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Showing posts from July, 2012

On a painting...a gift...

Image
The incessant rain
Cast a translucent curtain
And through it
The cyclops on wheels lizard like moved...
The people with coats
And in rain fully soaked
Moved also at paces...
Variedly destined to different places...
The yellow round eye...
On the wet iron smoothly died
And overhead wires of electric pulse
Monsoon's siblings blithely retouched...
And a city bred painter would with his brush a scape love to do
From his urban window replicating a wet city on view...

can't die a Comstock!

Made a promise to myself
That wouldn't be dumbed by the block
Wouldn't start off and die midway...
Wouldn't be another Gordon Comstock!

When the drizzle is still on
And the citylights play on me and the road
Like previous years of complete solitude...
And the music still on request is jockeyed long
On radios in moving vehicles on the relaxed street...
And when still young lovers bluffing the world somewhere meet...
And when aspidistra across the glossy mezzanine
Still grow in pots red once devised by architectural hopes mine...
And my love still watches soaps and my kid plays with alphabets
And my feathered rain...still craves for my whispers lying on her bed...
Can I afford to be a lonesome thorny desert?
Can I by just dunes of sand be forever covered?

When there are still several weeks of months unspent...
When  dreams of dolphins shooting surf white and blue arrive on my screens faint...
When the movie tickets still in my pockets of jeans crumpled wait...
When fountain…

walled...

You screamed
'All in all it's just another brick in the wall!'
I heard first when this strange
Scream of yours
I nodded in disagreement...
But...several dreams down the pipeline
Passing nights under misty sky
And touching the useless flow by palms mine...
I now know it good
We all just for little bricks stood
One by one we cemented the decline...

You screamed
'Teachers leave our kids alone!'
Then those words caused repulsion
Now...after two horrific explosions
The same words with meaning me prick
We just add up to the bricks
On the wall...






the school bus...

Front of me
saw them... band of boys
Shouting fighting boxed up in a bus
from school on return they by me passed...
watched them with eagerness
how clumsy they made their ties and laces...
their yellow school bus with them in it...
through the road like roaring cubs they spread mirth...I also had a school bus such
not like the yellow one
that passed...
but a green one...
with a big nose -its hood...
looked like an old man on brood...
I would wait for him
to come by the road staggering...
But the very sight
of his blazing dark green
would break me into joyous smithereens...
My friends...so many of them would jut out
their necks through the windows
and they would yell...
calling me...my name from their happy mouths fell...
on me like a foolish pride...
We would take the joy ride...
to school and from it back...
tired yet full of hopes...games...
and paper crafts...O how I wish to catch up
with that green bus...
big hooded...an ugly mass
of steel rocking up the street...
stopping stum…

To the Time...from me...with love...

Time...
You have taught me so many things...
Many years ago...don't remember now, still
Like discreet screen shots pictures memory bring
Of me sitting by the window with iron grill
And the spring time cuckoo on song...
The insipid lonely chocolate savoury childish afternoon long...
Me by the window seated on a cot...on play...
With soft shapeless mounds of clay...
Imagining to create a statue of a deity
Filled with my lonely but moments full of gaiety...

Time...
You then brought walls painted white by lime
For me to write my all on them...
My glorious pictures of football stars, cricketers, tennis icons...
They sometimes in winter noons alive became...
And I revelry in them found
Their exploits to unreached glories me bound...

Then some where in the middle east...
A war broke out...
Newspapers were then got filled with smokes and doubts...
Of cruise missiles...tomahawks...
I wrote all of them on the black slate with broken chalks...

Then...
Luckily when in some afternoons was I s…

light...

And those tiniest sparks
of the twilight...photonised the dark...
Permeating my bones...through my skin
like a perfect xray machine...
cast a copy on the plate
of my chemical fate...then after the setting of the sun
faces of the streets when by yellow filaments burn
I again stop under the light
not sun like bright
but still it is another form of dawn
another life after death perhaps again born...


me and he...and me...

'close your eyes
till you illuminate...
shut your ears
till the song your soul penetrates...
close your nose
till the aroma fill you up...
talk no more
till talks come nonstop...'
The ascetic told me
oneday as we sat...me and he
under a shadowy palm tree...
short and stout
by the green blue shamelessly proud...The wind with salt and sand played...
the afternoon like a whistleblower spread
notes after notes she musically relayed...
Just then I realised...
the ascetic was none other than me...
and me in that long bearded loin clothed tramp did I see...

the virgin stream...

The stream like a virgin flows-
alone ...beauteous ...with me on her tow...
through the meadows dark green...
the stream flows like melting crimson dream...Half awake I follow her path
specially when the sun with her flirts...
Half asleep I also follow her path
when she from her womb to wizards gives birth...The stream leaves ecclesiastical notes
for me which like little dots of light float...
Downstream the mist she carries to the end...
where she her virginity to the ocean temporarily lends...And I am just kept forever amazed...
By her the stream I count my infinitely finite days...

why worry? read life...

when the sky magnum opus like
fill the widest screen with colors bright
and the breeze like a pleasure rare
plays with the clouted hair
and the evening is rightly designed
to liberate one from all chains that entwine...
why worry?
why this grave ponderous look?
Just flip open life's book
and read it...
read it with an open mind...
read it with eyes to joys find...
and read it loud and clear
as if it is just a lovely prayer...chant it...
chant it with highs and lows...
touching every treble and troughs...
chant life to the fullest string
as chants do holy serenades bring...

impromptu...

Before getting into the act
Should've with my shadows on the walls made a pact
Not to cross certain lines
Not to play with brushes mine
Over the sheet of paper laid
Before me...shouldn't have painted it red...

Before signing in with frantic bravado
Should have kept a count of shadows
Of me falling everywhere...
Being flash gunned from every angle fair...

But the act is done...
Painting by me with all its redness
Now can never be turned
Into something gray...sombre...pale...
The birth of a fountain had been ordained
And it would rise to meet its height without fail...


A chance arrive...

Image
The chance arrive
To this evening prayer with incense laden dive..
Reminded me how in the winds of change got adrift...
Leaving vacant my once favourite seat...
On that carpet with saffron hue...This chance arrive...
To the place of my blessed life...
Again...again pulls me hard...
Needled me with a broken shard...
Why?why?left the place...
Why from peace took to mess?Wish here to stay back...
Wish all paths to here wrap...
But for a drifter like me...
Can there again a seat be...

I your man Friday...and you my girl...

Wish someday
You'll realise the import of me...your man Friday...
Marooned and abandoned
In the uninhabited island...
We survived...didn't we?
Drinking water from coconut trees...
And erected that hut
Leafed it...thatched...
And caught crabs and prawns...
Using wooden spears sharp and long...
I made them...remember?
Working a whole sunny breezy afternoon
Sitting on haunches...on the sands-a white and soft layer...
And you rubbed stones against each other...
With the object to light fire
To the leaves and twigs dry...
Which caused birth of blisters
On your palms and fingers...
Remember?
Then there were nights...
Cool silent silvery bright...
I laid myself down tired
On the open depopulated beach...
You some old foams stitched-
With the help of your memory...
Remember?
I your man friday...
And you my only love...
Survived together...
Spent peaceful serene days...
And nights...and evenings...and noons...
Cheered by the sun...the stars and the moon...

When the sky comes down...

Image
When the sky comes down to kiss
The green earthern vast in the name of a rain soaked breeze...Perhaps new life then is born
Perhaps then zygotes declare the dawn...
Perhaps then seas turn blue
Perhaps leaves dream then of only honey dew...Perhaps...
All things then return to the core...
And the bard then rewrites a forgotten lore...When the sky comes really down
The green of earth with flowers abound
Springs into a real unreal state...
Shivers then move the geo-tectonic plates...

A moment...a day...

Image
Every moment...
Every day...
Brings stories...
'of being sad and also gay...'This moment...
For instance...
Is a pristine chance...
A chance out of busy life
To fling away all worries and sighs...
And a chance sweet and brief though
A glassy city through a silent window...
A cup of warmth nostalgic brew
A taming of a restless shrew...
A book of life as viewed
by an old wise candid write...
Seats red and violet bright...
Wooden floors reverberate songs concerning flight...
Of fancy the cheater liquid like an exotic wine
All become part of the short story mine...This moist city noon rare
Weaves stories for me...
And also perhaps for her...

Monsoon sale...

Image
On monsoon the wet streets
Sell images...of people with umbrellas...slippery concrete...
Traffic guard white clad...
Heavy downpour causing congestion bad...
Mother and her child for the school...
Streets sell stagnant pools...
Minibuses yellow red and numbered...
Old legs across business lumbered...
Billboards selling clear visions did greet...
Monsoon sale with droplets round me meet....

the rain and a flooded lake...

The lake under the sky overcast
Got the touch
Of water drops...
As they fell onto her vast
And into little watery stars
They just burst...

 On her the drops fell the same
Sitting as she was by the lake...my dame...
I watched how the drops
Followed different routes
To reach her camouflaged roots...
Of dreams woven in solitude...
Of limitless ways of her own rendering
Her recent past with imagined glorious things...

The lake under the overwhelmed sky
Danced in joy by the touch of rain
And the lady, my dame...
Broke out into a peculiar strain
As if she had forgotten me...
As if she got lost in a sense of satiety...

Then slowly the rain got dense
The lake and the trees got blurred through the contact lens
Only the big heavy cool drops could be felt...
And walls of solid resolves got gradually melt...
Songs of her got mingled with thunder
The lake took shape of a turbulent wonder...
Then felt the twinkle in her eyes
And by the lightning surely recognized
How the water continuously on rise

A valediction to her who crossed over me...

She crossed over
The street before my windshield...
My late night lover...
Her shoulder
Bare...slender strapped...
Waves there on her bosom lapped...
Her glittering dress...onion red...
Her eyes filled with passion unsaid...
She crossed over...
My late night dream...
Her hair dancing on her waist so slim...
Her move...her quick brisk walk...
Left on road red flowery marks...
And a few petals of that red...
Fell on windshield...and to me said
Not to stare at her long...
She...soon felt me, was just a mirage strong...
So I let her slip away in the dark
Like an extinguished valedictory spark...

by your window...

Sitting by your window
I got with perfect ease
The purpose of the breeze
That had all years these...
Played about your hair...
And made you hum
Love songs some...The sight of sugar canes green
From your window as often seen
Kind of a miniature wilderness
Brought to me your rusticity dense...
Your happiness and scraps of pains
Painted on walls...tiles...
Books lonely bedside piled...Sitting by your window rewound
Within me sights and sounds...
Of nocturnal ecstasies...
Of cigarette smoke passive...
Of worn down ashtray woody feel...
Cobwebbed visions by black glass sealed...
Of a pond a few yards away covered by leaves-
Of palm and coconut trees...Suddenly the car honked
And my visions got a jolt...
It was time the horn said...
To catch again the road there laid...
To go back...to leave...
To wake up from my sleep...

Outside of a night...inside of me...

Outside...
The night has become a saint
On his hair street light paints
White and hazy streaks of sleep...
And trance from the street peeps...
Through my window like airy layer...
And in moments like these I can see you there...
Combing a long stretch of love laden hair...
And singing perhaps an old song
Heard by me...once...the whole night long...Outside...
The night is whispering a sense
Of peace...tranquil existence
And moments like these click open snaps...
Of you growing in length and width in undefined time gaps...
From your first word to your last kiss...
In moments like these
I definitely miss...
From your first yawn to your last write...
In moments like these
I back fight...Outside...
The night grows dense to dense
Inside I just cling to the fence
Of present tense dividing the past
Your growth unparallel from dawn to dusk...

No place is alien...when for you I wait...

No place is alien
When I am kept on wait...
By you in parks...foodstalls or lanes...
Thus by my mere wait
I came to know straight
When the movie hall opens its gate...
Which tuberail runs whence a few minutes late...
Which street bends where to a tree meet
A flower shop or a bookstore stands on which street...
In which route the tram car runs with desire
Painted on its red facade bare...
On which pavement a singer collects coins flipped on his hat...
Which street sells love at a discount- twenty percent flat...
Where does Katheryn Bolkovac pinned
And burst the myth of human trafficking...
Which building has a rooftop bar
Where the sun light before death leaves a pinkish scar...
Where does the balloonist every evening stand...
Where under artificial rain lonely hearts dance...No place is alien for me...
By waiting for you the whole world I see...

Going viral...

When rode out of the town
The sun like a bright halogen bulb frowned
At me...as if he asked
In which untempered glory me wishing to bask-
Had taken the untrodden path...
Which idea was I to give birth
To in this nuclear borne century...
Or was there any hatchet to bury...I said nothing only looked
At the yellow light that booked
Tickets first class for me
A few nautical miles across the green sea...It was a real hard choice
To choose between the body and the voice...
To choose between abstract and solid...
To choose between words and deeds...I chose the real...
And so went out of the virtual town
Ignoring the sun's frown...

The place...

This place has a story hidden in its veins
In its every nook and corner...in its lanes...
Like that bench lonely now
Still carry the picture of two souls under that stretched bough...
Like the ice cream vendor nearby...
Selling sense of semiliquid sweet alibi
Of being present there a few days back
Two souls ...not then going through any slack
Of pulls working in them fine...
Of living seperately yet entwined...
Like that post box red at the kerb
Standing still bearing witness to the verve...
Of two souls celebrating life near it...
A sudden spurt of joy discoverably strong on the street...
Like that simple traffic post shed
Triangular white and blue and red...
Still carry perhaps the memory of an evening...
When rain lashing quick two people into it did bring...
Like so many other elements spread out
At this particular place...hold solid and stout
Memories of two specific people lost
In rains...summer...winter...and the frost...The place...
It has a story embedded into its being...
On…

the lady with a lantern when me called...

At first seeing the flicker
Of light, thought a seeker
Like me perhaps went out
Of safe and secure room but had doubts
Still lingering somewhere within
And so catching the rhythm 
Of waves...phosphorous white,
I walked along the shore- not losing the sight
Of the flicker of yellow beam of light...

I walked following the glare
And the waves roared loud and clear
Beside me all the time...a kind of charm...
Across the sands soft and warm-
I strolled like a possessed man
Across lonely deserted land-
I walked slow but under a spell
With a mind controlled by the flicker that fell
On sandy beach...a circular spot
The only visible thing in the deathly dark, a dot...
And I walked, finally arriving within a few yards
That light...and as more to the light I neared
Saw like a statue a woman in white
Standing there nonchalant bright...
And discovered the source of the flicker then
An old artifact in her hand hanging...a glass covered lantern...
The lantern swung a bit by the wind
And the flicker…

on such an evening...

On such an evening
for you I sing...
As rain drops through the leaf's fringe
Little beads of silver bring
For me to quench my thirst...
My insatiable lust...
On such an evening
for you I sing...
As my forehead and cheeks
Moist air with rawest passion licks...
And the veiled moon send her light
Through the air her silvery delight...
On such an evening
for you I sing...




Man...machine...

On cemented smooth
Rain drops fell and burst
Into little water stars...
And I,like a lone survivor, brood...The sky...
On the shiny footpath lie...
Spread wide blue and dark...
Like an abandoned artwork
Of a painter guided by whim
Left midway with brush strokes
At someplaces loud and somewhere dim...
And I,the survivor of the forgotten age, brood...
Thinking of cyberlife as it stood...
In this techno beat superfast age
How the speediest owns all the edge!
I wish not to be a party
To this machine driven liberty...But...
Machines sweep all so quick...
Machines churn monetary trick...
Last night a machine wrote
A ballad for another machine stuck abroad!
A machine rumbled melodious tune
A machine painted a golden sanddune...
Everything this age are machine run...
Machines kalories every second burn...So...
What is my role here? Say?
Time has come to call it a day
For me perhaps...lost in wood...
For me perhaps who only broods...But...
When the rain pitter patter fall?
When she with all h…

In search of God...

In search of God
He left his home...
Pleasure dome...
Silk route...
Theatrical troupe...
Boyish dreams...
Silver screen...
Insipid charms...
Horseriding farms...
Toyshops...
On stage props...
Paragliding gear...
A book on Lear...
Blue blue eyes...
Midnight sighs...
Juvenile hopes...
Mountain slopes...
Gold plated brooch...
A red red smooch...
A lipstick blunt...
A motorcycle stunt...
Keys to vault...
Chilli pepper salt...
Rock songs sudden...
Rat race burden...
D grade films...
Sun tan creams...
Debit-credit cards...
Broken glass shards...
Bullet-proof vest...
Days of unrest...He left all...
In search of God...
He left his bod...

a drizzle...

A drizzle...
is another form of pining I guess...
Coming slowly...making me undress
before her...
against the blur
of hazy street
lighted by luminous streaks...
a touchy-freely thing
a ride downstream...
from the eyes filling
pores million of my skin...
 A drizzle...
is another form of a pining I guess...
Coming  to cause a wetness
Which could not be always seen
But felt moist on shirt
Like eyes teary when someone departs
after a long eventful memorable stay...
Like coming to the end of a beautiful day...
Not accepting its end with ease
And still with its end anticipating  possibilities
Of rain with greater force...
Of an overloaded turbulent course...








A day with her...my glorious river...

While in hedges and bushes
Crickets and gnats play...
I...the modern megalomaniac
Start the second lap of my day...

But on a rare day
I could be a sage...
-a real man leafing through a page
Of a miniscule life...

I could die a temporary death
Falling in love with a glorious river
-an enchantress!

On such a day I sat with her for hours...
She singing a song of yesteryear...
I probably stared at her face
Lit up by the light coming
Like a column from a faraway place...
I felt on my palms
Her fingers playing soft
I felt her saree's end...
Spread for me to drop
Down for a sweet nap
O! On her heavenly motherly lap...
She sang one after another
Songs of parting souls...
Songs of flowers...
Songs reminiscent of some waits
At the bus-stops or fairyland gates...
Songs that could catch the flow
Of clouds drifting apart...
Of a speckled lunar show...
Of vegetable growth of cowardly affection...
Of trains whistling past a lonely station...
Of a cutting of forest -bare and aloof,
Of a tree fa…

are you sure?

Yes... yes...
I admit straight...
I fell for you
And got defeated...
 Yes..yes...
You really did break my glass case...
And my everything left you in a mess...
Yes...
I admit straight
I fell for you and got defeated...

But tell me...
Are you sure
You won it?
Are you sure
By eating up
Your words...
You triumphed?

Yes yes...
I admit it straight
I wrote a thousand letters to you
And left them undelivered
Under my mattress I kept them...
Out of worldly view...

But tell me...
Are you sure
You wrote me none?
Are you sure
For me you didn't spare moments some?
Are you sure
You threw all of me
Out of your door...
Are you sure?

la manana...

O my morning dream
Grainy golden sunbeamed
Turned halfway across the bed
Satin white cover draped...
Just before waking up...
Looked like from heaven dropped
Straight on the layered earth
To give a different birth...

A birth of a hero...or a coward
By pulleys gradually lowered
On uncovered plane... my morning's bride
Glossy papered- black and white...
Only some sunny spots on shine
Penciled dark and light...lined sublime...

O my morning dream
Grainy golden sunbeamed
Rose a sculptor in me...
Filling me with satiety...




Terrace learn...

She at the terrace
On the rails her elbow on rest
Drenched by the rays
Of broken sun...
Made me learn
So many things...Her hair carried
By the breeze over her face...
Continuous shots digitally hurried
To me at a stupendous pace...Then there was the dark orange sight
Of her 'anchal' on a flight...
Her great reluctant poise...
A poem almost born out of joys...The way she cast her dreamy glance...
The way the rays on her curves danced...
The way on her forehead resplendent
Moisture the clouds did temptingly paint...
The way her long dark eyelash
Trembled... and whispered a titanic blast...   All these simple things and much more...
She on the terrace poured...
As colored by the sun on set...
Made me learn so many things...

Untimely autumn...

Image
Seeing those towers touching the blue
And the clouds...as a terrific untimely autumnal view...
I took a reverse osmosis-
A journey to our days of bliss...Under such a blue blue sky
Once we all used to kites fly...
We used to take the sunday streets
Riding tricycles...and toyguns strapped by plastic bits...
We rode down then comic books...
We trees climbed till their branches shook...
We giggled...laughed out loud...
We lived fictional life without doubts...Then a bit grown up...teenaged
We used to visit the watery edge...
The old nanny river where by gentle waves myths lapped...
We...like infatuated souls, in misadventures trapped-
Sang songs of unknown liberty...
Then we grew oneday to be men of the city...
We fell in love with girls in autumn
Pinkish dreams...floating ones made of cotton...
Many of our firsts happened then...
Kissing someone in a solitary lane...
Running to someone...with a gift in hand...
Ribboned hastily...toes filled with dust and sand...
Our first sudden heartbr…