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.

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.

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.

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 .....

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.

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.

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.)

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.

“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;

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.

(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.

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.

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.

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 . . . . . .

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.

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.

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 ---

concepts vary perceptions

alone in the wilds

so what if -

with man made life

sans -

those lonely glides

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:

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

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

3. an exercise to look beyond something that is common placed;

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

5. 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.

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;