High

They told us- India looks this way
And Europe looks like that- but
How does one decide their shapes?
Does one stand atop high buildings-
And draw what they see below them?
I’m standing on the seventeenth floor-
And the shape of this city isn't clear to me.
The tall cross and clock stare at me,
While there are higher buildings to stand on.

Tell me- you were always the smarter one
If I stand there- will it be visible to me?
Or should I jump down- onto the unyielding floor
Till the unrelenting wretch of a Time passes me by?
Till blurs of several colours become heads-
And bodies and souls- and then blur again.
You were tall. Could you from your
Mighty height make out the shapes of towns
Is that why you were good with roads
Even when you let me guide you? Could you
Also make out people from that high?
Is that why you left me- were my bays too deep?
Or were the lands too soft and uneven?

Tell me-just this much. How high do I
Have to be- to just distinguish you- just you
In this ocean of blurred bokeh- with my
Fogged out eyes spewing brine? And will you
If you ever see me coming, with your height-
Towards you with outstretched arms,
Take me back again? Or would you be lost again?

I guess I am just high.

Meaninglessly

Your birthday came and went.
I couldn't wish you- after our skies
Split into two, mine was full of rain-
And unrelenting mists that reduced vision
To touch- Touch to a frosty sensation.
I could never know what your skies were like.
I still breathe- in that misty masquerade
And trudge along- meaninglessly
Just to maybe catch a glimpse of you somewhere.
So why remember you today?
Why would you feature in the endless conversations
That I have with my shadows- growing and diminshing
In the faint starlight- in the rare event
When it does not rain- I look for your skies
But my own starlight-seldom seen- Blinds me
Consequently, I see not you, but a blur
Of shapes and silhouettes- or maybe it is because
The rain initiates inside, and seeps little by little
Through my eyes- Briny, trudging along-
Meaninglessly.

I am packing your present- that I could not
Give you for two years- In the grotesque mismanagement
Of Fate- if I chance upon meeting you-
And I remember to breathe- I will give it to you.
I will bequeath myself to you- if I can find myself.
And somewhere in those torrential rains
I'll set out- To join our skies and sew them together again.
I'll trudge along- meaninglessly.
Walking short paths and long- just as
The lines in this pretentious psalm.
Do not worry though- I will not speak.
I lost my voice in the darkness years ago.
The eyes communicate- when they do not rain
Meaninglessly. 

I Will Not Love Him

I gently bent to kiss him-
He pushed me away, told me
To not be a sentimental fool.
I wade into nostalgic waters-
And the upstream drift saps
All my energy- sans hope, I see
Trophies and report cards, a tiny bicycle
And a plethora of broken sticks
That I broke on his back.

I look at him- his eyes glued to his
Computer- a faint glow of youth?
Or perhaps the light of the computer
Reflected in them- and slowly I
Curl up- To hold on-
To all the fleeting shadows
That go ahead as soon as I
Jump to grasp them.

Another woman will come-
She will replace me- or will she
I cry silent tears, and then
I cleanse my own thoughts- I
Must let go- that is natural.
But is natural right?
I don't know.

Little by little, I promise myself
I will not love him.

In My Head

There is something in my head.
Mother and Father look at me.
I don't look at them- something
In my head tells me to play. I run-
And I fall- they run after me-
I taste blood and tears- the voice
Tells me to scream- and I screech
Mother and Father look at me.
I love them- they are worried-
I want to tell them of the voices
In my head- I start to choke
And in a puddle of my tears-
And a cloud of their worries, I pass
Into a dreamless sleep- I wake up
Did I say dreamless? I start to draw-
Filling the little white paper with
Shapes and colours- was it that easy?

I heard Father shouting tomorrow-
Yesterday- I laugh. I sit silently
Father comes and kisses me- I kiss him
Back with my lips with food all around-
He smiles, he says "You're special."
The voices in my head are calm.
I'm normal. I'm not special.
Mother and Father look at me.
I don't look at them- something
In my head tells me to play. I run-

Necklace

Wear thine necklaces, not with strung pearls or beads
Nor with sharp jewels- or glassy cut diamonds.
Wear them with feathers, so that at least when it is time for
The pearls- the jewels- the feathers to fall out
You still have the string intact - for the string
Is what you want to keep around your neck.
But do not flow in thine thought- and make the string strong
To support all your heavy jewels- that slowly
It transforms into a noose.

Mudo

Let's preserve our words, tonight.

For another day- when the rains
Are more harsh, and the warmth
Is slowly fading from my palms.
When the dark clouds gorge on the sky
And your little heart trembles
With the prophecy of the tempest.
When the air that we breathe-
Comes in sporadic pulses- little by little
And then a wind- that threatens to choke
Blow our existence away, forever
Into the blinding sharpness of the palm feathers.

For that day, mi amora.
Let us fall into silences
And only hear our breaths
Amalgamate-intertwine-
Like our fingers, our souls, our lives.

Laila and Majnoon

Yes- they will stone me today
But will you come like Laila
Of the fables- and save me from
Their wrath- Or is it better this way
That another mad Majnoon embraces
Death the same way-just so that people
Can call a little heap of stones a monument?

And I promise you- whoever you are
When you lie atop me to protect me from
Their serpentine whips- My hands will
Not for once let them touch your back.
And for the lack of a weapon, Laila- I will
Snatch swords from their hands by the blade
And if not that- I'll spit on them till they drown.

And whenever that new dawn brightens their doors-
I promise I'll be the gulmohar, dropping orange-hued
Flowers on your grave- and flesh to flesh- bone to bone
Spirit to spirit, I shall meet you in your heavenly abode.
And there I'll write you songs and ballads of our love
Which they will sing too- but devoid. Of feelings-
Of pain, of passion, of nuances, of hope, of love.
Of Laila and Majnoon- albeit they'll chant the names.

Manhood

Standing at the banks, he shifts his weight
From one leg to the other- he slowly scratches
The back of his right ear- he looks around.
And it all comes rushing back to him-
Bile rises up his throat and leaves its acerbic
Imprint. He breathes in, trying to calm down
The stream giggles- a strange cackle, almost
Jeering him, his fears- and he sits and sees
A spider slowly catch a fly in its web behind
Two rocks- blackened with age and moss.
He cries- looks up and cries some more,
He hears footsteps- fast as lightning he plunges
His head into the stream- which swallows its tears
And leaves renewed hope in his eyes. The two men
Draw in- there he was , they exclaim- and smile.
He smiles back- a three-toothed grin- white like his lies
And black like their hearts. They will test him.
He fears- he knows he'll fail- he looks again at his
Spindly arms- and his wrists narrowing and flail.
He starts to shiver- his legs do not give way.
He gallops towards the horizon- until the gurgle
Is a mere hum- and the forest is his friend now.
But in the darkness, he sees several eyes goad into him.

By evening- he returns his playthings into a basket,
And readies himself for dinner, and she- garbed in
A cotton sari with straight-lined patterns- places rotis
Upon his plate and tells him of the rules of manhood.

The Feathers of Eternal Happiness

"Come hither- have you seen
These little feathers, they aren't
From here, you see. The sheen-
And the rich black- only a sharp eye
Can tell, and you, madam, possess
The sharp eye. So, madam, only
For six coins a piece, will you buy
These feathers of eternal happiness?

Nail them to your roof- and they will
Turn your humble abode into a castle-
Cast one aside for the jars- you'll never
Go hungry again." And all the little passers-by
Thronged the little man- some took three
Some ten- some two baskets of
The feathers of eternal happiness.

And in the evening- he lowered the heavy crates
From his back and saw about two sackfuls
Left in his stock- and he counted in his hands
Just enough to get his son bread- and slowly
He wept with the coins in his hands.
His son slid, silently- saw the sacks and
Wiped his father's face full of glistening tears
With the feathers of eternal happiness.

I have a question.

Is it normal to be confused about how you feel about a certain thing in your life? How about everything? And what if this confusion actually starts affecting the way you take decisions?

I don't know what I am saying.

"Sie kommen groß und kräftig
Ohn’ Unterlaß;
Sie werden endlich heftig–
Was hilft uns das?"

- Unterlassung; Goethe

(source: dream-traveler.deviantart.com)

Heading towards a writer's block. Plus, gonna be busy for most of this month. 

Note

I don't know if this will mean anything to you. But this song unearthed new things in me. New places, new memories, new feelings, new thoughts that I never knew existed. Here's my translation, actually interpretation of the song. Yours may differ. I don't know. I strongly urge you all to give this song a listen though. I'm myself so sorry that I heard it this late. Guess I do stay in a really impenetrable bubble.

Amar Mawte (In My Opinion)

Singer: Lopamudra Mitra
Film: Hemlock Society

Youtube Link: www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mq9GHbg7xXo


I've shattered your mirror so many times-
Looked right back at the real you
In my opinion, there is nobody like you.
I've bathed in your raw luminescence
And sung my innocent songs-
In my opinion, there is nobody like you.

In this dead land, when there is only the scorch of the sun
I could not even keep the remains of a single river intact-
I lost everything at your games- and
I still asked for another round,
Never knowing what drew me back each time.

Sometime these days, leave the safe confines
Of your clothes and shoes- and come
Be naked with me on the streets.

I've shattered your mirror so many times-
Looked right back at the real you
In my opinion, there is nobody like you.
I've bathed in your raw luminescence
And sung my innocent songs-
In my opinion, there is nobody like you.

On the way to your home, I must pass-
Each time, the sentinels of logic- sometimes
Camouflaging themselves sometimes in poetry
They get caught- I know poetry too well.

Right across your frontyard- is complex mathematics and logic-
I couldn't solve them- I could never reach the insides of your house.

Sometime these days, leave the safe confines
Of your clothes and shoes- and come
Be naked with me on the streets.

I've shattered your mirror so many times-
Looked right back at the real you
In my opinion, there is nobody like you.
I've bathed in your raw luminescence
And sung my innocent songs-
In my opinion, there is nobody like you.

A World Where

"Take me to a world, somewhere where .."
She hummed to me one day, and we kissed-
Like any other day, where we would
Tiptoe into the lush bushes, to meet
She would remove her hijab, and lost
In her eyes and the smell of her open hair
I'd hear the little crickets sing ballads-
And songs of hope, darkness and other things.

And little by little, I'd see the sun set while
Fondling her naked body- she writhing on the
Fallen leaves- the cuckoos on the boughs jealous -
Competing with her moans, melodic yet melancholic.
I'd set apart little stones for her- and fashion
Little domes- I'd tell her it was our Taj Mahal.
And each time before parting, I'd feel myself
Disintegrate into little orange pieces of shame-
Much like the reddish sun in the water- in the clouds.

"Blasphemy", they screamed one day- they came
To my house with sticks and eyes aflame-
Armed with amulets, skullcaps on their head.
I saw her face- they hit me- bound me
Her hair was open- they dragged her by it
Years later, three men came out with sly smiles
And set me afire. I sniffed the whiff of solitude
And felt the pang of hunger for three days
Until the vultures finished feasting- on dry sand
Parchment skin on yellowed bones.

All that remained was a decaying forest-
With no careful footsteps- No promises-
Everything lay forgotten- between thoughts and actions.