It could have started at midday as well.
But, midnight is a scary point of time
And romantic.
A night as dark as Krisna
Is there a point where time deflects
Or takes a U turn?
But there was no such U turn
When my mother died.
Are there cycles of time
So that nothing is novel, new or unique?
Or, is it a hell lot of forgetting
Before the turning?
To mark my 100th post, I am releasing four micro poems that have been gathering dust in my arsenal quite for some time.
The sand artist
Neither will our deeds last
Nor shall we
But, look at the sand artist
How excited is he
Perfection
The perfect are entombed
Or, adorn the shrines
Those little bits of imperfection
are your sex appeal
Immortality
She held back her favours
For life after life
All I asked was a moment
To soak in immortality
The oldest profession
Preaching is the oldest profession
Not prostitution
Divine displays hide vulgarity
And vice versa
my star weeps for me
to a telepathic feel
for missing me
I too can’t see her tears
it is not light years
but lights that separates us
a long lost romance
with diffused blessings
of dying grass
a tiny boy looks up
to the canopy of tiny stars
to talk to them
to count, to wonder
and feel a vastness inside
a tiny pot.
lights lights everywhere
so much are we afraid of
the star lit dreamy openness
to gather light years
of darkness inside.
lights lights every where
all kind of lights
neon shining flickering
of all colours
bathing the cities in lights
to purge it of all darkness
the darkness that is outside
the stars of flesh and blood
suck all spotlight
while our guiding stars
feeble and faltering
move a thousand light years
away
for once you wish
let there be no light.
[In response to Indispire Edition #164. Topic suggested by Shantanu Ashima Gaur .
Despite the light around us in cities, we cannot see the most beautiful wonders of all- A glittered night sky. What are your views on light pollution, and memories of those wonderful starry nights? #DarknessForStars ]
The war is not over.
The meek fight to inherit the earth
Over airy base of war ruined castles
Nations, creeds, everything yours and mine –
Wrapped in golden words,
The word that was an invention.
Dreams of either or may make you shiver.
You take up the gauntlet for a just cause
While the merchants of war have the last laugh.
Peace, violence, death, life and foolishness
Are means to an end, to someone’s end.
Crowds gather for enslavement
To spiced up stories, to invent
Another just cause to die for.
The meek, the nobles and the kings
Meanwhile profess peace.
For you, me and the whole of humanity.
Welcome the meek with blood,
the noble with inventions,
and the king with approval.
Ssssss….. a trade secret.
The majestic statue
high on the hill
invites us
for a rendezvous
of bliss and innocence.
It is fashionable
To come here
To be selfied and uploaded
And arouse a little jealousy
“Look where we camped last weekend”.
A lone devotee infirm and old
Climbs up panting and chanting
To touch at least some height
Before her death.
Tiny flowers without leaves
Pop up from the hard rock
What a humble offering
To the huge bare Bahubali
Standing tall on the bare hill,
With relics and writings as ambiguous
as his silence!
How do they proclaim peace
in words of war -
The scholars fight it out.
The sun follows us inch by inch
As we limp up slowly
To rise above the world
And its maya.
(A detailed account of my visit to Shravanabelagola, Belur, Halebid and Shringeri can be read here : Journey Through Karnataka’s Heritage Sites )
Out of home can be at home. A picnicker on the hospital lawn talks to someone on phone. The ambulance has just arrived to offload a body. He hears a good news, and misses the tears and the gossip and the relief as they mourn home just another body in just another van, an anonymous group of mourners in this city of multitudes. The man was something to someone, somewhere. He was a hoarder they said. He built a hundred homes but never had a home to himself. He died after a long illness. Maybe, that is the reason they had such a sense of relief.
Full of foliage
the gulmohur is on the verge
to deliver a message of condolence.
The lake of monsoon has begun to swell
to herald the Great Deluge
sparing only me and my melancholy.
Sunny days have gone out of stock
not to be replenished for a millennia.
But life would continue
to exist as a curse forever.
Now that no one knows her whereabouts
there remains this glimmer of hope.
Heaven is a politician’s promise
for a better tomorrow – a myth.
But hell is not.
Dreams and memories
are the only privileges
that remain untouched.
(After writing the poem I was reminded of the famous classic Bollywood number: chalo ek baar phir se ajnabi ban jaye hum dono.)
It was due to a ‘comedy of error’ that I got introduced to Pandit Om Vyas. Someone had shared a youtube link on FB about Arbind Kejriwal’s fiasco about some issue. When I clicked the link it took me to one of the kabi sammelan videos of Late Kavi Om Vyas ji. That time I did not know that the satirist to whom I had taken an instant liking was no more. Subsequently, after watching a number of hilarious videos, when I learnt of his tragic untimely death, it reminded me of the song: haste haste rona sikho ….. rote rote hasna……. just like his sessions.
In a congregation of poets (Kabi Sammelan) hosted in memory of Haribansh Rai Bachchan, in his inimitable style, he recited a poem whose pet phrase (takiya kalam) was ‘Maja hi kuchh aur hai. Well, Panditji, with due respect to you, here is a rejoinder that I have composed, imitating your style. It follows an English translation which may not be exact but, as close as possible to the Hindi version:
Signal se thik pehle lane change karne ka Chalti gaadi se bahar thuk-ne ka Bina matlab zor se zor horn bazane ka Gaadi khadi karke public view mein mut-ne ka Footpath mein motor cycle chalane ka No parking board ke thik samne gaadi park karne ka Beech raste mein gaadi khadi karke dooosre driver se jhagadne ka Maza hi kuchh aur hai... maza hi kuchh aur hai Bina padhe whatsapp mein message forward karne ka Bina samjhe sabhi issues mein apni rai dene ka Boss ke bhadde se bhadde joke mein pet phadke hasne ka Junior ke badhia se badhia baton ko nazar andaz karne ka Bhid ke saath kadam se kadam milaye chalne ka Karod-on ke lutere ko maaf aur do kaudi ke chor ko saza dene ka Maza hi kuchh aur hai... maza hi kuchh aur hai
To change the lane just before the signal To spit out from a running vehicle To honk loudly without any need To urinate on the roadside in full public view To ride the motorcycle on the footpath To park the vehicle just below the No-parking sign To stop the vehicle on the middle of the road to pick a fight It is so much fun... it is so much fun To forward on whatsapp without reading the message To give expert advice without understanding the issue To laugh out loud at Boss's mediocre jokes To ignore a brilliant idea because it comes from a junior To march with the crowd matching step after step To forgive the looter of a million and punish the one who stole two pence It is so much fun..... It is so much fun
Panditji. I am not at all bothered whether you have gone to heaven or hell.
Because, wherever you go you will make it heaven.
May your soul rest in peace. And have the last laugh.
She reveals
But only a glimpse
As if for today
That is my quota of pleasure
Somewhere a smile
There a tear drop
More tear drops
Water, and more water
Water and her sisters
Five of them
Play in abandon
Is someone looking?
Play and display of
Seen and unseen
A petty face
A kind heart
You hide and lose
yourself
In joy and ecstasy
In amnesia and orgasm
In snow and sunshine
In sea and green leaves
In sirens and engines
In drumbeats and gun shots
In wine and dreams
In food and flowers
More money, More sex
More play, More masks
Lurks around behind those masks
Now you see it
Now you don’t –
Death
