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..