wish you a morning –
in missing courteousness,
days crowned in sparkling diadem
and arrogance in mighty powers
subverting, in its supremacy yet again;

wish you a morning –
in subdued diabolic senses,
days balancing on splinter woods
and stuttering in impaired speech
has fallen flat on its words yet again;

wish you a morning –
in incomprehensible subtleness,
days laced in velvety silky fringe
and vagabond peace in shrillness
has come home to breads yet again.

A country that laments the absence of winter can hardly enjoy the essence of spring. It is late January and the mind invariably returns to days marked by festivities welcoming spring .....the turbid waters of Ganges (heralding seasons of green fields and yellow flowers) swollen with the fragrance of ecstasy..... I am at a loss ..... complete loss .....

the doggerel verses languor
yearning for a form nay
in seasons of spring
even the fritinancy of cricket
yearns for monsoon's frills ...

The hot afternoons gather dust here and I am again taken back in my times where spring would tease the knots of winter slowly .. somewhat steadfastly animating the colours of violet on a wide screen for small mortals like me to gauge and gaze and appreciate.

Sighs! the appreciation is only in memories, memories that has tangled itself with the soil of my skin. I look out at the virile sky who looks madly and deeply in love with the moon tonight with curious onlookers waiting expectantly for them to make their next move and as time continues its enfleshed dreams I see no movement ...... no movement yet again tonight ..... making me wonder what happened to their love stories .... the eternal love stories … there I see desires but desires that are not sought and I look again … this time blankly at the solitary smiling moon … remembering …. just plain remembering ....

give me another moon to last
the moon I saw the other night
of white muslin floating over
memories patterned in black & white
whose dainty feet above slender grounds
whose sandals encased in wimple strides
whose silence draped in charnel nights
whose colours rain radiantly bright ---
whose colours rain radiantly bright!!

do you think on days like this
miracles will smile with exuberance;
(this bleak visage of the night
draped in black somber bonnet
looking with supplication
over the laid back winter sky)

whose wind seduces spring
melodies in lower octaves,
spasms of affliction painting
paths of miraculous effulgence;

one by one
miracles - -
one on one
miracles . . . . . .

silent strokes of steeple bells
and halcyon balmy .. airy nights
even their euphony in -
(unpoetic verses
unryhtmic songs,
clamorous screams
settling affright,
brazen winds
longing deserts
and muted desires)
tells those tales
(of lissome oceans ...
and purling waves ......
of enameled touches -
and humbled prays)
of your small notes
and weaved letter,
and bucolic songs
of shepherdess and swain, -
of you and me
(and all of them); (today)
mirror speaks language same
entangled in single solitary twain ....

was she bothered
engrossed in her mind
thoughts … thoughts
unlike flowing breeze
(whose heart could smell
of fragrant silence)
thick hard shells -
rock hard -
shell hard -
like a gaze fixed
(instinctive twilight
administering - - -
crimson heights)
whose moving body
sets afire
fire burns fire
or is it -
she was just too bothered
when nobody else bothered
(whose rose would smell
still distinct
distinct - - - -
as roses always would always believe)

the clouds looked different today,
haunted by black angels
wandering thru vales abyss
wanderlust at best
carrying -
undulating tears of joy
or just perhaps ----
burdens of boundless tears;
its way who never knows
its path who never realise
through unfathomable chasms
and countless mountains tall
dismal love of its tarn
has yet again,
completed its journey beyond;
few drops of kisses unto you
silently surging …..
………………..fallen resiling sky.

tired of exhaustion
seeking divine
rest for an hour
lost in a busy year behind;

of a lighted cigar
by the green doors
a chaise rocks the cottage floor,
moves to and fro -
the painted memory
rendering the aerial shore.

his peace envies me beyond words today
where for another sky he never lived
ever so serene
ever so calm
ever the satiety
in air surround.

the sun that came this way
all of today
what day
what time
what lies
what rhymes …..

and then his victory
cheers - - -
to all his and mine.

In the midst of glory
I was plodding around;
Came to a hut, dilapidated & round;
Lay a woman with rags on.

Her two children
Shoved in a corner,
A paper hiding
The naked body of theirs;
The empty house ----
With nothing around
But the emaciated mother
And the sick children's frown.

Tears floating down her cheeks,
Her body shuddering,
A picture of desperation ---
A picture of frustration ---
Fighting with the world and herself
She being defeated once and again.

I asked her who she was
I asked her why she was here
I asked her how she reached here
Bearing an unbearable silence, she answered none.

An unending pause, --- disturbed
Said she ----"Who am I, know I not
I have no work, no food to eat
Burnt in my mind are events past
My children like beggars
But we are not beggars.

I promised her food
But she refused
She wanted work
That I had none ---
And I came out,
My self respect bowing in front,
My helplessness coming in front
"Oh! God where have I come?"

Who doesn’t like numbers and numbers especially when they quantify a journey. The last post was my 100^th poem (read more as scribbles) on this blog. This is a poem (a repost) that I had written almost 10 years back for my school magazine. The date in my diary reads Jun 14, 1997.

I generally do not read my writings over and over again. I actually lose track of them after a few days but I have read and reread this poem several times over these years. It has a sense of helplessness in it that questions my sensibilities when going gets wrong … especially making me appreciate other’s sensitivity … making me aware that there are less privileged people than me but by no means lesser in self respect …. and at the cost of not going overboard making me understand what being humane is all about … I thought it is a good time to revisit the poem.

And lastly a thank you note to all of you who have taken out your time from your daily schedule to read me … thank you all

from the distance that you see the light
will be yours -
from the distance that you dream
will be yours ;

in woodlands where senescent night breeds
and lies awake like cascading lava rills,
on a broad road highway where with wizened eyes
the moon starts gazing with a lover’s sight,
come lets stroll until we stride;

at the end of the liquescent highway lies our path
where the other morning had built a similar structure
but without form and had called us to have a look
in tremulous lights where only heart could sight
and till we see, come lets walk till we stride;

my city will watch as we pass, by the houses beside
in torn clothes and messed hairs but crystalline face
and mutter and whisper tales of our love to their lover,
with blood on our hands we will reach the weir
and till we reach, come lets walk until we meet;

and when at the site our eyes would meet
with shame the dim lake will breathe -
and ablution of our sin will surely concern
the existence of ghoul haunted seer
and till they learn to live, lets walk still;

from the distance that you saw the light
will then be yours -
from the distance that you dreamt
will then be yours;

the heart that had bled yearning
will then be yours - - -

innocence of morning winds
over the ashen skies,
whose leaves withering
and seer of cypress wreathes
and bitter oleander’s pallor
bades adieu to the crescent scene - -

and,

the penultimate fight for each life
even those flickering nights
but must die for death in stillness
will make alive … the dawn’s sight -
whose limbs will feed the brittle day
and blood will wash memories away - -

now -

let us go out over that place, where
lover’s complacence of violet space
has marked the land of erstwhile brave;
and break free shackles of restful peace
look through the prisms of nascent glow
to the second birth of our moral soul.

Burning time on low heat fire
slowly .. steadily … tediously -
as it melts I look solemnly
at few words dissolved
into drops of scatted ink
like heated fire
spreading ... flaming ...
intensifying the gathering air
as brazen winds push the casement
and phantoms await encroachment
as storms build their mighty force
and awaits their loud captain - -
Shall we wait, asks myself
Shall we run, asks again
as mind holds fort over thy rein
and heart gallops to a country
far on northern plains
I find my sun beside me
beneath my clouds awakened.

Today I will walk with you to infinite
through the essence of wetland grass
whose fragrance our bare feet smell
and inveigles impassioned pleas
to consign your perdition upon me;

I will walk with you to forbidden seas
of barbarous waves ignoring heed
whose winds conceit of forever love
and beckons lost life on alien coasts
to redeem your grace on innate shores;

I will walk with you to orion’s abode
listening to dove’s testimonial soul
whose sonata sways in oriental winters
and charms your smile in small starlight
to aerial harmony in dissonance’s might;

Today I will walk with you hands in hands
all I ask for, is your walk to all those miles ....