There are certain nights which are brighter than the day. On such nights instead of the moon I see your smile on the sky. I love those nights.
I love those nights when the stars wither and fall off like autumn leaves from the sky. Or like snow in winter.
Those nights I swirl like a dervish intoxicated by my own singing veins. And my heart echoes a hymn I composed for you the previous moment.
Those nights are so bright that my lips turn into the reddest of roses.
The nightingale yodels and breaks open its centuries old cage and flies off like a meteor from the earth and soars and soars defying gravity.
Setting a new record in flying.
I love those nights because your memories seduce me and encourage me to make love to that beautiful moment where my heart touch my soul.
And my imagination like a rudderless ship sails into an ocean of a fairy tale.
I love those nights my little princess. I love those nights when you kiss me good night and you are still a thousand mile away.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Old Man and His Dice
I have gambled my everything. My whole life. To be what I am.
By birth I am my parent’s child. By nature I am a gambler.
And the Old Man’s favorite playmate.
As far back as my memories go, He has always loved playing the dice with me.
And even as a lonely little child I always played along. With a smile.
The results have always been the same.
He always wins.
And I always smile.
We always play at His den. With His dice. And His rules.
There have been times when I have challenged Him. Quite often after I grew up.
I have waged my love to Him. I have waged my heart to Him.
The Old Man doesn’t wager money.
You can’t tempt Him with anything at all except your love and your soul.
Yes. Your soul.
And now He asks me to wager my soul.
And I know I will. Though I know it’s a losing game.
But this time the loser will win it all. With his smile still intact.
For it’s only if I lose my soul that I’ll win His den.
The Old Man smiles.
By birth I am my parent’s child. By nature I am a gambler.
And the Old Man’s favorite playmate.
As far back as my memories go, He has always loved playing the dice with me.
And even as a lonely little child I always played along. With a smile.
The results have always been the same.
He always wins.
And I always smile.
We always play at His den. With His dice. And His rules.
There have been times when I have challenged Him. Quite often after I grew up.
I have waged my love to Him. I have waged my heart to Him.
The Old Man doesn’t wager money.
You can’t tempt Him with anything at all except your love and your soul.
Yes. Your soul.
And now He asks me to wager my soul.
And I know I will. Though I know it’s a losing game.
But this time the loser will win it all. With his smile still intact.
For it’s only if I lose my soul that I’ll win His den.
The Old Man smiles.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
The opaque seasons of the heart
I oscillate between being juvenile and profound like all lovers. For what is love if not purely sublime or downrightly stupid. There is nothing in the middle.
Last week I went through my blog and read all that I have posted in the past year and a half and couldn’t help but laugh at most of them. Especially the one’s written on the spur of the moment[which incidentally is the only way I know to write!!]. Certain posts are utterly mediocre and banal.
But then there are certain lines that are poetry at its best. Lines that literally slash your heart and make you cry tears of blood which in turn gives birth to the reddest of roses you’ll ever see blossom on your lips.
Like- “ I am the moon of her apathy.” Or “ Her absence is the lullaby that cradles my dream.”
These are gems. Lines that would make even a Tagore or a Rilke smile.
Now, I don not have any delusion of my self as a poet. In fact, I have always looked upon these things I write as scribbles. And hence call myself a scribbler. For I write mostly out of compulsion. And without a thought. Its more like automatic writing. There have been times when it has taken me a few days to understand certain things that I have written and certain lines are still beyond the realm of my own understanding as of today.
Certain posts I wanted to erase. Certain posts I wanted to edit. But then decided against it. For my blog is ME. And hence it should reveal me as I am. Why pretend that I am some God damn poet when I am nothing but an ordinary man recounting his experiences and recording his feelings.
So if by some stroke of mistake you do trespass into my blog and read it out of curiosity, remember- what you read here is what I am. With all my inconsistencies. The only consistent factor being LOVE. And ironically, human love has its own inconsistencies.
And a vagrant thought passes over the edge of my morning cup of tea.
“ Love is the greatest cook in the world.
It makes the best soul curry.”
Last week I went through my blog and read all that I have posted in the past year and a half and couldn’t help but laugh at most of them. Especially the one’s written on the spur of the moment[which incidentally is the only way I know to write!!]. Certain posts are utterly mediocre and banal.
But then there are certain lines that are poetry at its best. Lines that literally slash your heart and make you cry tears of blood which in turn gives birth to the reddest of roses you’ll ever see blossom on your lips.
Like- “ I am the moon of her apathy.” Or “ Her absence is the lullaby that cradles my dream.”
These are gems. Lines that would make even a Tagore or a Rilke smile.
Now, I don not have any delusion of my self as a poet. In fact, I have always looked upon these things I write as scribbles. And hence call myself a scribbler. For I write mostly out of compulsion. And without a thought. Its more like automatic writing. There have been times when it has taken me a few days to understand certain things that I have written and certain lines are still beyond the realm of my own understanding as of today.
Certain posts I wanted to erase. Certain posts I wanted to edit. But then decided against it. For my blog is ME. And hence it should reveal me as I am. Why pretend that I am some God damn poet when I am nothing but an ordinary man recounting his experiences and recording his feelings.
So if by some stroke of mistake you do trespass into my blog and read it out of curiosity, remember- what you read here is what I am. With all my inconsistencies. The only consistent factor being LOVE. And ironically, human love has its own inconsistencies.
And a vagrant thought passes over the edge of my morning cup of tea.
“ Love is the greatest cook in the world.
It makes the best soul curry.”
The lure of moments
My heart sails on the waves of the silent night
Sails with the mast of the moon
Bound from my heart to your heart
Around the mount of Venus
To the shores of boon.
Ferry me to the land of fairy!
Ferry me to the land of fairy!
I hear my little star hum a song
In her mellifluous voice
Bound from her soul to my soul
Across the reverberating space
To the house of rejoice!
Carry me to the land of fairy!
Carry me to the land of fairy!
The snake dances to the rhythm of the horse
Oh! the nimble lotus treat!
Bound from this life to the other
With the grace of God
back, back to His feet.
Accept me to the land of fairy!
Accept me to the land of fairy!
Sails with the mast of the moon
Bound from my heart to your heart
Around the mount of Venus
To the shores of boon.
Ferry me to the land of fairy!
Ferry me to the land of fairy!
I hear my little star hum a song
In her mellifluous voice
Bound from her soul to my soul
Across the reverberating space
To the house of rejoice!
Carry me to the land of fairy!
Carry me to the land of fairy!
The snake dances to the rhythm of the horse
Oh! the nimble lotus treat!
Bound from this life to the other
With the grace of God
back, back to His feet.
Accept me to the land of fairy!
Accept me to the land of fairy!
God of the smile
The weight of her smile is heavier than the weight of my tear.
With a flourish she paints
On the blank canvas of my solitude
All the colors of her abundant laughter.
Look at that beautiful mole on her God like face!
That’s my present address.
I have painted my inner walls red
Wherein silent echoes whisper
A blue song
Against the backdrop of a pink horizon
An orange drops into a crystal bowl
And illuminates the stars
So that the moon doesn’t
Lose her way
in the dark black tresses of the night.
Her absence is the lullaby that cradles my dream.
The sweetness of her silence makes
My heart soar heavenward
And place at God’s feet
The purest, colorless pearl
Of my love.
God smiles.
“Oh! How much does He resemble my little princess!”
He smiles again.
And I become the everything
In the nothing
And the nothing
In the everything.
With a flourish she paints
On the blank canvas of my solitude
All the colors of her abundant laughter.
Look at that beautiful mole on her God like face!
That’s my present address.
I have painted my inner walls red
Wherein silent echoes whisper
A blue song
Against the backdrop of a pink horizon
An orange drops into a crystal bowl
And illuminates the stars
So that the moon doesn’t
Lose her way
in the dark black tresses of the night.
Her absence is the lullaby that cradles my dream.
The sweetness of her silence makes
My heart soar heavenward
And place at God’s feet
The purest, colorless pearl
Of my love.
God smiles.
“Oh! How much does He resemble my little princess!”
He smiles again.
And I become the everything
In the nothing
And the nothing
In the everything.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
The pursuit for impermanence
Reality is always a stranger with an ugly face. So grotesque that one feels like running away.
But run away from what? Can you run away from your own shadow?
We live such pretentious lives, where ones mask takes over ones face.
Look in the mirror? Oh! Its such a beautiful face!
But whose face is it?
Close your eyes and reflect.
The hell is within you.
So you open your eyes and turn blind. Once again.
Beauty is not a visual medium.
Truth lurks around like a ghost around you. In a mansion of desires.
Where the difference between a dream and a nightmare is a thin line.
You wake up not sure of what you did see.
Truth snaps when you least expect it to. It pounces on you like a tiger on its prey.
Tears you apart. And leaves you bleeding.
Yet not a single drop of blood is visible.
You may be in a crowd and yet there will not be one witness to stand by you and tell the world of the massacre.
Your tears are your own. The ones that cleanses your gut.
Who cares for the tears that flow from your eyes?
Who cares for what happens to the oceans?
We destroy everything in the name of love.
Love.
In love we suffer.
Out of love we suffer.
What in the God’s name is this love?
A true lover is a loner.
All other “loves” are merely relationships.
Has anyone ever loved truly?
Has anyone ever been loved truly?
Yet we all talk “in the name of love”. Without understanding its true meaning.
For the true meaning of love is understanding.
And who wants to live alone?
At least “lies” live in communities!
So let’s lie and be friends.
So let’s fake a relationship.
Like we have faked our lives.
We like to believe that “ life has been unfair”.
How many of us can say with all honesty that “ I have been fair to life”.
Show me that man and I will show you God.
For He is God.
Or else what is divinity?
We are all living a stranger’s life. Blind and oblivious.
The pursuit for God is nothing but the pursuit for one's own true self.
But run away from what? Can you run away from your own shadow?
We live such pretentious lives, where ones mask takes over ones face.
Look in the mirror? Oh! Its such a beautiful face!
But whose face is it?
Close your eyes and reflect.
The hell is within you.
So you open your eyes and turn blind. Once again.
Beauty is not a visual medium.
Truth lurks around like a ghost around you. In a mansion of desires.
Where the difference between a dream and a nightmare is a thin line.
You wake up not sure of what you did see.
Truth snaps when you least expect it to. It pounces on you like a tiger on its prey.
Tears you apart. And leaves you bleeding.
Yet not a single drop of blood is visible.
You may be in a crowd and yet there will not be one witness to stand by you and tell the world of the massacre.
Your tears are your own. The ones that cleanses your gut.
Who cares for the tears that flow from your eyes?
Who cares for what happens to the oceans?
We destroy everything in the name of love.
Love.
In love we suffer.
Out of love we suffer.
What in the God’s name is this love?
A true lover is a loner.
All other “loves” are merely relationships.
Has anyone ever loved truly?
Has anyone ever been loved truly?
Yet we all talk “in the name of love”. Without understanding its true meaning.
For the true meaning of love is understanding.
And who wants to live alone?
At least “lies” live in communities!
So let’s lie and be friends.
So let’s fake a relationship.
Like we have faked our lives.
We like to believe that “ life has been unfair”.
How many of us can say with all honesty that “ I have been fair to life”.
Show me that man and I will show you God.
For He is God.
Or else what is divinity?
We are all living a stranger’s life. Blind and oblivious.
The pursuit for God is nothing but the pursuit for one's own true self.
golden twilight
Her smile is orange
Tulip under a blue sky
Golden reflection of her eye
Swindler sun seize
Puritan clouds gossip
Her wild playful tresses
Uncoordinated dresses
Petal dew drop lips
The wind is bedazzled
Her luminous flowing feet
Home bound birds greet
My little star eyed gazelle.
Tulip under a blue sky
Golden reflection of her eye
Swindler sun seize
Puritan clouds gossip
Her wild playful tresses
Uncoordinated dresses
Petal dew drop lips
The wind is bedazzled
Her luminous flowing feet
Home bound birds greet
My little star eyed gazelle.
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