Posts

Showing posts from February, 2013

Hope you are not ignorant of those little things...

Hope you are not ignorant
of things that used to stir
you few years back...
those little insignificant things?
like that evening breeze?
and the play of light and shade
on the smooth road of velvet?
and that copper colored flakes
of paint dusted off the board of a dream?
Hope you are not ignorant
of little things...
insignificant ones like the taillight that blinked
twice before slipping into the dark?
and that meadowy place where gnats and glowworms convened
a seminar
on relationships how get trimmed
by passage of time...and mutation of space...
Hope you have not forgotten the taste
of wine...a residual chance...
a night of people engaged in dance?You might have forgotten every thing about me...
But...how can you be ignorant of memories of me?
And that egg yolk moon?
and the parade of stars?
and that afternoon show ticket
of a play...a farce?
and the flower girl from whom you bought
three different blossoms in traffic jam caught?

so she arrives...like the season of spring...

Image
sometimes...she arrives
wearing the newest green
under the blue sky of spring
as if she comes to wait
for me by the river straight...she comes sometimes with a shade
cool breezy flakes of white sand dropping on my head...
like a pure dream of a land unseen but heard often
in lores of forgotten youth that soften
adult hearts with drops of moist dew...
sometimes she arrives with stories few...
wearing her newly bought green
waiting for me at the onset of spring...
by the river and the mound of sand
white mica laden -a sparkling land...And I dream of radha and krishna
tunes of flute flooding my ears
and colored pollen grains on my painted vision...
soft...benign...on a pleasing morn...
sometimes she arrives like a tree alone...
wearing her best sunday green...
smelling so much of flowery spring...

Ah! I spent life half for such a day...

After a short spell of shower
when the sun came out
knew he heard my prayer
for he smiled surely looking at me
and those flowers bloomed for the swarm of bees...
and the road still populated by leaves
yellow fallen chaffeurs of dreams
smiled too with sparkle on their blades...Ah! I spent half life for a day
like this when the streets and alleys lay
awake yet in a restive trance...
and the drenched soft and fresh sun
playing with the trees...
and the afternoon chapter of a breeze...
kissing him to be gay...
Ah! I spent life half for such a day...

Being in a time warp...

Well...
When one is in a time warp...
One sees history written on walls...
History of struggles...deprivation...
Starving faces of a whole generation...
Hanging footloose on the board
Blood on sickles...spades and rusty swords...
Trains departing ...a snail's progress...
Torn dhoti... Muddy shirt... Fallen lace...
Fire on thatched roof... Shelter under a tin shack...
Children running... Women falling there slack...
Bulging smoke tear gased eyes on burn...
A road emptied closed for no return...
An alley of the noon filled with sounds of heavy boots...
A shop's shutter broken for an awesome loot...
Three pronged candleposts blackened by molten tar...
A body lying beside a flower fully charred...
Posters slogans full of Gandhi speak...
Great kolkata carnage posted in petitions writ...
Flagmarch of olive green tattooed cars...
Religion ushering a fitting doomsday curse...Well...
When one is in a time warp...
All scenes of sins fall sharp...
Before eyes like witnessing live
Broadca…

Pea soup sky and the breeze...

The slice of sky this morning
Looked like peasoup...to me
And the sun...like egg's yolk...
In the middle... afloat...Peering out...
Felt the breeze on flow
There was something in the wind...
As if the lovely maiden Spring
Had sent her sister here...
She was swift...breezy...fair...
She must have started to work
To sweep the street...
Upon which some people walked...
Found leaves from different trees...
Falling running jumping...
As if they were happy to find Spring's sister...
As she had come long time after...The breeze had the southern smell...
Of seeds...spices...coffee plants...
And valleys and plateaus...
Reminder of luncheon at Le Chateau...
Plates placed on tables of wood...
Glass jars on which with honey stood...
And fruits and mango juice...The sky looking pea soup...
Made me a day to lose...

The wait at the library...

The greco roman columns...
The ceiling white with brown colored beams
Crisscrossing like figures from geometry text...
The long old rock solid tables...
All smell so much of them...
The great men and women...
Who chose the way to a vocation...
So self possessed thing...
And nourishing too...Here time even leaves all her work....
She doesnot go to ring the bell...
Or hurries around...for no good...
Here time also reads...
And sometimes she writes her mind...
Her wishes and secret desires
Which she scarcely let out...Yes!
Waiting at a library...
Is like living in with Time...
A different version of hers...
Who is so quiet...
Rooted...
A meditative soul perhaps
Of a restless being...

Dolce vita

With the sun on back
Have you ever sat
On a cliff...
Overlooking the city
As if in a cauldron set deep?With the breeze soft
Playing with the ends cropped
Of hair so indulgent like a mother
Have you ever looked up the canvas
Of the blue so pleasant and true?Well...
I have once...
Got that chance
Many many years ago perhaps...
Almost forgotten like picture under dust...But...
I know that was the moment...
Perhaps my only one so far
My dolce vita...sure!

The morn...the sun...and my heart...

Image
Chanced to catch you
By the window of the morn
The sun all over your face kid...
Infused with absentminded feeds
Of last night's dream of yours
Of characters from your comic books...
Or perhaps you were still not out of sleep
For your eyes looked not restless...
You just sat lethargic on the bed
And savoured the first light of the day...
Chanced to catch you like a poem
Fresh...sweet...dropped from heaven...
So full of divine trance...
Catching photons as they danced...
Passing through the fog and mist
Caught you kid perfect...sunkissed...
By the window of the morn
Sitting and watching the world alone...

what can i say about that man?

what can i say about that man?
my being to him i owe
and as time passes on we grow...
together...separate...
alone yet joined...he watches the television set
sitting on his bed erect...
and sometimes lying silent...
watching the world on flow
in colors...in colorless violence...he has seen so many events...
the birth of a nation...times tensed...
cries of youth soaked in blood...
villages disappearing under water of a flood...
marks of barbed wires on shoulders blue...
heavy stomping he heard of leather shoes...
the fall of a man riddled by bullets...
he had read news of Mussolini's arrest...
seen he had how vultures dawned
upon the roofs of a blackened town...
one night he had felt how the earth shook bad
another morn he witnessed processions sad...
black badges on shirts...against deaths
by molotov cocktails purely handmade...what can i say of this man?
growing crow's feet and wrinkled tan
over his face...so aged by sights
and sounds of numerous fights
and struggles of a who…

a poster of a book...

Image
somenights are just like that...
I walk by her side
under the moonlight
and the shadows of buildings come out to play
upon me...her face...as the streets silent stay
witness to our nocturnal stroll...