A BASKET FOR MANY..

Sunset. Sunrise. Sunshine.


Anymore proof for the divine!

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Things To Think



I want to free
The chains of thoughts 
my mind are shackled in,
Hard and Heavy.

I want to free
The dungeon of broken dreams 
my soul lies weeping in,
Teary and dreary.

I want to free 
The light that is 
ebbing into darkness,
within the rims of my eyes.

I want to free
The tongue that lies twisted and coiled
with unsaid words and angst,
Like a venomous reptile.

I want to free
That blank space in the gyri
when I want to use it
good somehow.

I want to free
Your thoughts you keep hiding
from me like a, 
Butler in disguise.

I want to free 
every sharp string of silver
that is cutting through our souls,
bleeding us in a maze of desire.

I want to free
All those peoples souls 
who prevent us from 
being just us.

I want to free myself of 
Such vindictive thoughts.
That is not going to help,
For it all becomes just a 
mere floating idea.

Then I breathe in,
Sweet and cold
To gravitate.

Go to sleep 
Lull, my child.
For in the morning
we shall wake
to newer sermons of 
Freedom
in Our class.


Sunday, October 12, 2014

The Cat Buddha




Kitty li'l Kitty
What upon you meditate?
So calm and despicable
Those whirly-whirly eyes.

You sit and stare at that
Some tree unknown to me,
And then its the wall behind
Like a prisoner waiting to flee.

Kitty li'l Kitty
Look at how many times
I crossed you,
Huffing and panting like a swine
But I think its panther-like divine.

So I know why you don't look at me
Even though you are a God to
People of The Misr
You are as silly as that old foolish
Hag
A puckered emotional mis'r.

Kitty li'l Kitty
I shall feed you milk t'night,
As long as I remember
To hoard in some sweet jam
For my brains by twilight!

Don't be like those around you
Those two legged freaks,
Shadows and flesh alike
They seem to rot and reek.

Wolves by day
Ghouls by night,
They stuff, snort, snore and sigh,
They think they know
They think they dream
But they are trapping themselves
To delight.

Kitty li'l Kitty
Come be with me
You and me and the one-in-hiding,
Shall jump out and over the wall
And set ourselves free.
               *
Only if you wag your tail,
No cold smirk, teeth
Or eyes,
And snitch some food
And little pools of whitey milk
In a pail of moonlight.

Image courtesy: Whiska


Thursday, September 25, 2014

The Beautiful Rib of Adam





There has been no decade recorded in the history of the world where sexualisation of women has become a bigger and better topic to debate and discuss on. Perhaps, my write up is also just going to add to the razzmatazz of a plethora of already written and discussed verbatims on objectifying women as sexually gratifying ‘things’ for certain lechers in the society. Upon scrutiny, I decided that in my last sentence, I wanted to have a say on two things:  a) about how low we have demoted ourselves from admiring a woman’s true beauty through poetry and prose such as in the 19th and early 20th century as opposed to how we view a woman today only for her breasts and thighs and posterior and b) about our tendency, because of some nincompoops who compartmentalize a woman only for the way she looks, to look at all men with the same eye of a potential molester or at the worst rapist.

Being an Indian, I thought sexual crimes were at their peak in India. Of course, it is in its best form in India due to the nonchalant punishment given for it here. Rapists, eve teasers and pedophiles sometimes  go so scott free in our country, that one tends to feel that these are all either a very natural thing to happen when one lives one’s life as a woman or that it is just regarded as another form of a petty crime like say, pickpocketing. Close home print media, visual media and social media are rampant with the latest #DeepikaPadukoneCleavage controversy. There are supporters and naysayers expressing their own respective opinions about the way she and India’s premier newspaper have dealt with the issue. And then there is Emma Watson, who gave a heartfelt brilliant speech on gender equalization at the UN, promptly after which her nude photos got leaked by some hackers the day after she spoke for “He for She” campaign, just with the intention to show her, her ‘place’ in the world.

Coming into my own real world, I have heard a couple of guy friends always asking if I knew of some ‘hot’ girls in my college. And that sadly continued into my workplace as well. And then of course, there are some really intelligent men out there, who post on social media their almost daily opinions as to how a woman should treat her man, whether she should be employed for looking her age, or whether she should drive on the roads or not and whether she has any say in the clothes she CHOOSES to wear. I don’t see such deeply felt and hurt statements made on Facebook by these friends when a 6 year old girl gets raped in her school. Surprisingly and the worst of all, I have encountered even women in my life who sit and have a great chat with such men, and make jokes on the figure of an unsuspecting fellow female colleague. If it is still not believeable, I myself had a senior female colleague, who would comment on our ‘weight issues’ and our ‘assets’ in front of our male colleagues, desperate enough to get the male-attention. Now I know, why my mother used to hail a woman as another woman’s nemesis!

Guys/men/girls/ladies. ATTENTION! And this attention I specifically mean  for those who know they have done either of these things, at least once in their life, in the aforementioned paragraph. We are not your sandwichmakers. Neither are we your personal eye candies online. And by we, I mean women whether or not working in a glamor or service industry. Nor are we or our bodies baits for your further upliftment in a pervert’s mind. Respect us, for sooner or not, your daughter can face the same torment. And fellow women, do not be under the impression that you are perfectly safe, because the moment you leave the company of such men, you are the sl*t they are going to discuss about. So there goes your high end aim down the drains!

And for those of us good souls, who choose to remain silent over this issue, remember, that it is your silence that kills us more than the violence inflicted by a psychotic mind. Stand up and be there for us. Men, we have always looked upto you for kindness and women, we have always looked into each other for companionship. Right from the days of Draupadi, it is a woman’s chastity that men have staked upon. And it required a God to save her. We don’t want you to be God, but you can put a curb to this by just respecting our need to feel equal with you, besides our needs to be fed and clothed.
In another ten days, our nation will be celebrating Dussehra and Durga Pujo with aplomb. Its often a confusing country, our India, where we worship women as Devi, the creator and the destroyer, and at the same time give her no right to speak for herself whatsoever. Women should not discuss politics with men, women should not have a say in her husband’s home, women should not wear anything besides a sari and salwar, good girls should not go out unnecessarily, women should quietly abide to anything and everything an elderly subjects upon her, having her will subjected to anonymity.
When a girl is born, we beautify her to make her look like a princess, train her in singing in dancing so that she gets appreciation from audience until of a marriageable age and thereafter from her prospective groom and his family. We never think of equipping our daughters with self defense techniques to ward off society’s evils attacking upon her. Nor do we teach her how to politely put uncouth people back into their places when she has to hear unwardly comments about her from their venom spewing mouths. For those men, who declare that if a woman does not want to invite rape unto her she should dress decently, what do you have to say when a 4 year old child is being subjected to the same horror? Was she inviting it upon herself and how? When a woman performs a better surgery than a man with a better outcome in her patient, some old hags sitting in the chairs with titles of Professors, choose to chide her and promote a fellow incompetent male as a better doctor than her. Does this have to do with the fact that we are a tad more emotional than our male counterparts? Men always say women are emotional fools and that is why we land in trouble. Don’t the same men turn to a woman’s shoulders to cry upon when distraught. I mean, would they love a cold hearted, mean, calculative, in their words, selfish bi**ch?

Wherever we are, whichever profession we choose to lead, whatever lifestyle and personal ethics we follow, if we fail to recognize what our partner, professional or personal, is going through, we cannot be happy. And since I am especially highlighting the cause of women here, I would like to reinstate an oft repeated quote, that only we, like you men, have the rights to decide what we need to do with our body, our words and our actions. We don’t want your opinion on it. No. We don’t even want your man-logic solution. We know how to fix ourselves up. We just need you to stop moral policing us and rather improve your own morales. We have never said that we are not ready to face the repercussions of our deeds. If we choose to carry ourselves in a certain way, it is because we feel good doing so. And please remember the adage, “Gentlemen, don’t kiss and tell.”

As for the women haters amongst women, you are easily recognizable, because you people claim to be feminists and your idea of that is male-bashing. And in that quest, you are on the road to becoming dictator men yourselves, what with you imposing stringent rules as to how a girl should behave. Reflect upon yourself. And for you I repeat a favourite quote of mine told by Madeleine Albright, There is a special place in hell for women who don't help other women."
To wind up, I know or I am almost certain that, not all 516 friends of mine are going to read this on Facebook. But whoever does spare their precious time to read this long attempt of mine, to emphasise on treating a girl child, a girl and a woman with the respect that they truly deserve, kindly instead of  commenting on this further, choose to inculcate some decency in you, wherein which you could give a kick start to a virtuous cycle of kindness and compassion to those around you, especially women, for a better tomorrow for our unborn daughters. 


Tuesday, September 23, 2014

The Wide Eyed Doe






She,
The wide eyed one
In whose eyes glimmer 
A thousand golden stars,
Still dreaming of me
And listening to a lullaby of my 
Heart.

She,
In whom shines
What does among the stars,
In her holds the power to 
Give birth and kill
Time.

She
Whose voice sings the music of
Life,
Every whisper of hers
The wind to soothe the green of our 
Homes, 
Every tear of hers
A sword to bring down an Oak.

I tell my dear 
You remain in me
Even when you are not,
For sometimes I stop my own heart
To listen to yours. 

A life given,
If needed to be taken for
It.
 
 Image courtesy: "Chalice roots" by Bernard Katz


Tuesday, April 29, 2014

JON VOIGHT - MY SUPERSTAR

My eyes are still puffy, my heart is broken and I am importunately trying to make up my grievance for my little one's loss today..Pale, cold and alone as I would have never wanted him to die..and I really did try hard.

Jon Voight our flowerhorn came into our lives two years back on my brother's 23rd birthday as a precious gift and from thereon he just lightened up our lives with his cute disposition and vivid colors. If there was a fish like a dog, which could give you unconditional attention, it had to be Voightsan, as we fondly called him.



After a year of constant travelling and pampering by my baby brother, Voight came into my hands. And needless I say, I over pampered him. With food, love, mimicry, dances and different versions of his name sung in different intonations, my Voight was constantly the star of our home. My husband and I cherished in revealing to our guests the intricate details of this fish and how it was considered a luck to even possess a breed like Voight.


A tedious process of maintaining his health was never a possibly considered nuisance because we just wanted him happy. And happy he was. He swum to dance and danced to swim and did little bit of head banging to get our atttention. His big human like poops were funny fascinations which would have normally looked obnoxious, but hey, this is Voightsan's poop! He'd frolick and flap his forefins when he needed more food and would go to the far end of the tank and give me stealthy glances if he was done.


He was my constant companion in times of loneliness, my study partner during these months of night outs for my exams and the only creature that couldn't sustain without me. And when I needed that little bit of extra love from him, I'd just open his tank overhead and almost intuitionally he'd surface his big red head up for me to pet. And then of course, he'd playfully jump for my finger. But now that's all over. This is not a tribute or an obit. It's just a way of myself recounting and rejoicing and at the same time washing my wounds over a small fish that gave me loads of happiness. Good things always come in small packages. Couldn't be better said! Owner's pride, neighbour's envy.. Will always miss you Voight..


Tuesday, October 2, 2012

The Unseen


The fumes..

They arise  from 
the cold underbellies
of monsters and gods, 
In the valleys of deep dark myst'

The mist, 
The maze of concoctions
of hilarity, trance and love
divine , profuse, enchanting
ravines 
Home to unknown ghosts
Of similar kinds..
Delicate lilies have been thro' this wind
but not flesh, blood and bones
A spirit indomitable in a small thing
as this
never us, never will it be.
Even the lights couldnt see thro' them
fathomless depths of clouds on earth.
What lies beneath
I want to know,
but I will close my eyes
knowing my farce
When my 'beat gives up,
but my thirst will not
eternally to know 
the stories untold
and whispered in the winds
of the mountains and sky.




Friday, May 18, 2012

Odina' O' Sylvia!





“Kiss me, and you will see how important I am.” 
--Sylvia Plath


Two days back I chanced upon this profoundly beautiful yet lingeringly melancholic quote by a woman who chronicled her pains into one of literature's finest pieces. 
Someone, a stranger, in a random chat, once said, " Even gold becomes the purest when it goes through fire."
Pain. It creates us. It moulds us. We become children of fire. Of desire. The same desire which gave us the same pain. The same strength. To love and to be reborn.
Rumi had once said, " It's a human's continual pleasure to be mesmerised by the confusing pain that the joy of love gives us." A woman as Sylvia who saw a replica of her much beloved father in a man who would later on drive her to the zenith point of depression enough to place her head in an oven and thereby intoxicate the deepest language a soul could speak, never knew how naive a human temperament could get when fondled in the embrace of a huge feather, such as love. For it is light, it is soft, it makes us feel good but will it always be there when the strongest gusts of wind blows by. Equal respect given to the situation on either sides of the line of love, it could be a feather, it has also been iron. But would we humans know when we are in bliss, what danger really lies ahead? Danger of desperation, danger of heartbreak, danger of trust being or not misplaced. Yet how comfortably we ensconce ourselves into this crevice never knowing how deep the gorge actually is. 
Great are those who have given themselves into every tumult love and its despair has caused and immortals are the ones who have died with the same love in their hearts. What we make of ourselves with the other person, accounts for what conviction we hold in the affairs of heart. With a lover, with a friend, with a parent, with a child. 
To kill oneself in love would have been an easier way, but to die in love is no small feat. 
Countless sleepless nights, unending streams of tears and a solemn bidding goodbye to all the rosy moments till now, only to enter into a hemisphere of darkness and a not so fastidious strength of heart, succumbs the creative intellect and man's mind's ability to perceive happiness. 
But do we care?
We still place this fragile thing called heart in another human's powerful fist yet again, the deep dark recesses of whose minds we have yet found unfathomable. 
Pain and joy are sisters. Their mother being love. They love each another. They resemble each another. But they are born for different purposes. To sulk. To live. 
Let the mother therefore decide, how the bearer seeds in his beliefs for each of her child, for no good human ever known has not gone through pain to attain the joy of realisation. The joy of life. Let everyone learn from Sylvia, never to wallow and drown in the whirlpool of love, but to struggle and swim this rough ocean to reach the shore of life and certain meanings it might teach you. For which love has ever been there for a reason, unless fallen in and found out!

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Rainbow


And she stood there
This little angel,
The magic of the stars 
Across the sky,
With her in
Every charm.
She once wore 
A frock ,
As colorful as the rainbows,
Such as
You and I never saw.
A yellow for her smile
A blue for her eyes
A vivid pink for her,
Everflowing heart.
A red for the ones
Who'd cry without her,
A green for every 
Land she awed upon,
A violet for all the 
Flowers she knew
Should have some colour on,
An orange for
All the merry times
She will once cherish
When the rains fall on a slate gray day.
But she for one
Born of a million brilliant lights,
Never kept them in her bag,
For a  smile passed on to her
From every vagabond ,
She stripped and lay the colors
On road,
Bare and running.
And they picked and smiled and waved and vanished,
Into lands she thought were her homes,
Luring colors with flowers that were never fragrant,
A wistful smile upon a wishful face.
Alas! the girl in the rainbow dress
She is left with nothing but
Shadows of colors
Beckoning ghosts of
That were hers
Once!


Image courtesy: www.jwestphotography.com ( Joanne West photography)

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

The Moon Man



Brown liquid
In the marred moon's heart,
Black vision
In aeons of nebulas.
In stupor 
He sees.
Sometimes vague, sometimes paralysed,
Sometimes marooned, sometimes jaded.
Yet a smile visits
A tender kind soul like his,
That could light up 
A thousand Christmas trees,
When his Venus arrives,
On the same nebula
Where he was
An insomniac,
Dreaming of what could have been.
This small marred
Marooned Moon of mine,
Oh such love that brought
Heaven nearer from the horizons,
And when the tides rose higher
To wash his spirit down,
The jealous sea
As blue as the Venus
He ached for,
He just inflated
Bigger and mightier
Fighting with the cruel Neptune
As hard as it could be,
With nothing
But a smile and a heart,
Even the lion couldn't help
Bringing in.
So this is for my moon
My loony moon,
Who looks bereaved 
Yet has arrived,
And conquered the whole paradise
Silent and small, he still sat!






Saturday, April 28, 2012

We, my Friend!



I left the doors open ajar,
My windows bringing a pale grey
Into my heart.
Curtains whispering tales,
Of a thousand dreams
And a few foregone laughters,
Of times that were and will be
Again.
Let them all stream in today,
For we have no tomorrows,
Only todays.
To laugh in the sun,
To dance in the rains
To cry and feel,
In the dark heat of the cold waves
And its pains.
Oh and when the leaves of autumn
Fly into our hearths,
We shall soak it up,
With the tears
Her icicles left us.
Cruel and begrudging she might be,
For we all are anything but
Not without a fault.
So what if she forgot forgiveness, my dear
We still remember love in us
Yet once again!


  Image courtesy: Photos by annekata from flickr.com {source of inspiration rather!}

Sunday, April 1, 2012

A STUPID FEELING CALLED INSPIRATION



I sit sleepless ( though not in Seattle, to my dismay or may be not!) and I am trying to get ....

Inspired.

So where does that come from? This word which we utter out in our diction a) if it is either known to us in our sense of vocabulary from mere learning b) if we have the intelligence enough to use it in our sense of vocabulary, instead of a uber 'cool' or a blonde 'huge' and c)if we are truly inspired and swept off by the muse, that the magic makes mythological involuntary quests and forces our beefy thick tongues to utter " I AM ...........................................INSPIRED" ..

And yet, isn't it a shame, that the last instance, forget rarely, but almost never happens!

So yeah, almost bordering my late 20s, I am subjected to write some nonsense in the name of exams, voluntarily and the opposite of it, in equal measures, when my grey cells have already started making their routine complaints for retirement pensions, and in my pensive mood I am looking around for inspiration, in thin air. Or some osmotic magic that might lead me to the haven of bliss, where everything but a frown on the face happens.

Not even a diligent, worked up room mate is going to help the arrogant in me.. So I decide to get inspired by ....................................NOTHING.

And I sit by sleepless ( Oh now I truly wish I was in Seattle! ) thinking about all the things I know I could do which is ............. EVERYTHING ( Except for biting a live snake.. I am no Christian Bale!)

So here I am, as I am, still waiting for the moment of Nirvana to happen to me. When I know I have almost gone blind, deprived of hunger,losing vision thanks to a mundane, monotonous routine, in a much despised place where 'monks' reside ( even within "inverteds" it looks like a neat joke hehe ) patiently queued up ahead the ticket counter of happiness-yet-to-happen.

And I hear a knock on my door. Only to open it and see that sunshine had back long arrived home and is still waiting to inspire me..

Saturday, March 10, 2012

LULLABY ~ A LOVE TO CRUSH..



Oh Angel of Light!
When I looked up into your eyes
Did I see pebbles of belief
Or,
Abyss of altruism!
The belief of a Saint,
Who died by the hearth
Of the One you taught us
To reside in.

The tears of a languid love.


When did u lose us?
When did we scamper away from you?
We stayed together
Three of us,
We biked, played, read and slept
Together on the clouds of a
Heaven,
In the heat
Of a scorching Land.
I wailed aeons back,
In a house that smelled of burning wood,
But I still don’t know why?


Today I wonder,
Like I wondered in your saccule
Once.
The one made of my flesh
The one that you gave me
The one that you taught me into another
To be or not to be,
But nevertheless I would want to be.


Didn’t our innocence dishearten you?
When the cold metal hit your veins,
Didn’t our soft laughter haunt you?
When you closed your eyes to sleep.
For that one moment,
Didn’t our four fair small legs
Stamp on your bosom?
When you thought you heaved a sigh of
Relief ,or you thought so!


I curse (as ever) the oncoming
Of a tornado into our shelter,
At the horizon of
Our lives, our turmoils,
And The love you gave us.
Dragging us into the depths
Of unknown unfathomable longing,
To be together,
In the home of
Standstill sunrises.


And still my feet
So small to run,
So big ,
To hold back together,
Run to you,
To hug the homecoming breeze.
Your warmth.
Your softness.
Your scent.
Your being.


The scent of the woman
I will ever know of,
As I am being flanked by a million other
Stars,
Into a deep sweet
Lullaby..


Image courtesy: www.cuded.com

Sunday, February 26, 2012

I Will Always Love You, Whitney!

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS NOT A JIGSAW POEM FROM A WELL APPRECIATED CRANK HEAD.

Its a clear Sunday. Or so. The weather sense in my Android (Oops! Forgive my sense-of-posh, or whatever!) begs to differ. But who cares when the heart is clearer and warmer than a day kissed and loved by the Heavens above.( So much for hearing, Gaye Marvin's "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" the first thing in the morning ;) )

For all of us know life is nothing but a conglomeration of paradoxes. And even more worser for us womenfolk who have never had our heads fixed right onto where our hearts sway. I mean what is it between girls and wanting to be good and adventurously bad, all in the same life! Wait.. At the same time, rather. ( Ok now let me stop being the Famous Drifter talker, baaahh!!)

To be honest, I dont know what I am going to write here, 'coz I have too much on my platter.. And with some creep lady knocking on my door for some well undeserved money has just sent my thoughts spiralling down into the drains of reality. As murky as it can be!

So I switch onto watch my ever Favourite Whitney Houston render a strong spirited " I am every Woman" just to get that-you-know River of Soul running through my veins to make a Sunday amidst all the other dreary days look penultimately brighter!

And thats when I realised what a dent Whitney has left in the hearts of millions like me with her untimely death. A voice that mesmerised gazillion minds with its power, spirit and a sense of liberation admixed with ounces of passion. I received the tragic news on a dear friend's wedding and the rush then perhaps did'nt make the loss sink in me until I rewinded through my favourite Houston tracks now....




And man! Didnt my eyes well up... If M.J's death was a blow to the mind, Whitney's is dearthly sinking my heart into the abyss of losses that'll leave a mark forever! For those of us girls who think loving another's man tops the book of sins, try listening to Saving all My Love for You, and you'll know the sudden upsurge of guts that I am talking about, that makes it sound alright to savour an extra!

So today, two weeks exactly after the demise of a woman whose voice would make rivers stop and mountains move, whose words could even light up the deepest of gorges and our silly human minds, I dedicate a write up, to my all time Favourite Diva. Whitney, you'll always remain a Nightingale with the Prowess of the night she sings in!!!


P.S: Talk about contradictions, a memorial on a sunny Sunday. Warned you, Life is a conglomeration of PARADOXES ! ;)

Sunday, February 5, 2012

MOTHER


I held the hands of
She who bought me here,
I stumbled, fell and walked
Baby feet on the wet grass,
Of the spheres of this world.
I looked up into
The rays of sunshine,
That singed the clouds of life,
And I bared a bright grin
Of a thousand absent gems,
At the angel who walked
The murky roads of creation,
To gift me here into the
Land of Light!

Image Courtesy : http://2.bp.blogspot.com

Sunday, January 29, 2012

THE PEBBLE



I lay to rest
A thousand maladies of an unceasing mind,
In the realms of night
Yet another one gone by.
In peace we sing then
As we float through the tunnel ,
Of a million tomorrows and their lights.
And everywhere these saints
Preachers with inky souls,
They ramble along our path,
What they ought to know
But we never heard of, Papa!

You give me in the grasp
A cold hard pebble,
Of nothing but what I lived till now.

Life and its idiosyncrasies,
Them, I clench in my fist
The ruthless joke of it all!
Yonder is the lake
Upon the silver face of which,
I saw the smile
Of a young girl ,
With the most beautiful eyes.

And beneath the waters Papa!
I see nothing but a myriad of dreams
Wept and rejoiced for,
Long back, now and that shall be.

I look at the pebble
Gleaming in its black shine,
And I look into your eyes
Nebulous in its gaze,
Little in its being.
As lurid as the thing in the crevices of my hand
Too small to hold, too big to give up.
They turn darker,
Big pupils of orderliness and kind,
As the little one swims in the joy of those rivers.

For one swift throw
Through ecstasies never felt,
The ripples breaking air
As they dance on the waters.
And so one life ends ,
Again in the lake of illusion.

And the dream wraps up itself
In the brown carton of monotony,
With a label called
Humble Harmony!




Image courtesy: http://www.eso-garden.com/images/uploads_bilder/dream_a_z.jpg

Sunday, December 4, 2011

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

Saturday, October 22, 2011

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

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

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

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

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! )

Thursday, August 25, 2011

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