of-jesus-christ-with-dramatic-sky-and-lightning.jpg

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHd5msl3wQSKEwP1cAZQfQHRmwNzZIJ9GZrbgAqAo3b12EepOit4-_wlHwywi6QUGoJLdbhqgGmKhPO8uOv0yiKE6dQNqcJvwo6QIMdG0ZnnDPQK33jOQkkzO9qqbiien2zihWLXckdDk/s1600/easter.jpg

REQUIEM FOR A DREAM

Every inception carries a
Beat in it,
Every creation
A dream.
Every requiem carries
A soul in it,
Of faith, fated resilience
And love,
Out of bereft in it.

Every Sea carries a wave
Of tried and tested salt from
Another shore.
Every wind carries
A silent prayer for
Things of past that is lost
Without one's will.
Every drop of water
Pitting against this thirsty earth
Speaks a story of an urge
To laugh at an old flame's
Cracked spirits
Of graying joie-de-vivres..


Time takes away
Not only the once gay green leaves
With the rebellious winds of autumn,
Or the supple youth of man
In its strong, bossy arms.
But also those tender dreams
That befell upon us,
When we knew how to laugh
And believe in sunshine..

Let us pray
For this and many more
to come
*
Blood baths, wails and
Sorrow laden hopes.
Monuments of insanity
And romps of foolish pomps.
*

Let us pray once again
For every woman,
Who dreams one day
Of bringing out a life,
Here.
In this land of
Looming shadows,
Awaiting crimson tides.


(For those who are lulled at night with the noises of drone above them, their roofs and their skies)



Image courtesy: http://affordable-health-cures.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/a-prayer-for-times-like-these.jpg

REBIRTH

I swallowed the
Darkness of this world
And crawled back
Into my mother's womb..














Image courtesy: www.nationalgeographic.com

BUBBLED HAVEN

Black chamber, moving walls
Corrugated keyhole - an exit to vision.
Horizontal column of yellow light
With million crumpling golden dust
Selfish gatecrashers.
A kaleidoscope of crawling lumps
Of black ants and the ilk.

Here's a Peeping Tom suspended in
A saccule of thick elastic flesh,
Listening to the blubbery voices
Of the arachnids,
In echoes lulling in its own versions.

First memory of a jingled joker,
I narrate.

Your eyes wide and
Scared.
Two pale moons held
Laminated with,
Thin sheets of ice
Brimming cups of mock..

THE OLD BROWN ROSE

To a land that knows no retreats
To faces that show no lines of defeat
To the rum, the cheese and the chums
We think we own, we feast and we treat,
Let us spare some time for a reprieve
Now, later is never better.
You forget the scent of your garden
Never knowing they bloomed in you
Long ago once.
Scorn, mistakes, pride and illusion
You have become an old brown rose with
Nothing but thorns as tawny.
So come and kiss this star a goodnight, father
For ephemeral is not a black hole’s
Best trait ever …

SUNSETS

" A thing of beauty, is a joy forever."

Every lover has a story
To tell,
Of a long gone sunset
That every heart held.
Of the sheen only his retiring gaze
Could produce,
Never did gold seem
So good, on their lovers skins.

Those in love, never question..
They have seen the rainbows
In the iris of their loves.
And when the coquettish sky
Drapes on her silk of ink,
Never did the moon moan so much
As in anybody than a lover,
For that gold she threw into those
Deep waters,
To adorn pearls and diamonds
And the blue sapphire of Venus,
Never worthier than
The gleam of a golden crystal
In the eyes of a beloved soul.


P.S: If you have taken the kind consideration or rather a selfless attempt to read this little poetry of mine, then do share with me about your favourite time of the day and why you feel so much about it.. :)

THE LADY IN BLACK

Stealthy visitor
She creeps in,
Bringing the sands of memories
Flanking her.
Like a breeze she is
Wanting to turn volatile,
She hisses , a threat nobody heeds.
She pleads for someone to push her down
Before the revolt of her soul begins.

The Wind,
She is never seen
As she journeys in her black veil
Of unfathomable,
Bringing us back into a haunted house
Of graying thoughts and intensities,
Deflecting like a waning moon
In its scales of shine.

She brushes her long hands
Against further forlorn faces,
Her talons combing our bosoms
To split, to fragments
To carry bits into the strangest of lands.

Like wanton women, like kites without a thread
The birds, they swoop, dip and soar
Never owning to fly now
Only to mimick those blue silly plastic covers,
Sans aim, sans route,
Sans work, sans divine.

The clouds are her conspirators
Flowing like a viscous river,
Waters of turbidity,
Time of a provoked mob.
They ambush the sun
Away from his children
Jeering at a heavy loss.

With a passing light gone
Our hearts are dark again,
Bitter memories of us
The self, the clown,
The one that could have been.
Unforgiving every prayer,
Trying to peer through the brakish waters
Our face still covered with slime.

And this is what she does to us
The lady in tattered black.
Tempting, she is
Sinful, a bucket full of
Yet we surrender to that
Voice from a distance
Sultriness,
Voice from within
Whimpering,
With nothing but a few measures
Of crippled honesty.

FOR MY FRIENDS WHO ONLY KNOW OF ANNA HAZARE

IROM CHANU SHARMILA

I am clueless as to how many of my friends would know about her but the netizens who have been supporting Anna Hazare who everybody, till a few days ago, has been hailing and supporting avidly through 'Click-It' campaigns and roused-full-of-spirit status updates on various social networking sites has taken up the cause of Irom who has also been given an appropriate nickname - "Iron Lady of Manipur".

For those who dont know, Irom is a civil rights activist who undertook a vow in 2000 to go on a political fast after the disturbing aftermath of Malom Massacre where 10 people in Malom a town in the Imphal Valley of Manipur waiting for their buses at a bus station were allegedly gunned down by the Assam Rifles, one of the Indian Paramilitary forces operating in the state. These included 62-year old woman, Leisangbam Ibetomi, and 18-year old Sinam Chandramani, a 1988 National Child Bravery Award winner.

An aroused 28 yrs old Irom sought the blessings of her mother and responded to an unresponsive Government by launching a hunger strike campaign demanding a repeal of AFSPA ( Armed Forces Special Powers Act ) in the entire North Eastern region of India wherever this law has been imposed.

Of course, it has been more than ten years since Irom has been fasting but no subsequent appropriate actions have been taken for her campaign except for arresting Irom for trying to commit suicide three days after her strike began. Added to it, a routine employment of a certain Jeevan Reddy Commission whose appeal for a repeal of AFSPA was indignantly rejected.

She is now being force fed through a nasogastric tube because of the imminent deterioration of her health, which has now become a part of her identity. Her body organs have begun to degenerate irreversibly, her menstrual periods have halted and the NG tube through which she is being force fed is painful.

If Anna Hazare's strike could have been met with success in a matter of four days, then why is it that a woman like Irom Sharmila not being metted with her political goal after a decade long strife of not eating and drinking orally or not meeting her mother as a part of her undertaking ? Is this democracy or demo-crazy? Why should one person suffer for an issue that is supposed to be a part of our nation which only is felt as One in a manner of unity in the rarest of moments, like after winning a cricket world cup.. Even when Nobel Laureates like Shirin Ebadi has vocally taken up Sharmila's stand against AFSPA, the government simply shouldnt ensconce themselves in their snug chairs turning a blind eye towards a depleting woman's plea.

I like my fellow believers truly render my support for this unflinching lady and her struggle for justice. To the spirit of Irom .. Isn't it the same government that had accused Sharmila once of suicide , very much responsible for her death if that were to occur as a result of an unrequited non violent fight against loss of liberty to a draconian law?

All this makes me think, have we really gained Independence ever in The Lands of Gandhi..

THE WAVE

It gulped in the heart
Of a solemn country,
To degorge out lives
Into an unawakened dream.

(saluting the triumph of human spirit in Japan post 11/03/2011)

MY BACKYARD

My backyard is brown and long,
Asphalt laden, like wanton rivers
Never meeting, never parallel.
Filth and a black dog
Befriending each another
For an incursion
To be together!

I have so many colors
In my palette,
As does God have up above
A rainbow palette
Yet why did he choose
Brown, grey and a wannabe black
To paint my backyard
All so slack!

And today the clouds
Are snoring
Like prisoners who have had a fill,
Nowhere to go, nothing to do
Not even moving a bit of their fat asses.
Only to make my backyard look
Veiled by viscous molasses!

If life has been spoken of
My backyard is yet deaf,
Sam spake of ‘stagnant waters’
I see that in pools here.
Its guide dead or lost
In the arms of a burly rosy woman,
In some old and brimming tavern!

Oh backyard, oh winds
Oh black dog, oh stranger,
Walking near the bins
Oh whosoever is up there,
Listen to the pleas of the rains, listen to the squeals of the cranes.

'Coz me and my baby
Blue eyed and chubby
Are waiting in the balcony
To throw ourselves and hug the green
And forget that we once were preened
To be pristine queens.

For do we look like dolls of clay?!
That you only could everyday,
Care for just
Arthur’s and John’s play!

A Wondering Baby ~ from within...

I wonder why I came out, not cryin',
When all the while I was happy in
The womb of a sweet pleasant woman called my mother,
To this world that is full of din
And everywhere tongues braggin'
Of their world famous sins.

Oh sometimes I wish they'd put me in a bin
Wrapped in a foil of tin,
And make me look like a 'Superbaby'
All silvery and Oh-so-zin',
And leave me wonderin' to myself
In the corner
Of some deep dark inn.

But Alas! I am bound in this lint
Pronged and tossed in this wool
Held with pins,
And they only take them off this Yin
To lather to rub and,
To rinse.
Oh then I'd long for
Tails and fins
To swim along in this water,
Away from these ninns'!

But here again they win,
Everytime, this baby's kins.
And I lie in the cradle
With my hand on my chubby chin,
Never knowin' that someday,
I would go back in
To that womb in the ground within
Six feet or more, deep.
To that place where I have to sleep.
My hand still holdin',
A bottle of Gin.

Critics- 'Dis' Approved?

Theodore Roosevelt had very famously said once,

"It is not the critic who counts not the man who points out how strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood..who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly."

Now if everybody had thought like Roosevelt and made the world a much more bearable place to live in, we would have certainly unearthed some exquisite talent in every other reticent person we meet, thereby showcasing the inevitable fact that we are all born to perform some miracle in this life before taking a bow from it.

To err is humane, to forgive is divine, but many of my friends would counterblast this statement rather nonchalantly reflecting their undeserving arrogance, "We are not God. And do not want to be one." Why are we too quick at judging someone and their abilities, when we ourselves are anything but perfect and perfectly virtuous!

Another queer yet interesting discovery in most cases are, critics are almost always the ones who have never tried their hands at picking the swords themselves. To me, a critic is nothing short of an archaic Roman witnessing a gladiators bid for survival in the Colosseum and in life, just to fight another day, or maybe even lesser. If anybody is bothered about honesty and art perhaps they should pin point out what exactly can be rectified a next time instead of giving away wanton verdicts from a quasi intellectual mind via a sharp tongue. We need honest guidance, not rude words or inflated assumptions. We don't have time for that because we are busy working for acceptance and if you can help with that, kindly bring it on.

Every human has a spark in them that is waiting to be ignited and controlled so that the hearth can be warmed and not get the roof burnt down. And if you do not like the idea of a fire kindly do not bother adding further fuel to it with your ignorance.

Remember, we are not greater than The Creator who supposedly judges every mortal only at the end of one's game.

Thank you Teddy Dear!

SPARROWS

Boy sparrow, girl sparrow
fly and dive
beaks kissing the thrust of wind,
breasts caressing the silk of clouds
they flap their wings
and sing and sing
of tales from every continent they have
been to discover and see the sea glow
merry, deep, blue and below.

Together they dance a tango
of love, freedom and for the miseries there
they escaped being
clipped, torn, ragged and
trapped,
like their two legged friends down,
In the lands of heat and brown.

DEWS OF A FREE ROMANCE..

We fold into another,
On a sunny Sunday morning.
Like thin air into the
smokes of the woods
Where the mist that lies far ahead
Protects those morning flowers yet to smile.

When flesh and salt mold in
The art meets the eye of the transcends.
Little spheres of us
churning in urns of silver.
Angst and feral notes
transpiring into the dews of
a serene morning peck,
absolving into a grope for
meaning, to exist.
A decoction for growth, we laugh.

Leisure is,to expiate, of filth and toxic.
We reach up, in a bid,our hands reach out,
A connotation of liberty, is it?
Or grasping for that mirage
Seemingly inviting us.
Into yet another turbulence
Of promises, trials,
Loves and endless second chances..

A TRIBUTE : SHEL SILVERSTEIN

Not sharing a poetry of my own (for a change)..

This poem of Shel Silverstein reminded me of Charlie Chaplin for some apparent reason.. Maybe because of what he said very famously, "I love to cry when it rains for my tears would'nt be seen then.."

Or maybe it reminded me about all of us and our farce called life..

Here's to us.. CLOONY THE CLOWN

I'll tell you the story of Cloony the Clown
Who worked in a circus that came through town.
His shoes were too big and his hat was too small,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
He had a trombone to play loud silly tunes,
He had a green dog and a thousand balloons.
He was floppy and sloppy and skinny and tall,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
And every time he did a trick,
Everyone felt a little sick.
And every time he told a joke,
Folks sighed as if their hearts were broke.
And every time he lost a shoe,
Everyone looked awfully blue.
And every time he stood on his head,
Everyone screamed, "Go back to bed!"
And every time he made a leap,
Everybody fell asleep.
And every time he ate his tie,
Everyone began to cry.
And Cloony could not make any money
Simply because he was not funny.
One day he said, "I'll tell this town
How it feels to be an unfunny clown."
And he told them all why he looked so sad,
And he told them all why he felt so bad.
He told of Pain and Rain and Cold,
He told of Darkness in his soul,
And after he finished his tale of woe,
Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no,
They laughed until they shook the trees
With "Hah-Hah-Hahs" and "Hee-Hee-Hees."
They laughed with howls and yowls and shrieks,
They laughed all day, they laughed all week,
They laughed until they had a fit,
They laughed until their jackets split.
The laughter spread for miles around
To every city, every town,
Over mountains, 'cross the sea,
From Saint Tropez to Mun San Nee.
And soon the whole world rang with laughter,
Lasting till forever after,
While Cloony stood in the circus tent,
With his head drooped low and his shoulders bent.
And he said,"THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT -
I'M FUNNY JUST BY ACCIDENT."
And while the world laughed outside.
Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.

PARADIGM OF A WOMAN

Let this woman
Be like a wisp of
Cotton...

Burning in the fire of passion
Unto oblivion,

Soaking in the water of tears
to ripen
Unto vigour,

Dragged in the winds of change
and sands of friction
to remain white
with a puff of breath
and a form so intact,

Carrying the scent of the earth
Through the roots
she stemmed from,

Flower of a wormy soil
Wrapped on a beautiful body..

PARAPHERNALIA

Now we all love Lady Gaga , dont we??
And if not for her music, let us all broaden the horizons of our mindset and simply love her for the determination that she takes to not be ignored EVER!

Ok I started off with Gaga because I am listening to Alejandro, vaguely waiting for the writing bugs to bite me.. And then I am reminded of Neruda's 'Fleas interest me so much'!

Speaking of Neruda, if you simply want to relive the magic of love, do feast your eyes on some Nerud-esque love poems.. whether you are single or not! Even set a line for my friends on Facebook as my status, simply because (apart from that being quasi-trendy) I loved the dearth of pain and reality and the magnitude of simplicity in it..

"Love is so short, forgetting is so long"

Don't some of us so arrogantly speak of our resilience from a break up,as if none of this could ever affect the equilibrium of our world at all, yet in the same breath we gear up for bitterness and another adventure to avenge the previous failure and to supposedly relinquish the loneliness and void in our lives. Of course to not forget, the sideline activity of throwing the flak at the phenomenon for putrefying the very essence of humanity - happiness..

And that one line from Pablo Neruda was all that took to make me feel so small.

I once remember telling my friend, that I simply dont want to fall in love because I hate the stupidity that it instills in me.

Am I right? Time will tell.

But the suspended question that is pulling my head down is: " How long are you going to stay intelligent?"
Not forever of course, not this way..

If thinking is the logic behind evolution, feeling is the logic behind life..
And to feel one must possess the heart and the guts to open.. to try.. to love ..{A fact I always knew, but never applied}

I am at least glad that I do not know of any Anna Kareninas or Madame Bovarys personally myself, and I would like to believe that nobody is going to squander and die all for the sake of love ,making it , oh such a vice! And if there are souls like that still lingering around and are on the verge of getting themselves vaporised, I want to tell them : "Pal, its just fiction. Wake up!"

A few verses I penned today, dedicated to the emotion that has filled the bowls of curiosity and imagination of man since time immemorial. Might not make sense, but to each his {in this case her} poetry:

To watch her away
As once she belonged.

To be separated from her
As once she was the self.

To know another was thought of
As once she laughed with the self.

Between a few forced words
Hung sheets of silence
Rippling with doubts
Screaming of pride.

Untouched tenderness
Longing to never exist
In such winds unseen.

If this was a worser place
There wouldn't have been fullstops.

To share what is sacred
To feast on whats left behind.

The arrogance for one thing
You were sure about.

To shrink one's life
Its intents and contents
To this and maybe a little
More grams..

Love is the only pure impurity
Suspended on the dead man's ankles,
To suck him into the
Abyss of requiems.

I told a child..

ANOTHER RIPPED LEAF

Somewhere in you
There is a wish
Untold....
She is crying here, within your soul.
She is cold..

You have'nt given her yourself.
You have'nt let her know that,
You have been dreaming of her
All this while!

Like a man so old
Waiting for an unreturned love,
Counting those leaves
That the autumn tore away,
Of that old oak tree
Over there, in the horizon.

To know she was there right at home
Waiting for you with her big blue eyes
And her warm, deep bosom
Not anymore..

In the cold, your hard fingers clutch onto
The stick of notes and green piled dirt.
You called the game then, you played the game there,
A popular shot,
To loud applause.
Fists rammed on tables then
Spit wantoned from mouth to mouth,
As you marked the rules
As always followed
And rejoiced an often played win.

But do you know of the ecstasy,
Oh frail, wrinkled man!
When the rules,
All of them go wrong
And you set them right
Slash and scratch them
With that rusted nib
If it held the
Ink of blood
Red of Guts!

To bend them and unleash
The whip of truth!

And to burn that scripture
That imprisoned your love
Under the shadows of a long white cloak
Glass eyes that cast longer shadows,

In the pyre,
Where all your broken dreams
Were tried and they cried
As they withered and died..

To see those embers fume,
Like a soaring ghost
Into smoke of voices
Hailing for a revolt
To claim, fight, conquer and live,
A life with broken reins.

Oh no, you would'nt,
no!
For here you are,
Wrapped in black
Shedding tears over
A stone where the
Milk has already dried..
And the leaves trail a sorrow behind!

THE LEPER'S LUNCH

{ Inspired from a personal experience }

Yonder was a Wednesday noon
The October sky, up high
Pastels of blue, pinks
And golden hues
She beamed up high,

A siren of the 50s.

Her jewel brewed brine from
A frail body of mine,
A body played by
Life and her wits
To bits of veil,
Bought for a better marriage.

The heat balmed my flesh
Melancholy marred by monotony
I saw the grey craters of a rising moon
She, a faded pearl of the night,
Masking her golden nemesis of the sky
In beauty, worth, poetry and more.

I've walked down this murky path alone
Several times before, several times after now.
A shack that was once a home,
No more yellow canaries
To tweet me a bye.

My mind rumbled along with
The stones on which I tumbled.
To balance my youthful body
I immure my soul of its own.

Oh! Longing for a downpour of rains
To wet my body, to whet my appetite.
To slip down the road
And dance away the pains,
To live on this earth
Over the moon!

As my brains knotted along the road
To twisted revelations,
Of this, friends, strangers and ghosts;
Trying to keep my left
Yet, to be reminded
by honks and bonks and the dust in my conks.
To enact a life
We chose to know
And chose to see,
I chanced upon this small brown man,
Frowned with age, bound with bondage
To a friend that loves
To slowly feast on his flesh!

I think he is a midget,
Seized at the corners by shun.
Pulled down by the grimaces
Of a thousand faces
Known, unknown,loved and disliked,
That saw not beyond
A receding man in a yellow rag.

He looked like a creature
Out of the huge yellow box
Fishing out a pack
Of unopened fried rice..

Rich man's waste, a leper's joy tonight.

And with the smile of a child
Whose eyes held delight
A novice to the fair,
He squat on the ground
Crazed by his joy,
Nimbly guarding his feast
With little nibbled fingers
Which once held, stroked and played
Every face of love!

No more in his world was
You anymore than I
Glutton gnawing in the glory.
The eyes that watched him
He uncalled for.

For he who woke up to a sunrise and
Roamed the streets under a sky,
Unclad feet, uncared for
In the heat and cold alike.
Senseless.
Baseless.
Comfortably numb.
No random thoughts, to hang on.
Nobody to own
And to be belonged.
A stone for a bed
And the shadows of night his cover.

I, a slave of my rants
A queen of supposed laughters
A loud woman who pitied none but me
Heavily kohled eyes
Woke up to a blinding light.

The sun finally rose in the daze of
An unsettling mind
to love, capture, give and shine!
As it sank into the sky
Dropping a kiss sublime..

FOR YOU..

Folks, friends, and the rest of my dear ones!

Before hitting the sack and spending another sleepless night, tossing, turning and pondering about colorful tomorrows (ah! the woes of 20's) I would like you all to know that today I was: A)supposed to finish off with a book,
B)supposed to find & learn new words (what's that study called, anyways??),
C)supposed to do a write up,
D)supposed to think straight and deep
E)supposed to breathe straight and deep
F)supposed to perceive the depth and beauty of every moment of life and lastly and less leastly,(dont I love improvising!)
G)supposed to etch them all in my memories.

I am ,in short, supposedly setting draining deadlines on a petite 25 year old, rather pale looking girl with eyes as tired as that of a doctor's (now that is what I call a coincidence!)

I began conversations with my friends, asking them whether they were prepared for the upcoming APOCALYPSE. So for today my appetite on Doomsday is whet.
Just signed in to ,however, share a few verses I randomly wrote on the paper back of Madame Bovary (Err.. Emma has got nothing to do with this). So here I go, yet once again ;)


" And the stranger loved
Her beauty and its shadow alike.

For reckon he did,
If not her eyes
Pools of unknown,
Dark oils of the Arabian lamps
Black as magic
Beautiful as her mind,

There is nothing in the world
To unlock
The chambers of his heart
To the light of his soul.. "

Name my verses whatever you want it to be known as..

Till then
...Lets sleep over love!

THE CAGE OF TIME

Who am I, but a soulful mist
Trapped in the cage of time,
Clutching the rusting bars of the cage
With old, gnarled fingers
Looking at the world with poor eyes and parched lips
That only knows to smile a faint smile.

At mad men, colourful women
Pulps of power and lust
Driven by a colourful rainbow of lies.

At people who celebrate their lives
With confettis and balloons and smiles,
When miles and miles deep down them
They know, yet know not,
That too they are trapped
In brittle cages like mine.

For there is and has never been,
None ever, escaping out from
The cages of time.

STILL KITCHEN KURSED! BUT BETTER..

For most of us food is a delight. A passion for some of us. A necessity for all of us. A nemesis for the most weird of us. The last of which I believe is rare (hopefully!)

To me food, ranks in the first order of my interests. The next-s being movies and literature. I remember not quite, from when on my love for food and its smell and its sight and its thoughts seeded in. I believe, if genetics are anything to go by, I have my father a lot to thank for. Although, as mentioned in one of my earlier posts, I have not quite inherited culinary skills as much but of course the epicurean in me is and will always be optimistic that some fine, bright day the world will be a lovelier place to live in and I will be able to put up a banquet myself for a rather massive crowd. Okay let me reduce that, to a couple of guests at home (whoever said, DREAM BIG?!)

My love for food extends to every single cookery show I can manage to catch up on the television, sans a barrier for language, every single article and recipe I read in the magazines to churn out a possibly delicious "delight", every picture of food in its various colours and textures and shapes and presentations taken from close shots, which instantly does take the viewer's taste buds and brains unto its control. But of course, when it comes to putting my love into practice, I am still the baby of the family, maybe owing to their health issues, maybe owing to their "palatable" memories, maybe owing to their idleness as far as culinary adventures are concerned and maybe owing to cost concerns.

So today I pray to God, as in every day, please make my day come some day, so that the third blog I write on food (sorry, couldnt help myself) wouldn't be restricted to dreams which just remain dreams, sweet, sour, spicy and salty at that!

FOR A BETTER TOMORROW : FROM TODAY

Hmm.. so we have a lot on our platter today seemingly, what with an early afternoon jolter tsunami in Japan, humbling the humanity yet once again, showing how everything can be unceasingly destroyed by Nature without it giving a second thought, where man's power, wit and will is futile. what began as a calm and sunny Friday morning in Japan and ended to be a draining,homeless and numb night sparked with fears for the people there, and yet many more nights to come like that. But interestingly enough, the footages did indicate out one thing: that an essential crowd of Japanese are very calm and controlled people who of course, maybe right from their childhood days were trained for such calamities. And as my Dad observed, things will fall into place in weeks over there, what with facilities for news broadcasting and Internet already being made available. But were it to happen in a country like India, where in this context I refrain from using any controversial adjective,the plight would have not known any fathom!I dont want to repeat the preceding causes and the 8th grade civics-economics "Vicious Cycle" theory here because I am sure my readers (if there are any) would be very well aware of it.

Apart from natural calamities,if we take a look at this year, the onset itself was eventful, for some reasons distressing for some other reasons victorious. In the calling for democracy, Libya has rivers of blood flowing through her but at the same time earlier this month, Egypt and Tunisia conceded into its peoples demands.
Then of course there were the devastating quakes in New Zealand and China but I really do not want the year to look pessimistic and pleading already. May all of their souls rest in peace. Amen!
Since I plan on giving you a quick conclusion to this post, as it is only March 12th of 2011, I would like to narrate out what I precisely felt when I saw an airplane, a mighty one in the sky, with red, green and golden lights and tail and wings, like a regal blue bird, the prince of the sky tonight (er,excuse the poet in me). This beautiful, path twisting, future defining invention of mankind meets the end of its glory if Nature proposes to intervene a less mightier bird, God's own creation for the skies, in its way.
Int that case, who wins here: Nature's small bird or Man's Giant one?
Let us all remember, that Nature is a silent watcher, a patient bearer and a ruthless killer. Love her, respect her. Live and let live!

Vibina - POETRY CHAIN (INDIA)

Vibina - POETRY CHAIN (INDIA)

A DAY FOR EVERYDAY

MARCH 8 ~ GLOBALLY CELEBRATED AS INTERNATIONAL WOMAN'S DAY




08/03/2011:
So I celebrated my version of Woman's (or is it Women's?) Day by doing, what many men out there, would consider a real woman's JOB as they put it, cooking( something which I have'nt done in months). I spend my day toiling in the kitchen to make a decent simple dish of dal, rice, fish and beans only to open the kitchen door and have my father, semi-enthusiastically, mention out to me, that it is International Woman's Day. Why he said this, the precise reason I am still unaware of. Perhaps he'd thought that I had forgotten about it just like how I had forgotten to tell him that drinking water was over the other day. You know, as a matter of fact.

To which I responded, "So?"

Really, who came up with this concept of having a Day for every day? Some ludicruously bored soul or a highly intelligent being who never had a grasp on dates, but on events and henceforth wanted to master them all, dates???

And while doing the dishes, I was thinking about that woman who has been rejected a euthanasia after 37 years of lying in a vegetative state with nobody to care for her save a friend who'd probably got a deeper psychological insight into a lesser suspended state of the mind of the victim. If Aruna Shambaug's rapist could walk away with seven rigorous years of imprisonment for committing a crime of this order of passion, then probably we should think twice the next time we, as women, wish each another "HAPPY WOMENS DAY TO ALL MY BEAUTIFUL GALS OUT THERE".

We preach about the greatness of being a woman standing on a platform of thorns which include human trafficking, sexual exploitation, inequality in terms of unemployment and ruling-the-roost, inability to make a firm decision in the household, deprivation of nutrition and education equally. Pages can be written quoting instances as to how a womb in certain circumstances can be considered a bane. A fifteen year old being maimed for life to escape an attempt of being gang raped by a group of men "brimming with youth" portrays how far we have allayed ourselves of discrimination against the fairer sex. Or recently, closer to roots,last year when the "50% seat reservation for women rule" was implemented in the Panchayat elections it was indeed interesting to hear how some coy women candidates were eager to hand over the steering wheels to their husbands and content enough in posing themselves as poster girls essentially because 'Its worldly affairs- its a man's job' agenda was the slogan of the campaign, a public secret at that.If religious scriptures can categorise women among the ranks of lower beings, my question to God is : "Did you really tell that?"

The main reason as to why every feat a women achieves is lauded is owing to the fact that its clearly still a man's world out there. We work, we take care, we nurture. Some of them do it with humility while some of them add 'Mother'also to their professional designations. Obscenity knows no height then. This is where we degrade ourselves as women.

To quote a thoughtful one " Women who seek to be equal with men lack ambition." To know that equality has only come to this far in 21st century is disheartening. We dream and have ambitions, not because we are a man or a woman but because we have a spirit. And having such Days to earmark the nobility of a woman just makes the men think " Ah there they go again!" Do we need that? Not me..

Because it is, no matter how much ever You and I try dissuading it away from our thoughts, a man's world out there, at least as long as a man ceases asking his woman counterpart " Hey do you know how to cook?" .

For the time being I am quite happy listening to Enrique's "To love a woman" every now and then to know how truly beautiful it is, also, to be a woman.

A MYSTERIOUS LOVER

She lay on her shrivelled bed
Her thoughts hung inside,
Oh! the warmth of darkness
Isn't that a joy of life!
Yet uncovered, yet unrelished, yet mysterious
As the cape he dons.

Like an aimless shooting star
She flew, trying to
Look for meanings
In old and new.

Hands up high were
Guiding the lights of wit
In a creation where, her
Womb held lives yet
To come, grace and conquer.

And be hailed as the Kings and Queens
Of this dark, dark moonlight!

BIZARRE

I am not a natural beginner. No, not even while socialising do I take the initiative to give a, if seemingly false, warm HI. Thus reflected in my writings.

So as I stare through the template before me, rubbing an already dissipated moisturiser into my sweaty hands [!] I sit wondering about a grafitti of things. How weird it is, is upto you to decide..
Slavery, hypocrisy, Colin Firth as H.G.Wells in a sci-fi drama, dishonesty, the stigma of pretension, the volume of my father's snores from the other room, sweaty hands. Ok, the list is endless.

There is nothing faster than the human mind. And nothing more absurd. And the very fact that it could be revealed from the way I began this post to how I am continuing it now without a direction and to where I might be taking this to [ something which I myself am unaware about ] is quite disturbing, yet engaging if you are in the mood to introspect on its meanders and decide to write on it, of course!

So I sat and wondered. And wondered. And wondered.

And my brain proved to be yet another unfaithful partner. When I needed her, she goes in for white-blank meditation. Or am I really meditating. Then why do I hear my neighbours talk. Or why do I think about the sudden cease of my father's snores. Or why have I been unlucky enough to think that I have been unlucky in life.. ?? A long night drive? A cold milk shake?

I am too young to give people matter of justification as to why our brains behave like wild-child(s). Perhaps it is pure curiosity, perhaps pure idleness, sometimes purer dejection of the way life has turned out to be for us individually, thereby resorting to fantasies and the rest of it all except our lives, of course. But I do know that as long as the theory humans have evolved from monkeys stand on, all of us shall have our neuronal networks on fire unceasing!

{ If you think this article was supposed to make any sense, then you, my friend, are intelligent! }

NULL

I look out on a cold, cold morning
At a sky layered with clouds
Like cream being folded unto cream
In a sweet dish of cupcakes.

I smell the sweet, sweet winds
From a place unknown
Does it carry a whisper from a friend
A prayer from a stranger
Or a child?s dream
For me, an unknown..

I see the land
As parched as the peoples eyes
Dried of happiness, drained of tears
Pulled by years.

Yet waiting for the rains
These ruthless clouds had promised,
Is white the color of purity,
Or a color to mask the loss of dignity?
In an uncouth place of pleasures
Where take only remains
And given back is Nothing.

In this once blessed land
Of seas and deserts and Sun,
Where God thought He'd build his home
I see now a void amidst
The horizon and
Where the beanstalk is said to end.

DELILAH'S DREAM

In the land of God
There was nothing to see and get surprised,
For below was the grey, passionate sea
...And the waves with their mighty calls.

And above was a blinding light
And in nothing in between.

And among the land of clouds
Whispers seered into her

"Fear not..
To jump from the window of time
chained with comfort
Into the sea of nether-ness
I am here to catch you Delilah
Over and above the swallowing emptiness
You grasp the life of that moment
Until you last, forever Delilah"
And then you call that
HEAVEN