Dichotomy

The slippery grip of loss…

 

Like the last bit of chocolate

that would melt and fade in my mouth…

Like the last turn in the journey

that would steer me away from holiday mirth…

 

Like the blurring tint of dusk light

that would leave me reeling in sombre greyness…

Like the waning strain of music

that would drown me in silence, its vastness…

 

Like the last brush-strokes on my painting

that would drain off my upsurge of imagination…

Like the last pages of the book (devouring as I am)

that would wake me from the magic of illusion…

 

Like the falling leaves of the autumn tree

That would bury my cheer and summer memories…

Like the withering blooms and sweltering rooms

that would make me yearn for winter, its rare revelries…

 

Bitter it maybe, every instant of losses and laments…

Sweet but it is, for it’s a mere cycle of moments!!

Hiatus…

A turn of head to look at what I walked past…

I see a long road, bare as the page of a new notebook!

Did I lose track or miss a turn, or wander away from

the trees, the birds, and the babbling brook?

 

No oceans crossed nor mountains climbed

No flightless dream-birds given wings of life

No random chords blended as music of soul

No conquests made nor crowns won… though battles rife!

 

Caught in a web of absolutes and abstracts

Perception failed me on apparent truths!

Between unsaid words and entangled emotions…

Conjecture guided me to fables and myths!

 

Fortune, did you ever chance upon me…

Or was I beaming over laurels, rare and few?

Did I reckon those droplets of good-will…

Refreshing as summer showers, nothing in lieu!

 

A Turn back to look at what lay ahead…

I see a long road, verdure as new blades of grass

Azure sky, drizzles of rekindled hopes…

Moments of happiness, as long as they last!

 

Hazy world…

I live in my small world!

Its beauty is my limited perception,
its ugliness, perhaps, my unlimited ego!

its prescripts are dictations of my conscience...
its chaos, the reconditeness of my thoughts!

its freshness, at times, is more fragrant than a spring morning,
its staleness, at others, reeks of incessant morbidity!

It is my world - by fate or by choice?

Is my mind a genetic certainity...
or just a fictitious afterthought?
Are my thoughts woven by me... 
or just steered by spirits of some sort?

Relatively, Absolutely…

It’s all about relativity…

my silence,  your boisterousness
my modesty, your conceitedness
my far-sightedness, your self-centredness
my eagerness, your cavalierness…

my haziness, your clear-headedness
my self-doubt, your over-confidence
my mediocrity, your extraorderiness
my fearfulness, your hardiness…

It’s all about relativity
for there’s nothing as disparate reality…
What makes me ‘me’, is a contrast
from the ‘you’ness in you!

Maybe not in blacks and whites
or stark as hues of greys alone…
Tacked as in a jigsaw puzzle
together we merge as the ‘absolute’!

Penchants and Passions…

Thoughts soar to heights –
illimitable, undoable, inconceivable…
Or so thinks the lay-man,
who dare not follow the limitless mind!

As seeds lay dormant –
over years awaiting nourishment…
To sprout, grow, branch-out,
seek the sky, shade even the unkind!

Seed knows not its destiny –
nor does the adamantly gliding thought…
Desire and devotion remain,
oft to be pushed by fate to the hind!

Dreams…

Dreams… they just happen
over days and over nights…
with neither beginnings nor ends
smothering me, as they grow and deepen!

I try to [pretendedly] remain, though in vain
grounded, and be with the real…
but without them I lose myself
feeling confined, withered, and insane!

Worlds apart…

Every night I behold…
those far-away lights, flickering in the distant water
as I walk back home, along the shore
listening to the waves and the winds
that render a rhythm to silence!

Oft, I wonder what it is like…
to be there, on one of those tiny boats
swaying with the waves, feeling the wind
gandering into the dark cryptical vastness
that dissolves my being, my presence!

Two worlds…
one of make-felt sturdiness; other of floating uncertainities…
What seeks what, I know not
wave, soil’s permanence… or
soil, wave’s transience!!

If only…

If only I could be a:

Song that haunts many a generation to name

Verse that calms even those clenching swords…

Face that lights up those that think “all is in vain”

Turn that guides into openness of vast new worlds…

Voice that incites both the jaded and the lame

Thought that inspires more than a thousand words…

On writing…

It is weird, at times, the way thoughts play games with my psyche!

My deliberate efforts to give shapes to random ideas turn futile many a time. But the moment I am trying hard to concentrate on my work or my extra-super sensitive slumber pattern, ideas and words begin to dance before my eyes!

Sometimes when Iam far from civilisation where materials needed for writing are most inaccessible, a thought forms and insists on haunting me. Sometimes when a problem sits heavily on me, a persistent thought lifts me up where it becomes a struggle to get back to ground from my rather ethereal state. The more I try to avoid being carried away from some important task, the more a thought would just linger on and on…

Writing, for me, mostly happens spontaneously when I feel the pang of a more-than-heavily-pregnant thought that forces out a surge of words. I lack the story-weaving or narrating quality where thoughts once formed are nurtured, worked-on, polished, etc for ages (I really admire people who can do that). I cannot keep up with the demands of such works, of constant attention, research and analysis, creative embellishment, etc. So, for me when an idea strikes, it has to take form then and there; or else it floats away to a realm of oblivion till the alignment of stars or situational similarity pops it back to my mind, but at the cost of the original beauty and sheen of words!

Weird indeed!

A love-story…

It was maybe a forcibly-squeezed-out kind of an article on lily-ponds in the newspaper the other day or the frequent sighting of the actual ones on my many bus-journeys through rural Tamil Nadu, that triggered my thoughts about those beautiful water-bodies that used to dot my town till the recent past. They bring back a volley of memories of my childhood spent at my parents’ home, a smile to my face that brightens my spirits altogether, a melody to my lips… Oh! I miss those days…

There were ponds of all sizes and shapes – open and covered, with and without retaining wall, clean and murky, etc. It was also a way of showing one’s affluence and position in society; the elaborate ones with well-made embankment, stone-steps to go down to the water, dressing rooms and toilets around, an extra room to boil bathing water, a pooja room, etc. Our pond was one such elaborate ones. I use past-tense though the pond still exists, because the rooms are in total disrepair and the water has not been cleaned for eons. It must be missing the feeling of belonging and usefulness that were once its pride!

We, as children, needed just any reason to jump into the lukewarm water and be there till our respective mothers take to a threatening tone! It was in the water that we shared daily gossips from school, movie stories, songs, prospects of fun during school vacation, growing-up-time-girl-talks, dreams and fantasies, etc. Competition for getting the farthest lily was the main sport that we engaged in. The daily allotment of time never seemed to be enough for us for our water-activities… The only spoil-sport was the ‘African weed’ that would appear as a tiny light-green spot and then invade the whole water surface in no time! But we more than whole-heartedly volunteered the cleaning-up activity inspite of the hard labour involved. Monsoon was the time when our strong bonding with the pond was put to test, like that of two lovers separated by a sheet of glass!

Times and needs have changed; but our feelings for water-bodies still seem to remain… Small ponds exist in our smaller living spaces in the form of decorative urns, pools, tubs and jacuzzis!

But I still yearn for those precious moments in my pond; we look at each other longingly each time I visit my parents’ home. Time has not succeeded in mentally tearing us apart nor the age-induced wrinkles in reducing our love and affection for each other!