Liberal living in a punctuated life

Solicited by dreams, perilous strife

Of wishes and destiny viciously played

To script the legendary days and night.

Characters in and out they move

Teetering there here strengthened too.

Gullible ease exploited oft in the run

In the mad alley the dreamers groove.

Lamed in the leap of expectations bold

Leading to cut-throat edge then sold

To future that naïve fantasies conceived

By lustrous gleam of self glory- ice cold.

Torn by gleam of heathen manifestations

Of success stories, of lauded competitions.

Racing against the clock, failure inevitable

Then what dreams, what expectations…

U n Scarlet

It’s not been all so long, but,

Why does it seem ages?

Only yesterday we loved, we argued.

Today we spoke again as strangers.

And later the day I saw you in the marketplace.

You looked perfect, you have been so always.

            Not alone, were you? Your beautiful company,

            I did not miss her, nor did so anybody.

            Scarlet against the grey world, so charming her face

            Held you in place. Does it matter? You’ve forgotten me anyways.

It’s not been all so long, but,

Why does it seem like ages?

Just now you passed me in the village fair,

You looked, turned back again and again.

Those piercing eyes following in a mad chase,

You sought me out. Remember at least those sensuous days?

            I cried the day you left there for work.

            Did I know you would never return?

            I tried to strangle your memories in different ways.

            But you brought them back, you and Scarlet in marketplace.

Always been used to these ways

Accustomed to these sultry days

Hunched sitting on an empty street

Guarding a bird wounded in feet

Tearless eyes gaze into my solitude

I know they spell immense gratitude

He knows, I know, not far is the end

His speeding heart feel in my hands.

Before you go, please, dear friend

Allow me hug you to my content,

None but you taught me to love, to live,

And now you go into the eternity.

I send you my heart, take with you,

Love it, guard it, as I did to you.

No good to keep it here with me,

I shall lose it again to some unworthy.

strange world, strange people

The house on fire, see them flames roar higher.
Men running, women crying, children silenced.
They look so tiny, with tiny buckets of few drops.
Servants servile, strong ones mobile, the house defiled.
The window on top left gushing out furious flames.
In the chaos, a parrot with clipped wings aflame.

The mistress crying out for her pet, master adamant.
“Take your mistress away!” he bellows at a servant.
Skirts, coats, hems, hair, all singed, stinking destruction
Her heart longs for the pet, not the colored man charred
In a deeper hue, beyond recognition, beyond comprehension.
Strange world, I say, strange people. They guilt and desire marred.

In all hue and cries, the child forgotten, eyes wide open
Lips forming a permanent O. Hair sweat-smoothened.
Tracks of shed tears still visible, unshed tears blocked
The smell of burning toys in a psyche permanently shocked.
The arrhythmic rise and fall of chest holding so much pain,
His only companions lost in the nursery, left humans disdain.

No love lost over the survivors. Sense of loss held high.
Mourning not for lives that went alight into the dark night.
Toys, pets and property, losing these made them so appalled!
Strange world, I say, strange people. They guilt and desire marred.

A dark sky, a darker silhouette stands stark in contrast.

A silent night ever silenced lips lip sing agonizing past.

A disturbance in distance that draws cautious eyes,

That search frantically for fear of uncanny demise.

Wide open, silent, the Indian night sky beckons,

Its children gone wild on passionate moonlit strolls.

The open enticing arms, just a step to walk into

And set free of chains that play a cacophony tune.

Pay your last scary bow to the inky night,

Past devil’s hour it’s an unblemished sight.

Rest your stance. Don a mask of innocent slumber.

Winter is gone, now season of unbearable summer.

Guard your own, watch out for scurrilous inklings

Watch it; here sulphurous summer overrides the spring.

Nights light to day, but days give in to nights again,

Beware then, you too will begin to enjoy the pain.

In tears, in recurrent fears,
In dreams and perplexed thoughts,
In pools of unruly aspirations
And in ripe moments of passion,
I feel your presence, feel you then
As sure as me, as sure as heaven.

In days insolent, in nights that never end,
In thirsts unquenched and in time unspent,
In lines unread, in paths not tread,
And in the moment you just went off ahead,
I see your shadow, it seems so real
As if you are with me now, held so dear.

In remnants of affection, in embers of rejection,
In songs of love and in words of retention,
In between indecisions, in lieu of precisions,
And in scurry of dialogues with conditions,
I felt your love; I thrived in its shade
As if it was all and I still live that way.

IN DREAMS

Your smile that colored my unkempt world

Still colors my dreams. In those dreams you

And I put back years of neglect, ignorance.

You look at me, our eyes meet…it’s a different thing.

In dreams we live every moment that time

Cheated us off, in dreams I make you mine

And in dreams we live together, we dream our life.

How hard would it be to retreat, relive?

Very difficult, I say. We are victims piteous

Of destiny cruel, Watch her flee grasping fingers

Hungry for a meaningful night, if not for life.

In dreams we live every moment that time

Cheated us off, in dreams I make you mine

And in dreams we live together, we dream our life.

I see my empty hands feeling so useless.

Once they embraced, so full of love and of you.

Now they know not how to stay put, awkward,

They grope for hideouts in meaningless routine, coz

In dreams we live every moment that time

Cheated us off, in dreams I make you mine

And in dreams we live together, we dream our life.

The heavy weight sinks me deeper, I fall

Each day into an abyss that reeks with lack.

I know the answer but seeking never stops, coz

In dreams we live every moment that time

Cheated us off, in dreams I make you mine

And in dreams we live together, we dream our life.

And if in dreams we can live every moment so serene,

Why can we not at least try to live our dreams?

You know, it is hard but possible. We can coz

We dream, and…

In dreams we live every moment that time

Cheated us off, in dreams I make you mine

And in dreams we live together, we dream our life.

PIPER

Every day after my daily drill, I return

Like a weary soldier, wanting peace within

And around me, an escape to my world;

I find him, without fail, every day waiting

To alleviate my worries, he plays; auburn

Fingers gliding over the pipe held between

His lips. Melody, melancholy, love, lust,

All flow from him to me as I sit; a cup of tea

On my lap. Easing body and mind at once.

My window wide open, lest I miss a note

He flourishes now and then. Untimely, surprising

Bundles of harmony matched with tap of

Tin with sticks, stones made by gay urchins

Who sometimes visit. I see them come and go

Like sea storms. The piper remains, playing

His soul to all. What he eats, sleeps, I know not.

Except, that is, of the food packages I accidently

Drop near his shabby blanket on the road.

He pauses, I hurry. And he begins a new tune.

People grown so used to him, he will for sure

Be missed, perhaps more than the impugn

Minister whose statue stands at the bazaar, it will soon

Rust more like the State, be rotten and doomed.

The piper pulls his blanket closer each day,

His emaciated limbs curling beneath. I am scared

Every day I return, fearing the black blanket

And the brown piper will be gone unprepared

Into the bliss. Leaving me in this untoward world.

I pray, O Lord, let the piper survive and his pipe keep playing

So that every day I shall look forward to something.

And when the ax hangs on his neck, i too shall accompany

With love of a fellow-being, prepare him for another journey.

TO YOU

Sure, I miss you; it’s so stupid to ask,

Your query transparent, a see-through mask.

How inviting, enticing, how everything,

You were always perfect, like a new morning.

You rose stronger every day, up from my heart.

Your words like melodies, songs towering Mozart.

Why then was it so short-lived, why agonizing poison

Seeping through veins, numbing my brain, why treason?

Bring back those moments; someone say I didn’t love in vain.

No one seems to hear… Can you hear? Time come!

Can I go? I know you’re not coming, can I run?

Can I live for myself finally? You can’t come, I know.

Your commitments betrayed. But can I go

Where I have no more pain, no love gone in vain.

Remember me, that I ask of you, just remember me as I am.

Alas! Realization! The worth of a hug.

Had cared little, but earlier; been ages.

When unceasingly shadows unearthed;

The piety in crusade against wantonness.

Futile fantasies ruin self-discipline and give way

To repressed, suppressed shrieks of soul, every day.

Sigh! You multi-faceted brute! You dare haunt

My innocence. A pin-prick, of emptiness, haunts.

The pain trickling down, up, all around, coloring

The embers of a wasted eruption, still smoldering.

Gnawing, barely visible under smothered façade

Of seasonal emotions. But it pulsates apart….

The feeling of being full, warm, wanted.

Had cared little, but earlier; been ages.

I wash, scrub, polish, I hide

Necessity, not want, to subside

The wounds, I have lost count

Of them. Deepening, corroding

Not just me, but all mine.

And what was mine? Not much

All there was, was and not is.

What slipped away? Not a hunch

Where I am slipping, falling

Endless. Should I cry? Laugh? What?

So many questions. Who will answer?

Incoherence caps self-pity, distraught

Me. I cannot even see myself proper.

No dreams, just sleepless haunt

Of the same face, I want to run.

Watch them and look at me. Different.

It had to be me again. The name

Does not leave my lips, succinct

Moments, memories mummify me.

See how willingly I submit…I do.

Do I have a choice? Not one.

Can I call my own? I wish…I do.

Is there anyone? Someone?

No, keep off. I am good alone.

I am for me, for my own.

SURRENDER

Dark lanes, after hours, a wet alley,

Wild search with wide eyes. Probably

A wasteful fear gripping the soul,

Slippery ground, touchy heart drumming

Wild against the psyche. The holes

Pitiless pits in shadows, humming

The knell, beckoning to a new role.

Don a hideous robe, dark

With an all-consuming lamp

Stand and ruin, embark

The ship of reek, of damp

Fortunes gone shipwrecked.

Wild wild wind, mercy!

Scarce scarce, faulty tread

On a path so lonely..pity!

What do I do? What is left?

-surrender surrender!!

Why? Am I so bereft?

-are you not, you pretender!

Evil, gone worse, down the cleft.

Remorse now, then surrender.

CHERRY TREE

Pinning, pining, sensuous wonders

It grew from earth to sky heights,

Its leaves ever-fresh, Plunder

My garden, fill it with delights.

Smiling in its shade, carefree,

I sit, I love the cherry tree.

Groomed in my loving arms,

Lullabies became my love songs

That echoed yonder to far farms,

To the old lady whom cherries belong.

But still no fear, I sing carefree

Because I love that cherry tree.

I have an eye for the woodcutter.

He has an eye on the cherry tree

His axe of death cuts like butter

And I know he would show no mercy.

Before he comes I’ll gather

And hide my precious red cherries.

And when he leaves with his axe

In my own pretty little garden

I shall plant a new cherry plant

Which will blossom with my love

And grow as my new covenant.

It will be mine, my treasure trove.

With age I will be finally free

To love my beloved cherry tree.

aahhh..

A dull thud then, now hammering,
Shallow breath blurring the glass.
Through vapor my half self shining
With droplets of a futile bath,
Marks marring the silent landscape
That never rejects,protests, escapes.
The salt of moisture rolling down
The smooth cheek, a pitiful frown,
The breathing painful, strained.
Moving ribs showing, barely concealed,
The ringing loud, the hammering
Louder, beating. finally reveal
My stature. Cover up the longing.

The door breaking.
Cover up, the world will see,
No place there for self pity.

he can live again...

He can start his life again

When i close my eyes, the images haunt
Her dejection and his tear-less gaunt
Face pacifying the tremors. She might
End all tonight and be lost, his fright;
Ah, there, i open my eyes and him
With his knees bent, soul withdrawn,
He wants to to live the lost dream
Sigh! how can this battle be won?
When there are no enemies to kill,
He and her memories, the usual drill
Of touch and go and shake to core,
His foolish heart proud being sore.

It aches coz i know he can live again,
It hurts coz there is an end to pain
Which he willingly obliterates. Why?
Are friends not a thing to live by?
You strangle your soul for a woman,
Why not give life a chance again?
Stand up, but once and you will see
Strong hands beneath your elbow. We
Will be there, today and always, and
When you walk anew, we'll make it grand
For you my friend, are meant to be
A soul to live again, to be happy.

Lord, help him, let him gather his wits,
He can live again, make him know this.

‎(To you, my friend......)

And still he waits, oblivious,
She is no more the pious
From here I see the dagger
Pierce him again and again, bigger
The hole that pours out his soul,
But no one is there to hold it whole.

And he still dreams, denying,
The betrayal not convincing him
There was never loyalty. His tears
Flow unchecked, acknowledging fears
Foretold. Hands that reach to soothe
Feel meaningless, not enough to swoon
Him away from reality, he waits
Bearing all the pain alone, he says
“She will come someday, I know”
And he picks up the dagger, slow,
He pierces his heart again now tears
Too do not show any naked fear.

THE WAR WITHIN THE PSYCHE

the war within one's psyche might go something like this-

I have a feeling that every emotion is very productive, especially if you are an artist. An artist can not only convey the feelings, but also make others feel it; can make others cry, smile, laugh, calm, enchant…can change a person, for the time being, and also forever. Art is emotion replicated, emotion produced and reproduced, has the capacity to generate new emotions that may be completely unrelated to the source emotion at the superficial level…

How then, can the emotion of rage, anger, frustration affect Art? Derogatory is the word; destructive. Feelings like rage and anger can never produce anything other than chaos – within and without the person.

When I started writing this piece, I was in blind rage, a feeling of destruction, a feeling to destruct something, and someone- a feeling so mad that it overshadowed the numbing sadness and grief all emanating from the same source- from me. Now that I have written a few words, I find the steam cooling off, but to what good? There is still the chilling grief waiting for me. I do not want to face it. I do not have the courage to face it alone but I have no sympathizer. I cannot expect anyone to pacify the drilling inside my psyche.

I have achieved what I wanted. I am no longer fuming. The agitation has now precipitated around my eyes. A sea rages below my scared eyelids that threaten to overflow its limit. But I cannot! I must be strong. Suppress it, kill it….there is no place for weakness in this world, if I have to be successful, I must sacrifice my tears, I must let go, I must learn from my experiences. But I don’t know, I really don’t know how long I can hold my wits together.

It is difficult to live life in two ways- to die within everyday and yet to live for this world, showing what you are not, what you can perhaps never be from the inside. Some say, a superficial damage can be repaired, but not the one that is corroded from within. I am scared. Earlier I had my comfort in prayers, now I have forsaken even that, and I am scared…

JUST THINK- "ALL COZ OF WHITE RUM"

(DON'T ASK ME WHY THIS..)

A leeway or a bad slip, I wonder

It was my choice to surrender

When I always prided my discipline

It slipped away, sad, broken by sin.

When fingers went numb to beautiful

Music, they danced in symphony

Ecstatic at the moment with gullible

Ease they entwined. New melody

Sneaked in the divine darkness,

Engulfing the clamor of thoughts

Sweet and burning, the harness

Held fast in mad, fitful knots.

“Don’t! No…Why?” All useless

And see now my sanity rots.

For want of foolish belongingness

Commitment was never in plot.

For fun, for this time now

And then to be parted, never

To see the other side. How

Easily said, how clever!

After all, it is just me today

And just for the time frame

I become the prize to say

Yes, I shall play your game.

And tomorrow shall never come.

And if it does (then you are a fool)

Just think, it was the white rum.

(And even then you are the fool).

Silent or Dumb?

                       
Some people just do not like to talk. not in the way of being anti-social or shy, but genuinely not liking a public show. Sadly, we have crashed on a blabbering world where whoever talks is a genius, whoever talks is knowledgeable, adorable and interesting and whoever prefers the quieter side is the polar opposite. Do note, that the quieter side referred to does not mean uninterested or mentally absent criteria. i strictly mean the section that is aware, knowing, attentive, and yet, with a preference of hearing out others' point of view and contributing only when asked. This need not necessarily even mean that the quiet are the shy ones, or lack confidence. I would like to tell about a very different reason for sealed lips. The need to allow the person in charge of the situation with some piece of mind, to become an attentive and peaceful audience.
When you push this into a classroom situation, it is hardly fair to call the silent part of class "dumb"; considering that this very "dumb" part of class is among the high scorers in academics, they do not disturb classes, have more than 90% attendance, care to stand up and wish the teacher, care to do assignments and projects in time, give sensible presentations and even help the somewhat "technically challenged" teachers set up a simple projector for their class. And on the contrary, the "non-dumb" part of class have a record of trouble making, high-teacher-BP, late assignments (or no assignments), walking out of exam halls, interrupting lectures with pranks and stupid questions that take the teacher 7 hours to explain, and so on...
Usually we have stories and movies saying "do not underestimate the fun-loving section of students, they are the real gems". But that really does not mean that you start undermining the "good-ones" as being lame, boring and dumb. it is just that the prefer partying, DJ, drinks and all after class hours. Sadly, here the situation is "ulta" and the joke is on the supposed Ideal students. sigh!

"MOM" - By and "dedicated to" my awsomest friend Nick, For his dear Mom.

I learned to walk with her, now

I walk alone, only somehow

This pain hollow walks with me

In vain I tried to kill it

And then lived in a mirage

Saying the pain is but, an envisage.

Only when it ate through my soul

I realized it won’t leave me whole

I am flipping, I need a way out

Even death would not help, I doubt.

and if death ws d only way out of it,
I want this haunting pain to end
Find solace unto my first friend
Mom would you not hold me again
"Mom" the word itself soothes the pain.
When i cry my tears lost in time,
Mom could have seen them arrive
I stand at a parting not knowing the way
"Mom" you alone can bring light today,
And forever i belong in your arms
Mom hug me again, save from all harm
I am yours forever, make me a child again
Mom come and ease my pain.