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

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.

Expressions

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

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;

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!!

(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

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 ;

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.

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 ….

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 ….

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.