In this hectic custom ridden, fragmented world
of daily lacklustre chores,
The poet in me often craves expression
As I gaze at little violets blossoming,
The multihued rainbow in the blue above,
The warmth and splendour of the early morning sun
And the myriad other riches
That nature has in its cache.
I bask in the tiny drops of rain,
As the dew scatters basketsful of pearls
In the lap of green velvet dales…
I yearn to express myself
Alas! Hushed lies the voice
As I rush in the gyrating circles of life.
I wish I were a river,
I would find expression
In wandering to distant goals
In bubbles, commotion and tumult
And in my own wavy turbulence.
So many of us pass through this routine life
Chasing dreams and commitments
With yearning poetic souls that travel to the grave
And die an abortive death.
I wish we could all pause occasionally
To cherish the marvels of this beautiful life…
Like the sun dropped behind the hill
The crimson glow of the evening…
The fragrance of the musk anointed breeze
And many more…I really wish we could!
A million dollar smile
‘You light up the room with it’ –
She always has
A composed silent face
A seamless beauteous smile
People—men women around her
indulging in incessant repartee
as she recedes into an ineffable quiescence
leaving no bridges in between
The only constant –a halcyon expression
a turbulent mind – a little above.
No one can fathom the frenzy
of unrequited questions
of apprehensions and fears
That plague her mind
Behind the façade
of a smile–her sole defence
They didn’t know—did they?
when she smiles for real
she has a Duchenne smile!
*Duchenne smile—a genuine smile wherein your eyes smile with you
Mornings are beautiful, promising
Nights-dark and challenging
Sleep plays truant and eludes
The corners of my eyes
That lie in waiting…interminably
Mornings bring people
The milkman, the safaiwala and the maid
The bright expectant and joyous faces of children
Sprinting in and out of the house
There’s no time to pause and think
Like in the nocturnal solitude.
The leisure of the night is not welcome
for I am alone then with myself and
with gusty thoughts raging
Struggling against my angsts
The silence is frightening.
It’s pain they say
That generates beautiful words
It’s hurt they say that begets poetry
But who’s here to compose beautiful words or inscribe verses?
That is just incidental.
When I pick up the pen and bare my heart
Rendered numb and comatose
by emotionless cold walls of people
Poetry just happens!
I –one amongst the multitude
No–I don’t need a renunciation
The leveller that marks perimeters to
ambition and revelry,
the illusion of control,
and to the self.
Any dismal loss augurs–
all that we see or feel
in the ceaseless demesne of continuous change
shall dwindle like an unreal enigma
and we be wiped to obscurity.
Yet for the fear of losing life
I clutch its fabric as if to never let it go
While it pulls itself away sardonic in the eye.
The discernment is absolute!
We ramble so much
consistent , continuous
I crave to hear the silence
Appearances matter to you
It bothers you, if my hair is cut too short
Or too long
If my kurta doesn’t gel with my stoll
If my footwear is not
In accordance with what is in vogue…
Perhaps I am not the friend you would like to have
And so you want me to change…
But did you know, friend
That by asking me to change my external appearance
You affected an enormous change in my interior
Stirred my conscience
And caused turbulence, making me wonder
If my presence was a cause of disgrace to you..not of pride
Whether I had to be a part of your life….??!!
How I wish you had seen my bare soul
That weaves the pattern of your friendship in a way no one else can!!
You lost me friend, to banalities!
I am in a new land
The towering mysterious Himalayas
The chill in the air
The Eucalyptus and the Gulmohar
Tall, green and beautiful…yet strangely, not my own
Empty roads, stretched endlessly
Strange faces staring listlessly at me
It’s like being thrown into
Another world..like being rooted out
And planted elsewhere….rootless
The roots are still trying
To adjust themselves in
The moist warm soil
That has strange familiar texture.
But do you know
I crave ceaselessly
For that sure and firm familiarity
I crave each moment
To hold on to the warmth of your loving hands
That slip so comfortably into mine when we are together!!!
[Link to .pdf]
This was composed right after the visit to the Holocaust Museum in the United States.It was a very intense experience.
It’s not new…this sentiment
of meeting and yet not meeting you
of being there with you –an elusive presence
We stand together at cross purposes
Not knowing ‘what next’ or ‘how’ or ‘why’
Flinging hollow words –raising a gulf austere
The ice has hardened much to sever
Chasing an illusion—was I?
Manoeuvres of the deviant mind
It prides itself on love when there’s not a draught of it
Dead now — the love that has been
Must I believe the contrary bitterness of reality?
The thought is agonizing
Is it true then that too much love annihilates itself?
Spent, hurt, lost…
I am yet in waiting for the fire to extinguish completely
Waiting to dig the embers
So I can collect the ashes as an aide memoire
of the need to kill the warmth of my being and turn into a rock
Hard, impervious and impenetrable!