Happy New Year*

not the love
not the fears
this moment breathes
the fragrance of tears

tears that wells up
with empty embraces
clinging to a warmth
of reduced wishes

this moment I capture
as old gives way to new
and I sing brightly
Happy New Year to you

* Song of a beggar child

Judgement day

will god forgive
dear father,
clean white socks?

Warning

Don't touch me
You, too, will be tainted
Happiness is infectious

Anger

Don’t play your game again today.

I thought
The warmth of tea
......Those unending cups
......Sipped in companionship,
The extended arms of acceptance,
And understanding smiles
......Creasing the faces of close friends,
Volleys of rapid-fire words
......Unceasing, to parade your depth;
Had soothed your attention seeking ways.

You must have been happy
......Having abdicated your throne.
You chose to disappear,
Leaving me the companions
......You despised vehemently
......And always fought with
......To gain my equivocal allegiance.

So why did you reappear?
Why do you singe the shimmering silk of happiness
......And make me fear again?

These games of your's
......Do I have to play 'em again?

Me

First draft...do excuse the simplicty of the thought ..will edit it in a bit :D

Simple is this day
lazy sun, warm duvet
then why do I complicate?

Simple is the thought
of you teasing, holding me
then why do I fear such a lot?

Why do I complicate
with that which may not be,
with that which may be
but it doesn't matter?

I need to be simple
simple like the sun
and the duvet.
I need to be me,
once again.

Discovery

Love for you
Revealed a gem.
Me.

Dreams

Dreams
Unseen, unheard
Fleeting in their warmth,
Like a whiff.

Are they goals,
Paths to walk on,
Truth to be trusted,
Faith to die for?
Or are they desire
In disguise,
Colouring the life
with their lies?

Dreams,
Dare I follow you?
Follow you I will
For how far can I run
From the truth,
Within?

*another old one

Waiting

With every step,
The dust
Rises.
Rises like
Memories,
Dreams and wishes
To crash.
Crash into ground,
Once again

With every breath
Life flows
Back.
Back into the body,
But the soul
Waits.
Awaits the dance
Of dust
To your returning feet,
Once again.

* an old poem

Time - (2nd part)

The story so far

She shook herself out of reverie. The sunlight had reached half way across the room. It was time to start preparing for the evening tea. Shanti maashima, her next-door neighbour, would be coming over soon. She always dropped in on thursdays, to share the evening tea. It had been so even before Gautami had come as a bride. She loved her tea with hot pakodas and tangy tamarind chutney. Even after Ma had passed away, she had continued her weekly visit. The teatime was spiced with latest gossip of the neighbourhood, the TV-serials, her family, the film stars. In fact it didn’t matter whether there was anything new to talk about or not. She could pepper any conversation and did so without any malice. It helped that Gautami was a good listener. She nodded at correct intervals, made suitable sounds “really?”, “you think so?”. “fancy that !”, “You don’t say so?”, “I am sure it’s not true!” and more of the kind.

Calling out to the maid, she checked herself in the mirror. Absently brushing down the few straying strands of hair, she ran her eyes over the room. Things were in place and the maid also confirmed that everything was under control in kitchen, for the evening’s visitor.

Sharp at four forty five, Shanti maashima breezed in like a puff of wind. She was short and frail looking but was known for her sharp intelligence. Her rapier sharp tongue and propensity to speak her mind made people wary of her to an extent. Gautami, on the other hand, enjoyed her insights.

“You look a little distracted. Are you ok?”

“Yes maashima. It’s been a lazy day. Now that Bhiku has gone to the hostel, I am free most of the time.”

“You should come with me to the satsangs. You also have a melodious voice. They would love the beautiful bhajans I have often heard you singing. I have never heard any of them before. Where did you learn them?”

“Maashima, don’t joke. They are just random words that I sing.”

“You mean, you have written them? And the music; who set the music?”

“Maaaaaaaashima. The pakodas are getting cold. Which ones did you like today? I’ll ask them to make more of the same. Is the tea ok? Do you want more sugar? I added something extra to the chutney. Does it taste any different?”

“Don’t avoid the issue. I want to know about the bhajans.”

The phone rang.

“Saved by the bell”, thought Gautami. She got up to pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

will continue...

Renaming

This was an exercise to write a piece with 4 words - Nobody, Anybody, Somebody & Everybody.

It was the night before Christmas. Should have been a cool night but a hot discussion was on.

“How can anybody even think of renaming it?”

“It’s a sheer waste of time and money.”

“How does it matter to them? After all, they don’t have to do anything except pass a resolution.”

“Everybody worth two cents of brain can see what a sheer waste it is. The money could have been used to improve the infrastructure. The city is on the verge of a collapse.”

“I can’t imagine calling Bangalore ‘Bengaluru’.”

“Hey but it has always been called Bengaluru. Even now old kannadigas call it by that name.”

“Yeah, yeah. So let them call whatever they want to. But I am sure somebody is going to file a PIL.”

“You think so? I am not so sure. Nobody wants to take on more headaches than necessary.”

“Oh dump this topic. It was the same when they changed the name of Bombay. Politicians went ahead with their foolish renaming. And we still call the city Bombay.”

This signaled another round of cooling drinks. The discussion veered to Amitabh’s health and the subsequent media hysteria.

Time

The pattern on the floor drew her attention. Sunlight crawled across the room, but always chopped by the window bars. Vaguely she wondered as to who was behind the bars – she or the world?

Ever since Gautami had got married at sixteen, she lived under the protective eyes of her newly acquired family. As she had stepped into her marital home for the first time, her mother-in-law gently entrusted her with the household keys. She had a duplicate set with her but that too was handed over once she was sure that Gautami could run the home without her help.

It had been easy to learn the new set of dos and don’ts, where and how. She had an expert tutor in Ma. Her husband, Shantanu, was also very supportive. Their patience and her practical nature made short work of the learning period. Within a year she was expertly directing the large number of household help and also held their everlasting allegiance and love, was a darling of Ma and fondly cherished by her husband.

This left her with lots of time to dream.

The dreams led to questions.

will continue......

broken dreams

a shard
of the flute
kissed deeply
her lips
and coloured her
in a hue
of the rainbow dreams

keeling
with the kiss
and the dribbled champagne
she slipped
in the puddle
of love
lost again

* flute refers to champagne glass

Narcissist

Not for the morning mist,
............gently touching the windowpanes.
Nor for the peeking sun,
............gently warming the drapes.

Not for running water,
............gently splashing on the head.
Nor for the granny’s duvet.
............gently warming the fourposter bed.

Not for the cheesy smilies,
............gently drawing a sheepish grin.
Nor for the smug knowing, on
............gently inching to a scrabble win.

Not for the regained laughter
............gently illuminating the talk-fest.
I revel today, for I fell in love
............With life and myself, afresh.

Happy 2006

At places, the wooly gray
Somewhere, the warming ochre
Here in my yard, the sparkling blue.

Like a blessing is the sky,
Melting in love.
It rings in the holidays
And gifts pathway to a fresh year.

Happy New Year !

Instant Nirvana

Quick salve is sought
To heal
A lifetime of wounds.

Wounds draw breath,
Deep in layers
Of tinted reality.

Reality sparkles,
Chilled and bubbly,
In the goblet of life

Life trills songs,
You march oblivious,
Mechanical but quick.

Pain

Screams of agony
Which rendered the life
Were shadow of wounds
Coming alive
Between thoughts

stray thoughts

memories

finding shoes
under the bed
brought feelings
in open again


perfect love

songs on my lips,
and I relived the memory
of your offtune singing.
imperfection was never so loved before...



baby's breath

gentle rise and fall
of his chest
turned hardened hearts
into mush

Banana Seller

“Now what can you tell me about that guy?” Shweta challenges Megha. She has this habit of trying to make the other person take a misstep.

Megha just smiles. She knows it’s a game. But reading signs that are not really visible and yet tell a tale, had become an interesting exercise for her. She wasn’t even aware when she had started doing it. Her earliest memories were of rattling off a person’s character just by looking at a photograph.

She takes a closer look of the banana seller; an old man, sitting quietly by the pillar. He has a neat appearance. Even though his clothes are of poor quality and have seen quite a bit of wear, they are clean.

So are his hands and feet.

“Interesting.” She almost comments. “Not a common occurrence.”

He seems like an oasis in the dessert of life teeming around him. Quiet; serene; unconnected to the turbulence of people chasing the next moment.

And his eyes. His eyes were at odds with his wizened face. The smile in them is unexpected. Quite unexpected. Megha is almost sure that people are not drawn to him because they see the smile. It is his aura. There is a gracefulness about his being. As if he has seen much; perhaps a life that has taught him to accept a lot.

But that is another story…

Just for Fun :)

You say you love

You say you love
No more now

No more now
You wait to hear
I love you too

You wait to hear
I love you too

I love you too

Idle tit bits

#1
It never hurt so deep before.
Having seen love
And then forgetting
How it is to be.


#2
Like the lone drop of moisture in the cup
I cling.
Why?
I know not.


#3
It was not my heart that broke
I am guilty
Of lack of faith.


#4
The scratch of a nail
On blackboard
Sounds musical
As I strum
My thoughts.

Divine Space

Hopeless, defeated I sat,
Turning my back to the future.
Past spread as an unhappy blanket
When he displayed his musical shimmer.

Was it the silently chiming bells
Or the floating soundless laughter
Perhaps it was the blissfully unfettered breeze
That spoke of my silenced hurts and terror.

Sketched in empty spaces, I saw
celebrations of births as light.
Death was a hidden passage for the alive
And all had learnings to imbibe and destiny handwrite.

Bowing my head atlast I smiled
Vibrating in tandem with spacial peace.
Indebted was I to the creators of this space
For an abode of blessings and my final release.

magic

magic is -
but not just in...
words
..........trembling on lips,
or in feelings
..........fluttering within;
not even in that
flickering moment
..........of an unexpected meeting.


it peeped from -
laughter
..........that ignited countless smiles,
the perfumed flowers
..........glorying in life.
bells tinkled in magic
when touched by the child
..........jumping in joy .


and it glowed in brilliance
as I opened my heart
and cried today.

retreat to myself

love you saw
as a binding;
I untangled the knots
and flew free.

expectations you said,
will tumble in;
there was just one -
can I offer myself
without holding?

don't come close
future I know not -
was your refrain.
it didn't matter
in knowing myself as love
I had found the answer.

This still doesn't feel right. It needs some more work....