Lapsus Calami

2010-04-05T09:19:00.000+08:00

Faded tones of early morning clouds with a hint of cold wind stands testimonial to all those transitory passions, delusional affections and ephemeral remnants of transparent love…. Everything else passes by

2010-01-24T19:15:00.001+08:00

time and pace ... a bit more, a bit slow ....

2009-07-12T11:12:00.005+08:00

Through the unrest of yesteryears you stood silently over the inoffensive radio conversation, looking out to the silent dell across the wooden frame of a misplaced window; chewing inorganic thoughts of unaccounted wisdom and lackadaisical trust.

Gun down the mild mannered stars looking down from its azure abode where innocence is cheaply available and shared at a princely sum. Trusting them would be fatal. Answers will be at a premium for those who would not be coming back from the milky terrain of un-dwelled universe. Of course questions will be forgotten after three nights of hotbed curfew on roads.

2009-02-11T20:33:00.008+08:00

The shadow on that wall is yours. It doesn’t have your physical vigour but I can read that pristine mind; The clearness of vision, the strength of understanding, the precision of thought.

Don’t look at me like that. Yes, I am mindful of what had transpired between us last night. I can still sense your leap from the corner of our room. The rest as they say is history, buried peacefully in my recesses.

You called me a lousy dreamer. That we all are. We all are weaving magical dreams. Its just that the fabric is different and the art copyrighted.

2009-02-07T23:32:00.007+08:00

He kept walking promising himself at each step, the state of emotions that he desired. But then discontentment is addictive … one despises it .. grows tired of its capers but some where deep down loves its quarrelsome nature like a man in love with a termagant.

Discontentment is deep rooted in desires. “Desires … Bah!”, he thought. And he kept walking further and further towards the prairie. The beauty bogged him down. The landscape humbled him and he wondered, how could all that was troubling him could have troubled him so much. Inconsequential. And he lighted another pack ….

2009-01-27T14:32:00.014+08:00

You wouldn’t know me least of all recognise
O Himalayas but I do,
For as long as I remember reading through
books written about you,
My un-sharpened lanceolate blades of memory
drew grains of inspiration from you.

I look up through the haze of vagabond clouds
across visible horizons
Where you stand tall
through vicissitudes of primal living
I wonder again, would I live that long.

2009-01-24T13:40:00.016+08:00

Look at the vast expanse of unbridled sea. Calmness that rests in unhindered existence, far away from human affirmations. Beliefs that are owned and treasured. Confidence that there is co-existence.

Let me sit back and reflect. For this moment at least.

And as I work through eons of unexplained opinions, malice and prejudice let me regain the calmness of naught, beliefs that are mine and confidence that we will survive.

Let us not talk. For some time indeed.

Switch off the lights dear.

2008-12-31T13:44:00.023+08:00

31st December 2008. The last day of an extraordinary year. In few hours time an episode of a roller coaster ride will be over.

And all that will be left is nostalgia. All that will remain is the certainty of past. What we will see is a definite place in the history books; What we will remember is an unusual package of love, hate, betrayal .... friendships, bondings, break-ups ...... avulsions and havocs. What we will realise is how real life had presented itself in a garb of weird enchantment.

Tomorrow we will start to gamble again. And if we are courageous enough we will forswear all medial beliefs. We will put wager on the insignificant and evanescent lines of the palmate. Tomorrow we shall take the stage again .... Tomorrow we shall start all over again ...

And for you and me, we take each little step together ....

And in a year's time we would have covered a mile .....

2008-06-15T22:02:00.024+08:00

and with a wry shrug of our shoulders
we let the numinous structures
of individual past dissolve
in the whirling smoke
of filtered cigarettes, sitting
on the rocks of Marine Drive,
littered with several old sins,
buried, now proudly rediscovered -
whose fate, ill-fated to have survived
invective reproach of rumour mills.

“man, those were the days”,
classic clichéd terms we used
and within few minutes, antedate
future artificial scenes
that danced the skank
to the reggae of Arabian Sea; and
admiration for time’s ironical gallows
grew with each passing smoke;
life that returned after a long silent void
on way back home: a long evening on road.

2008-06-14T21:30:00.016+08:00

wrapped in its arms
this early June,
the sky spinner sits
for long hours on a low baluster
and spins the woolen clouds
onto a spindle, tirelessly -
shaping the moist monsoon;

and like a giggling spring rose,
evident in boundless joys of unaccounted
profits; winds up her trade for this season.

This morning, I learnt from one of my friends back in Mumbai, that first rains of the monsoon had arrived. I felt celebratory even though I am thousands of miles away. I don’t know why. And it is almost futile to seek an explanation because there isn’t any available. All I can say is Mumbai Rains are special.

Monsoon in Mumbai is different, say from Calcutta where when it rains, it does so incessantly. Looking at the skies you can predict whether or not it would rain and most of the time your personal forecast would hit the bulls’ eye. Mumbai skies, during monsoon, are almost perennially covered with clouds, which look extremely inviting. You can feel the air that says it can rain anytime. But then she is temperamental. She would dress up, looking like she is on a rampage to kill someone with her drop dead gorgeous looks and then she might just slump in her chair and decide not to go to the party. Sitting in that chair she would look outside the balcony as if she were lost in her present surroundings.

In Mumbai you can get caught in the rains at most unexpected times. Even when you don’t see any clouds, and the sky is as clear as a plain white paper on a canvas, it would just take minutes to form a cloud formation and then .. it would simply rain. Its unpredictability is its highlight. And unpredictability is non-monotonous. There is a beauty in random, non-routine but there is also a definite rhyme and rhythm to it. When it rains in Mumbai, it rains poetically. And needless to say, I miss the Mumbai Rains.

2008-05-19T20:36:00.007+08:00

strange sensations of the fingertips
stalks dark recesses of hidden caverns
traces stealthy movements
breathes flowing pulses,
stops -
holds -
caresses the bare neck
slowly -
slow steps -
step by step,
fulfillment ...
painlessness …
sheer pain ….

the ruby pendant worn-down
on the empty wrinkled bed sheet;

spurious stains of evening skies
standing alone on busy broadways.

2008-05-18T12:18:00.050+08:00

Messages from long lost friends are as scarce as friends themselves. My nonchalant ways with social networking sites doesn’t help either. Given the way people talk about social networking sites these days, I do feel ashamed to admit that I have an account each with two of the big players. I am a moderately active member of one of them and a sleeping partner (not exactly literally) of the other one which was a favour that I had bestowed upon someone, but I don’t remember exactly on whom; it must be some acquaintance or the social networking site itself whom I help generate large amounts of revenue from such an insignificant act of mine as clicking on the site's url.

Well, amidst profusion of no messages, when the mailbox suddenly shouted of a mail from a known acquaintance and an unknown friend, yours truly had no option but to be a little bemused. The insouciant state of being happy without a known friend was suddenly turned into an uncontrollable urge that practically compelled me to follow the link to the site and read what ever was on offer. The “Hi”, was almost bittersweet but the prospect of a reunion party for secondary school leaving batch of 1996 sounded very alluring. The date of-course was not. It was strategically chosen to be somewhere in the next month, which is an extremely busy month for a guy who works for Strategic Planning. Of-course, I accept that it’s more to do with my bad luck than their good fortunes of not seeing me there but then the invitation did set the wheels of school memories rolling. My courteous ‘Hi’ to his message was followed by an enquiry of certain teachers whom I have admired and adored through out my life. One such teacher has been Ms Koyeli Ghosh.

Koyeli Ghosh joined us in the summer of 1994 as our class teacher. She was a phenomenon. She was nothing like what we had seen in all these years. Teachers to us had a very ‘different’ personality. They were like the big wall clock of ebony in front of the main doorway, whose pendulum would swing with a purpose of defining time in a loud, dull and monotonous way. She was different. She had an outlandish air about her, not with her clothes, but with her entire persona that was so “non-teacher” like. She was assigned the task of teaching English Literature. She still teaches English there.

She must have been in her early thirties when she joined us. Graduated from Oxford, we thought she had no business teaching at such a small school as ours. For many months after she had joined, we were still debating (read more as gossiping) as to why she decided to teach us rather than at a college level and do far better for herself. Money was of-course not a criterion because she was presumably a millionaire in those days. We finally gave up but only after having gone through rounds of unfruitful but necessary discussions and debates. Talking in hindsight the job gave her enough flexibility to be occupied, to teach and as well as spend considerable amount of time with her seven year old son, especially when her husband had a job that required extensive traveling.

It was then no surprise that my predilection for her teaching or otherwise would put no restrain on ensuring that I get enough sun tan in a class already filled with luminous stars quite near to the earth than those in the galaxy. The positive vibrations were extremely important if I were to do well in the subject matter of her choice but my preference now. The only danger lay in her liking someone else and any effort was required to ensure that she looked straight at me rather than beveled through the edges of her table. But after sometime it simply didn’t seem to matter.

Her extensive taste in good books, life and music was something extremely endearing and enriching for the students. Her anecdotes, references, allusions, interpretation and descriptions were collected diligently and cherished by yours truly almost like a philatelist. I still remember the first poem that she taught us was D.H.Lawrence’s “Snake”. A life long journey of love for reading, understanding and interpreting poetry had worn its Adidas boots that day. I remember her telling me once, reading poetry is an art, different from writing; one who reads poetry well doesn’t necessarily write good poetry and vice versa. Well she was responsible for making Shakespeare fun and ensuing that we read and discussed him without notes. She explained the importance of translations in one of the most outstanding ways that I remember, by making us translate Rabindranath Tagore’s Bengali poems into English and then reading to us his own translations from "Geetanjali". 'Translation is not translating one word from one language to another verbatim; understand the meaning and translate the meaning to achieve the desired effect, if that is to be ever achieved'. We of-course kicked ourselves in our endeavours and realised why he was the Nobel Laureate and we were studying him. The best aspect of her teaching was going beyond what was written as texts in the books. This might sound clichéd but believe me you must, that this is the most difficult thing to achieve as a teacher.

I was able to build across a sense of camaraderie with her but then that was not as exclusive as I would have liked it to be. She had grown to be one of the favourite teachers of all students irrespective of how they fared in the subject. And that didn’t bother me anymore. She knew exactly how to divide attention to each and everyone of us equally. No more careful walking on stilettos was required because there didn’t exist a desire to have her full attention anymore (or for that matter the fear of falling out of her graces one day) and yet be quaintly happy everytime she called out in her charmingly brusque tone -“Jha”. Yes, “Jha” is what she used to call me instead of “Alok”. The archipelago of memories is what binds me to her even today and I am grateful to that message for letting me remember her in the recesses of a Sunday morning.

2008-05-15T18:26:00.008+08:00

many rounds of black coffee
with futile aversions to white milk -
a round table meeting of two people,
in a round room, beside the chamber
with attractive wooden doors,
winding up the entire summer.

almost like a peignoir, loose and unsound
unarranged for all the seasons: whose questions
this summer; in the vague raining of confetti
gathered together … every year … year by year
in the constant fight of the last battle –
now discussing, deciding on the one survivor.

and the sleuth of afternoon summer sun
assumes the artificial cold of winter; proofs
all in a black binder, neatly folded and arranged
proofs, of all living … lost and dead , buried and found
chronicles of little smoke and all dust; unaccounted
discussed and decided on a round table in a round room.

2008-05-10T13:58:00.019+08:00

many a times -
infact most of the times,
i follow the path of breaks and joints
while i hold few verses …
that fails to articulate
whatever i understand;

sentences that exited --
with or without
my penning them down,
on a piece of white paper
forgotten long time around …
while i break them into three lines
each of the same theme
but of different forms;

he asks me for a simple meaning
and i look at the earth -
and the sun -
and later on
towards
the mercurial moon,
on the long distant -
plain, placid sky
which all along looked at me
for assurance,
that i hoped to seek
in return;

but as monetary as desires are -
i seek gains,
even in broken sentences
and uninterrupted sequences
which i try and make
and fail to break again;

the broken verses
that followed a sequence
of this unknown poet,
in the broken alleys
of small towns
where he looked down
on the lighted thoroughfare,
on several occasions …
days and nights,
of jejune thoughts
or call it juvenile
if you may ….
if you wish ....
to call it that way - -
puerile breathing,
and complex impedance
of an adolescent mind.

2008-05-04T23:29:00.004+08:00

the glass of water
peacefully resting
on the table,
on the other end
of the same room
of the same house;

the glass is transparent,
so is the water
so the cat
black in colour -
right in that corner
seeing it through;

to see through indeed
a six by six vision,
as sharp as it can get
to see through the stillness
of many small crystals
of eristic reasons uncountable;

the glass of water
peacefully resting
on the table,
on the other end
of the same room
of the same house;

the quench of thirst -
that the table understood,
the state of satiety -
that the cat realised,
the reason of everything -
that the corners witnessed.

2008-05-03T23:43:00.016+08:00

Wheel that has evolved

on a certain round notion

goes on and on

without revolution;

I stand at the edge

none the fear of falling

neither the unknown awe’s

revulsion to moving;

Some will land … conquered

where no land exists

beyond shore … sans energy

and quaint infinity breathing;

(and even if the land holds acquaintance

and speaks in funny old language

let him find another plain

and another air in semblance;

let him restrain

the spokes of running wheels

let him rejoice in his victory

of landing on another territory.)

2008-05-03T01:36:00.035+08:00

every written letter saunters

between space and time

somewhere …..

someplace ……

bargaining, trade of an awl

in exchange for a quixotic -

worn courage -

neighbourhood witnessing ....

a popular yard sale.

2008-04-30T20:31:00.010+08:00

but the moon has many shades,
and the canoe still has to sail
distances traveled on plains.
lost raindrops never regained.

(even as thoughts erase memories
you walk on dead grass
leaving your imprints behind)

2008-04-28T22:07:00.009+08:00

the iciness of thin air
hangs over the eaves; and
grey edges of the walled mirror
smiles unrevealingly;

and ...

the gaze of unredeemed
grips my whole body
made of flesh ...
or is it hollowed skin
wrapped around assembled bones
gathered through centuries;

there ...

over the window sills
where silvery moon shines
outside this vacant ….
dull ….. dreary …
oppressively soundless room
where silence .....
quietly ..... silently .....
proposes an unruffled gloom;

2008-04-25T23:10:00.017+08:00

Shall we walk into the mist?
From where no one has ever returned
Where unexplored mysteries sleep
And a haze that explains nothing
Overshadows forlorn belongings;

This is the road that walks there
Where no shadows have ever followed
And no lover has stayed alone
Where with open arms they embrace
The abysses of unclaimed depth;

Where shadows that lived a life
No longer exist,
Where the trembling heart
No longer breathes,
Where journeys no longer pretend;

Let us hide once beyond recognition
Let's today walk into this mist.

2008-04-23T22:32:00.013+08:00

I hold on to you as you fly
High over cerulean carpet sky
Like free, unchained desires
Far away from roadsteads
Tasting the salt of unbound water
Into open countenance of sea’s delight;

I think I hold your strings as you fly
Plunge into chasm of infinite heights
Over white flames where you travel
Caressing neighbourhood horizons; and
I stand augured on the shore watching
As you carouse with fire and winds’ whim.

And as merry a fool as there is one
You remind me of Prehensions and Strings
Whose hold would never matter
If you did not know how to fly -
- Partners in that flight
- Partners in this walk of life.

2008-04-22T22:33:00.016+08:00

window vane -
unwarranted baggage
swaying ….
lost in thoughts -
questions which way to go
- mild winds ..

2008-04-20T20:37:00.008+08:00

when young and relieved this evening
grows on to me ... to be a man
I will look back on his turgid days
and follow him sometime.

when virile sky of this elliptical night
chained and restless, elusive kind
questions me on busy carrefour
and leaps forward ... suddenly .. twofold.

when etch horizon of this folklore
nears the terminus of wrinkled floors
I will walk through caverns of dark light
and carry the bier, holding high.

(every silence sounds different
unrecognised ... unvoiced tales
ensconced in far crevices
so often, galloping miles away ......)

2008-04-17T21:31:00.008+08:00

wrinkled causeries of eider-down duvet

blissful next morning -

testimonials of you and me.

I have hardly ever described you

but you remind me of rain,

whose purling beads of pure ecstasy

mildly paints

and easily

swoons by fragrance of spring

incepted of new breath

and wings my dream.

I never thought I needed to ……….

I never realised .... I could'nt ………

2008-04-16T20:03:00.005+08:00

Night accepts the invitation of another day with seldom seen alacrity.

And the quiescence of sleep rests tatterdemalion blue skies above.

Through many continents my words wander ……

hesitantly through centuries.

The ennui fabric of epithelial prologue

seeks way of eminent tomorrow.

2008-04-15T20:38:00.003+08:00

A virgule nonpareil light slants through his mind ....
--- whose looks can not deceive trained eyes.

Looking / searching through pliant mind on whose surface rusts the rust. And whose wallet searches for impecunious illumination.

It almost rhymed.

It didn’t.

Surely didn’t

But stood out as if its penurious lyricism was almost a blessing.

Almost an assumed freedom.

2008-04-14T19:55:00.003+08:00

Dulcet winds of violoncello plays my room. It has already composed a quartet of an opera, embracing the silence of mutiny ..... of several instruments that propose lying scattered thereto.

Faint knocks on the front door. Listen. Recompense - a pledge not a mercy. Do not look beyond.

I seek not to ignore, not to look away into the distant. I wish not to armour myself against uncalled saccharine glee floating at the corner of my eyes. Smile with less scruple, as I am willing to.

I want to.

I have to.

I shall.

Celebrate.

2008-04-13T09:47:00.009+08:00

“in questioning lies man’s downfall”
- whose rhythm I cannot apostatize
incalculable time spent on naught
whose productivity I cannot belie;

life that breathes after my death
Father will you not question
my meager existence without
betroth to own, in unearned request;

let me seek my own questions
through wastelands apprehend
- stunned by unvanquishable truths
- assume phoenix’s own willful request;

2008-04-08T22:59:00.016+08:00

Favouring tongue bears favouring speech;
So did she tell me in Cantonese
and as difficult an art as crochet
easily differentiates a novice;

I smiled instead,
for words were none
almost like the empty coke can
holding to quench my thirst
on a blank summer afternoon –

Well so does it happen
my empty smile betrayed me
giving away secrets of soul
as always like a traitor;

How long have you been here –
in pure honey coated brisk mannered
English she speaks - - -
I still smile back at her
entranced .. well almost
smiling foolishly …

2008-04-05T22:43:00.023+08:00

memories I come back to you
time and again
through countless tides
on aery sea face
where standing between two shores
we build a bridge of lost eons - - -

of the many years that I rendered you
pilfer my desires for me;

Despite his courage, the insurmountable effect of time’s prowess on his veins can be clearly seen. As they say much water has flown under the bridge and evidently so. I wish one could measure the essence of time. We say quality but then that is so subjective, so human and unscientific prone to hours of discussions, debates and later on comments which these days become so unmanly to most of us (yet we never refrain). He lived his life to the fullest (in all sense of the term) and even these days after 81 years when he speaks he tends to exude a sense of calm that is so inadequate in most of us.

of old flint efflorescent time
uplifting its stony head,
like a solitary star on black nights
amongst unseen, unheard spirits -
strike it bright with shining steel
on this raining night’s dancing ordeal;

of the many years that I rendered you
pilfer my dreams for me;

He does talk of death these days perhaps more than he has ever done in his entire life but then he talks of it as a certainty and not out of self pity. The death of his son in 1998, aged forty four, had left him shattered and weak. He perhaps would have wanted to die at that time yet he survived, survived with scars of time though as well as with all truths, the scars do lighten but never disappear. The fact remains that he grew old faster than he would have done otherwise. In fighting the malaise he showed a sense of resoluteness in overcoming it that is hardly seen these days. Remember he had lost a son whom he loved the most. But through all this he never lost his sense of calm which has always been associated with him. A great man who lives life on his own terms, does the right things and defines what is right, has seen zillions of ups and downs - fighting, surviving and still living with a legacy of how exactly to live a life like a true gentleman (and believe me there is still this concept that is viable).

like many a man past, man will outgrow you
and you will live through me fresh as green
like first rays on window sills
of moments enraptured in countless deeds
flesh in flesh who momentarily believes
where my soul rests, lies my memories;

of the many years that I rendered you
pilfer my moments for me;

2008-03-30T17:27:00.002+08:00

who else will fear the sleet
when infused gentian breathes -
across silent roadsides fallen asleep
and phantom blue mountains foreseen;

little did snow know
whom I have never seen
fears come and go
as life exists …

when winter will surely succeed
and questions whoever wins
happily as today, in this full spring
in blue mountains it will recede.

2008-03-28T22:57:00.010+08:00

peace rules my house
sans noises -
sans cries -
sans people -
sans voice ….

infact mirrors do speak
and I am awaken by a presence
of something … arr somebody
looking through a glass ...

and …

seldom do I realise

friends can be beyond
a structured being
a structured human being;

strike a conversation
strike one indeed,
and you will hear
playful, interwoven noises
arr sounds I mean ...

but …

then, I realise almost solemnly

peace indeed rules my house
for mirrors don’t speak
or do they … or do I
simply conceive .....

Expressions

2008-03-23T19:56:00.033+08:00

ensconced comfortably in cloud’s arms
concealed in her eidetic memory
- from four corners of framed walls;

and as you come nearer, closer
the sense of your fragrant essence
- holds me tight in your lighted gaze;

uncertainty of your first steps
questions my latent desire
- in one moment through eternity;

and let the forbidden evil embrace us
for all nights to come when I am yours
- you the master and I your chosen slave;

Can I make a wish
hold me tight... hold me today ...
for you and me .. yet again.

# pictures taken the night before when it was beautifully lighted by the full moon

2008-03-22T09:52:00.012+08:00

Jointer that holds the wooden table
In a living room so naturally -
Empty a while before, whoever noticed
I still await;
- Forgetful …
- Extremely forgetful …

Spring that’s known to rear a life
In a garden so naturally -
Shivering in cold winds
I still await;
- Forgetful …
- Extremely forgetful ….

A beginning too has a loose end
For a new beginning so naturally -
On a curled dirt mountain road
I still await;
- Forgetful …
- Extremely forgetful ….

I saw the wind travel, northward perhaps
Carrying a sealed letter pale and empty -
Sunny yellow window panes
I still await;
- Forgetful …
- Extremely forgetful ….

2008-03-22T00:36:00.014+08:00

speaking of those almost prince like;
charm that breathes fresh air
and spreads the bloom,
aye! such talented colours
on spring’s bosom
has blossomed again;

wrought thou my art, almost ruined
few moments ago on a lonely chair,
in a yard where droplets silently
kissed the grass under her small bare feet
and her eyes that held a glance
over the ray floret blushing pink
and a sense of joy under a gray roof
- a little persuasion for winds to woo.

2008-03-16T20:10:00.002+08:00

images of hibernal clouds
cling on the terrace walls
a wholesome day of scarce fancy
within lost imaginative prowls;

and the evening’s scarlet sky
assumes infinite scars
with twisted images of an afternoon
curled in an armchair by his side;

amidst mickle of old poems
and few pages of polemic verses
his mind wanders in a coppice -
- star’s search for twinkling lights;

2008-03-16T19:28:00.015+08:00

practice makes a man perfect
time on iron board reduced
productive with each event

2008-03-16T19:18:00.002+08:00

I can feel,
The shuddering of my heart
When I breathe.

I can feel,
A veil of fear passing through my face
Slowly …
So slowly as if breathtakingly.

I can feel,
A voice from within
Which comes out crying loud
Aye! So loud …
As if the man beside me can hear him
I try to shut him up,
But so adamant is he
He kicks my plea out of the ground
And cries more loudly.

He cries ….
I cannot stay with you any more
For you are incomplete
For you are impotent
I cannot laugh with you any more
Cannot play with you anymore
I can only cry and cry with you,
On this treacherous bed of yours
No, no I cannot stay with you any more.

I try to disassociate myself –
From my foes turned friends –
The trembling hand
The overflowing pessimism
I beckon my friends
Those who are trying to run away
I call them long,
I call them hard,
I make an extra effort,
But why will they look back
I am lying on this treacherous bed,
Being Just crippled …..

- Being Just Crippled (March16, 1996)

2008-03-09T18:40:00.018+08:00

I found few change that lay orphaned on the bookshelf. I took a hard look at them for a moment, a little more than necessary, thinking of the least interest I should have in them. But I picked them up anyways.

What world can I buy few pennies
Do I know thy worth few pennies?

What you can buy I can help you decide
Will you follow me undesired?

Few pennies tell me new
Images that lie beyond the dew
And geometric scheme that conspires
Will I bear infinitely supreme powers?

Why then is that undesired
Powers that bore upon your hand
Need not have me conspire.

I looked at the pennies. Three shillings. All of three shillings. With amused satire I thought of power and they looked at me wearing the same attire.

What else can I buy few pennies
If not it's the power that I desire?

My dear friend, my dear friend
Can’t you think of anything but satire?

Will it be peace few pennies tell me
Will it be happiness that I should have undesired
Whose shadows participate in infinite spheres
And yet tell me that I can’t be a sire.

Why then is that undesired
How can I help you find a trodden heart
Whose virtues were considered bemired.

My irritation was now too evident. Pennies that I hardly thought can buy me a cup of coffee were making me question my own desires.

Few pennies, few pennies haven’t I changed
In this convoluting world can’t anew I desire?

You call it a change when left unfulfilled
Over half the tasks abandoned indeed?

Tell me few pennies, tell me last
What can I buy, if not then don’t surmise.

New dreams you dream my friend that I can’t desire
I will help you buy old dreams that left you undesired.

Appalled I stood looking at the three shillings who just bought me my dreams unfulfilled.

2008-03-08T19:48:00.013+08:00

(click on the photo to enlarge it)

To lisp in sighs I haven’t had the time, whose breath smells of the brazen wind and flutters the thread of my bare scalp, livid sometimes with my earliest words, in cold nocturnal nights, I the Child bear upon the signs of life a part of that is death and not otherwise

As my fingers weave a little dream
I dare not say whose path extreme
Dare say dare whose strings tremble
Of sheer tumult amidst flagrant ramble

I haven’t spoken of it for sometime now, whose lines crumble and shiver sometimes of sheer pain and sometimes naked wants, needs and deeds succinct, whose lines mark my open palm beside a cold knife’s accompaniment

I will write again and change some path, merge them perhaps or separate, I haven’t had thought of it yet but I know of knows I will leave behind when time shall come and I shall remind.

2008-03-07T22:57:00.004+08:00

In the silence of this quite night
When I fail to rhyme …
Play me -
Play me will you;

Hit the strings that bind me and you
And few notes that I taught you …
Improvise me -
Improvise me will you;

When no longer the sleight of your fascination
Extols my celebration of you …
Delight me -
Delight me will you;

Rhyme the rhythm, scale up that quarter note
Look, see me through that resplendent orb …
Surprise me -
Surprise me will you;

And when the chorus picks up, culminating our joy
Hear carefully for that base tone …
Surrender me -
Surrender me will you;

2008-03-03T22:41:00.003+08:00

I have lost pain for the sake of happiness and
it hasn’t pained much as suffering had claimed;

The pursuit of happiness isn’t too hard a path
isn’t too harsh a road of untraveled fakirs
and is unlike the guilt of ridding in surreys;

I have lost few senses and some figure of speech
touted of importance which I seldom now feel;

Lost some, gained some and found some memories
and suddenly exulted with realization of only
having played a game and surrendered solemnly;

The pursuit of happiness isn’t too hard a path
for its my right and for rights you never fight;

Happiness is by right … Indeed my and yours solemn right.

2008-01-22T22:17:00.002+08:00

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.

2008-01-21T21:04:00.000+08:00

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!!

2008-01-11T23:49:00.000+08:00

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 . . . . . .

2008-01-10T23:17:00.000+08:00

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 ....

2008-01-08T23:18:00.000+08:00

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)

2008-01-07T23:31:00.001+08:00

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.

2008-01-06T19:56:00.000+08:00

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.

2008-01-05T18:51:00.001+08:00

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

2008-01-04T23:15:00.003+08:00

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 - - -

2008-01-03T23:24:00.002+08:00

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.

2008-01-02T22:20:00.001+08:00

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.

2008-01-01T23:19:00.000+08:00

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 ....

2007-12-30T22:48:00.001+08:00

(click on the picture to enlarge)

but that particular sky’s fealty
and obeisance that I pay,
I stay calm
amidst persistent shrieks -
confident of managing (with)
my resources shoestring;

I stand augured
to allegiance of this sky
and this soil that holds
legends of vassal’s pinions
and their flights
to absolved freedom.

[#] Picture courtesy my friend Amishi

2007-12-29T19:34:00.000+08:00

Saturday December 29, 2007 is the date that this post records. Two days to go when earth will again complete its customary journey round its beloved sun. It’s surprising how someone else’s attraction, infatuation or loving journey stimulates all and every one of us in some way or the other. There wouldn’t be anyone who can claim not to have been impacted by their love story. Mine has been too.

Time (simply) flies by as seasons change their attire. And with it I too add another chapter to my life with words written in coloured pencils. Sometimes these words speak with thunder and I become aware of my somnolent senses and sometimes these words have soporific influence upon me helping me sleep with unrealised dreams .... Sometimes I erase them from pages of my indolent life and sometimes I add a few words to glorify ....

I have always believed in living life the way I want. Imitation is the best form of flattery and I somehow never wanted to flatter anyone by imitating them. When I look back at my life twenty years down the road, I hope I look back with pride for having lived it the way I wanted … for taking my own decisions …. for growing every second my own way … for living every dream that I dreamt of … for a journey that was mine, influenced by me and my circumstances .... (every year it is a persistent endeavor to realise this latent desire).

2007 had so many scenes in this artful play of life interwoven with brilliant contrasts … the contrasts that made me sit back and admire the beauty of life … contrasts that sometimes made me laugh with its facetious remarks …. contrasts that sometimes had the impact of a choir singing a complicated and elaborate psalm …. and contrasts that sometimes whacked me with its indignation. I cogitate upon the discoveries that I have made and sometimes exult with sheer joy in the prospect of a new season or in the reprisal of a winter that will surely pass away.

2007 also taught me new ways to living alone. Taught me the distinction between lonely and alone and how the way I feel is what translates into phrases that my life writes. Such a practice as keeping a smile on the face even in the light of cold, prosaic or matter of fact circumstances that time presents elevates poignant mind from the shackles of peccant Angles to the sacerdotal hymns of Vedas.

It is difficult to paint on a canvas scattered with colours that hasn't come from your own brush. For those who endeavors to build something out of it and succeeds, there is a different dawn that awaits them. Those who at least try even without succeeding, there is a different horizon that is drawn on that canvas and for those who never tried, the colours will read and behave in the same fashion and manner that the canvas dictates. Lessons learnt in managing expectations of one’s ownself and the loved ones is something that I will cherish along with the skills of saying ‘no’ the right way.

Overall as with other years, 2007 brought the same unexpected successes and failures. Neither of them have made me learn to be more excited than I am as it is with life nor have they made me learn to be disappointed and loose faith in the same magic that is called life.

Failure that awaith me
Failed me again -
Awaith the success
Success never came...

Both success and failure in its dualism never had a cognitive impact on my senses. That is perhaps why I am never overjoyed or depressed … perhaps because of the realization that both failures and successes are cyclical in their existence and come what may I can never control the results of the events. What I can do is try and I hope I continue to do that. Belief in life is different from belief in destiny. Destiny is nothing if I don’t give it a try.

Destiny … that’s not life
In every semblance of doubt that bores
A yes or perhaps a no …. But then
For every wrong, would life have made it right
Even without that one single try
Would it still be destined if I had not
Given it an honest try.

I am sure 2008 will be as uncertain and as unpredictable as all these years have been in the past. And I wish it brings with it a list of hopes that will continue to mark my being. Hope that 2008 is another chapter like all of the 26 previous ones that will help me become more aware of my own existence.

I also hope that 2008 makes you all believe in life … let you dream and promise endeavors that will help you realise those dream. Have a great year end and a fantastic new year.

2007-12-28T23:27:00.001+08:00

(virtually unseen
abstractly close
this persistent insanity
of consistent rows)

or, let me write another phrase
to better describe
your consistent gaze
and close the loop
forever of those
swift, brief, sharp, -
frozen moments;

your eyes withheld …….
(my eyes bemoaned)

holding your glares ---
kissing the sledding airs ----

(or rather better
let’s leave it
for some other day
or for some other time)

2007-12-27T22:12:00.000+08:00

the moon shied behind the boughs
varnishing this drowsy night;
the return of the skies -
amidst unshent stars
I looked for mine,
through eyes
of eon sea …
as you
kept searching
for eternal rest,
on this shore’s
wedged bed sheet …..

2007-12-26T21:03:00.000+08:00

hope -
embracing earth’s root
nurturing life that sows,
animating and living -
and growing beyond
it’s own hold,
with thrift …

hope -
wrapped under espionage,
binding and unfolding -
spreading tentacles,
growing beyond
sustaining grit …

I have seen it there
once more as always
calling my name
sans censure
intoxicating
my vision ….

found him with open arms
when I looked around
standing as always
undemanding
smiling back
awaiting …

hope that sows life ---
life that sowed hope ---

2007-12-25T03:15:00.000+08:00

let us redo your day
and
make night seem our again;

(- let us redo your day ….)

when air in its subtle coldness
smells the querulous play -
on a day bereft of sun
bathes in clouded rain ...

often found you looking through
pale winds caressing the flowers
breathing wry paints on window sills (and)
making little boxes of yellow dreams ....

(- let us make our night again ....)

when on incongruous pathways
where through leaves in the woods
lay the pebbles that you picked -
realigning your fragile senses ...

(- and )

as I hold on to few drops of your smile
between fingers of my closed palm
holding the stirring chirps in the sky
of countless birds flying away ....

- I await your consent to fly today …

let us begin by redoing your day
and
making the night seem our again ;

2007-12-25T00:54:00.000+08:00

Music flows randomly across the room trying at it’s best to inveigle the mind and it’s surrounding. The book that lay on the table yearning for a touch now no longer looks concerned … it has given up on its reader since early morning. The bed that is tired of it’s occupant looks messy … desiring … wanting … expecting some breathing space but even that seems to be a distant dream. It has to wait for tomorrow - the beginning of another week …. another sun ….. another horizon.....

2007-12-24T23:32:00.001+08:00

concepts vary perceptions

alone in the wilds

so what if -

with man made life

sans -

those lonely glides

2007-12-23T12:36:00.000+08:00

contradictions like this passage
in black fathomable words
capers through
flanks of a mountain
on the far west side,
the Zephyr marching
with a pleasant smile;

the mighty but pleasant
oh! No not again -
with your ever penchant
puff for contradictions
look not to rein …
on this fine frosty night
lets make a toast again;

and as temporary -
and as transitive -
the snow melts;
and fluxional contradictions
that mired this passage -
have dissolved into making
deliberate summers again …

2007-12-22T00:37:00.000+08:00

what You reckon -
(is needless deeds)
what I bear upon -
(is only my creed)
the stag that ran -
(for life succeeds)
the Lion that hunted -
(balances decreed);

or what You say - one day
exchange these places
You and me
Me and naught
or in other forms
some stimulus
when I look upon (and)
you look above - - - -

2007-12-22T00:35:00.000+08:00

what do I repine
for what claim I lie
or for whose claim
shall I lie
that what was yours -
was never mine.

drops that form pearl
in the depth of bed
or was it mud
that swung by the bay
for what shall I claim -
that was never mine.

what do I repine
at quests that ain’t quench
the sun ... the sky
or sudden respite
the steps that shan’t alight -
never meant to … not mine.

2007-12-21T20:06:00.000+08:00

It is time to do my first tag. It is a writing meme tag from Priya. She had tagged me some time back and I just could not get myself to complete it. Well better late than never :)

I started this blog a year back and I was clueless as to what I should be writing here. It was more of just having a blog than with any specific purpose (intent). I used to write on current affairs and delete them after sometime (Don’t ask me why). I started writing regularly when I was in Hong Kong more to ensure I avoid spending the phenomenal time in front of television. As it is, I was (am) an agoraphobiac and there was this huge danger of me succumbing to this even further. Not that blogging has helped in getting over that (this) tendency but it has certainly helped in not assuming a gargantuan proportion and at the same time adding some diversity in otherwise same routines and surroundings.

Thus to cut a long story short active blogging started more as a means of distraction (digression or diversion) and (not to forget) the constant bickering of my university friend Triparna who nagged me to death as to why don’t I start writing poetry again (I used to be an active member of my school/college/university literary clubs (those days were different when one had so much time on hand, sighs!)). So the first poetry that’s there on this blog is something that I had written in my high school. All others are daily nonsense :)

Well over the period I found some direction and this blog turned more of a poetry blog as I regained my passion to scribble again.

I have got no structural knowledge of poetry and hence feel most of my work is nonsensical but then I enjoy jotting down these daily nonsense that make me think beyond the ordinary. It has become such a destresser and at the same time such a passion. Thank you all for bearing my nonsensical scribblings with me.

Now we come to the most important part. Five reasons to write:

the passion to communicate the desires, dreams, perspectives and opinions;

trying to be innovative and creative and find a route away from the mundane and monotonous;

an exercise to look beyond something that is common placed;

an attempt to say too many things with too little to spare; and

most importantly you guys who have been my constant inspiration. thank you all for motivating and inspiring me to write.

Now someone needs to be tagged and I will let it pass. There are very few people that I know in this blog world and I am not sure that they will pick up this tag. If anyone who reads this wants to share their reasons to write please feel free to take up this tag and just let me know.

2007-12-20T18:23:00.001+08:00

few bricks overlooking serene trees
restless moorings of the world
on an ostensive evening
calm beckoning lake

2007-12-18T22:53:00.000+08:00

her smiled deceived
dismissive indeed
bashful and conceited
when she didn’t see;

tacit ... enterprising ....
courageous nonetheless
touch me nay
she says always;

lest her shyness succeed
hidden from treasures I see
she turns helpless
her distance beyond my reach;

by mere design
awkward indeed
vigorous with life (when)
sees no one in sight ….

2007-12-17T22:51:00.000+08:00

That’s only a prelude I thought stately
But wafting through whispering winds
And the loveless trees’ desires
I saw your settling glean
Healing my wounds
To vitality again;

And as death bestowed on barley sheaves
And weary worn out skies bequeathed
In the waning hours of my time
I heard your jouncing steps
Summoning my desire
To live again….

2007-12-16T21:36:00.000+08:00

The two arms grab
or holds in embrace
the capacious time
awaits in earnest ….

Arms that supplied
the sutler -
loading his mule, with
provisions for future;

Or the suitor
whose roses poor, with
damsel yearning, for
ere life … wastrel dear;

Or the wren
slender, tender, rounded
whose songs so rich .. alas!
unrelated .. so many .. so poor;

2007-12-15T20:45:00.001+08:00

Failure that awaith me
Failed me again -
Awaith the success
Success never came ...

Failed success failed
Success failed success.

(Success has no precedence -
Failure isn’t an orphan.)

2007-12-14T22:22:00.000+08:00

Most of the times, lifeless do breathe life into our very listless life ….

Sometimes you simply do not know what has hit you … And most of the times you survive the phase that momentarily you would have ascribed to been the worst crash of your life …

Do we need to analyze every gnome feeling that surrounds us … Can’t we just let it pass the night test and see what the morning beckons …..

Restless fugacious times seldom understands balance of emotions. Emotions …. boundless emotions. Or emotions …… boundary less emotions. Emotions that knows not how to house. Emotions that seldom recognizes sounds ….

Again my experiences or memories abound
sketches peccant paths and astute sounds
redirects where I seldom visit
roads left behind or rather entwined;

And I keep walking unknowingly or perhaps like
most of the times, in my own glacial silence
under stentorian skies and its trenchant cries
walking through voltaic journeys ….. galvanizing life;

2007-12-13T22:40:00.000+08:00

the wave’s lies
and shore’s cries
the eddying seas
and blank skies

thus she died with fallen desires
crouched in a squatting attire
and continued servilely
on path to uncertainty

waited for a moments thirst
to quench un-necessity
and questioned her lust
to seek eternity

the moon forms
and shore awaits
the tides gnaw
and skies adore

thus the path back to home
her realization of unsung desires
she had asked for a piece of night
when days awaited her in full sight.

2007-12-12T21:16:00.000+08:00

he looks over the paling fence
of my mind and heart
searching where I live by;

looking across the grassy yards
breaks my inner most thoughts
into boxes of several placid cards;

and through several graffiti miles
the effulgent rays penetrates
and rocks upon the rocking chair
lying beside my veranda’s despair;

it’s not the same today
it’s not the same
it’s some other sun
that has found its way.

2007-12-11T23:56:00.000+08:00

When I thought about you last night -

or was it more like a dream
like beads of rain drops
caressing the moon
in a luminous muse;

You walked across the room -

like frail clouds treading
carefully the rasorial path
for awaited on the other end were
season’s chasm of monsoon skies;

You sat beside me holding my gaze -

like ribbons of moiré
over several gnome ambitions
sewed together
in a singular pattern;

Now that you have come -

stay with me and my times
like deserts' desire
of -
their oasis dreams.

2007-12-10T21:29:00.000+08:00

on the other side of the fence,
a seethed road
laid open and wide;
chaotic,
with meretricious noises
and -
overbearing crowd;
my irascible mind
as always,
remains effervescent
in lost sounds.

and there -
in a high pitched tone
the cicada ceaselessly sings
on a night driven by roads;
his desperations
too evident to note.

2007-12-09T20:44:00.000+08:00

What amuses me is the secret that I hold
a secret that only I know
secret that treads
as I walk on roads.

Beneath the moist monsoon soils
the leaves clutter and chatter
making me wonder -
do they too know.

The quivering trees too beat -
the sounds of cluster ....
amongst themselves
and the pulsating winds.

The wind that smells distinct
far more today, letting off something -
is it just me -
or something like disaster knocking.

The wind that blows the tide
over and over on the other side
must have marked the land
with signs of sticky sand.

I know they know the secret
but they shan’t say, I assured
only the ladybird sings
but in a dialect unheard.

What amuses me is the secret that I hold
a secret that I think only few know
translucent ... blatant secret
that hopes sow.

2007-12-08T22:36:00.001+08:00

You burnish the moon
on an otherwise inveigh night
see I could still see ….
anew … of only
me and you;

Your body painting
with the innate brush
of my folded fingers;
Firm smooth paints -
and turpentine grease -
filling sense of your fragrance
slow stroking shocking lush
and sudden lurch of sea side rush;

My body craving
for the sustaining love;
Or is it aspersed lust -
to make up for something
that bears close resemblance;
But then red will red
and white will be white
forever with or without
the sprinkled thrust;

Our thrust ….
Your … mine … ours ….

2007-12-07T21:37:00.001+08:00

scalding rills blubber
soldering thoughts together
hay carts after hay carts
over a pronged night’s fissure
what oasis - what water -
caravan’s restless demeanor ….

the granger moves rather
no vengeance thunders
even if lightning gallops
faster than cover;
fate is that so -
only if death was lateral ….

2007-12-06T22:32:00.000+08:00

Some days skies look green
And water prop and preen
By turns I sing
Unceremoniously -
Romancing tunes unknowingly.

Friends tease
At ever growing silence -
And smiling humming deeds;
I don’t tell them – What else can I do
When days simply remembers you.

2007-12-05T21:01:00.000+08:00

It's one of those gains
When clouds rain -
And unabashedly so;
Who cares for cries of wolf?
Its the life - -
Life that rains -
In no time frame.

Tiers of joy layered
In baskets of several tears;
Happiness counts stratus pebbles
And Bliss is dear;
And Dearer counts -
It’s those moments rather
Sweeter than sour.

Rain … Rain come and breathe
Let me try, if not reach-
Over the spire steep;
If I reach the steeples bell,
Who but me will count -
The scattered drops
Of my fallen sweat.

2007-12-04T21:45:00.000+08:00

A folly is someone's gain
I thought it ignored me
of reasons only better explained.

Ethnic enclave ruined under besiege
seldom an uncommon spectacle -
of all creed …. frenzied herds of sheep.

Normalcy was soon gone
envious of its zealous friend -
abnormality masters how to reign.

Only when I thought
who needed a shelter to brave -
rooted off my own feet – surrendered and dead.

2007-12-03T22:59:00.000+08:00

When pillows rumour of traitorous bed sheets
the blanket stands guard to the night,
The old blanket of yesteryears
still holds fragrance of our stride.

Almost like every other day,
the night looks upon pariah moon
and the braggart stars remembers its light,
When on an otherwise windy day
your skin for the first time smelt as mine.

The lights themselves were no more bright
and the sea rode the heavens and skies,
Conspired to coup de grace, and
through boundless surge of putsch
I was held forever in a moment’s veil.

Your touch is what I live for
it wasn’t indeed a night alone -
for I am no longer the same as before;
Like sods I wear upon your open heart
for all seasons of yesteryears to behold.

2007-12-02T17:16:00.000+08:00

Don’t call me by names
Or by any means
In far deserts where I live
Beyond those continents I see
The mirage of my nascent dreams.

Don’t wake me up
Let me sleep
Just for another night; where
Dreams dance unsynchronized
And winds bear joyous whims.

Yes the cembalo breathes distinct
But I still need your swing
To feel subtle resonances
And in perpetual happiness do I see
The crystal shines of icy mountains.

2007-12-02T01:58:00.000+08:00

Through chthonic realms of night
Dance ebulliently over effete dark
Hold me close as snail’s shells
My moment arrives over clapping shades.

Rise today through the strips of vim
Meander through ribbons of streams
Over the strings of anonymous rays
Let me grab a piece through gazelle’s rings.

I now see it through verdant hills
Then over the jouncing sea strips
Yes it’s here round that corner
Playing the regular hide and seek.

And I wait patiently ....
And I wait expectantly .....
Through silence of moon -
It will surely arrive soon.

2007-12-01T16:15:00.000+08:00

Cold blade sheaths
Cleaves thin air
Pieces of salt
And sand ….
Eddying to shores
In calm representation.

“Is it fair?” He questions
“Was it fair?” I enquire
Who are you?
I don’t have an answer

Few remember me
I remember even fewer
To hearken to deeds
What futile aversions ….

2007-12-01T16:13:00.000+08:00

He scoffs at the letters I wrote
And sometimes smiles angrily
My questions gauche
He bothers not to answer….

Belief mostly has no substance. Like fluidity of water it can flow like a stream often running the risk of crossing the path of other streams. It mostly takes the shape of an individual’s perceptions. There are certain beliefs that I never question. Courage is often a recluse and truth is repulsive. I never question the Truth. It is something that is beyond my capacity and I intend not to indulge in this blasphemy. Someone fashions over a drink to be atheist and often emphasizes the relativity of belief and exactness of science. Few questions that such vertical stream of education fails to answer is put sorely on psychometric conditions. They always seek an answer and I seek never to question.

2007-11-30T21:11:00.000+08:00

It’s that moment
when winds have changed
and days have merged
into its inseparable night again;

I stand between
winds and fire of time
and wait for the Father
and His judgment today;

Munificent as days have been
I add the same to this night
Amidst several jejune thoughts
“Am I afraid?” I ask;

And repeatedly …..
“Am I afraid?” I ask myself

……

“Am I afraid?” I keep asking myself

…….

2007-11-29T21:48:00.000+08:00

If reviewed it would loose
First impression that got

Silence avers …
Silence retracts …
Silence questions
Silence answers

If reviewed it would loose
The essence that begot

Moments cease …
Moments reborn ….
Moments recede ….
Moments advance …..

If reviewed it would loose
The life that was sought

2007-11-28T23:21:00.000+08:00

It was around three in the noon, I remember
distinctly ... quite a few stammers coming forth,
on an otherwise hot sultry afternoon
the office seemed astoundingly cold.

I couldn’t understand the lingo, even her grammar
seemed fractured beyond my recognition;
but she kept murmuring from a patch of dark coloured
urban monument sans the natural conscience.

A frown that seemed alien to my continent sneered
with wry punctuation to my very predicament;
no she never intended to inveigle and come to my doorstep
teasing every moment with her unrecorded address.

If I resisted her calling it would surely have been a sacrilege
I followed its path, yet mindful of boasting my intelligence
under the sky that seemed so relentless, .... I stood
there with my open arms; …. but it wasn’t exactly raining yesterday.

2007-11-27T22:09:00.000+08:00

It’s your fragility that compels me
to be continuously afraid of you;

Breathing your space between my netherworld
could I be brought back to life like that,
your slightest touch is my memory
beneath the tumulus lies buried;

Perceptions vary the understanding between us,
of all the wishes that I were to ever encounter
the vein that bloods the earth and reaps its harvest
would never scorch the field barren;

I am afraid to even touch you; your fragility
compels me to be afraid of you; if you can
just enclose me for the moment and
many moments more borne out of you.

2007-11-27T20:30:00.000+08:00

Love is the thought without wings
Over the mist flies absentmindedly
In eyes that behold, a framed picture
Sans horizon and boundaries ashore.

Over those roads of emotions
Sweet waves of reflection walk
Who determines the antecedent
When ebbs follow moonlit night.

Alas! The wise men thorough
Examined the ignorance before
Time and again love claimed
If only it could ever be blamed.

2007-11-26T20:21:00.000+08:00

Brisk manners, crisp rhythms
Breathes into frugal animation
Awaken me thou wind
Blow over to the fields
Through bracing essence
Invigorate my presence.

Take me high
Over those mountains that lie
Bring me closer
To the heaven that’s out of sight
Will you last long
Oh! Thou wind stay for the song.

Breathe through me
Come let’s walk a mile
With nothing on mind
On this day of yours and mine
A promise I wouldn’t ask for more
I intend to smile after you go.

2007-11-25T20:58:00.000+08:00

It has been a while
With abundance of distraction
Concentration hasn’t been wild.

Give me a moment
Let me complete chores
And my unfinished task.

One of the hot words these days is work-life balance (one of those management coined terms). It wasn’t very long ago that I wrote as comment to one of my post that writing and reading is becoming increasingly difficult with the pressures of work. That got me thinking to this whole concept of work-life balance and how patronizing it is to life itself.

Everything that we do is part of life. So how can work-life be different from life itself? Isn’t working a part of life? Isn’t it as integral to our existence as everything else? Just because we have fun doing something else, does it mean fun is life and because work ensures that we compromise our time to “fun” mean work is external to life?

This whole attitude also gives rise to negativism towards work. I have so often read film star saying that it is fun to be paid for doing something that you love. This statement makes all other clerical and back office job seem deglamorised and abhorrent. Why can’t they simply say they get paid for doing what they do the best? As an accountant my skills are specialized. I can’t just go ahead and do something else that others do the best. Finance is best that I can do and that’s how I earn my livelihood. It is also my earnest belief that we all find means of earning from what we know how to do best. And if we do that best why not better enjoy it.

On a very personal level I enjoy my work. I enjoy dedicating my time and energy to what shapes my present and future. Yes along with it I also enjoy doing some things else. And my comment on my post set me thinking can I continue to do other things along with work and have a more satisfying day than just doing work.

All that was required was a little more planning and allocation of time. The result has been satisfying. I have practically been able to scribble my nonsense all through this week. I have caught up on my newspaper reading, my books, music, solitaire(I play it on my iPod on way to office), devote time to my research paper which is lying incomplete for sometime (I just started it and left it in between) and read my favourite pages on blogospheres. I have also caught up with long lost friends and have finally managed to complete a book that I had been reading for two months now. Yes a little less sleep but honestly I am not complaining.

2007-11-24T17:53:00.000+08:00

Mother I want but still don’t
to know what’s conspicuous,
Conscious of the surround
and the world egregious,
With morning would it seem
all is worth hollow and capricious.

.......

Mother will you still
love me the way you do,
Now that I am you
tomorrow with form
that would no longer
hold me to you.

Mother will I remember
the dreams of your eyes
and unhold penurious minds;
Will I live to be obsessed
with light and will you
name me for the sight.

....

Mother I will see the world
through my nascent dreams
borne with me and
revel in the light ....
wallow through blood and
await the moment to arrive.

……..

Mother my acquaintance
has been long for world
he who knows will abide; and
The laconic small fellow
will remember what you read
to him all this while.

2007-11-24T01:48:00.000+08:00

No I don’t remember
Your unpracticed grace
The aversion to conquest
Testifies my bequest.

Through the fissure of time
The surfeit of emption ruled
Even after - perilous churl
I decree all that you see.

Till not very recently contradictions used to irritate me a lot. It wouldn’t be too harsh to say that I abhorred contradictory statement coming from the same individual. But then we all grow in life. Sometimes the evolution is faster than envisaged and undermines the dictates of history. Such is also the contradiction of human mind. You never know what it might pick up down that unknown alley of future and when it would convert those misdemeanors into undisputable beliefs.

Somehow contradictions no more seem unnatural to me. Irritations at contradiction have melted away into acceptance of that which is unnatural. Today the colours of mind are no longer mired in black and white. The vagrancy of grey has come to stay with me.

He would refuse not but once
To tergiversate from the known
A man his age will learn
From eternal conquest
To lionize change
At every single stage …..

2007-11-22T12:52:00.000+08:00

The night waits -
wanting as always
to transfer -
that what is his -
its inalienable right ….

And in the hurried scene
that follows -
her eidetic memory
sketches the light -
for a dawn tomorrow ….

2007-11-21T20:41:00.000+08:00

Thus the smile that followed you
left me with no boundaries
of sky and earth and a thin line
through inconsequential time …..

The sporadic cloud -
The moments across -
Bridge abridge -
Matters cease ….

Thus the smile that followed me
through eternity ……

2007-11-20T19:53:00.000+08:00

Sustenance in vagrancy is admirable
Only if I am able to reach
The definition that I seldom seek

In contrast I indulge and not live
In the relativity of moments
The meaning of which I seldom seek

The thrust of water and the thrust of blood
Both without colour worth that soul
Lust for heaven and of love decreed
That’s the life I have stopped to seek.

2007-11-19T18:48:00.000+08:00

The veil of caresses never seem to leave
the semantic of our relationship over unwritten
unsaid, unheard and unspoken language.

…..

Left with a distance that never seemingly mattered -
on this other side of the world, - I wish a little
just a little, ..... after a long lost time
for another life, ... mirrored with you.

I remember those escapades willingly and wanting to
on those benches where questions were answered
with unanswerable questions …..and yet no complaints
ever followed the understanding that preceded every context.

On that night all along, when you were beside me,
basking in the light of that unsung crescent moon;
your soft touches and playful quibble
arrested my senses … devoid of percepts.

……

Boorish bacchanalia tortures my heart
and erotic exorcism fails to soothe my soul
entwined in conjured spirit of your spells
I am bewitched, all my way to the hell;

Splatter of blood all across the veins,
running tumultuous in frantic frenzied rain
as fire lights the sky and burns the moon dead
I cry foul over thy larceny, to dead ends;

......

Languid lethargic winds -
show some respect,
when thunder strikes within -
how can you be so suppressed,
banished chimera -- rise
I command you to rise -
she surely will take me seriously
once she sees thy ...

.......

If I wished for another life
amidst these gibes of lonely pillows
and neatly tucked bed sheet
it wouldn’t be for anything ---
for anything without you.