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.