Requiem

Another death in the vast sea of bobbing heads. There have been deaths far more gruesome. Why all the hullabaloo over this one? It is not the death of the girl that is being mourned, nor the manner in which she died but we are all mourning the death of humanity, of sensitivity, of rule of law, of human dignity. The "fairer sex" having to pay for its "fairness", the "unfair sex" being let off each and every time "unfairly". Mothers of the world, where art thou? Your sons violate the being of the helpless while you are ready to hide them under the cloak of "motherhood". The woman inside you dying a sad death while you all become Gandharis. Fathers not faring any better than Dhritrashtra and the entire society collectively deciding to become myopic wearing coloured lens. As long as it is not my sister, wife or daughter I can easily turn my head the other way.

The women of our country are unsafe even within the precincts of their homes. How is it to perpetually live in a state of fear? How is it to be afraid of your own brothers? How is it to be judged on the basis of the clothes you wear? I met a woman recently during a train journey who told me tales of fear worsened by the utterly unresponsive system. She told me how her school going daughter is stalked by boys raised in a deeply patriarchal society for whom following girls is a source of entertainment. Now the girl is no longer free to go out on her own. From being an independent girl who could move freely on her bike, she is now reduced to being dependent on her father to ferry her around. They are reluctant to go to the police knowing that no action shall be taken against the unscrupulous.

The daily violence that women in our country have to go through makes me think that we are actually a deeply misogynistic society. All the worshiping of Goddesses seems a farce to me. Recently I visited the Kamakhya Devi Temple in Guwahati where the vulva of Goddess Sati is worshiped. In a way it celebrates womanhood and the power of creation that women alone possess. In the same country, the sanctity of women is being violated every day. The inner "shakti" of women been reduced to a flicker due to years of suppression and exploitation which has turned them into "abla" living in perpetual fear and anxiety. The above mentioned temple has a festival called "Ambuvaci Festival" where the menstruation of the Goddess is celebrated. At the same time we have customs which bar women from going to the temple or near any worship place when menstruating. Customs such as these denigrate women and her womanhood at every level. A woman is respected only if she follows the norms laid down by the society without questioning. Women have since long been treated as the sole repository of family's honour and society's values whereas "men being men" go out and have "fun".

For the soul that departed I just have to say:

"I sing songs today

now that you are no more.

The life of freedom

for which you aspired

Is finally yours forever!

No

Judging eyes

Lewd stares

Offensive comments

Cowardly touch

Shameless encroachment.

You died everyday in this world,

In heaven alone you shall live."

Your death has profoundly affected the country today. Some conscience have apparently been stirred. Hope this time it is strong enough to churn out the bad from the society. Change is a slow process but a beginning has to be made. The need is for the systemic change. Policing and laws alone cannot stop the mistreatment being meted out to women. Mothers have to teach their sons to respect women and for that they have to first respect themselves, their daughters and daughters-in-law. Fathers should educate their girls and refuse to pay dowry for their marriage. Finally, all the women should refuse to be fearful. Every incident of eve teasing has to be resisted and not to be taken silently.

This is my last post of the year. Hence, I must take a resolution which will stay with me not just for the coming year but throughout my life. In my capacity as a keeper of the law of the land I shall take cognizance of each incident of violence against women. I will do my bit to create a society where there is freedom for everyone. The following lines of Rabindranath Tagore shall serve as my guiding lamps:

"Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high

Where knowledge is free

Where the world has not been broken up into fragments

By narrow domestic walls

Where words come out from the depth of truth

Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection

Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way

Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit

Where the mind is led forward by thee

Into ever-widening thought and action

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake."

MLTR-PAINT MY LOVE

Last Goodbye

Broken tea cups, spilled coffee beans
Mirrors that have lost their sheen
Dried corners of the clueless mouth
Gagged voice and silent shouts
The joy of living and forgetting
Those moments of laughing and sharing
A knight in armour brandishing sword
Yet nothing in the heart strikes a chord
Senseless strumming of guitar with a plectrum
Endless waiting for them who'll never come
An ill conceived joke that they all call life
Things inside torn asunder by strife
Petals of the Flower strewn around
Downward flight from sky to ground
Saying Yes when the heart revolts
Re-casting self in the approved mold
Unloving the loved and loving the unloved
In the recesses the unsaid is for ever shoved

Window

Now I know! The last breaths are heavy and loud. Now I know how it is to see someone dying infront of you. A slow, painful death. The last-ditch effort to cling on to dear precious life just like the final wild fluttering of the candle. Who wants to die, especially an untimely death? But it is coming. The Death! I can hear it's melancholic footsteps. Yes! Unlike what you think death is not happy to take anyone away. It is not a sadistic psychopath as it is falsely blamed to be. I know because I can hear the sadness in its movements. Nevertheless, the chosen one has to leave. With a last gush of wind, it will all become history, a part of memory but never a part of memoirs; reminisced but never shall a beautiful epitaph be written for it as it shall take away with it the very ability to do so. Yes! That is what death of Imagination will lead to. Already in it's deathbed, it's rendered weak and the effects are all too visible. I wish to hold on to it but it is slipping away like quicksand. The fantasy world that it had spun around me has started to wither away. The world where I would often find shelter from the cold, brutal winds of the real world. The walls are crumbling, the windows breaking, the fireplace too doesn't have any fire left. I am being exposed to the "pragmatic", "empirical" world. World where birds never sing for you but to attract their potential mates, where rainbow is a mere physical phenomenon, where feelings generate from complex mathematical calculations. I feel like a tiger from a zoo who has all of a sudden been left in the wild to fend for itself. I have already started feeling the chill in my spine from the coldness of the wind. The anguish at being marooned is the only force that will propel me forward. Anguish resulting from absurdness of being. From the compulsion to seek meaning, from the inevitability of freedom which one finds clinging on to one's feet at every step like a leech that refuses to go. When imagination is getting ready to leave me, anguish comes with the promise to become my partner for life. I have started stretching my hand towards it; the stretching of my hand keeping pace with the dying of the chosen one. One candle will be blown away and the other shall light up. Devoid of imagination in the world of hard metal truths, propelled by anguish I will move on to the land where I shall meet my Imagination again.

...................................................................................................................................................................
The words of Pablo Neruda:

"Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep."

Sublime...

Unending pursuits...

It was late in the evening when I stood at the balcony of my house looking at the world outside. Street lights sprinkled colourful ellipses on the tar roads which overlapped each other like in a Venn diagram. These areas of interaction added more colour to the dark road which was now dolled up in all hues and shades. This happens to her every night when she lives her Dream of Colours in her otherwise dark existence. The moment sun begins to fade away to brighten the existence of some other world, she waits with bated breath for the daily make-over she goes through with such elan.

Buildings reflected each others' lights with an underlying fervour that comes from a sense of mutually shared responsibility. At a distance vehicles moved with a steady noise. An undercurrent of uniformity running through all that bustle. The roads around me stood there silently trying yet again to soak in all the colours just to be disappointed the next morning. Some car would pass by once in while acting like a bump in the otherwise smooth flow of consciousness pervading the world.

The sky looked menacing with eleven dots of fire spread on it. These eleven dots of fire chased each other in their pursuit to become bigger by engulfing the others. In this otherwise anarchic world some rules persisted which made these fiery dots stay in the sky and not bring down their hot pursuit to the earth. A distant moon, living in reflected glory, stood there watching this blind pursuit dispassionately. He wished for a quieter existence but the stars were beyond his control. For what can some one living under the reflection of some other entity say to those who have fire of their own? For the world, he was the king of the sky when in reality he was just a lone sad old man who looked at the earth with a longing seen in lovers who were once together but got separated by a cruel turn of fate.

A tall Ashoka tree, painted black by the night, stood in front of me forming a bridge between the earth and the tumultuous sky like the magical beanstalk. The chaos of the skies finally had some effect on the earth and a strong directionless wind started blowing. A stray polythene bag which was silent until now started fluttering wildly. A plaything for the mischievous wind, it danced to her tunes. I saw it moving uninhibitedly around the walled campus seemingly enjoying its gifted freedom, believing that it has wings of its own. Just then it got stuck in one of the pointed iron rods planted on the campus walls. It tried hard to free itself. Its moves were so desperate that even the stars forgot their pursuit to look at it. The entire world went still to watch the struggle for freedom. I instinctively moved towards it to free it and let it take its flight of freedom but then thought better of it and came back to where I was standing. The freedom of the polythene bag was not real but induced. Once the wind goes, it would come down to where it previously was. I let it realize that it never had any freedom but was just a plaything of the wind. The realization finally dawned upon it and it gave up. The wind moved on to some other spot to pick up some other toy. The stars resumed their chase and the vehicles kept plying noisily. The tar road kept trying to absorb colour. I went inside to catch some sleep.

Rolling Into the Abyss of Happiness

The vast green fields undulating
Like the rhythmic tones of Mandarin
The joy of rolling over
Rolling into the abyss of happiness

The tiny cherubic flowers
yellow
green
red
purple
Like tiny colourful stars in the green sky

Soft velvety sun rays
Smooth as marshmellows
Massaging the mind and soul
The lightness of being
The urge to keep rolling
Rolling into the abyss of happiness

The ribbon-like stream
Of honey and milk
A hiatus in the vastness
A break from rolling over
A reality check
A need to quench thirst
Thirst from rolling over

The cool breeze from
The distant snow capped mountains
A reminder
Of the end of one era
And beginning of another
As you roll away
Into the abyss of happiness

The Body
Becoming Green from rolling over
and
The Green becoming the body
The soul pervading the Cosmos
The Cosmos becoming the soul
The Cosmic transfusion
The becoming of One from many
The undulating rhythm of life
In its highest form
The cosmic joy of Oneness
Of no boundaries, no separations
Of rolling
Rolling into the abyss of happiness

Tough Woman and Water Hyacinth

They call me a tough woman. They say I can make a come back with a broad smile no matter how bad  things are. So now they have the licence to trample me with the nailed heels of their boots and I am not supposed to shed a drop of tear because you know what? I am a tough woman! So no agony. No pain. It is all for their gain. I look at people playing with my most precious possesion stretching it beyond recognition, breaking it like a plastic toy while I am supposed to move on.

Move on..

Two words that I am supposed to swear by. Words with which I have an inseparable association. Words that give me company when all others fail me. Like water hyacinth they permeate my world, my existence, my vision. And just like water hyacinth, they do not belong to my world. They are invasive species brought about by a careless traveller who stopped by my world for a while, touched somewhere deep at some unknown place and left his traces there. In the form of Water Hyacinth. The dark green bulbous stalks have long strong roots tightly holding on to me just as I hold on to them. Like a vicious rumour it has been spreading its tentacles around and I struggle..... to move on.

I am a tough woman so the flowers of spring do not make my heart smile with joy, the wild chirping of birds fall on my deaf ears, the soft breeze fails to cool my soul. I am a stone which no acerbic words and acts can erode. I am a make of different space, time and substance. So you can kick me with all your might. I will roll down the moutain of wrathful hope, unhurt. Nobody asked me if I was strong, nobody asked me before kicking me down. An a priori truth, an axiom which everyone belives in. With no consultation I was branded as strong. With this burden I shall live until I crumble under its weight and then I shall seek the yellow fragrant flowers and the vast blue ocean which would welcome me with open arms. No assumptions of strength and I shall give in to the waves of freedom. Freedom from unthought ideas and presumptions, from the words of courage and beckoning. Freedom from the roots of the Water Hyacinth. Freedom from moving on...


.....................................................................................................................................................................

Meanwhile, here is what Milan Kundera has to say,

"...And therein lies the whole of man's plight. Human time does not turn in a circle; it runs ahead in a straight line. That is why man cannot be happy: happiness is the longing for repetition."

Sheet Leher - Lanka (2011) Movie Full Song - Ft. Shreya Ghoshal - With L...

Exclusive - Hona Tha Pyaar - Movie Bol (Atif Aslam's Debut Film)

बातों की मनाही

चंद लम्हे ख़ुशी के
तुमसे से जो उधार लिए
नम आँखों के ज़रिये
तुमने सूद समेत वापस लिए

Point Of Existence

The elephant had visited my room again today. And as always, in my absence. How do I know that he did? Well, though everything seemed to be normal on the surface, there was an undercurrent of restlessness in the room. Also, my nose could smell it. I have two noses inside my nose of which only I am aware. My noses are always able to detect the place from where he enters my room. This time, he chose the keyhole. Last time he used the bathroom ventilation to squeeze into my room. He has amazing flexibility and he always manages to squeeze his way into my room, no matter how small the entrance is. Now that I knew he was here I started looking for the chimera. He would always leave a chimera behind for me each time he paid me a visit. I call it chimera for want of a better word. It is not real but nor is it unreal. it is 'irrreal'. It lies in the shadowy realm between reality and illusion. Just hanging in there!

I started looking for it in my room. Below the pillow, under the bed, on the table, behind the curtains. No nowhere was it to be seen. Just then I saw a boat sailing in the ocean on top of my mosquito net. There was a brown cat sitting on it looking at the vacuum around. I climbed on my bed and got into the boat and off it went out of my room into the middle of a vast ocean. The brown cat was  not looking in my direction. I thought that it probably did not notice me getting into the boat. I mewed softly to catch its attention. In reply it just gave me a contemptuous look and continued staring at the dark blue ocean. I wondered why the elephant had placed such an angry cat in the boat with me. I could have been left alone than be with an insolent cat who thought of me as a little ant whom it could kill with one touch of the paw. The elephant and his motives could never be understood by me. Having being ignored by the cat, I started looking in the same direction to see if there was something interesting going on there. Dark blue sea was all that I could see. I strained my eyes hard; nothing but the same dark blue sea all around me. I kept looking at it for some time but then got terribly bored. I wondered how the cat could look at it for so long. I tried to look around the boat to see if there was something else that the elephant might have kept for my entertainment. Nothing!

After a while I tried speaking to the cat once more. I mewed again. This time a little more confidently. Who knows the arrogant cat might like the new confident me. It didn't look at me at all. I thought that was a positive sign as no look is better than a contemptuous look. I mewed even louder this time. The cat turned around slowly. My heart beats increased. Finally, the cat will come to me. Probably it will come sit on my lap and let me tickle it. Who knows it might even decide to play with me. So the cat finally looked at me and lifted its front leg. Ah! A handshake! What a well trained cat, I thought to myself. Just as I was about to reach out to it, it showed me its middle claw! I was so shocked that had I not caught hold of the mast on time, I could have fallen out of the boat. I didn't know how to react. I was so scared of the damn cat! I just sat there in the corner, giving the choicest of abuses to the haughty cat, obviously in my mind. I knew cats were not particularly friendly creatures but this one went out of its way to show its evilness. I was not geting bored anymore as I was busy thinking of innovative ways to throw the cat out of the boat.

I must have spent a good amount of time in this when I suddenly heard a baritone voice asking me to shut up. I almost jumped out of my little corner. I looked above if it was from the heavens. Nothing in the sky looked abnormal, no dazzling lights, nothing. I looked around when I saw the cat staring at me. Was it the cat? Cat who talked in a baritone voice! "Yes, it's me," the cat said. Words came to the tip of my tongue and then fell flat from there unable to take any shape. "Can you not stop this chatter! Your meaningless blabber is on ever since you climbed on to this boat. I have been trying hard to concentrate but just could not do that. Can you not appreciate the serene ocean? I knew about you from before therefore I had asked the elephant not to put you in my boat but he refused to listen to me. And here I am wasting a beautiful evening with a dimwit like you who cannot appreciate the ocean in the dark." I did not know how to respond to that. The cat could read my mind! I tried not to think anything but the human mind behaves in strange fashion. When it knows that its contents are accessible to someone, it starts thinking all prohibitted thoughts which it would never otherwise think. I was trying to control them. But when I would control one, another one would slip past the censor. Just then the cat shouted, " I cannot take this anymore! I have to leave this boat. To hell with you and the elephant!" I wondered where it would go in the middle of the ocean. Just then it started disappearing! Cheshire cat! The only difference was instead of the broad grin, I could only see frowning brows at the end. I gave a sigh of relief and thought good that the stuck up, idiotic, good-for-nothing cat has gone. "Mind your language, miss" said the cat from out of nowhere. Those were the last words I heard from the cat.

The boat kept moving deeper into the ocean. I stood there holding the mast thinking nothing. After indeterminate time had passed, I saw a glowing mountain standing right in the middle of the ocean. Just then, my boat changed its path and started moving towards the glowing mountain in an inward spiral fashion. I could see the mountain from all the sides and angles due the unique path followed by my boat which had a mind of its own. After completing the spiral, it sat atop the mountain. Time had no meaning anymore. My self too began to lose its meaning. The ocean around me never had much relevance anyway. There was nothing that could stop things from losing their meaning. All the coverings were falling off. Only a point remained in existence. Only that Point Of Existence had meaning but nobody understood its meaning. I tried to understand but somebody told me that I would have to spend timeless existence there to understand the real meaning.

Elephant knew my limitations. My boat flew back to my room and I got off it. I discovered that I had a small hole on the left side of my chest, the size of the Point Of Existence.

Sometimes I wish I could paint..

Adele - Set Fire To The Rain (Official Video) - VSM

Adele - 21 - Lovesong

Adele - One and only

Show me your face again..

Show me your face again
For I am beginning to forget
Its contour and features
Was it the left or the right cheek
Which had a mark from forceps
Left by a careless doctor
Or was it never there?

Show me your face again
For me to tell truth from lies
Your wrongs from your rights
Are your words benign
Or do they mean something divine

Show me your face again
To answer the myriad questions
Lurking in the labyrinth of my mind
Is the smile that I hear fake
Or a manifestation of unspoken joy?

Show me you face again
For I need to tame the storm
Raging somewhere deep inside
The echoes of murmurs from you
Taking the shape of smoke and mirrors
The face of reticence and restraint
Is not the one I can ever claim

Frost

I caught you breathing frost down my neck
The warmth of your hands a mere deception
The source of their warmth lies elsewhere

Breathing frost down my neck making it stiff.
Like a horse with blinkers
I could look neither left nor right
While you played your games on either sides

But the sound of your games travels far and wide
The world knows so how wouldn't I?
You can thrust earbuds into my ears now
So the sounds of your frolic don't reach me

I don't have to see your games,
nor hear their sounds.
The truth lays bare
With just a touch of your hand.

If you were me..

If you were me, would you not think of
the winters that shall never come again?
Would the moorings of your lifeboat
still be intact after the hurricane of illusions?

If you were me would you find reason in madness
Or would you look at yourself with disdain?
Would the rains be a reason for you
to shed tears in oblivion?
Or would it be the bathroom shower?

If you were me, would you be living
happily with a heavy heart?
Or would you rip it apart and
let the flesh rot in the scorching sun

If you were me, would the songs of
birds and winds remind you of me?
Or would it be the rhythm of the heart?
Would you not remember me with
a teardrop settled on your lips?

If you were me would you live with
the void in the middle of your being?
Would you let your heart live
Or would you bury it in graveyard?

If you were me, would you let
the black panther maul you cruelly?
Or would you fight back ferociously?
Would the advent of night never scare you?

If you were me, would you long
for the day of forgetfulness?
Or would you rather live
with the stinging swarm of memories?

If you were me, would you hang on to me?
Or would you let me go smiling wistfully?

Me being me, I shall see you from the heavens
Shedding a tear or two at my burning pyre
Writing me an epitaph from words and wisdom
There lived a woman you found but never loved
How intense the meeting shall be 
of your words and the ashes from my burning pyre
In death we shall meet..

Of losses and gains

The colour of my mood today - bluish grey

Strange forlornness has engulfed me. I wish I could shoo away the heavy fog set over me. On rare occasions loneliness manages to make me its prey. Devouring me thoroughly, it has left me feeling weak and restless. Yes, restlessness is a sign of weakness. Not being able to quiten the inner turmoil makes you feel powerless.

Once a coin lost by someone was found by me. Dazzled by its brightness, I decided to keep it with me. I look at it everyday and try to capture its shine in my eyes. Once it goes away, the shine in my eyes too would go away. I keep it tucked away in the left pocket of my shirt. The coin has slipped away from my hands several times yet it always rolls back towards me and I pick it up unscrupulously. Sometimes its brightness fades away, making it look a little sad. Does it miss its rightful owner, I ask myself. But I hesitate to part away from it not realizing that along with immense pleasure it is also the source of my despair.

Strange things have now started happening. The coin is getting heavier by the day, though its size remains the same. I don't think I would be able to carry it for long now.

I think I shall let it roll away.

The visitor

The five o' clock alarm went off when a lazy hand of mine hit the snooze button. The stubborn alarm screamed relentlessly five minutes later to assert its indisputable authority over my life. I gave in. An outstretched arm was followed by a clumsy leg out of the cosy comforter while the rest of me reluctantly obeyed them. Groggy eyed, I staggered to the bathroom where I was greeted by a visitor. Hanging upside down, he was steadily moving towards me. Having no ambitions of becoming another Peter Parker, I ducked my head to give him space to carry on with his voyage. However, that was not how the visitor had planned the visit. My little brown visitor felt ignored and came back towards me to give me a shaky handshake. He decided to take the route alongside the tiled wall. I kept looking at it approaching me. I think he was rather excited for the handshake as he was moving at an amazing pace. I let him come near me and when he was within my reach, I calmly took off my slippers and hit him. It was nice meeting you Mr. Spider!

Now my visitor is a brown patch on my wall.

Hot chocolate and Cappuccino

Blue gloom hung over me
Like the dark wicked clouds
Sniggering at the ship
Caught in a whirlpool

The tiny yellow flower
In the book which was opened at last
Smell of which long gone
Reminding of a distant past
Measured emotions weighed sentences
As if a cappuccino and chocolate vendor

The words of a seer
On losing someone dear
The air heavy with sighs
Faces dazed as if on rye
A souvenir from the sea
Left for my company

Clock ticking in my head
Words said unsaid
Time slipping away from my hand
Like quicksand
In an unexplained hurry
Shall I worry?

One last look before the clouds descend
I tried but miserably failed
In matters of uncertain hearts
Turning back is always so hard.

Signs and Illusions

They stood there. In a place where winds did the talking whilst they just stood there, looking sometimes at each other and sometimes at the nothingness around. Swinging between being and nothingness, their existence reflecting their emotions whilst they just stood there. Then..
She started walking away
Hoping that he would follow
Making a trail of white sand
For him to follow
While he kept waiting
Waiting for more signs
Overlooking the white lines
Tho' on the tar road they shined

The wait got longer
The lines got dimmer
Careless, insensitive feet
Cold, angry wind
Took the sand away
While he kept waiting
Looking for signs
That were always there...

Esoteric Musings

Writing from a state of mind where making sense doesn't make sense anymore

Is it the moon or my heart
shining in the sky
with a part covered in dark shadows
and the other
dotted with scars
scars of
having lost myself
and having found cipher
the crisscrossing of swords
on my heart
a battleground of aimless emotions
bullets of careless words
that have marred my heart forever
explosions
of unexplained ecstasy and dejection
like the waves
that erode the shore
that gives them shelter

Ah..
and here comes
the master spider called
Life
weaving a web of dreams
there where the universe ends
in which i get caught
unable to move
just keep rolling over
in the gummy fibres
of dreams
that refuse to give in
the more i resist
the more i get entwined with the web
that's when the master spider called
Life
preys on me
relishing the thick sticky salty emotions
oozing from inside the depth of my scarred heart

Happy B'day Papa

Here's a poem that my sister wrote as a teenager. On Papa's b'day today I couldn't think of anything more appropriate than these innocent yet beautiful lines.

Pop

Exams were on,

And it was winter's dawn.

He woke me up,

To study after brush up.

Should obey what he told,

Otherwise a little scold.

'Coz he wants me on top,

Oh! He's my lovely Pop!



The Me in Me..

the quest is on
to find the me in me
is it the giggly school girl
or the pensive old woman
the caring mother
or the adamant adolescent

or am i
the hollowness
that has become me
the black hole
that cannot be seen
but
its insidious presence felt
sucking my emotions
slowly
yet perceptibly
my emotions
that are no longer mine
that have begun
their endless journey
into the unending abyss

or am i
the unanswered
unasked
questions
ensconced
however uneasily
in the bed of falsehood

or am i
the broken
unspoken dreams
dreams
that could never be
felt
perceived
seen
dreams
that remained concepts
Conceptual Dreams

or am i
the attachments
and
detachments inside
the strange pushing
and
pulling inside
of love and hate
of pleasure and despair
of reality and illusion
of shadows and silhouettes

or am i
the kite
that flies high
deep into the sky
whose strings are held
by some distant hands
the kite
that faces rivalry
from other kites
in the sky

or am i
the heart
which is rowing alone
in the vast ocean
with no end in sight

the me in me
remains ever elusive
like the lady of the night
it belongs to all and to none
it is everything above
yet nothing above

the me in me
waiting for a response
for unasked questions
waiting for dreams
to have speech
dreams
that can be dreamt

the me in me
wishing the black hole
to turn into a bright star

the me in me
wishing away
the headless battles
led by doubts and fears

the me in me
still wandering
in the cosmos
with questions
buried deep inside the chest
waiting for the collision
with the dazzling comet
bringing out
the buried answers

till then
the me in me
will keep speaking to me
in the dark of the night
asking me
to find it inside me
the game of hide and seek
it plays with me
but
the quest is on
and
someday it will end...

Voices of the Immortals

After eons

I hear the voices again

Of the immortals

From the far end

Of the small garden in my house

Where there is an anthill.

The far end of the small garden

Unkempt

Neglected

Ignored

There they live

With the assiduous ants

Who bring them food

Three times a day.

Yes immortals need food

For their voices to be heard

Else they’ll lie

Silent,

In the far end corner

Of the small garden in my house.

Eons before

Their voices were loud and clear.

But then came the termites

Occupying the anthill.

Ants were pushed to the corners .

Along they brought a wandering ant eater

Who would hunt

And eat the ants away.

Termites were safe

They didn't need to move out for food.

They were eating

Souls,

Of the immortals.

The voices of the immortals started receding

The food for them started decreasing

The ants were dying

The termites beaming.

Now eons later

The rains are back again.

The ants now have wings

They fly and get food

For themselves and the immortals.

The termites can’t feed on the immortals anymore.

The ants now mix venom in their food

Remember, the immortals can never die.

But termites die

Eating poison-laden immortals.

The hungry ant eater

Now eats the wandering termites.

The pact between them is broken

For nothing is greater than self interest.

It started with whispers

But now their voices are loud and clear

In the same far end corner of my house

Which is still

Unkempt

Ignored

Neglected.

मीठी सी सर्द लिए ये हवा के झोंके
तन्हा रूह को साथ देते सूखे भूरे पत्ते
मौसम तो ये साथ निभाने  का था
रंजिश देखने दिखाने का न था
चंद शब्द दोस्ती के  या दुश्मनी के
पर सारा माजरा हारना हराने का न था.