Wick burns down

The red sword arcs
Golden haze breached
Lynching by moon rays

Beady yellow eyes
Glittering promise
Amidst night crawlers

Leafy flags overhead
Susurrating winds
Caressing menace

Abstract flies over
Zen goes farther
As minutes rush by
The aging night wanders on

Count the sheep
Or count the ants
Slow burn of the eyes
And the heart's wick

Only guarantees
Of a forsaken void

Shimmer

I would walk down
The darkest paths
Lit by dark honey eyes

Your low soft laughs
My northern star

Short bity hair
My only anchor
In tempests wild

Ensorcelled that I am
I will break mores
With satiated smiles

My sinful redemption
In sharp line of lips
Crowning teasing tongue

Hold my hand to cross streets
Kiss me under shadow trees
Bedecked in the light of cars
Breezing past in the twilight

Salvation in nostalgic nuggets

Flames entangled together
Searing souls long in search
With only metaphors for company
Woven on lonely longing nights

Dots of Thoughts

Dry lands under floods
No more benign rivers
As all turn marauders

Seasonal lines blur
No crispy January mornings
Rains make it cold and damp
A chillier humid wet July
Warm December nights

Smudged circles
Straights for the familiar
Mazes and labyrinth
Questions and elusive answers
Grim reality of our worlds

Judgement Day looms
What moral sins?
Earth’s physical scars
Guarantee hell
Worse than Dante’s
No redemption in sight
Future is death for
Existential reality

No questions of forever
Seekers ever despairing
Thirsty souls
Adrift on shoreless oceans
Beneath green roiling skies

Where dwells the knower?

Flight

I had a flying horse
With sleek muscles
And sensuous flanks

Dark coat and silver calves
With an arrow’s quicksilver speed
Fired off by a master archer

No hound could match her
No wolf could ever catch up
No pride could ever prey her
The fleetest stallion
Had not her heart and steel

On paths green and plain
Or covered in fall leaves
Over crags and mountains
Over creeks and dunes
No twisted path could gainsay her
Nor overhanging branch deny her

She and me flying by
Amidst a gathering of
Mouths dropped in awe
Eyes gleaming in worship
And glittering with envy
Covetous glances a-plenty

I never ride her for sport
Just enough for some grub
And to taste freedom chill

I named her Wanda
For her suggestive powers

In The Dark

Sleepy and Pacino-like
Zombie stiff walk
A needle in his hand
Dead goons at his side
Trawling the streets

A little room
With rattly doors
A woman in scarves
With two young girls
Huddling close

A young boy in blue slacks
Kicking balls in the barren park
Some lads at the basket court
Flashing sweaty torsos and calves

Young women at the drive-in
Nursing Long Islands and smokes
Spinning talks of French kisses
Sharing the latest on men tales
Celebrating young womenhood

Chaos and panic
All a helter-skelter
As he walks into the block
Zeroes on the boys
As they scamper as mice
Away from the dead eyes

The boy in blue slacks
Dashes away
Down the path which
Houses his friends

I see them
Coming down the block
Chasing a kid across the park

I want to run
To try and get away
But she will stay
With the older woman
She will not leave her alone
And I will not leave her there

I want to pull them out
Make them run with me
But she believes
Angels will tread
Where zombies run amok

The doors, I whisper sharply
Too clumsy to bolt
Only a good rattle away
From leaving us open

Under the darkening sky
Danger and evil dead lurk
Paralysing good intentions

The women wish me gone
A final apologetic hug;
I wait for the inevitable
They walk in; I walk out
Move aside breathlessly; But I am safe
Dead eyes see straight lines
As they make for the inner door
I slither away, noiselessly
Bolt into a run

Me and him
Tearing down the blocks
One of them – it sees us
Panicked, drenched in fear
Finding air in adrenaline

He is beautiful
I never saw him thus
There is beauty in despair
In survival; in battle
Hope twists portals
Bends universe to your will
I will to live; to see
The end of this line; this thought

We are good; saved
By a swing of eyelids

They are closed in; in a glassed mall
Who did that?
No head nor tail to events
Only it was wished for;

A hand over my shoulders
My smile shifts the clouds
It is her; She is there

We are three; solace multiplied

But I left her alone
In the darkness of fear

She lived; it was willed for her
The bravery of the drowning

I watch alone
I would be sad
I would leak tears

But for the twitch of eyelids
The ray of light
It is morning
Time to consign
The darkness of dreams
To the closet under the bed
Safe from the world
Free to show me myself
In the freedom of the night

Still Life

Do you remember
The frazzled young woman
In a forgettable sari
On the pavement, beside the road
As we passed by in a rickshaw

Do you remember her face
Expressionless as she stood
Looking blank and waiting
With a big suitcase
And a little girl perched atop it

Do you remember the child
In a white-red princess frock
White hat with red polka dots
To keep away the June sun

The tableau they made
Young woman and child
Amidst the cacophony
Of whirling vehicles
And stuttering sounds

I still think of them
Wonder what their story was
What or who were they waiting for?
And what came of the waiting?

And Indian politicians are still dallying

on 30% reservation of seats for women in the Indian Parliament.

Meanwhile, in its last elections, Rwanda had the highest percentage of women in parliament in the world: 56.25% of the seats, up from 48% in the previous parliament.

The Rwandan constitution, ratified in May 2003, states that 30% of decision-making positions are to be reserved for women.

According to President Paul Kagame, increased participation of women in politics is necessary for improving the social, economic and political conditions of their families and the entire country.

It is argued that women's representation in national parliaments across sub Saharan Africa equals the world average of about 15 per cent, but it is higher than in many wealthier nations, according to Unifem's 2002 report.

Time to think hard on those whom we vote to the Lok Sabha. Are people's representatives really representing the people?

Dribble

Have you heard of the man;
Who lived in the rocky pool
Under the dark sticky sky
Staring up at the dark dankness
Wanting in desperation
Waiting for the shining figures
To take him down enticing paths;
And when they showed up
The man in the rocky pool thought
They showed him blue vales
Pink skies and smiling pixies in yellow
When all the while; he was looking at
Smoky sickly mossy green marshes
Filled to brim with ashy dead desires
Through the foggy smelly mist of time.

Finally! A Credible TV Romance

I am a sucker for romance. But it must be credible. Not the 'a body meets a body' and thats all that meets.
One reason, why I love fantasy and angst.

What an irony! That I, an Indian in a land of 200 TV channels in about 10 languages (if not more), have to trawl the internet for days and then watch German TV to see a credible romance.

So I say, Thanks Nanna for the translations!

Yet what does it say of us and our creative community and of course, the watchers, that we cannot create or demand a credible romance.

Or maybe there are several other works and I am unaware of it.
Next stop: Japanese, Korean, European and Brazilian TV.




PS: If anyone can lead me to some, I shall be grateful. Also, I hear 'Bones' has a good romance, that true? Anyone?

Raipur Live

Deliciously snarky
Heartbreakingly blunt
Your exaggerated sighs
The twinkle in your eyes

I thought you hated me
For being boring and foppish
For my timidity and caution

Ah! What self-hate I bore
For wanting you to like me
The stray tears shed
On cold quiet mornings
Inside the warm quilt
For 40 days

An early morning catharsis
Oaths made on secret papers

Struggling through the Raipur Lives
Nervously seeing off midnights
Learning to edit fast
For edgy page makers
Fighting with headlines and deadlines
And precision over 13 hour days
Learning your craft
Earning a reputation

And then one night
You made my day
When ‘Do it like her’ you bellowed
As they cowered and mock glared at me

And just like that
For the first time ever
I was part of a gang; your gang

Then came the 3am rides
To the city outskirts
In a dilapidated Omni
Full of hungry, tired bodies
Two women and five men
Searching for hot naans
And fast readymade chicken

The truckers thought us insane
When we poked irreverent fun
At words, languages and politicos
And cussed every region in India
We, who came from Nagpur
Indore, Patna, Calcutta, Delhi
Orissa, Punjab and Kerala

Tearing into food
Telling histories
Listening to tales
Shaping thoughts and minds
Forming everlasting bonds
Over paneer exotica and Pepsi

Greeting dawn at the railway station
With hot creamy teas and aloo bondas
Watching people embark and land
Enough times, to be homesick at 21

I mourn the loss of those times
Those nights and dawns that made me
Freed me then, they defined my now
You made me
I like it and hate it
I have your precision
I have your flaws too
What irony!

Amol and Perneet and Rohit
Pagemakers par excellence
What trouble shooters!
Kshama – You deadline juggler
May your daughter be as naughty as you
Chandan – for the slowest ever editing
But say ‘Chandan did it’
To get any editor off your back

How I miss you all!
The Live team, they called us

Ah Manish!
This was all about you, always
Thanks for all the whipcracks
Literal and otherwise
For all the listening
For setting high standards
For making me seek perfection
Even within nightly deadlines

Thanks for the sunrises
The madness of nights
The introspective afternoons

And for being there, always.

Bereft and her fiery pen

Hello to all visitors to Xanadu:

My lovely friend, Bereft, has a thoughtful mien and a fiery pen. Her latest post touches upon several strands, personal, emotional and the physical world around us. It had me nodding, sighing and 'et tu'ing (not in Caesar's vein though) at intervals.

Friends, please do go read :) And leave a comment too :):)

Thank you

Slow Ramble

The writerless pen
Forgotten relic
Of a keyless world

Slow seduction of words
A-wooing over fires and wine
Language of whispers and sighs

Gifts of longing and heart's ease
Lost art of romanticism

Sensuality of touch
Slow dancing with
Wait-burnished anticipation

No ever afters
Only an unending loop
Of kisses and straight lines
Smouldering and soothing

Passage of time
Circle of life

Where nights are forever young
And curtains are for the timid

Wait

Icy chilly winds
Across the swarthy land

Sun turning blood red
Night perpetually grey

a lonely pebble
waiting for kindness
of a wandering foot
to seek new lands

Folly

Layers of ignorance
Building glaciers of hate
Loathing of the unfamiliar
Dangers for the ‘other’

Hostility and revulsion
Recipes of civil disaster
A withering society
Breeding self-destruction

Blood always the answer
To any and every stray word

Defenders become attackers
No lions among lambs anymore

Faithless protectors of faith

Lucid minds driven to ghettos
Hyenas hunt the dead cities
Where logic lies in ruins

Where are the poets?
The writers? The painters?
Defenders of rights and voices?

All forgotten ideals

I stand mute and voiceless
Watching my kinsmen
Harvest a world of hate

The rainbow is red now
Fires bloom everywhere
In my selfish world of I's
With the world shrivelled up
And thrown into the corner bin

Welts

Roving days
Cosmic chaos
Print deadlines
Cold dinners
Cribbing and crabbing
About sulky copy editors
And tardy pagemakers
Tears over Darfur
Disgust at general state of affairs
Decrying India’s politics
Abusing Fair & Lovely’s farce
Disowning saffron tirades
Debating nationalism
Romance, envies and editorials
Dreamy sighs for SRK & Winslet
Drooling over Kajol and Denzel

Steaming glasses of tea
Cream soaked banana slices
At 3 in the mornings

Shoeing up for the hour long walks
Along the lake city’s lakes
Joining the many moths
Grandpops and Grandmoms with rudrakshas
Beneath trees; singing quietly of their Gods
Little ones playing racquet & hockey
Part of the national games’ nursery
All searching for the illusive
Refuge in the dawning sun
Chiming temple bells mingling
With the muezzin's call for prayers

Of crashing after breakfasts
Of milky teas and sleepy eyes
Waking up to rings of ‘lunch is here’
Of hot rotis and rice and watery dal
Giggling over the new paneer recipe
Made on little stoves of adventure
Warm cocoon of love and wantedness
A sanctuary as one ever wished for

Whither those promises
Lost over pathetic quibbles
I lost a friend; did I lose a well-wisher
Did my closeted ways make an enemy of you?

Hopes of meeting someday still lingers
I imagine your face on wanderers here
Your fussiness; how you indulged me

Did I hurt you?
I can churn out the usual
I am sorry; Didn’t mean it
But another love made me myopic
I was in the throes of first love, you see
I mistook several things; I took offence
How was I to know?
You had your own wishes
I wish I could grant them; I would see you happy
I am yet to see that beautiful smile of yours
I wish you could bless me with that once more

Have you found happiness?
Shelter? Kindness everlasting?

I keep your tokens
I remind myself to smile always
You see, they were days of such happiness
Hah! You made me feel young at 23
Who called 30-year-olds ‘kids’
I, who had survived alone,
And grew old too soon
Damn you old fart; to make a sniveling woman
Of a tough nut – once called the ‘Don’

Phah! I wish for tears now
I squeeze my tear glands; they refuse
I am glad; memories are for smiles
Lessons learnt, heart soothed
I will lean on them on leaner days

I miss you, friend
I mourn this loss deeply
But it’s only mine to mourn

I pray you have built a new life
On new friendships and smiles

(You will be glad to know
I am not alone
My heart has found its home)
But I wish for confessions
And tea-soaked biscuits

Tumult

meander
wander
pander
wishes
strange
to console
numbed mind wild
roots; identities
placental green seas
plain mountains
flying horses
momental needs
fictional
virtual comfort
father figures
blood siblings
of the mind
errant tides
kicking soccer balls
create new canvas
a life anew
see the blood leech
life speeding on dirt tracks
leaking hearts
bonds fissured
hold on
control
image
perception
brakedownal verge
mourning
alone time
dusk of times
what could have beens
galores of ifs
forbidden taste
colourless dreams
parasitic kindness
helpless trigger

nights fade
nothingness
revolutions
earth round
black hole of
cyclical dependence

Chimera

Like a blue screen
Playground of delightful visions
Of rolling green plains
Edging into dark forests
Where dwell the warrior elves
Dreamy vampires cavort with pixies
Where dwarfs mine the underworld
And overground, the peacocks dance

See the horse black as night
With a dark rider on its back
Fly across jungles, jumping brooks,
Swerve stray branches, threading shallow rivers
Long hair of sleek warrior and horse
Streaming banners behind them;
As majestic strides eat up furloughs
And the youth drinks of the sun’s rays

A butterfly wings its way on to the passing mare
To ask “what’s the hurry, fast friend”
The horse snorts, shakes its nightly mane
A tinkly laughter flows from the warrior
“Towards home we go: tonight is a festive night
The moon shows its full face; the wolves will be out
Sibilant shadows will scurry, scarred by pale specters;
Under the swaying palms, around the burning fire
I will lead the dance of watchers and white knives
Even as the drums shall thrill and strings shall strum.”

The dark one offers his hand
And lets the little being hop on
Caresses its wings; such sad love in his eyes
With a sigh as cold as the autumn breeze
Softly lands the being on the golden flower
“Ah friend, would that you could come to us,
Alas! The shimmering trees find you too flighty
Their ancient presence pondering matters weighty.”

Here the brave one giggled like one young
With a neigh and a “I race the east wind home”
The dark pair sped off deep into the forest
Onwards to the majestic waterfall
Shielding curious eyes from curious goings-on
A land best left alone; lest the ancients
Surprise us with a visit in our dark dreams.

I Hate Too: And Violence Tops The List

I hate terrorists who kill innocents to sate individual egos: But I have no wish to bomb their hovels - made poorer by their lack of sensitivity.

I hate Osama Bin Laden for his blind hatred and for using his moneys to create more spiritual orphans: But I have no wish to bomb his country of Saudi Arabia – land of Islamic piety.

I hate George W Bush for his sillyisms and apparent density in foreign affairs: But I would not dream of bombing the White House which once housed Lincoln.

I hate the small-visioned generals and politicians of Pakistan: But I do not envision bombing my nation’s neighbour as a security antidote.

I hate China’s guts and efficiency: But my envy will still not allow violence and disarray on the streets of Shanghai and Beijing.

I hate India’s naxalites for turning terrorists when they could have been revolutionaries: But I have no wish to comb and tear down rural India. I would rather build roads.

I hate the saffron brigade for diluting and polluting my religion: But while I may wish them violence in my more frustrating moments, I would rather that they read the Bhagwad Gita to understand Hinduism.

I hate the radical Islamists in India for bombing Indians as vengeance against the easy West and Israel: But I wish no violence against any Muslim. I would rather that they leave the Islamic East to fight their own battles. We have enough battles to be fought here.

I hate the Hindu fundamentalists for becoming the Islamic fundamentalists that they apparently so resent: But I wish no violence against them. I pity their self-destructive tendencies.

I hate the Hindu fundamentalists for decrying liberalism in the name of India’s ancient religion and culture. But I can wish no violence against them for I find their stand laughable. I would rather that they learnt how ancient India was more ‘modern’ than modern Europe and ancient Hindu culture was more permissive than Christianity can ever aspire to be.

I am no temple-going practicing Hindu. But I am a believer. I can and will boast that if any Indian God or Goddess were to come down now: they will find me more Hindu than the preaching men in saffron.

Just like wearing the Gandhi cap does not a pious politician make and wearing a Nehru jacket bestows no Nehruvian sophistication, wearing saffron and tilak gives the wearers no right as defenders of my religion.

I can so hate some more. There are always enough dense fools to hate on. But I do not wish to hate.

I will love. No, not my Gods. I will love the next person. I will love you. I do not know you. But I wish to know you. I wish to listen to you. I may or may not like what I hear. But I will listen without interrupting you. I will tell you about my culture, my roots, and I will listen to you about yours.

I am different from you. I will welcome the difference. I will dwell on the difference between us. I will discard what I do not like in you and me. And embrace, even sheepishly, what is healthy in you and me.

I will debate and grow angry with you, but I will admit that I learnt from you and I will credit you for teaching me. I will celebrate you. For your and mine differences will teach me to indulge the other person.

I will be no rock. I aim to be a sponge.

And this will be my way of truly honouring my Gods. For they taught salvation lay in knowledge.

Osmosis is knowledge. I will seek osmosis.

In seeking osmosis, I will discard the blindfold of hate.

Woes, Unhinged

The recent bomb blasts in various Indian cities have me worried.

I worry for the future of my extremely flawed, yet still, much beloved nation. I love my country, even though increasingly, there are fewer and fewer credits against its name.

But more than the ravings of these twisted minds, what worries me is the increasing religious intolerance amongst my countrymen.

Today, when I say “ravings of these twisted minds” it can mean any one of these:
a. so-called vengeful extremist Islamic elements
b. so-called ‘righteously outraged over conversions’ violent Hindu mobs
c. so-called ‘violently seeking our share of the national pie’ naxalites
d. so-called ‘protecting the honour of mother languages’ extortionist elements
e. so-called ‘protecting age-old culture by curbing creative instincts’ extremist Hindus
f. so-called ‘offering a plank to the powerless’ power-leeching politicians

And let us not even venture into the realm of gender bias and anti-women tendencies.

Everyone is an enforcer in today’s India. Enforcers with limited mandates and individual agendas, who toy with sensibilities and sensitivities.

And we, the spineless, stand and watch it all.

I can close my eyes and pretend that I did not hear and see anything.
I can crawl inward into that warm and fuzzy place in my mind and pretend to be indifferent.
I can trawl through the internet and seriously think of migrating to a different land with at least different problems.
I can hear and watch everything and say, “as long as that is not me”, I am fine.
I can bemoan my country’s spiritual and philosophical decline for an hour and then trumpet my country’s raised economical profile for days to blind myself to such decline.
I can ignore all these and console myself with cricket.
And when that fails, I have dreamy Bollywood.

But once the lights go up on scrunched popcorn holders and empty cola bottles, naked reality is all that remains under the heating sun.

Bottomline: Will more of us give in to the reality of oppressive and seemingly powerful zealots or will more of us dig in our heels in favour of the much short-changed liberal way of life.

The answers to this will make or break India, my much maligned, yet much beloved country.

A Wow for Palin...err...Fey

If I didnt know Tina Fey, I could have easily mistaken her to be Republican Veep candidate Sarah Palin in this skit on NBC's Saturday Night Live (SNL).

An amazing sketch!
Tina Fey, the “30 Rock” creator, and Amy Poehler are absolutely spot on as Palin and Hillary.

Global Warming
Poehler (Hillary): "...is caused by man."
Fey (Palin): "...is just God hugging us closer!"

Foreign Policy
Poehler (frustrated Hillary): "...diplomacy should be the cornerstone of any foreign policy."
Fey (Palin): "..And I can see Russia from my house."

Poehler (Hillary): "I disagree with the Bush Doctrine."
Fey (Palin): "I don't know what that is!"

Poehler (Hillary): "I didn't want a woman to be president, I wanted to be president."

Campaign Joke:
Fey (Palin): It reminds me of a joke we tell in Alaska…
Poehler (Hillary): Oh boy.
Fey (Palin): What’s the difference…
Poehler (Hillary): Lipstick.
Fey (Palin): …between a hockey mom
Poehler (Hillary): Lipstick.
Fey (Palin): …and a pitbull?
Poehler (Hillary): Lipstick.
Fey (Palin): Lipstick.
Poehler (Hillary): There ya’ go.

Fey and Poehler are both SNL stars.

Feminism & Canned Biscuits

Who is this Elroy Riggs of the Central Kentucky News Journal?

Recently, Riggs wrote a laughably detestable piece drawing a connection between canned biscuits and increased divorce rates in the USA. Riggs vehemently advises women to get down to baking homemade biscuits if they are to keep their husbands and boyfriends.

So much for the decades-long socio-economical debate when apparently, the answer lay innocently in every kitchen. Heh

I snorted at a poster's comment here that there was homemade biscuits in the "good old days" of Riggs precisely because divorce was not an option then: No wonder men in the 19th century had a high mortality rate.

*Insert: some more snorts

I rather suspect that men (actually just about anyone) would run away faster if they are served all those carb-dripping heavies every morning.

*Blah* *Bleh* *Bluh*

Weigh Happy!

Random Trivia: Just because I must. *giggles*

Oh aye :) Please indulge

Took my folks to the hospital for a regular blood pressure check-up (normal, in both cases) and my eyes lit up on seeing the weighing scale :) Well…I scampered up onto it with all the anticipation and tentativeness of a first date.

And I got off it with all the satisfaction of a first kiss done just like the webzines advised.

Ahem...

So, I am happy to report that I have now officially managed to maintain my weight for about two months. The last time I weighed myself was in July 2008: It was a day of almost silly gloating and self-congratulations for my weight then proved that I had lost 15 kgs in exactly 12 months.

So I am happy to be still sticking around. Especially as I was not sure with Onam and its defining Onasadya (the Onam Feast) just the day before :)

I would ideally have loved to see a consistent drop every month – but I know that realistic expectations brought me to this point: I must continue to regularly eat nutritiously, sprinkled with indulgent rewards for self-discipline. That’s the part I love unconditionally.

My ideal weight would be another 8kgs less. I know I will walk that bridge one day soon (by mid-May, maybe) *giggle-giggle*

Runs off to hide the bubbling hysterics into the pillow

Say So?

Prejudice is like that.

It hinges so much on Impressions.

And so, I cannot expect you to understand my decision. To ask you to do that would be to indulge my prejudice.

Yet, I must defend myself.

My decision was hardly based on an isolated circumstance. Though I wish I had granted myself that luxury. I might too, if I was even a mite less self-critical but you see, I cannot afford that. After all, it is the fuel on which my empty tank propels itself.

Also remember that the decision lay with the subject of your sympathies. If an option freely given was rejected: tough luck. Though I do agree with your observations and would extend my sympathies along with heartfelt gratitude, I do not agree that it was some cruel twisted deed forced upon.

But you will not see it that way.

For just like all my decisions are a combination of what colours drip on my personal canvas, your viewpoints are coloured by thoughts that swim your way.

I will grant you that.

I can hardly do otherwise.

It need not mean that I am swayed by your observations. I cannot be.

Our prejudices are two opposing river banks.

And I, at least, will continue my jagged journey on the outside of popular consciousness.

Onasadya

Red fury of inji curry
Tangy ripe yellow pullisheri
A dollop of mellow dal
Over pristine boiled rice

Sombre avial potpourri
Teasing the senses
Subtle sambar
Enflaming them further

A lick of mango pachadi
For some verbotein pleasure

Dash of spice-drenched
Lemons and raw mangoes
To rouse hidden desires

Jaggery-coated chips
Soft moon stuffings
To douse inflamed fires

Only to slow kindle them
To a raging fire
With a lick of sensual prathamam

A warm day; a gladden day
Ushered with flowers
Heralded with deepams
The sangam of sensuality
And kinly solidarity

From a gentle land; of
Devotees and warriors
For a kindly sovereign

A rich banquet
Of coconut blessings
On fresh green leaves

To celebrate nature's bounty
And honour a King banished.

Squished Cream & Auto

Fresh mangoes with cream
Chocolate dipped mousse
Cool raindrops
Velvet promises

A curl in the bed
A book’s keen sanctuary
Slow cruise on water film
Wind in my face

Shwooshing rain
Exploding puddles

Violent curses
Vengeance bent
Blind peril
Rushing fate

Wide eyes
Held breath
Braced crash
Squished cream

Stunned silence
Broken hand
Frantic screams
Smashed auto

Spilt delight on asphalt
Mourned unconditionally

Life, Primeval

The throbbing rhythm
Of the bongo
And the drums
Thrumming of the strings wild
Straining against clasps

The rich throaty velvet chants
Blending to ancient cadences
Woven into silken strands
Creating life elemental

A menacing purr
A feral growl
A perilous hiss
Soft padding of the pride
All - stalking and staking

In the gathering doom
The ancients walk
But no song of pixies and faeries
Of mettlesome gnomes
Will grace the withering wood

The old trees awaken
With a thirst to quench
A lifetime to avenge
Kindness repaid with extinction

The thumps and rustles
Enliven the twilight rich forest
The eyes seek you out
The ears will hear you
In the frightful silence

The pulsing fear
The goosebumps
Blossoming up the spine
Thoughts of the unknown

How fast can you run?
But where will you hide?
Will the dark soggy caves
Enough to comfort you

Will you harken to strangers
Quick to smile; slow to veil wicked leers
Armed with counterfeit humanity

The uncanny labyrinth lures
The churning seas rumble
Crashing waves, lashing
Against tall cliffs

The call goes forth
The doom beckons
The Gods come down
For the reckoning
Of a cowardly race

Quest Answered

I slide sideways through days
Fantasies bred on each interesting face
A romance crafted on every bus ride
When handsome men hold my hand
Gorgeous sleek bodies rub against me
Nerds in glasses stumble over jokes
In a pointless effort at flirtation

Pretense, easy armour
Against the crackling solitude
Found only in crowds

Practiced deception, a priceless asset
When trawling across chat rooms -
An irrevocable asylum
For the bashful and reticent
Meeting faceless faces
Made painless, by the cloak
Of invisibility and distance

Yet courage cannot deny
Failed passes and loathsome leers
Making night’s reality more biting

I was the cycle of day
The chicken-and-egg debate
The serpent eating its own tail
A catch-22 growing ever perilous
Increasingly, I was the shell
Of a life measured by the sun

Into this mire
And cramped cubicles
You waltzed in with easy grace
Armed with a toothy smiley
And perfect spellings
Meeting my wicked thrusts
With a cheeky parry of your own
Answering my droll humor
With your own class of absurdity
Infusing a hopeful perspective
Into my world-weary views

Miracle or gift
Or plain coincidence?

Hundreds of sunrises later,
I still ask the dark night
Did you know me -
In simpler worlds and gentler times?

When love was not a
Siege and surrender playstation

When souls sought mates
Without concern for symmetry

When love was warmly held hands
And sweaty intertwined limbs
Of rippling sinews
And heaving flanks
Sweet and tangy explorations
Mantras of nips and kisses
Skin bitten and blessed
Caressed curves
And worshipped mounds
Primeval rhythm aspired
In the echoes of primal desires
And love disguised is bared
When in passion’s thrall
You seek me and anchor me;
A harbour for my heart
In your molten embrace

Doubts

A black sun, propped
Upon soggy clouds
Overlooking -
Shallow paths
Bogs on either side
Tall dark gates behind
Reaching out to spiky branches
Covered with slithering dark moss
Dripping down to the moat below
Filled with heaving scabby forms
From which peek jaundiced eyes
And gurgling hollow hums sound
Unbroken and Unshaken
Where no wind blows, Unless
It be the reeky breath of doubt

No fluttering of wings, big and small
No rustling leaves break the weave
Of the unending vapor
Cloaked in perpetual silence
The air chokes and clogs
Every pore and stoma
Each exhale stifling the air further
The inevitable karmic cycle endures.

The Wanderer

The dark traveller
Across brown dusty paths
Stumbles enshrouded
In his aura of darkness
Cowed down
Under hope’s burden
Dreamy youth to brooding man
In one well-meant
Yet deceitful stroke

Ties of distant blood shred
Favoured bonds and heart’s brothers
Prematurely forsaken
Renouncing light and scholars
Cool gardens and libraries resigned
For the sharp cold of sword and dagger
With dark stingy spaces for refuge
To champion
A distant peoples’ destiny
To defend and shield unknown kin
Lambs to his unworthy shepherd

Landscapes known and familiar
Mocking him and his loneliness
Mountains, once misty and adventurous
Now, inhospitable
And lair of unfriendly eyes
Every crossed pass and peak
Rivulets and swaying canopies
Swampy hamlets and short-lived plains
Slow slashes in his calm veneer.

Lips, where laughter once reigned
Now bitter abode to anger and fear
Grieving over paths forever veiled

Yet honourable and sure
His broken heart stayed
Overriding aches and regrets
Honouring sacred pledges
Onward he trode grimly
To face his fell destiny

Ivy

Fairies in the windflower
Whisper of the primrose
Bloom of first love
Innocent as buttercups

At Hyacinth’s altar
Beloved of Apollo
I gather thyme
And rainbow iris
Heartsease
Crowned with white carnations

I sing of Hera and Eve
And bespell thee
To be the Endymion
To my Selene.

I gift you
My aching heart
Wrapped in red carnations

Praised be the honey suckle
Of your passion clinch
As your violet heart
Weaves iridiscent enchantment
To colour my dreams wild

Then, November shall sing
Of forget-me-nots
And hopeful snowdrops
Joy of the mountains
And dew of the sea

If your heart be not swayed
If the faery spells fail
And mandrake banish my plea

I will send you
The good luck heathers
And slip into breath's mist
To answer Luna's call
Follow the sho yu’s lure
And wander the hidden valley
With the ephemeral lily
Across the span of time

Ehem

Saccharine sweetness
Sung on a potent night
While beguiled
And enfolded
In a fiery haze

Turns,
Embarrassing to recount
Once
Unspelled
In conscious light

The Call

Of
The
twinkle in your eyes
Your impish chuckle
Your throaty laugh
Your humorous ripostes
Your cheeky wit

The sensuous curl of your lips
The warmth of your clinch
Your dulcet whispers
And incandescent presence

The assurance you engender
The ardor you stimulate
The lofty ambitions you kindle
The earthy passions you rouse

The clichés you ever justify
Leaving me love addled
Buffeted amidst the waves of passion
Thrilling my molten core
Stoking my fiery soul

My lone wolf
Mated with your stallion heart
Runs free and wild
Through the mighty forest
Under the full moon’s grace
To heed the sea’s Joyous call

Coffee Lode

Frozen by ac winds
Buffeted by prickly shivers
Shackled by frosted fingers
The cold soul simpered
And sought a saviour warm.

The soundless cry
Crawled
Across the unfeeling hearts
To whisper and conspire
With Bereft

Who with a flick
Conjured up a genial genie
To traverse bogs
And scale steps
And bring the warmest brown brew.

To defrost
And revivify
To free the warm blood course.

The blues are gone
Vivid hues reign
Friend, you are hailed!

Loops

Blundering
Stuttering
Stumbling
Trialing
With destructive naivety
Through the morass of life.

Foolishness
Simplicity
Failure
Couched in unfelt innocence

Existential futility
Romantic pedestals
Lofty ideals
Angsty breaths
Psychedelic dreams
Green ambitions

Only for
An interlude of reality
To restate
Life is no novel
Just an Indian road
Ever breaking
Ever building
Ever potholing
Ever puddling
Ever laking
Ever splashing

Raising trust
With every dawn

Only to tear down the romance of life
Once the fiery orb scales the high sky.

Thinkdeep

:)

The Cynic Answered

A bitter betrayal
Knife in a friend's sleeve
Stab in the back
A gutted heart.

What price confidences
When confidants turn knaves.

A petition
A heartfelt entreaty
Your way is ever your way
Let not the world
Impinge/breach
your soul fortress.

Experiences -
Lessons in trust
And discretion
And choices
Ever fortifying
And guiding

Proud of each scar dealt
Life lessons learnt
Own intentions well-meant.

With your clear heart
Leave turncoats with bitterness
Deal them no dime nor nickel
They shall ever be the losers
Of your shining regard.

Price your heart
Believe, heart's prizes are ever won
Even in cynical todays.

Oh Woe

Bandhs of life and death
Fires and venom
Blood and bitterness
As wolves drawn
To the blood in the moon

A fight undertaken
In the name of right,
beliefs and non-beliefs,
For a known way of life,
Against the unfamiliar,
Always the Other.

Friends and neighbours
Sacred ships forgotten,
For I,
Me
My faith
My surname
My colour
My state.

Whither my nation?

Democracy mutilated
Constitution disowned
Rights haughtily demanded
Duties blindly discarded

No place for
The powerless
The voiceless
The threatless
The gullible
As tools for the guiltless.

India - A borrowed idea
Land of a borrowed people
Increasingly home to none.