Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Will You?


Will you?

Will you let me look at you
Without a care in the world?
Will you smile again and hold
My hands as if we never left?

Will you let me have your worries
That bind you to the ground?
Will you laugh at the sun and sand
As we build our castle in the air?

Will you let me feel your pain
That makes me cry at night?
Will you believe in us once more
Even while we remain apart?

Will you sit with me, silently,
Tired as the day goes by?
Will you hold my daughter
Telling her a story about us?

Will you smile again with me
And believe I ask for nothing else?
Will you let the years between us
Seem like moments?

And as the sun goes down
Will you speak to me of yesterday?

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Smile

We love the way you smile
Round and chubby moon, you light up our little rooms
and our languid lives ...on this cold and rainy day
What do you hide at the brink of that smile
Pink petals of a fairy's bed
Or star dust from a baby angel's crown?
We will never know...
But when you smile, we smile too,
For a moment brief, we pause our search for moonlight !

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Shaper Shaped - Harindranath Chattopadhyaya


In days gone by I used to be
A potter who would feel
His fingers mould the yielding clay
To patterns on his wheel;
But now, through wisdom lately won,
That pride has gone away,
I have ceased to be the potter
And have learned to be the clay.

In other days I used to be
A poet through whose pen
Innumerable songs would come
To win the hearts of men;
But now, through new-got knowledge
Which I hadn't had so long,
I have ceased to be the poet
And have learned to be the song.

I was a fashioner of swords,
In days that now are gone,
Which on a hundred battle-fields
Glittered and gleamed and shone;
But now I am brimming with
The silence of the Lord,
I have ceased to be sword-maker
And have learned to be the sword.

In by-gone days I used to be
A dreamer who would hurl
On every side an insolence
Of emerald and pearl.
But now I am kneeling
At the feet of the Supreme
I have ceased to be the dreamer
And have learned to be the dream.

-- Harindranath Chattopadhyaya

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Black and White

My eyes are black
My skin is black
And black absorbs it all..
Absorbs the dreams plundered
Absorbs the cries of hunger
Absorbs the years of longing
And the struggles futile..
I sit next to you in a crowded bus
You sift, you don't even smile
Even though my smile is white, whiter than their arms.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

When I went skating with her

There was snow and there was wind
And a new year promise yet to be made,
When I went skating with her.
Every fall a squeal of joy
Every tumble the mirth of friendship;
As we fell together and rose again
To the rhythm of being us!

(A picture of how even failures become reasons to celebrate in the company of right people.)

Friday, August 5, 2011

Perspective

I don't always see life in colour.
Life's a series of tasks and goals.

Then you come along and
make an artist out of me.

I paint my dreams in varied hues.
Moments turn into musical notes.
Suddenly life's a string of melodies.

Emotions are real, logic less so.
Something in me found wings to go.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

gWait

For you to turn green
I've been waiting all day
At least red you could've been
But you've chosen to be gray

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Unfinished



oh bloody humans,
you evolving cowards
you have greed
yet you have quest
juxtaposing elements, you
still evolve.
A self-destructive maniac
in a time scale of perturbing eternity
you bloody scoundrels,
liars, sinners and hypocrites
personas of your true persons
you breathe yet you lie
you calculate yet you love
born and then die.

The Wait

A girl all of fifteen
So genial and genteel,
Swayed like a tree
At her favorite spot, by the sea;
Her giggles filled the air
With a charm quite rare;
She picked her pebbles
And blew those soap bubbles,
Which naughtily at times chose
To pop right on her nose;
Those waves kissed her feet
She tasted the water, oh not-so-sweet!
She wrote with her hands
On the golden sands
Her favorite names
And played her games
With sea shells and stars
Soothing her scars
Of a wound still livin’
But long forgiven
For, she knows better
It was not just petter
Sweet-bitter
As those memories hit her
She continues to sway
By the tree, to this day
Longing for her gait
And hoping for the end to wait.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Man's search for meaning

Over the ages, I have meditated
Relentlessly
Searching for a meaning;
An answer to the why
That glues this endless matrix
Of matter and of consciousness.

And how defeated I have felt!
This earnest quest,
Over hundreds and thousands of years,
Has revealed nothing.
Nothing.

On the contrary,
I have understood much.
I have discovered in wonderment
So many hows to the universe's inner workings.
I have revealed a universe full of breathtaking order
I have revealed laws,
And in the courtroom of that universal lawmaker
Everything, from the tiniest atom to the mightiest galaxy
Is held equal.
Through my seeking
I have continually squeezed out
The magic from the universe,
And like an excited child
Replaced it with fancy contraptions of my own.

And yet, even with all the momentary joys
These have provided me with,
I have remained unquenched.
This ever-growing knowledge of material existence
Has remained shorn of meaning:
Exciting but purposeless.

Yearning for meaning,
I have taken recourse to well-crafted lies;
I have invented religions, and fabricated fairytales
Trying hard to pacify the unrest within
With falsehood.
Again and again, I have devised pre-occupations
To busy myself into forgetfulness.
I have invented innumerable toys
To distract myself.
But eventually, everything has begun to dry up
And the thirst for a purpose
Has become more and more fundamental,
More and more unrelenting.

And now, I have begun to wonder,
Can it be that I will really never know
What all this meant, means, will mean?
The why to all my questions
The why of all hows?

Will I not discover, some day
By chance or by meditation
The eternal, ultimate purpose?
Can it not simply be revealed,
Can I not be that chosen one?

Or will I discover,
To my devastation
That there is no meaning to be found?
That in all this how there is no why!
That my search
Over hundreds of millenia
Was but for the non-existent?

Or maybe, I will discover
That there is a meaning
That I cannot know
Or cannot comprehend
A meaning, not meant for me!
Will my existence
Be then reduced
To the intelligence and the innocence
Of a mere robot
In a greater orchestra?

How would I,
My ego
Accept such an eventuality?
Would I then rise in revolt
Against my master?
Or, would I then,
Finally
Become a believer?

Monday, May 2, 2011

Dreams

I want to steal you away
and show you fireflies in the dark;
even if, for just a while,
to watch you till my heart aches with joy.
Chase you and 'let go', I'd say
to myself only to chase you again
and see your eyes light up
suddenly like the fireflies in the dark.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Silence

Silence, no words spoken, no glares exchanged,
Muted, the two souls lie
detached and departed

There is an inkling to mend the path again,
hold hands, go for a walk in the moonlit night
but for the want of who speaks first,
between the two yearnings, remains silence

Period...... till the silence remains

Friday, April 1, 2011

Afraid of Fear

A passive spirit,
Years of inaction,
No fire, no faith, no crises.
No new reasons for hatred.

A second battle is imminent,
With the crippling fear.
"It was not my fault!",
But now it is.

No more do the words flow.
No more does the mind think.
The heart sees not reason.
No more do the eyes blink.

The incapacitating lack of pain wonders:
Will that darkness always be the force?

---


Sorry folks. random ramblings are all that come out of my pen (always in boring meetings; same with this one above, today, hehe). Not a poet really, me! Until now, all such rubbish had been dumped in my journal. Blame Bodhi da for inviting me here :)

A warm hello to all!

Thursday, March 10, 2011

A descent to the abyss

The rush of blood
Pumping into my head
Makes me feel good.
The scratching grows
on the stupid marks
on the wall
Until they start to grow red
from the blood oozing out
of the frayed end of my fingers.


I throw a laugh
A shrill, empty one
at generally nothing
I know soon I'll cry
and then the steak knife
will curve the mark
at a place still uncorrupted
with the scar tissue
from previous wounds.


My pills all lie
mixed with my weed
In a corner of my bed
Where Megan Fox often sits
smoking a Marlboro
And sipping my Johnny Walker
The one I used
To wash down the sleeping pills
Two months ago.


The shadow never goes
and the sleep never comes
Even as the nightmares drag on;
I have a wash basin
Filled with tissues
Soaked in my blood
That I burn every midnight
Am I alive? Am I dead?
Am I the undead? Am I Insane?