Effusive emotions

Decipher

2012-01-27T19:31:00.000+05:30

I draw gnarly patterns
In languages unknown
Punctuating life's emotions
To live, to pause, to connect
Writings -twisted, twined;
Sometimes erect and austere
Hemming ends that trail on
Sealing all exit paths
Color it up with
Random shades of
Mundane happenings
Squeezing, making my way
Through the apostrophes
To patch neglected corners
The forms shall not fade
Will only morph, evolve
Some beautiful, some ugly
I shall rest on a rustic stroke
And wait… dawn, dusk.
The cipher will emerge
Like a moment's flash
Lift, leap and merge
Maybe just a dot, a curve,
Who cares; I am there
No longer to decipher
But to be.

At peace

2012-01-11T14:23:00.001+05:30

You held out the golden lantern
The effulgence soaking my skin bright
Bound the grains under my feet tight
Lest they disintegrate and seep me thru
Those sensuous warm kisses
Giving a feel of eternal freedom
Wetted the ever thirsty throat
With tiny droplets from a colossal flow
Chatter from disguised voices
Moments filling in unknown faith
Dreams walked through, whispers of
A knowledge beyond the existent truth
Illumed those empty pores with a potion
That held the particles in absolute consonance
Flowing through,in, out and across
In forms - defined, loud, concealed,
Much and many more
The path to salvation truncates here
Naïve!! All time I thought I sought you

Wings

2012-01-02T19:42:00.002+05:30

Wings - that once fluttered in festal freedom
Nimble arms - flapped beautiful aloneness
Tender feathers - Wavered to zephyrs
Cooled by soft emotions of life's sweet nothings

Now stand suspended - a moment's restrained poise
One - frost by insensate happenings
The other on fire; shimmering reflections
Of years' iridescent impressions

She pauses herself as she watches her flanks
Which kept her aloft; now clamped hard to her ribs
Spiraling her down , piercing her soul
She twirls with hope
That the flames shall melt the frigid crystals
and the unfroze droplets shall douse the fire

Neither will, for they are trained to kill
Eons have passed to crystallize the envy, the vice
To fire up such fury, such abominable lies
Abysmal depths; her slim legs wait to hit rock bottom
A bottom that doesn’t seem to reach

The Afghan maid

2012-01-02T19:40:00.002+05:30

Oh yes, I cleaned the dishes ma'am
They smelt fumes of death throes
Now they sparkle a dash of hope
Swept the floor madame
Off flesh and skin
Lying in shreds all around
Swabbed, You ask?
I sang and danced around on the mop
Like a lark blitzed by cries unknown
Cleaning stains of blood and accusal
How can I forget the laundry dear mistress!
Shouldn’t the world see it in pristine white
And yes, dried them over warships
Still hot, by last night's fire
What's on my mind you ask?
To clean the corners of contrived cobwebs
Paint those rusted knobs with flashy colors
Trying to build a cleaner world?
Nah, I live not in such illusions
You come from far off land
Prosperity - takes you to bigger mansions
Unlucky - guess crammed hovels
For me, tomorrow waits. I come back
For the dust, the filth, the rust
Just a commoner ma'am, a stooge
I know not another home

Of envy

2011-11-13T17:33:00.002+05:30

The smile on your face irks me
Creamy toppings over mushy nothings

Of love

2011-11-13T17:28:00.001+05:30

Try not to fix those little leaks in the hose
Let the weeds grow too , in those tiny puddles
I think not of them, but of your tender feet
Too weak to bear the gush in its prime

Being you

2011-11-13T17:27:00.002+05:30

I want to see those
Muscles twitch with pain
Twist and turn as they dance
Relax with a smile
Frown with anger

I want to see those
Bones chatter in fear
Marrow - curve and stiffen
Under cold shadows
Grow sore with pain
Loosen up to fly

I want to see those
Colors flowing thru your veins
Red, green, blue, black
Of love, envy, peace, evil
Tangled , yet untouched

I want to see beyond
Your skin's steely sheen
Reflecting me
Betraying you
From being you.

The Journey

2011-07-18T12:10:00.002+05:30

Unmindful it seems
The path shall walk up to me
Who cares, let it take its course
We will meet somewhere
The path of my path and mine
I reinforce, to hail destiny

Colossal nature of the macrocosm?
I shall append my time slot too
When? I shall decide
Magnanimous, you say,
Dependent, my take
Waiting for my dot
Not to fill up; to BE
Wanting my ashes
To quench its lambent thirst
Otherwise, just so dull and void

Nothing poetical

2011-03-08T10:50:00.000+05:30

It was probably just a small mound
Over which I meticulously built a colossal castle
Or a tiny sprig I pulled out of a bough

Maybe an embryo I fostered for years
In my womb, now struggling to get out
Unmindful of growing up or taking shape
‘How long?’ friends ask. Maybe never

Could be a piece of paper
Lying on a desolate street
Picked it up, curious to know,
Tasted it, dithery to spit it out
Unsure if it will taste the same again

Or maybe a wart
Of a disease recently contracted
A spirit exorcised by the world
Which I secretly homed and nurtured
A gull I chased over the seas for years
Or a tale which nana nisa told me when young
I can’t remember her face though
Neither will you of me
Coz your thoughts have enshrouded
Everything of which was once mine

Book bound

2010-12-03T12:43:00.000+05:30

I can choose to be a Mr. Edward in the day
Or a Mrs. Saraswathi Iyer as it gets dark
Ride on a brougham from the Craigdorrach castle
Or tip toe on a Giuseppe Zanotti on my wedding
Travel from house to house, city to city,
World to world, at the same time
Maybe from the present to the future
Referencing the past occasionally
If it hurts, I change roles to be the inflictor
Get into the skin of an idealist and get bored
A non conformist to look insane
Or a feminist – a mild respite
Cowardly characters – I sneer at their impuissance
Trapped within those letters, those words
Their fate sealed by something as petty as
The movement of my finger tips
As I fight the Wahehe War in East Africa
Someone somewhere flips a page
I quit my book and walk towards the toaster
“Burnt black”, he reads. I sigh.

Just saline!!

2010-08-26T19:31:00.000+05:30

Brimming in her eyes were those unceasing tears
And on her forehead the day’s dead sweat.
A drop of tear looked up and exclaimed
“Blessed art thou, Oh dear sweat
For you are born in the sinews of a joyous heart
Fulfilled by the day’s strenuous chores
In you, she sees the making of her future.”
He then said “Fie upon me for I rise from her sorrow
With me I wash away her long built dreams
I am her lost hope, her deep felt rue
In me, she watches reflections of her failed past
She wishes not to see me, but I rise each time
Devouring her inner self, drop by drop”
Sweat looked down at tear and smilingly spoke,
“Thou art lucky, my dear bro
For you are born in her soul and wash away her sorrow
In you, she finds solace each time in grief
She confides in you the dark secrets of her spirits”.
Sigh!! I rise from the dullness of her humdrum days
She perspires as the heat of life mars her aging skin
My stink reminds her of the arduous days ahead
In me, she seeks her lost reflections and fails to find one”.
As he spoke, he trickled down her forehead
Onto her cheeks and then her lips; so did tears.
She licked it away, burying it deep down her throat
Unseen, unfelt, undistinguished – Just saline!

The fleer paradox

2010-08-08T14:38:00.002+05:30

Paradoxes are my latest obsession. I see them everywhere – in every damn conversation. I have come up with one of my own.. Its called the ‘Fleer paradox’ which I shall explain in the paragraphs that follow.( m planning to write a random book called ‘the oracular prophecy’, put it on BBC’s ‘century’s to read’ list and then write a wikipage on how to avoid the paradox)

My hubby… okkkk wait.. poor thing.. The mere fact that he is my current employer does not call for mudslinging.. This time let’s change the character of the article. Should it be my MIL.. noooo… FIL.. not really, he wouldn’t even be bothered…my mom.. yesss… I think she is the best pick.. BTW it was not a random pick.. she has been strategically chosen coz if she exists(which is the fact), the paradox does not and if the paradox does, she does not(which is already negated). You will figure out why very soon. Another reason is that it will take a minimum of 6 hours for her to reach me and by then I would have already fled. (In any case, let’s get to the point coz it’s begun to feel like an ekta kapoor production where the character is focussed for half an hour only to deliver ‘mein kaha hoon’ at the end of it)

The basic premise of the paradox is this - My mom told me the other day that she is okay with me doing anything on earth, provided I inform her beforehand and get a nod on it. That sounds pretty acceptable for the entire junta out there, but is suicidal for me.

Now I create a paradox called the 'Fleer paradox'

I want to run away from home... but the condition is that I have to inform my mom.. If I do, she will not let me flee (which is actually not true, but i ignore it for the paradox to continue).. If I am anyways not fleeing at the end of the day, y would I even let my mom know about it..

Pls sort it out for me..

Sripath, the loser agrees to disagree that any such paradox exists ( ahhh… a paradox here)...and I choose not to choose his endless gibber… I told you its everywhere

Note: I am a CompSc grad with an MBA top up who is extremely candid ( however paradoxical it might seem :D… trust me for now ), I admit that I just stole a choco bar from my grandma’s attic, wrapped it with some glittery thingy and gifted it to a friend, with an attached note that I spent a good 7 days learning how to make it
@goli: This article is not the one I was speaking about… it’s the next one.. (have to create some hype)

Paranoia

2010-08-06T15:09:00.001+05:30

Now that I am married, I am being tempted to post something on marriage blues. But since I am a socially responsible citizen, I deter from writing much about the flip side of marriage( Afterall itz hope thatz driving the entire junta towards nirvana). There are a few friends quite excited ( Consider 3/4th on my friend list. Rest are wed and they form disjoint sets - wed + excited and unwed + unexcited) about the topic and I really do not wish to discourage them(moral responsibility is still taunting me to reveal the truth though;))

Marriage pushes you on to the centre stage.. atleast for a few months(though I am surprised why.. coz the easiest task on earth is to live, reproduce and die ‘)).. What I thoroughly enjoy is the question that follows soon after marriage ( Read it as the minute the garland’s around your neck which totally makes the bride and groom look like goats at the altar). Howz marriage treating you? (I mean dude.. itz just been a minute and I am still struggling with those roses (read as thorns) around my neck). However I simply love the beauty of those words, meticulously chosen and if you notice.. the stress is always on the ‘treat’(the sly smile with the wink only accentuates the effect). Marriage is definitely a treat to watch (provided you aren’t the one on menu).. The treat is on till the heat beats you.. now thatz neat… The beauty of marriage is that you know you are being screwed, everyone around knows it too, but no onez gonna question that (I am not talking about indian etiquettes here;)). Each time I am soooper tempted to answer them in my own sweet way instead of the monotonous ‘going good’ for a
‘Howz marriage going?’

Me: The rate at which it is going, it doesn’t matter

Me: Probably in a bullock cart or I suppose by foot… that is all it could afford right now

Me: How.. I really don’t know.. but I can answer ‘Where’? Elsewhere

….Or for

Howz life post marriage?

1.Spicy
Garam masala, sandwich masala, mirch masala, pav bhaji masala… I never knew so many even exist

2.Sandwiched
Between south indian idlis and gujju dhoklas, theplas, baakris, rotis, dal vadas, khichchi.. okkk… I think I conveyed my point ( sorry Appy and DP ) ;)

3.Hot
Somewhere between 45-49 deg C.

4.Constipating
Thoughts on collectivism vs individualism.

5.Homicidal
First on list – Ekta kapoor and the maker of ‘colors’.. (I wonder if she even realizes that her 573 episode long soap (serial killer) can be narrated in <5 minutes by a MIL to her DIL, yet those five minutes seem like eternity (now i know why it's called a soap.. they rub it in)

6.Chi&*%#$#@!che&*%#$#@!choucho
I have always been telling u guys to learn new languages.. damn.. now u cant even understand what I speak ( BTW now I totally know who made ssssoooo sweeeeeettt…. Chooo chweeeeet.. it must be appy)

Even though ‘Howz life post marriage?’ does not sound too close to ‘howz life after death’(I don’t know who’s gonna question that though), the emotions are the same… ‘clueless if you have to mourn the death of one life or celebrate the birth of another’ :D..

Reflections

2010-07-27T00:28:00.000+05:30

There exist several worlds around me – built in those minds and raised by those thoughts. They speak unknown languages which I should ideally fail to understand, but I don’t. I can thoroughly comprehend every word spoken - sometimes beyond those words. I just listen coz I am told not to voice my opinions. My words apparently fail to carry thoughts which can loftily sit on theirs and help them create a world through those letters.
Now these thoughts which haven’t morphed into words have to find an outlet of expression. They start talking to each other, exchanging more thoughts– a million conversations in the mind - arguments and counter arguments. As they talk, innumerable instincts of jealousy, hatred, love, friendship, homicide, coupling, etc are born. Hence evolves a series of actions - Some thoughts are consumed by the other, some converge, some diverge, some replicate, some disintegrate into several smaller fragments and some remain unchanged, rigid that they are. Now every single thought has attained multiple dimensions, each reflecting a different self. And yeah, those that were rigid have also been damaged beyond recognition trying to defend themselves and hence have also attained a new ugly self.
Amidst them I stand, haphazardly seeking for that single reflection that defines me. However these reflections have now begun to stare at me, demanding that I own one of them, failing which I will be banished as being non-existent. As I look into their eyes, each of them is convincing me that he/she is my true self, despite being radically different from each other. The nose is mine, but the curves are not; the eyes are mine but the frown is not; the lips are mine, but the smile is not or vice versa. While I begin to grow impatient in the search, I find an image – unscathed, pristine, clear, but paradoxically nothing of the image has anything of me. I rush towards it and the image also seems to be equally excited. A smile rises as I approach and surprisingly a mirrored smile rises in the image too.. I stop; the image stops..As the truth dawns on me, my smile begins to fade and a shudder runs down my spine. All the reflections seem to be smiling slyly at me, except the image in front of me

Grey satire

2010-03-14T19:33:00.001+05:30

I sweat not when the boulder’s too heavy
Or the fulcrum futile
Not when death’s at my door
Or life’s asking for Baltimore
I sweat when the hot air
Hidden under those crimps of cold despair
Hits me on my face unaware
I fret as I watch the colours catch fire
Dance and sing on their funeral pyre
Shortlived mos of radiant orange desire
Soon to be mired by life’s grey satire

'Corner'ed

2010-01-20T23:12:00.001+05:30

The pleasure of anonymity
Bounded - yet bond free
Deflecting shadows
Contriving patterns
on plains unowned
Depth, never to surface
Un-noticed
Dictating dimensions
Binding directions
Sheathed under cobwebs
Sheltering myriad lives
Unravelling truths -
Inside out through
Unrevealed dark corners

Un-trashed

2009-11-02T11:17:00.004+05:30

The din plays endlessly into my
Ears that fail to understand melody
Wrinkles of my skin hiding behind the smut
Spewed from innumerous smokestacks
Grains of ground cemented together
Soothing my boots, cracking my heels
Well pressed creases now seeking revenge,
Of the hot iron used on them this morn
Dead flesh’s being mashed, turning pale
None to watch it shrink and quail!
The din’s to be silenced, heels’ to be healed
Flesh’s to be colored and wrinkles revealed
Damn the spirits that die each day on local trains
I seek country showers while life bathes in acid rains

Reflections

2009-10-02T07:35:00.001+05:30

I watch her flow through the spout
Into the glass, of fancy shapes desired by others
Droplets like gauzy beads, fragmented spirits
She shimmers as a puff of air touches her
As the tea dust is spattered, she changes colour
Innocence lost, a new life sets in, no discord
She swallows the sugar cubes
Then I try salt – she distinguishes none
So unopinionated. It enrages me…
I drop the pebbles from the vase
She makes space for them
It’s getting to be a battle
Giving me the feeling that she is raising
I hurl more…
She flows out – losing herself drop by drop
Till she lies spilt all around, vaporizing
She is gone. I watch her die
I profusely cry and I know why

The joy of sorrow

2009-09-17T12:15:00.002+05:30

She lies on the ground delicate, weightless
Orbs reflecting shallow painted memories
Of men whom she wound gently
Like a whore, the pleasure of a few moments
The layers of glassy white sheets on her body
Reflecting her wangled actions.
Beside her knee lies an inexorable beast, spewing spite
No emotion, no fear, no remorse, candid intent
Charges at me, unprovoked..
Seizes the heart, through the flesh
Squeezing it with his mighty paw
The fury of his heavy breath baking my skin
The pain flows down the veins
AArrghh!!! An inexplicable experience
To feel every ounce come to life
Piercing screams, I fight the jaws off my neck
As he drills his teeth deeper, mightier
Strangely, feels complete, for having explored a new hue
Of enshrouded impressions, dribbling down his teeth
Then the beguiling witch wakes up to make love
I surrender in silence while he’s gone
It’s gotten on me, not her flinty love, but the beast
He has more to unveil, more to squelch, more to feast

Hope

2009-06-01T18:23:00.002+05:30

The storm’s too strong, the hull is weak
The oars are broken, the boat’s a leak
She anchors the vessel to the rays of the sun
To be pulled to land, a new life’s begun

The flying line’s mercilessly cut,
The wind has ripped the sail, the keel
She blows air into those tiny shreds
The power of the bits, she shall reveal

Stony houses, pale glassy shutters
Frozen streets and dark dead corners
She leans on to a wall painted green
To be coloured with life, to wear the sheen

Her heart is heavy, eyes burning fire
Limbs hurt of boredom, and body of tire
She picks the bliss and rinses her soul

She shall start afresh, undone is her role.

Ummeed

2009-05-15T01:41:00.005+05:30

It had been a tough life out here. The only whiff of hope was the care she was receiving from everyone around. She felt indebted to the women of the village for the love they were showering on her team. But still nothing could keep them going in that scorching heat and raising temperature. It was getting intolerable with every passing day with hell breaking loose during noon, when the fan refused to move an inch.

Today, like every other day, the team woke up early to visit one of the colonies for the awareness programme. They were travelling by rick since there was no other mode of transport to reach there. One of the ladies accompanying her tied a wet scarf to the rick to combat the hot air which was blowing on to their faces. Within 3 seconds, it dried up and she immediately untied her scarf, turned towards her and said “Had I left it there for a few more minutes, my scarf would have caught fire by now”. She gazed at the lady point blank and returned a nervous smile.

Despite repeated reminders, there were around 25 women who had assembled in the house, each of them synching their database with the other. It was disappointing to see such a small gathering after a long journey. However she started with her sermon about women health, moved on to menstrual hygiene, usage of sanitary napkins, etc. As always, the women refused to discuss and ask questions despite repeated requests from her. When she stopped, her friend took over to demonstrate the simplicity of usage and promote the brand. While her friend spoke, she made a quick scan of the audience present there. A young girl caught her attention. The girl’s eyes were fixed on her and refused to stray despite her stare. She gazed at the teenager’s eyes, dull brown with darker orbital rings, yellow streaks radiating from the lens, like the sun rays she would draw when she was a kid. There was something intriguing about her gaze. There was hope of a better tomorrow and all those hopes were pinned against her. She got deeper into those eyes and it seemed like she was looking at her younger self. The image was begging to free her from the discomfort she had to go through during her teen years.

It had never been pleasant. She recollected those initial days of being clueless of the happenings around. A major function commemorated her entry into adulthood while she longed to remain a child. She hated being dressed like a clown and greeted by all the women around for something which was so very natural. She would dread those five days of the month. Every month, it would be the same routine of taking out old clothes from the cupboard – the cleanest of the rags. It was extremely embarrassing for her to go to her mom for a new set of clothes and hence preferred to use the old ones. She would wash it in the backyard, hoping that her dad and brothers wouldn’t get to know. The room where she dried was dark and never saw sunlight. One of those days, when she picked an old cloth a lizard had jumped out of it. She was confined to a small corner of the house, not allowed to touch things or people around and had to sleep on the floor. Speaking aloud when her grandmom was around was forbidden. She was advised not to go to college, but with the support of her mother, had managed to obtain permission for it. The scene was no better at college too. She recollected the days when her menstrual cycle began while she was visiting her aunt who was extremely orthodox. To avoid the trauma, she would go to the fields every day and dry her cloth on the thorny shrubs to not let her aunt know about it. She had to stand guard to save the cloth from being eaten away by a snake. The villagers believed that it would make the lady infertile. She sighed as she relived those experiences and a small sarcastic smile rose, thinking of all the myths and taboos associated with menstruation.

“Do you have anything to add partner?”, her friend turned to her. “Y..Y..Yes”, she said recovering. “Let’s vow today to help make every woman’s journey more comfortable. After all it’s a woman who can feel for another woman”. There was silence for a few seconds. Maybe it was too profound to be understood. But then, the women started smiling, nodding and clapping, as though they have got a new lease of life. The young girl had a smile too.

The experiences narrated here shortly depict the living conditions of 90% of women in India during their menstrual cycle. It’s a shame that despite all the talks given on women empowerment only 7% of women in India use sanitary napkins and close to 93% of Indian women use unhygienic means for menstrual protection. 14% of Indian women suffer from urinary tract infections and 2% even use ash and sand during menstruation. We can reduce these numbers by just spreading the word. All we have to do is to encourage women to discuss the issue openly. On a lighter note, women should ask for a sanitary napkin as confidently as a guy asks for a shaving razor (Now, that’s a feminist speaking ;)).

Merry Christmas!!!!

2008-12-25T01:31:00.002+05:30

A star in here and a crib right there
Cuddled in the corner was a teddy bear
A well dressed tree stood sparkling bright
Tinsels and baubles; Wow!!! What a sight
Angel Gabriel’s role I always donned
Had a sparkling white gown and a magic wand
Carols and jingles, loads of joy in the air
Gifts and candies, tons of love to share
We built lord’s land in our own sweet way
Oh my old convent days, come back I pray!!

Have a merry Christmas!!!
Angel Gabrielz sitting in her room.. reading Financial Management... She needs a star to lead her today :)

Mumbai trains

2008-08-10T22:12:00.002+05:30

Life's like travelling in the Mumbai trains
Dusty seats and rusty panes
Marching through those perennial rains
Past the slums, over the plains

Have you been to those busy stations?
All you need is loads of patience
Stuck everywhere are dreadful cautions
Hosting almost half the nation

Eternal wait, never ending queue
When’s your turn, you have no clue
Watching folks and their quarrels new
Little did you realize, how time flew

You know your destiny, you have the pass
The more you paid, the better your class
The crowd rushes in and pulls you along
Strangers around, humming an unknown song

Station's in and you still have a doubt
Within seconds you are thrown out
"This is not mine", you yell and shout
Catch another, Isn’t that what life's all about?

Away from home

2008-08-08T00:24:00.001+05:30

Did you ask me mama how it feels
Without you all, how the world reels
It moves, with every hour seeming so long
Therez a beat thatz missing in every lovely song

There are sweet friends, filling in frolic and fun
There are classes which always keep us on the run
But when there's a pause, I feel your void
Therez life, therez breath, soul devoid

There's loads of food mama, I try to taste your love
Thrusting down each morsel, not sure how
But when a grain of memory blocks my breath
I recollect the eternal care, loads of hardship beneath

I have learnt mama that days are dark, seldom bright
When I wash today, I realize why it's not always white
When things get misplaced, they are forever lost
All these little learnings do come with a cost

Therez so much to talk mama after I get back from class
I ponder for your images in the mirror, thru the glass
I try to call, wanting to speak about life, beautiful n nice
But then, its so different, I miss the eagerness in your eyes

I know mama life shall move on
We have to enjoy each moment in this short sojourn
But each of these moments are just so incomplete n untrue
If I miss to say that I miss you all, thru n thru

The lonely rock

2008-06-24T21:41:00.000+05:30

Through dusk and dawn
Be it rain or shine
He stands there, deep rooted
Against those waves
It has been ages
Watching the vastness of life
Seems never ending
Tough, Striking his chest
Hard, over and over again
Then,
He had resisted
It pained, yet never succumbed
Now,
He still stands tall
Each of those droplets passing through him
Corroding his soul, inch by inch
Making him hollower every passing day
He watches the vastness again
Grown numb, eyes empty
Wanting to vanish,
To turn into those tiny sand grains
To be carried away
To pull his feet out
To leave no mark

2008-06-13T22:51:00.002+05:30

One of my very dear friends had started her post with the words "What happens of things unsaid?"... Got me thinking.. Left a few words for her. But then wanted to share these words with a lot of lovely friends I have coz I love them and truly care for their well being.. not because I am good, but for the wonderful people that they are( sorry if this post sounds a lil' out of context for a few of you :) )

What happens of things unsaid?

Like the fire simmering
Within the womb of mountains
Waiting to spew out all her venom
Burning people who lived on her each day

Like the peace before a tide
Buried deep within those immense depths
Waiting to wash out everything
Mourning the deaths of all those who walked by her each day

Like the lull before a storm
Hidden within the cool breezes
Waiting to blow out everything
Killing people who breathed her each day

Dancing fountain

2008-05-25T22:36:00.000+05:30

I wish not to be the dancing fountain
Graceful, yet contrived
Energized, but by stimulants
Sharp, but too refined
Rhythmic, dancing to else's beats
How I wish to be the free flowing waterfall
Down the green hills
Raw, taking its own course
Coarse, yet exhilarating
Not refined, yet well harmonized
Not gentle, but so agile
There is depth, there is life
Spirituality embodied
Dancing her own tale
Stepping her own tunes
Music subsides, beaten, exhausted
But she continues to play

Tagged for life.. books and me

2008-05-22T10:22:00.004+05:30

This post is for Uniquely Priya

A book that made you laugh:
Calvin and Hobbes:)...

A book that made you cry:
Uncle Tom's cabin - Harriet Beecher Stowe, City of Joy- Dominique Lapierrie... a lot of books make me cry

A book that scared you:
The Hound of the Baskervilles - Arthur Canon Doyle - If I read it now, maybe it wont even raise a hair..but then, I was totally scared

A book that disgusted you:
Loads of them... But I never take their names. Not being good. I don't want people to take my name when I write one ;)

A book you loved in elementary school:
Tinkle - always

A book you loved in middle/junior high school:
Nancy Drew.. Carolyn Keene ( pseudonym )... just wanted to be her..

A book you loved in high school:
Reader's digest and Sherlock Holmes... I was in love with Sherlock Holmes for a few days... If he
had proposed then, I would have even married him.. haha

A book you loved in college:
I can say what I hated... My engineering books ;)

A book that challenged your identity:
In Search of God And Other Poems - Swami Vivekananda

A series that you love:
Sherlock holmes again.. I am loyal to my hero

Your favourite horror book:
I am too scared to read horror.. Coward to the core...

Your favourite science fiction book:
Mean Gene was something I could get close to science fiction.

Your favourite fantasy:
All fairy tales.. I just love each of them even to this day... Always wanted to be Alice, Snow White or cinderella... I still behave like a piece of fiction ;)

Your favourite mystery:
I seldom read mysteries...

Your favourite autobiography:
Its not about the bike - Lance armstrong

Your favourite “coming of age” book:
Tuesdays with morrie - Mitch Albom..simply awesome

Your favourite classic:
Wuthering heights - Emily bronte

Your favourite romance book:
I romance all my books ;)... I would pick 'The Bridge Across Forever' if that can be called a romance book...

Nirmoh

2008-04-27T23:02:00.002+05:30

She got into the sanctum of the pooja room, picked the idol of Lord Rama in the wet cloth which she had just rinsed, moved the cloth into the grooves through her fingers and cleaned with deep devotion. She smeared the sandal wood paste she had just extracted by fraying a smooth stick of the wood on a moistened soft stone. Clearing the dry flowers of the previous day with one hand, made a swasthik with her wet fingers and placed the idols on it. She watched the idols, the protectors of her life, with tears of joy in her eyes. Subhadra seemed to have no complaints, but only gratitude for the selfless life she had led. After circumambulating the sanctum thrice, she sat down to start off her daily pooja with kumkum, haldi, akshata, camphor, sandal stick etc. She picked the flowers she had meticulously picked for her GODs and decorated the idols. Each time the flowers were placed at her god’s feet, there was a glow of satisfaction in her eyes. It had been 87 years now. Not one day had she skipped her routine of getting up before the sun rise , walking to the nearby river despite her arthritic limp, having her daily abhyanjana (bath) and coming back swathed in those wet clothes. She had a stern visage, yet the glow was as divine as the early rays of sun. The flowers picked were the ones she grew in her little garden, watering them with the water she fetched from the well a few yards away from her house. The only goal of her life was to attain salvation, for which she was performing this penance.

After placing the string of mallika flowers around Lord Rama’s shoulders, she closed her eyes, got into a deep thoughtless state and started chanting her favourite verses from ‘Bhaja Govindam’

“Bhaja Govindam Bhaja Govindam

……………………………………..

………………………………………..

kaate kaantaa kaste putrah
samsaaro.ayamatiiva vichitrah
kasya tvam kah kuta aayaatah
tattvam chintaya tadiha bhraatah

[Who is your wife? Who is your son? Strange is this samsara. Of whom are you? Where have you come from? Brother, ponder over these truths.]

She felt disturbed and opened her eyes. She has been chanting this verse over and over again. But today it had kindled her thoughts, deep hidden worries and emotions. She turned around to watch Siddu sleeping peacefully on the mattress with his mouth wide open. A soft smile rose and all the wrinkles too. She had fostered him for twelve years now. ‘Time flies so quickly’..Siddarth was a kid of 1.5 years when his parents left him at his ajji’s mercy. She meant the whole world to him. In that small remote village, he could get to speak to a few well wishers who visited the old lady and the young son, workers who worked on her fields or the cattle and pigs he tended to. Siddu grew up listening to his granny’s verses, watching her cook and toil, feeling her motherly love, speaking the words she taught, thinking her thoughts, living life the way she did. He had become so much of her own self, her twin soul. It was tough to forget that fateful day, when she picked the small baby from his mother’s lap which was covered with blood. It was a bloody accident and siddu’s survival was a miracle. Siddu had lost his world, but had his life. Since then Subhadra took care that he doesn’t go through the pain of loss again. But now she knew she hasn’t got much longer to live. She had never been afraid of death. But then, what was it that bound her so strongly to life that she had started fearing death. Subhadra had lost her husband at the young age of 24 to Cholera, left with only one son, Siddu’s dad. She had lived on her own since then, independent and alone. Her husband’s death, the loss of her only companion, had left such a strong impression on her heart that she tried to bind less to Siddu’s dad, yet performed her duties with panache. But it was not the same with her grandson. She had bound him close to her heart, because she saw her own self in him. The fact that both of them had lost their loved ones, both of them had each other’s company to cling on to and most importantly both of them had nothing to lose now except each other had made them indispensable for each other. But now she very well knew that death was not under her control. The long lost fear of loss had been exhumed from her soul. Every ounce of receding strength had started sending shivers down her spine and each pain would pound her heart. She was not sure how she would deal with her own death, but that was not what mattered. She was worried for Siddu, the young lad, too young to even bear the loss of his only living connection to the world around. Subhadra decided to talk to Siddu that evening about her impending death and unceremonious exit from the world. He called him close and said, “Siddu, What would you do after my gone?”. Siddu kept munching the groundnuts and carelessly questioned “Gone where Ajji? To the fields? I will follow you like I do each day. Why Ajji?”. Subhadra sighed, “No, my son. What would you do after my death?” Siddu looked at her, his eyes glowing as always, paused for a moment, and said softly, “Ajji, you know what…I have thought about it. I have watched with care what Ravi uncle did when his mother died. I know the rituals to be done for your safe stay in heaven. Do not worry Ajji, I have learnt all the shlokas over the past few days for it. "For death is certain to one who is born...thou shalt not grieve for what is unavoidable," says the Bhagavad Gita. I shall not grieve, for panditji says, my tears can disrupt your safe journey”. Subhadra was astounded by the views of a small kid. Subhadra had attained nirvana.

Life of Pi

2008-04-16T11:19:00.001+05:30

‘Life of Pi’ by Yann Martel is a voyage of grit, of discovering life, of connecting with nature and to top it all, an unfathomed optimism to survive, fight and yet survive. It is really tough to write a ‘not so good’ review for a book cause I understand the pains that go into writing one. With all due respect to the author and his writing, I would rather admit that I could not relate to the first few chapters of this book very well. The flow seemed to veer very often at crucial stages. What hurt me most was the limited knowledge the author has about religions before penning volumes about it. The greatest missing link was the least mention of the zoo and its animals in the first few pages, and instead a great mention of a lot of unnecessary characters strewn in a slapdash manner, half baked knowledge about religions and total confusion as to what the protagonist was seeking from them. I totally second his father’s thoughts that he need not fall into any religion to seek god and love. The argument that triggers off between the religious leaders doesn’t add any value to the book and is definitely not hilarious. I personally try to write and comment less about religion, but when any author does, I prefer that he has profound knowledge about what each of them try to preach and the salient points which glorify the religion in the right way. The book, on the other hand, glorifies the limited knowledge the author has on the subject. The analogy given by the author as to why life in a zoo is preferred for animals over a life in the wild is absolutely callow.

However the second half of the book definitely gets better. Pi’s survival strategies and description of the sea and storm is absolutely fascinating. The short stint of Pi on the carnivorous island is very imaginative and worth a mention. The reader feels really sorry for Pi when he turns blind. At times you would want Pi to give up and throw himself into the sea, but he sticks on. Loved these words…

“To be a castaway is to be a point perpetually at the centre of the circle. However much things appear to change – the sea may shift from whisper to rage, the sky might go from fresh blue to blinding white to darkest black – the geometry never changes. Your gaze is always a radius……. Otherwise to be a castaway is to be caught up in grim and exhausting opposites. When it is light, the openness of the sea is blinding and frightening. When it is dark, the darkness is claustrophobic“ – absolutely mind blowing, imaginative description of life in general.

Despite all its short comings, the book is definitely worth a read for a subtle philosophy that is woven all along the book.

Teja

2008-04-15T11:27:00.001+05:30

She had a stuffed doll with a broken ear in her hand, holding close to her heart, treasuring her only possession. She had watched me intently when I stepped in with a huge sack of toys into the house. The twinkle in her eyes, a sweet innocence in her looks, of very shy demeanor and a feeling of intimate kinship with the broken dog - her only friend had caught my attention. She was not watching the toys, she was not watching me, she was not watching my son, but her stares were directed towards me and my actions. We started with the games. We placed a chair in the middle of the huge dorm. One of the kids was made to sit with a pen in hand, blindfolded, with its back facing the other kids. Another would come and pick the pen in the kid’s hand and the kid would get back and guess who among the group picked it from him. It was her turn to get blindfolded. Her sister came and picked the pen from her and ran into the crowd. She got back and guessed right without thinking twice. I questioned her as to how she could do it so easily. She pointed towards her sister’s necklace which made a very light crackling sound. She had a similar one on her too. She said with pride, ‘Akka made it yesterday night with the beads aunty gave’. It was a colorful string of plastic beads of assorted colours woven together very crudely. I was amazed by the observations of a 3 year old kid which I had failed to notice. As I watched the beads around her neck, I saw a few burnt scars near her shoulder. I hugged her close to me and asked how she had hurt herself. She just muttered ‘Appa’ and stared back numbly at me, as clueless as I was as to why he did that. The warden told me that her dad had burnt her in an inebriated state before driving the kids out of the house. I neither could hold back my sudden gush of tears nor the simmering anger for the heartless tyrant. It was not as easy for me to take it as it was for her. As we continued to play along, there were times when she came to me and hugged me close, asked me to lift her and swing, and at times watched me and my son together. As the day ended, I gave away the toys to the kids, with Teja clinging around my neck for long. When I had to leave, I picked a huge stuffed dog from my bag, lovingly hugged her and placed it on her lap. She sprang back and held her broken dog even close, tears rolling down her cheeks. There was fear in her eyes. I was taken aback by this sudden reaction, clueless, doubting if I offended her. I looked back into her eyes with motherly affection and tried to pacify her with a comforting smile. I consoled her that I was not taking away her dog, but only trying to give away the new one as its friend. As I stood there soothing her, I tried cuddling the toy in her hand and petting it on its head. It had a burnt ear.

Warrior

2008-03-14T18:03:00.001+05:30

Been away for years
Now a stranger to war
Feet frozen on the battlefield
Watching men fight and kill
Unsure whom to strike
With the glistening sword thrust in his hand
He has to fight,
for that is all he knows
He wants to bleed,
Till the muscle beneath his skin shows
Been away for years
The litheness of his sword seems lost
His muscles ache, his heart reluctant
The clouds not roaring, the winds too gentle
The church, the sermons, made a loser of him?
His heart bled to be back
Cannot die a holy man, a commoner
He shall fight, he shall attack
He shall die, to live in books, in tombs, in portraits
Just one more strike,the blood shall smear his soul
Then his zest will kindle the smoldering embers
and a warrior will be born again

Your gender... not your identity

2008-03-14T17:35:00.004+05:30

I respect you as much as I respect anyone else, for I have known many, who are proud to be what they are

When you undressed
Hundreds of your race
were stripped off their
relentless efforts
of a million nights
All you had to give was
Just a drop of your sweat
For the rivers of blood
they have pooled in
All you had to have was
Just a belief that
you are as perfect as I am.

Past

2008-02-22T17:26:00.002+05:30

I walked ahead, clenching you tight,
While, as always, you sought to break free
Forever wanting to trace back your path
Never ready to march along with me
You walked away into the dark
Entrenched footprints, loads of tears
Hastily leaving back your trail, Rushed
into the valley of yesteryears
I cried for long, in the direction gone
Until those tears flowed down the trail
Over the ridges, under the sand
Cleansing the path, washing the stain
Everything was gone, the feelings, the pain
When forever, I thought, you would last
I pray not, to live with you again
Oh my dear long dead past !!!

ONE

2008-02-09T22:58:00.000+05:30

‘One’ book can change your perspective towards life or strengthen those ideas buried deep within your heart, but always took a back seat cause you thought they were eccentric. Yes, it’s ‘One’ by Richard Bach which I would rate much above his master piece Jonathan Livingston Seagull. What a pleasure it was reading this book!! Took me longer than I anticipated, not because I was disinterested to read more, but because every page has so many thoughts that you are forced to close the book and brood over those words. I lived with this book for more than a month and that could have also brought me much closer to it. After ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’ and ‘Five people to meet in heaven’, I had decided to read books on varied topics and not on similar lines. Even though I would say ‘One’ contains traces of similar ideas, it is much profound, more entertaining and keeps the reader captivated despite not being a suspense thriller. I cannot believe I had missed it for so long. Bach is an awesome thinker, entertainer and so much you. You always feel ‘one’ with the author too.

‘One’s’ life is all about the choices you make, about traveling through parallel life times based on these choices, about following your passion, about living life to the fullest, about sailing through your life’s journey with your love beside you all time (rather within you all time), about walking ahead of time and deciding the choices you have to make today, about being able to relate to everyone and everything around you and so much more. Richard and Leslie (rather RiLesChardLie as the author calls, adding that he is unable to identify where one ends and the other begins) fly you through all their parallel lives, helping you identify with each of yours and asking you to introspect each of the moves you have made till date, evoking both pride and regret. A few of his thoughts which could make volumes of writing….

Most of what Pye says in the book asks for a re-read

“Every possible thing that can happen has already happened. There is no future, no past, no time”

“We have infinite choice. Our choices lead us to our experiences, and with experience we realize we are not the little creatures we seem to be. We’re in interdimensional expressions of life, mirrors of spirit.”

“We fly up high and we have perspective! We see every choice and fork and crossroad. But the lower we fly, the more we lose perspective. And when we land, our perspective on all other choices is gone!”

“You’re not two places at once, you’re everywhere at once. And you rule your worlds, they do not rule you”

A Lot of what Leslie says seems practical…

“Everything you’ve said, everything you want to believe is already true. You may not find some of it for a little while, or some of it might take even long, but that doesn’t keep it from being true this minute“

“No one can solve problems for someone whose problem is that they don’t want problems solved”

“No matter how qualified or deserving we are, we will never reach a better life until we can imagine it for ourselves and allow ourselves to have it”

Total new perspectives on issues Richard gives…

“The President didn’t know how to kill a million people, so I did it for him! The bomb wasn’t his weapon, I was his weapon”

Atkin and Tink bind the threads so well…

“Character comes from following our highest sense of right, from trusting ideals without being sure they will work. One challenge of our adventure is to raise above dead systems – wars, religions, nations destructions- to refuse to be a part of them, and express instead the highest selves we know how to be”

“We are each given a block of marble when we begin a lifetime, and the tools to shape it into a sculpture. We can drag it behind untouched, we can pound it to gravel, we can shape it to glory”

There are tons and tons of them on religion, on war, on peace, on companionship…I wouldn't want to put all of them here

Right now, I am deciding when to pull my growly’s throttle to land in the pattern. To be ‘One’ with everything and everyone around..

My Handsome Hulk

2008-02-01T17:39:00.000+05:30

Monday, 6.50 a.m

What a handsome hulk man!!!! ‘Me’ stood admiring him...soo elegant.. need to drive him in such early hours..Sigh..poor chap.. I love him for several reasons (other than the pleasure I derive from driving him nuts, a female chauvinist that I am)... Had watched him with awe when he was my jeeju's beauty[not sure how cause he/she (now me confused) is neither sleek nor ladylike;)) and after going through a gender transformation, she became my he;) [Now you confused..hehehe]... and yeah, you guessed it right... He is my current crush,my first CAR.

7.00 a.m

S and R arrive on time on their bikes. Huge that my guy is, he stood out of the garage, 10 metres from my house, occupying half of the road [attributing it to his size and not my parking skills]. S comes ranting that my man was eyeing her scooty beppu [How on earth is that possible. Has he gone crazy?]

S: Just check out.. Its right on the middle of the road

Me: Your 'pretty pink pep'[read as pink blonde beppu] has to make way for him... he
cannot move around easily.. Grown old[read as graceful.. have to lie.. anything to
avoid a lecture at those wee hours]

7.10 a.m

Now who is this guy on bike driving right into my garage...

Me: Come on man.. Aage chal..

Oops!!!! Sorry.. Its B

7.15 a.m

Me: Chalo Chalo.. All in

What are they doing at a distance!!!!????

Me: Folks.. jump in
S, B, R: Why not throw our bags into the dikki????

Me: Heyyyy waaaiiittt... Nope.. There is a cylinder in there.. What if therez a gas leak and then a small spark of fire…What if your bags get blown up into a thousand shreds.. ur laptops.. ur books.. ur credit cards... all gone in a jiffy and what ifffff [i get enuff clues to keep my mouth shut]

Now therez a round table conference [BANG!!!... thatz the sound of an imaginary table
falling right down from the sky] between S, B and R as to who shall occupy the coveted seat next to the driver (thatz me).. Finally R musters all the courage to.. haha

7.20 a.m

I can sense R frantically searching for something seat ke oopar seat ke neeche...around his waist..

Me: Lemme guess.. your belt???
R: No dumbo...seat belt...Where is it?
Me: How about getting my dad's from home? hehehe... [Only me smiling.. R didnt].. Now… Can I start.. If you guys get so fussy about every small discomfort, we will reach office only after an hour… Then don’t blame my driving skills for the delay. So.. Shall we? [Shall we what????????? Taken to this habit from my bosses]

No other go. S, R and B nod in unison[reluctantly though]... Some 'gus-pus' going on... I hear phrases like life isurance etc etc. Wow man.. Thinking of investment options at 7.20 in the morn.. Amazing folks these are... Me blessed:)

7.30 a.m

S: M getting bored. Why dont you play an audio track
Me: Therez a tape player. Would you want me to play that?
S: Huh..(total disgust) NO... How about RadioCity
Me: (thanking god.. I do not have a single tape in there) Yep... sure..
R: Let me turn it on..

R still figuring out how to switch it on.. 'me' jumps in and sets it right

S: Is this a radio or a transistor. Arent the speakers behind working?
Me: Come on... You cannot expect too much from a 90's model
S: [Jumping form her seat] Niiiinnneeetyy???? How I wish we could mandate that the cars used in the carpool should not be more than 4 years old.. In lines with the transport rules of our company
Me: [Giggle] Sure.. Let us all pool in and get a car for 'me'
S: [Oops!!! Boomeranged]Fiinnnee... Chodo...

S, as always, into her violent aspirations of chopping off the hands of all the cleaners with her kachak katti... she just cant tolerate them hanging around and has innovative ways to chop them off.. R is into his management talks.. B is into his 'save kannada' aandolan and joining S's thoughts of burning down t****u buses...The fire making the day hotter

7.50 a.m

R: Why dont you switch on the AC
Me: [AC? What is that now? ESCAPE ESCAPE.. NO WAY.. I cannot accept defeat.. Nowz gyaan time] How can you even talk about switching on the AC after all the lectures on our green initiative? Do you wanna contribute to global warming and depletion of the Ozone layer? Do you.... [would have gone forever if given a chance]

R cuts it short

R: Np [The goody guy that he is]. Lets open the window shutters. Therez generally not
much pollution at this time
Me: R.... [startled him with my shrieks], not yours
R: [Perplexed]But why?
Me: You suffer from Asthma [Read as it will take me eons and tons of efforts to slide it up]
R: When the hell did I say that? Thatz news for me too[But strangely never opened it.. Lucky me]
Me: [Taking some sympathy for R]. Let me switch on the fan for you

Its on and a huuuugggeee gush of air with all the dust of the world throws up on his face

Me: [Yipppeee]... Oops... I am so sorry..
R: I will catch a respiratory disorder right here..

8:00 a.m

S: I think itz smelling petrol inside the car
Me: Impossible. It must be outside
S: How are you that confident?
Me: It smells petrol when it runs on petrol [My handsome runs on both gas and petrol]..Thank your stars that it is not smelling gas when it is running on gas...
B: hmmmm... was wondering all time as to why the pickup is so slow.. Now I figure out
Me: No comments about my caraaa...
B: OK.. That is the reason why our chauffeur is driving so slow.. [slyishly smiling]

B Not done with it yet....

B to R: Look at that auto da... Moving like a bullock-cart... M sure itz running on gas.. What say???
R: [giggles]
Me: [I act dumb. I take no hints]
R: Just clean your front-view glass na.. I am afraid its a little dirty and might blur your view
Me: Sure...

Wipers on.. Wipe.. Wipe.. Wipe

R: [Yuck.. Looks like someone slung mud on it] Hey, I think it is sparkling now. Lets switch that off..

8.10 a.m

B: What about your rearview mirror... How are you driving without them for so long..
Me: Oops!!!... Thanks for reminding...

Aligning.. sssssqqqquuuueeeekkkkkk

R: I hope you have all your papers in place
Me: What papers??????
R: Your license, RC book etc etc
Me: Nope
R: Whhhhaaaattttttttttt??
Me: No point. I just cannot afford to get caught :))
S: Why!!!???
Me: The gas he is running on is illegal..
R,B and S: WE SHALL NOT SHARE THE FINE!!!!!
Me: [unity andre idu...like I expected] Cool down... you will not have to...

8.20 a.m

Now on outer ring road

B: Why not speed up?
Me: I am already zooming like Michael [Didnt wanna say Schumacher.. That will boil down to just one soul on earth]
B: accelerate above 80 na
Me: No way... [Gyaan time] Have you ever reasoned out why there is a steep increase in the number of accidents on Bangalore roads? Did you read the latest article by Sandeep Barucha [Not sure why I picked that name.. Neither am I in love with any Sandeep nor would I like to fall in love with any of the Baruchas] in Mint [ thatz the newspaper which I am sure S, B or R wouldnt read for nuts] where he attributes 99.9% of all accidents to

speed [S, B and R convinced...80??? thatz like a big joke. He starts wobbling at 60]

8.30 a.m

A strange feeling that my handsome's shifting from Dev Anand's floating moves to Shammi Kapoor's frenetic coggles[which he internationalized as a dance form]

R: [A paranoid that he is]I think we need to stop and check the tyres

But then... this time I think he is right

Me: The front leg's gone... has to be amputated... poor soul..
B: Stop mourning... He doesn’t need your words of comfort...He needs a spare tyre. Shall
bring him back to life in minutes
Me: [Oh shucks... I do not have one... I have to run for my life now... Hold on..
Gaining composure] No way.. he will not limp around with an artificial limb. I will breathe in life to the one he has...
All: [$%@#*#$@#%&#$%$$^%&^@!$#$@%%^$&^*&^*!@#@!$^%&^%&$%]

9.45 and still driving on outer ring road...

NOT AGAIN!!! jhatka maar raha hai yaar!!

Me: [Making a straight face] I need to fill his tank.. gas is almost done

R quickly spots one..

X guy: Can you open the petrol closet?
Me: Wait.. Its not that easy. I need to open it through my keys
X Guy: ??!!!!

Me inserts keys, not into the keyhole, but thru one of the side slits and pushes it open...

10.25 and still driving

S, B and R closing their noses... Smell of smoke and petrol fills the air. Transistor is running 'dum arrre dum... mite gaye hum'... All the cars around zooming past us [feels like the song 'tanhayee' where Aamir's not moving and the whole world's in a hurry]... If given a chance, am sure S, B and R would jump onto one of them. Traitors that they are...Whoz gonna give them a chance...

Me: Wow...I LLLOOOVVEE the smell of petrol.. Dont you guys????

SILENCE!!!!Seems like a lull after a storm [can hear a bomb ticking right beneath my seat]

Me: Neways...Strange are the likes and dislikes of people...

10.40 [PS: I have stopped using a.m ;)]and wow...we are there...

Me: I think we got a little late today..Hey guys, how abt tom? is it gonna be my Ferrari again????

S, B and R perform an 'on-the-spot-learnt' vanishing act..

Tuesday, 6.50 a.m

What a handsome hulk man!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.................

P.S:
Jeeju and S : Comment moderation has been enabled. No point wasting your time ;)

Words

2007-12-25T22:38:00.000+05:30

Words flow through her veins
Fly out of her soul to reach you
But your cold muteness
turn them into splinters of ice
Spear the ground close to her feet
Her warmth melting them into water
Not wanting to let it drain, she gulps it back
Now wanting to speak more
It's the very same words once again
Waiting to moisten your throat and break the silence
Just those few drops she seeks to quench her thirst
To watch satisfaction smile, to sense the joy of life

Dance

2007-11-14T10:22:00.000+05:30

Breathe into her the jingles
of those anklets to which
her spirits leap high
Feet drawing sinuous patterns in air
She slides, pulls, swings, springs
Levitates tirelessly
Fearing to ground
For that fraction of time
the music halts,
her body melts
into a quaggy black muck
The liquid seeping through
Deep into the pores of earth
Leaving behind
An immovable solid rock
Lost steps, deathly stillness
World forgets, she regrets.

Walk into death

2007-10-19T20:13:00.000+05:30

One of my friends questioned, ' How would you wish to walk into your death?' The first one listed was my answer. But now, feels like giving it a serious thought. After all, if given a choice, I would like to try all options. Someone up there might be listening

He: How would you wish to walk into your death?
-----------------------------------------------
Me: Laughing like nuts:))
He: ?!
Me: Old habits die hard
-----------------------------------------------
Me: Walk?? I wish to fly
He: ?!
Me: Now... its my wish you said
-----------------------------------------------
Me: Walk?? I wish to dance
He: ?!
Me: hmmm.. Bharatnatyam or contemporary.. not too sure
-----------------------------------------------
Me: Moaning and crying my heart out in front of a huge crowd
He: ?!
Me: Being true... once
-----------------------------------------------
Me: With a bunch of ppl (ofcourse all those whom I didnt know in my lifetime)
He: ?!
Me: What what? I am scared to walk alone
-----------------------------------------------
Me: With my specs on, a pen and a book in hand
He: ?!
Me: How else do i write my travelog?
-----------------------------------------------
Me: Scheduling all the design discussions of my module at 12, the night of my death
He: ?!
Me: Have always been told 'Make your presence felt'...
------------------------------------------------
Me: Relishing sizzling walnut brownie
He: ?!
Me: Grrrrrr....It's not just any other chocolate brownie
-----------------------------------------------
Me: Truly punching all my friends whom I have been threatening to, since long
He: ?!
Me: Yup, really hard
-----------------------------------------------
Me: Kissing all the venom out of a few I have listed
He: ?!
Me: Wanna see love for me in their eyes too.. But how do i carry the list
-----------------------------------------------
Me: Before any in my family
He: ?!
Me: Too selfish. Can't bear the ache
-----------------------------------------------
Me: Being Emily Dickinson
He: ?!
Me: Watch out... therez a halo behind me
-----------------------------------------------
Me: Screaming
He: ?!
Me: Come on... I am dying..
-----------------------------------------------
Me: Singing
He: ?!
Me: I couldnt all life and thatz gud enough a reason
-----------------------------------------------
Me: Sleeping
He: ?!
Me: Zzzzzzzz.....
-----------------------------------------------
Me: With regrets
He: ?!
Me: Tons of them...I need enough reasons to come back
-----------------------------------------------
Me: Without my blood around
He: ?!
Me: Hiding true colours
-----------------------------------------------
Me: hehehehehehe
He: ?!
Me: ?????!!!!!!!!

Lingers on

2007-10-12T07:44:00.000+05:30

Words of wis-doom to 'NIL';)...

Walking along the less trodden path
Each time I stopped to smell the flowers
Little did I know, when they wither away
their fragrance would still linger on
Bringing me back to those forgotten tracks
Clinching my feet while the world is gone

The poet, the realist, 'you', 'me'

2007-10-10T17:27:00.000+05:30

This onez again a poetry out of a single thought. I am a great fan of 'human thinking'. One thought can make a poem and my day. The title could have been more explanatory, yet I wanna have it cause I started off with this aphorism(I call it so coz it had a lot to say). A bow to the friend who made this statement and thatz the reason 'she' is missing this time.

He sailed over those pugnacious waters
Watching the depths rise above the surface
Unlike his feelings buried deep within
Gulping live fishes, drinking saline water
Barbaric, roughshod for you, way of life for him
Freedom you saw, wrecked emotions he did
Tides and storms, gales and currents
None kindling the waters of his soul
Aware of the calm ferocity of the deep
and the indomitable energy of the immensity
All of it felt so real, his survival,
Rocking in his sea cradle to
dauntlessly walking into a watery grave
Nothing orphic he saw in any of those creations
His life sailed on those waters, watched over by the sun
But when he looked up to the rainbow,
his blue eyes dreamt to walk onto the land
Not to handle the adze and mauls, caulking and planking
But to live those green, brown and colorful dreams
To gather those wild strawberries from the valley
Shlep it all the way to the mountain top
Smear his face with the pollen of wildflowers
Gulp down nectarous honey, rest on the green bed
He always longed to travel into the horizon,
The thin abstract orphrey of the ocean, sky and earth
Into which melded his well articulated ballad and contemporary reality
He wished to walk across unnoticed from the waters onto the land
There his abstraction would transform into reality
There his dreams would appear real and his harsh reality a past dream
For you, all of land seems real,
You dream to fly, to sail, to scatter, to sink
His soul wished not to fly, not to sink, but to choke
To be trapped under the tightly packed dust, to sleep into his dream.

Second shot

2007-10-03T09:23:00.000+05:30

Why am I calling it a shot when my intent is to miss the bull's eye. You call it a shot when you shoot all the way to win, else you call it a naught (sounds rhythmic) :)). There is a lot of thrill in missing it than hitting it. Let's say I hit it... the yearning to win is lost and so is the desire to excel. I would have lost the battle by winning it. I would have gained little knowledge and explored much less only because I have won even before I knew it all. There is a whole list of things I do to win and wish to lose because I just love to play. But again, I cannot play to lose. Only when I give it my all and then fall behind, I discover my shortcomings and I would give my everything to make it perfect. All the buildup was to win. When the dart detached itself from the muzzle I had asked it to strike the bull's eye. But only when it's close to the finish line and I was sure of it hitting the bull's eye, I dictated it to digress. I would never approach the buildup itself with an intent to lose for I would have lost it even before the game. It is so much fun if I am striving to excel and would like to win not because I want to win, but the urge to excel has died, I have stopped enjoying it and would like to sign it off with panache. Afterall... the winner takes it all.

It was all for my second shot that led to naught;)

http://www.sampada.net/blog/nagashree/01/10/2007/5830

ಉಕ್ಕಿಹರಿಯುವ ಭಾವನೆಗಳು

2007-09-16T13:06:00.000+05:30

'Language's just a medium to express your emotions' - One school of thought says. But then the other says 'It has a major role to play in the expressions themselves'. Which school of thought I belong to? I am not sure :).

Giving my first shot at kannada poetry writing and this onez for my mom.

http://www.sampada.net/blog/nagashree/16/09/2007/5705

Don't wanna read garbled text? Install the files meant for east asian languages. Control panel -> Regional and language options -> click on languages tab -> check the 'install files for east asian languages' checkbox and you are all set :).

Perennial flow

2007-09-07T18:29:00.000+05:30

Cold lonely nights
Forlornness bitterly bites
Excogitating heartrending fights
Burying them along with the lost ruins
Unperturbed she flows with elegance, cautiously
Dodging the fire from the shells
Gulping a few under her throat into her womb
Rinsing the sturdy footsteps of the people fled
Washing away the stains of heavy bloodshed
She has learnt only to flow
The dark Golan or the white Hermon
She doesn't really want to know
She kisses even the craggy terrain
The crest, the trough, the insipid plain
This mystic beauty belongs to none
Neither the Jews nor the Syrians
Nor Nimrod, contriving to bind her in his arms
She has learnt only to quench a man's thirst
Etching deep furrows marking her course
And a deeper unsatiable lust in his heart
But then she has learnt only to flow
Stagnation strips her of her chastity
Alone she conquers the beauty of her very run
Into the veins of the present
Its only during those cold lonely nights
The fire, the heights, the depths reunite
To instill the fear of the unforeseen future
Against the backdrop of her varied ruinous past
But all fail to repress the vigor in her soul
Cause she can be seized, but not her flow
Scripting the path she yearns to follow

A single sip

2007-07-18T15:17:00.000+05:30

Five friends and a table
Sipping coffee, reading thoughts
Five colors and one palette
Starkly contrasting each other
One canvas, one picture
One single connect
The brush, the friendship
Known each other for long
Not long enough to know
Innumerable questions, fewer answers
One stroke, one blush, drawn inferences
Untrue they know, truth they don’t
Coffee is done, painting’s undone
One muzzy picture
Shall meet again
Discover each other
Not with intent though
A new canvas, a new attempt
Not with passion though

Demystifying dreams

2007-07-17T20:31:00.000+05:30

Unknown land and the old man
His fiery eyes and that profane oath
Those mystic tunes and familiar spirits
Waking up to this recurring dream
With no fear in heart, instead thoughts
Of the land and its fervor
Of the man and his choler
Of his eyes and its vengeance
Of those words and its relevance
Of the unsung hymns and its mystic rhythm
Of the spirits of the past
And its transmigration into the present
She longs to explore
For there’s always more
Than what is seen, smelt and heard
Than what is felt and savored
Yet she ignores all
Concealing those thoughts
Under the dark veils of the night
For she has been taught
To live in the present
Plan for the future
Without hinging to the past
But don’t they forever last?
Those occult memories

Moments

2007-07-02T20:06:00.001+05:30

Few, lost to ignorance
Others, whiffed away by mundane affairs
Many, Unheard in the din
Some, snitched by her own men
Countable remained, she swore by them
Until gagged by that unseen hand
But hope’s not lost
Today she is busy
Building some, accumulating many
Of those prized moments
Coz her life lies in living them

Inside the shutters and across

2007-06-11T13:06:00.000+05:30

Unmade decisions
Scattered thoughts
Nothing’s moving
Except jittery hands
And clacking lips
Eyes roll
Over those heads
Across the shutters
Onto the life
Of that street urchin
Her scrawny hand stretched
Asking for more
From the lady
Inside the dazzling limo
The lady has a million thoughts
Driven by guilt and pity
She opens her handbag
Undecided, hands over a note
In place of those coins
She watches the kid run back
To her mother
Thrilled by the booty
The kid’s back to the street
Regret in the lady’s eyes
‘Decision’s made’
Thoughts zoom back
I nod in unison
Reluctantly though
For I realize
It can never be

Stripped

2007-06-11T12:00:00.000+05:30

Bleached those fibers with care
Held the warp taut
Heddle and harness in place
Twirled the wefts around
Stitched those flying flares
Added colors bizarre
Prinked herself with pride
All knots deftly tied
Sailed out of those dreamy clouds
Onto the undraped grounds
A step into reality she took
And her very beliefs were shook
The long and beautiful gown
Ripped - came sliding down
Riving fabricated dreams
Unveiling naked themes
The blow was hard to bear
But she stood numb - nude and bare.
Clinging on to the broken threads
Breasting the storm with those shreds
Thought neither love nor lust
Her faith in him had bust
Thought not of memories old
Buried deep below the dust
No smiles, no tears, nothing left
No tunes or patterns of hope, bereft
It was just one thought that lingered on
Was it the warp or the weft?

Enlightenment

2007-04-06T11:58:00.000+05:30

Passions buried, knowledge vanished
Career doomed, family failed
Dreams crumbled, money risked
Roads untraversed, those tread lead nowhere
Another carrefour, and now she knows
What choice was all about

Backbreaking responsibilities, tons of committals
Kids to tend to, a family to answer
Unpaid bills, dearth of resources
Strenuous jobs, unheard leisure
Another seeking hand and now she knows
What freedom was all about

Death’s so near, feet’s so cold
Dried up tears, spangs baneful fears
Hope filled heart, loved ones depart
Spirits begin to fade, bier closely laid
One skipped breath and now she knows
What life was all about

Dark-nesses

2007-03-23T19:33:00.000+05:30

Walking alone along the dark-ness
I realized how dark it was
It was not just one dark-ness
But a cluster of dark-nesses
One dark-ness is where he stands
I know not him
A stranger to me
Another is your abode
You not a stranger
Yet unknown to me
The last one is mine
Neither a stranger
Nor unknown to me
Yet I know not her spirits
I know not her fate
Have been together
But never learnt her traits
I know not her thinking
Never felt her feelings
Now like an owl
All day I howl
With my eyes shut
But longing to see light
And when its darkness again
All pain I feign
And into HIS ears bark
For birthing me in dark

Thoughts

2007-03-18T11:33:00.000+05:30

Gripped my life, my breath, so tight
Choking me hard, I longed for riddance.
Their presence, their pattern, had got so trite
Furcating more, and more mayhem.
Then you said ‘Share it with me’
So I did, thought will be free.
Lost were the thoughts;
But morphed into words
And your percepts
Which forever remained.
Thoughts were better, they belonged to me
And once buried new ones I could see.
Then you said ‘Merge with the void,
Experience nothing, thoughts devoid’
I closed my eyes, sat for hours,
Emptiness pervades; nirvana showers.
Then you said ‘You won the game
For seconds you lost all of them’.
But a thought whispered slyly to me,
‘Lost you did all, but for one,
All time you thought having none’.

Death sniffer

2007-03-16T20:29:00.000+05:30

I know you are not here for me.
I hear you growl and snarl,
Knavishly waiting at my doorstep,
Can smell that deadly toxin
Dribbling down your venomous jaws.
But I know you are not here for me.
Through my veins runs the potion
Of immortality, I dread not you.
Built walls of gold,
Windows of steel,
Doors so strong,
Me - never your meal,
Lived all life that I will always be,
I dread not you, immortal me.
Made dreams which were never brief,
Etched my fate, effaced all grief,
Fostered my kin, bound them to me,
Coz I always conceived I ruled thee.
But now when I hear you so close,
I wonder this trail why you chose
How did you ever reach this far?
And why did I leave the door ajar?
Why are the walls melting down?
What are these voices I hear around?
Answers to none I foresee,
I know, I know, you are here for me.
Waiting to snuff out life, setting it free.
But I thought all life that I will forever be.

Colors of life

2007-02-26T11:22:00.000+05:30

Beyond
The grey greasy chimneys
Black charred food
Steely stinking closets
Brown woody wardrobes
Brazen painted faces
Purple forged feelings
Contrived crimson deeds
Lonely blue evenings
Lay those spectacular patterns
Of Gold, yellow, pink, white
Her thoughts strewn with images
Of glory, energy, purity, fullness
Flaunting stylish contours
Impregnating heavenly odors
It was there her soul longed to make merry
While all life she fostered others’ dreams
But justice’s never denied
By the holy hand.
Today she rests there
Her face wreathed with blossoms
Of those vibrant colors of life
At the feet of her death.

Broke

2007-02-26T11:21:00.000+05:30

I longed for answers,
He fired back questions.
I held out to reach his hand.
He threw it up in despair.
I asked for a way out.
He showed me the door.
I begged for moments of freedom.
He set me free.

None to blame

2007-02-02T19:53:00.000+05:30

Dreams stacked
Sentiments twined
Muzzy thoughts put across
Wrapped within failing words
Then your notions pre-conceived
Reply so obscure
It silently dawned
We read life the way we are
Each living in a world of his own
None to blame.

P.S: Attributing this poem to one of my very good friends and critic, 'S'ji who gave me all this gyaan :)..

Unaware

2007-02-02T19:30:00.000+05:30

Huge gallons of water, heaps of sand,
Myriad denizens, a zillion beasts,
Rugged depths, rapturous immensity,
Violent turmoil, unnerving energy;
Yet you see the oceans so serene, so composed;
For those lonely miles stretch betwixt you
Unaware you believe you stand on the shores.

Huge gallons of tears, heaps of hope,
Myriad dreams, a zillion thoughts,
Rugged thinking, rapturous beauty,
Violent emotions, unnerving zest;
Yet you see her so serene, so composed;
For that endless silence echoes 'tween you
Unaware you believe you dwell in her soul.

Just a passing thought

2007-01-10T19:07:00.000+05:30

As the world goes to a peaceful sleep,
Into else's murky code I take a leap,
Walking through it all way deep
I silently exclaim 'what a creep...'

only these words seem to resonate in my ears now(sitting all alone looking at this junk)

Agnizing reality

2007-01-05T17:47:00.000+05:30

Unheard, unsaid the silence screams;
Deep within are unknown dreams;
She smiles, she simpers, behind her tears;
Unanswered inquisitions remain and untold fears.

She walks along an un-tread path,
In search of that blissful bath;
She strives to touch that divine goal;
The darkness seems to kill her soul.

She stares into the clear blue sky;
Those images flash before her eye;
As the mystic power engulfs her sight,
The black clouds filch away her might.

Aggrieved she questions the divine ambience
It is then speaketh the LORD to her in deep silence
“Seek the real as the unreal dominates all appearance
The dark clouds, the missing path and the unanswered inquisitions.”

Dream chase

2007-01-03T20:07:00.000+05:30

Ground beneath - a burning cauldron,
Breathing smoke and virulent gases;
Scorching heat, millions swelter
Living dead, pandemic encompasses.
Heart yearns to sail amidst those snowy clouds
Tearing open these filthy shrouds.

Incendiary speeches, fire-breathing seminaries,
Belligerent crowds conjuring battles;
Colossal mausoleums built of human shreds
Violence gripping, only death rattles.
Heart hankers for a stride in the silent waters
Away from this land of carnage, of slaughter

Quivering hands, hollowed pupils, jutting ribs;
Unsavory cash, rich underbellies, reprobate glamour;
Lost mercy, unheard ethics, breached decency;
Obdurate souls, frigid feelings, deathless clamor;
Heart longs to live in one world, made of one race
One life, one goal and one dream chase.

I belong not to you...

2007-01-03T20:06:00.001+05:30

I belong not to you oh earth,
But to the flaring skies;
My love dwells in his open arms
And my dreams in his eyes.
Moments I may quench your thirst
And wipe away your cries,
But have to depart when my role is done
Coz it’s there my abode lies.

Binding me close to his heart,
I wonder what he fears.
Another athirst, another friend
I walk down as he tears.
Pains to see him lonesome and hurt
Fly back to bring in his cheers;
Letting go my self yet another time
To answer those unheard prayers.

Freedom ceded

2007-01-03T20:05:00.001+05:30

Her lips have been sewn.
‘Twas not just a needle prick,
but spikes jabbed into her ribs.
Death’s dirty stench smothering her soul.
A boulder down her throat,
Thrust so mercilessly.
Now asked to speak;
Ears fervent to listen.
Stony Silence screaming
the agony in her sour breath.
Every shriek ripping her spirits apart
But unheard, her snivel subsides.

Thy presence

2007-01-03T20:03:00.000+05:30

The sea’s so dark, so vast, so dense;
Clouds carry gallons of tears intense;
With winds beaming their venomous stare,
I stagger for a grasp of trust, of care.
Foul scent of solitude – too bitter to bear.

Walking along those woods so wild,
Nurturing every twig, every grass I find,
Jabbed by thorny shrubs raspingly reviled,
I ask for a touch- love safely twined.
Unable to rest my forlorn mind.

Tunes of joy, of pain, I hear;
Melodies and maladies of thoughts unclear;
Coiffing the arrhythmic jingles of despair,
I seek for a heart to take my blare.
A song I made - not a soul to share.

But while I hum alone the song of my life,
I faintly hear the tune of a fife.
As I tread those woods in the dark,
Aren’t those fireflies showing me the spark?
The sea, the winds, their spirits binding me,
Crying out in unison the presence of thee.

Broken baggage

2007-01-03T20:02:00.001+05:30

‘A portrait of an unknown man
Shreds of a wrecked toy tram
A blunt arming sword, a broken pan
Feathers, twigs, that was all ma’am
Maybe just another craggy cane
Nothing to drive you so insane’

She looked at the porter, a point blank gaze
Not a tear to shed, not a word to speak
Took the broken baggage into her brace
Wandered a few steps, her eyes looked meek
‘That was all, that was all’, he did say
But in that broken treasure, all her memories lay

She stood there staring at the shattered frame
Of Lord Vishnu whose hymns she sang as a child
The holiness of the deity was of such great fame
To bring it home her grandpa, tread in the wild
Wore a wet dhoti, all way chanting his name
But now on earth it lay…none to blame.

The feathers were of those fowls in flight
Whom she raced against the breeze of the groves
In the hours of peace from dusk to night
She had garnered the twigs from the mows
The straw carts, the log hovels, the firelit skies
To bring them back no wealth would suffice

In the uncut grooves of the rugged cane
She felt her granny’s lustrous silvery mane
Through the toy tram’s bust up edgy pane
She witnessed her brother’s health lento wane
The handleless pan, the greasy coaled stain
All of mom’s love it did contain

‘Shattered are the chords that recited old verses
Paralyzed lie the moments of joy, of pain
Can you return to me those converses,
The magic, the awe, the innocence, all again
Lost is the redolence; vanished - the glimpses of my sand
Now where do I seek refuge on this distant land?’

A # on the spreadsheet

2007-01-03T19:58:00.000+05:30

My heart seems void for reasons unknown,
Gasping for air from deep within;
There is joy and love in the air around,
But my soul lies numb, swathed by sin;
A life of virtues I thought I had lead,
Still a guilt so strange is driving me dead.

Huge knowledge I have learnt,
Mansions and money neatly made,
Great name I have earned,
Tricky games wisely played;
But seems like the treasure of life is lost;
The feelings, the emotions, everything’s frost.

Filling life into a buggy lifeless code,
I had no time to build a love-filled abode;
Trying to win a hitless run,
Failed as a father, a lover and a son;
Stony solitude now sinking in on me;
Not a ear to hear my silent plea.

Walking along the path of life,
Did I fail to smell the sand ‘neath my feet?
Success and riches, all of them in rife,
Broken relations I forgot to cleat.
Do I have a name, for u to greet?
I’m a ‘nobody’, but a number on the spreadsheet.

The Satan in my writing

2007-01-03T19:56:00.000+05:30

It has been days since I sat at my desk with my diary wide open in front of me, waiting for my feelings to be poured out onto those plain white sheets. But today I do not feel like writing anything on them. The pages look so pure, with absolutely nothing on it.. so calm.. so composed… I am still gazing at the unblemished chastity in the pallor which had started reflecting on my face, as pale as the spotless white thing in front of me.. Should I really fill those sheets with the colors from my ink? Will the rosiness of those colors reflect on my insipid face? No. they shouldn’t... if they do, the remorse feeling in my heart will begin to pervade every corner of my soul, every drop of blood in my flesh blaming me for being a hypocrite, pretense reflected in each letter of my writing.
A warrior who holds a pen should always speak the truth, speak her feelings, speak her heart… but how much of my writing speaks the truth? Truth is always backed by courage… courage to speak your heart; courage to stand by your stance; courage to voice your opinions regarding issues without thinking about what people may think about you; courage to face the repercussions of your writing. But I have never been daring. Each piece of my writing reflects the best of my character.. But the Satan in me… He has also got something to say. No individual is perfect. There is no hero or no villain as our popular hindi movies portray. Every character on this earth is a muddled up combination of both and so am I. But I have never allowed the Satan in me speak.. I have never given him an opportunity. But why? Am I am afraid that people will not accept him.. Why is the image of a Satan so tainted? After all he too has an individuality of his own. He is one of the “rasas - kapata” in the “navarasas” portrayed in most of our hindu epics. Why is always Ravan called the sinner and Ram - the virtuous? Does that imply that I am writing only Ram because the crowd can hear only Ram from me? But I claim to write for myself; I claim it’s not me, but my soul that writes; I claim to fight the battle of my life with my pen in hand and my soul in its ink. This is where I am being a charlatan – a total fraud. I can see the Satan in me smiling at my plight. However his silent screams can never be heard by anyone. I have sewed his lips tight enough that even his loudest shrieks are cloaked under the arrogant whispers of my so called virtues - those virtues which have painted an attractive image of my own self to the people around me. People today seem to laud my good doings; my merits; my intrinsic worth because I have always been portraying Ram and not the dark fact of life - Ravan. Wow!!! Life looks so tailor made for me. I am such a honey.. a sweetheart.. a virtuous lady. But I want to tell the world some day that this is not all of me. Dying are those few dark hidden secrets of my life which I fear to speak to anyone, probably even to myself. What if someone overhears them? A lady is always a lumber room of dark untold truths which she would never ever reveal to anyone. But my writing can never be complete till I ink all of them on to those white sheets. I know that my life will no longer remain so tranquil and so serene once these splashes of dark colors paint those white papers. Henceforth I will no longer remain a coward. I was born a warrior and will continue to live up to it. Shhhhh!!! Vigilant... the Satan seems to be playing his wicked sport on me. Lights are turned off. Darkness has pervaded me from all directions. I look at my desk. Even those white papers no longer wish to home my true feelings. The Satan continues to stare into my green eyes… the wicked curve on his face mocking at the pen in my quivering fingers… I have lost the battle… yet another time.

Ashed dreams

2007-01-03T18:31:00.000+05:30

My feet sunk deep in the loose sand
Waiting to be rinsed by those divine waters;
A huge wave came washing all feet.
Why did it just leave out mine?
Washing away all my dreams.

My hand stretched out to pluck the bloom
Long enough to seize and admire;
One strong gush blew away the stalk.
Why did it just carry away mine?
Blowing away all my dreams

Now was the time to glean my reap.
I embraced the harvest in my arms.
One ravaging fire burnt all down.
Why did the flames conflagrate only mine?
Burning to ashes all my dreams.

The portrait

2006-12-15T11:39:00.000+05:30

The canvas is here, the colors too;
Looks so pristine, but dispiritedly blue.
Images strewn all over the sheet,
Bear a meaning, yet incomplete
Together we avow to breathe in life
Rinsing it with colors all so rife.
Elegant streaks I fondly make
For your unfeigned passion’s sake.
Then you take on and fill in those gaps,
Printing your thoughts, more candidly perhaps.
We pour out our soul, all our heart,
Deeply engrossed in the abstract art
Painting unknown forms, etching huge dreams,
At times picking designs from eldritch themes.
We go on and on, it never seems to cease
Bathing in the waters of Elysian peace.

As you brushed fondly those vivid lines,
A view so strange caught my eyne;
Some of those colors, a few of the signs
Seemed not your work, nor was it mine.
Curious to know more, drew even close,
Unveiling the mystery of how the figures rose.
Each time you brushed and left a splotch,
An unearthly hand made up the blotch.
Fresh images, vibrant colors you innately drew
A bold pro perspective he construed.
Unwisely touted that it was just me and you.
But there was one more all way thru.
The canvas is here, the colors too
All shades of life we shall imbue.
Our focus, our spirits never to fade
Till life’s portrait is perfectly made.

Sunset at the beach

2006-12-14T21:08:00.000+05:30

Evening’s crepuscular charm,

Crimson red streaks,

Love’s divine arm,

Soul within speaks,

Sun silently fades

Solemn vows genuinely made

Here I stand in god’s own land

Besieged by fire, water and sand.

Footprints etched you may say

These rocks these corals greatly betray;

Then the water and its blues

So serene, so deep, leaves no clues;

Fire above and fire within

The drive, the zest, loudly breathing.

I drink the water, breathe the fire,

Walk the sand, brace the desire

To imbue the beauty, make it my breath

Breaking these shackles of life, of death

Solitude

2006-12-14T21:07:00.000+05:30

In sorrow, in pain, when life’s so screwed,

Caboodles of strength he imbued.

In joy, in love, when laughter hued,

He watched in silence my childlike mood.

Years have passed, no joust, no feud;

Always in harmony, me and my solitude.

If I can stop one heart from breaking

2006-12-13T17:05:00.000+05:30

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

-Emily Dickinson

None of my poems wud ever match a caliber of this sort.. Wanted to have a good start and hence this post...

Every action need not have a reason...

2006-12-13T16:42:00.000+05:30

When you share urself with others, life begins to find its meaning;
The time you touch the hearts of others is the moment you truely start living...

Probably those r the two lines (not mine though) i need to start this with... nothing more and nothing less. This space will just be a repository of my poetry, my passion which means a lot to me.