Tuesday, 15 May 2018

feathers of compassion





It’s not easy to write about compassion, a most talked about thing and the least understood. Quote after quote, Facebook posts and Whatsapp, but compassion is rarely there in actual life. That you see mostly is the very selfish love out of reasons and needs.
A few days back a small bird came in our living room through the front door. It went straight to the balcony closed with bird net. It tried from every hole and a little later, another of its clan came and sat on the bird net on the other side---the free outside world. They both tried for some time and the free bird came near a comparatively bigger hole in the corner, and lo, the trapped one immediately flew through the big hole in the corner. I don’t know what they communicated and how…but yes, a friend in need is a friend indeed!

feathers so petite,
for us time rolls, paramount---
life glides on wings



Visit dVerse for Haibun with compassion !!

Monday, 14 May 2018

Medley







i am,  sweet medley
of dreams and realities; of undenied and denied past;
 winged present moments that i owned
 when time stopped between breaths,
the living moments, sense of life heaving up and down---
down and up, heaving life, of sense,
moments living the breaths between stopped time;
when owned, I, that moments present winged past
denied and undenied, of realities and dreams,
of medley; sweet, am i…


Thursday, 10 May 2018

I am the elixir












where your thoughts can go with consciousness that’s the extend of my presence
and when you wither away as dry fibres and bones, know that i have withdrawn

i am your green and blossomed dreams that you walk on grass-grown aisles
and when you walk and crawl on dried cracked mud, know that i am gone

i am the presence between your skin and the ether, that’s how you feel harmonious
and when you writhe in hot air burning in your own sin, know that i have forsaken

i am your greatest epic on which you built your believes, songs, joys and hopes
and when you find yourself with no meaning, song and tale, know that i am worn

     whine not afterwards
     for even your tears are my sparks





Wednesday, 9 May 2018

hanging thoughts

















empty pots in the balcony are tiny deserts of neglect ;
barren soil holding no drops and clinging to neglect;
lines of memory intact on each particle of dry shingle;
 dead soil of pain knows nothing of waiting for roots
to run all through each grit  making ripples of life,
so are empty hearts…


#     #       #          #           # 


some poems doesn’t flow,
they stop dead at points of contemplation
leaving hanging thoughts and words
of empty hearts…

let the spirit of phoenix enrich
barrenness of lands and hearts…



Thursday, 3 May 2018

an oasis of wildness...














Google Image

there is a stir,
a flapping
and a slight murmuring---
this happens somewhere inside
near a rippling pond of flesh-red memories
when outside commotion pricks
at all your beliefs;
one after the other, people are milking the cow
leaving the calves hungry to bellow to death;
your voice chokes between the swelled tonsils,
they are infected…pollution?
so with the pricks it stirs and takes you to the wildness,
the very remains of your ancient forest spirit
and there you live in spite of all odds
reviving from every blow
crooning wild dialects
of being true selves…



Wednesday, 28 March 2018

tongue, tastes and afterthoughts/smiles























ever tasted thoughts
to know them---copiously,
to dress them into words,
garnish and present for others
                               ---profusely…

it’s  paraphrasing…
taste mitigates

the waves, depths, flow,
stillness and the void spaces;
tongue rolls in emptiness
to catch the nuances…

it’s like painting…
but it comes out abstract

*************************


‘dumbfound’… is that what you feel exactly,
when somebody talks overwhelmingly;
especially when half lies protrude shamelessly;
well, to rodomontade stylishly
is an art to be praised  profoundly
and you must giggle merrily…

*****************************

 in between your dumb-ness and dumbfounded-ness
comes many monsoons and summers…
and you slowly wash prejudices and judgements
to carry springs within…


Visit Imaginary Garden with Real Toads for more poems from Tuesday Platform!

Thursday, 15 February 2018

Abstract kites in the solid sky


























thoughts are kites
tied to my being here---
 numerous, abstract,
making whirls;
and in words,
i do try catching them
before they disappear
and i catch them in bits
like scattered sunshine
among the shadows
of kites
tied to my being here;


in shadows and sunshine,
in learning and unlearning
i try to catch words;
 they make the sky
where the kites fly---
endless sky, solid sky





False Paradise




























mopping out all lingering chaos…
the obsessive compulsive syndrome of cleaning…

inside the kitchen mom was into new online recipes
and papa immersed in his gadget with
the TV brewing out scams and scandals and politics
and in-between climate change discussions…like
the chewing gum in my funny little brother’s mouth---
chewed, popped, hided under tongue, pulled out,
stuck between thumbs and put back to mouth, disgustingly…

mopping out all lingering chaos…
the obsessive compulsive syndrome of cleaning…

outside the window there are hundreds of windows
and one little tree at the end of the lane that
talked in whisper to endlessly running loud traffic
and pigeons perked up high on cables running wayward  
above those bakery men talking politics with the pharmacists
and the ladies at the bus stop complaining of adulteration,
of the milk and the sugar and the fruits; slow poisoning of kids

mopping out all lingering chaos…
the obsessive compulsive syndrome of cleaning…
but there is a room full of dreams at the end of the day,
the cocoon of a little heart to fall asleep for a while,
a forest of serenity, a false paradise to hold on...





Visit dVerse for poems inspired by Catrin Welz Stein's art works!


Sunday, 7 January 2018

Seeking...

























Firefly
George Seeley (1907)




peak of a monsoon flowed turbulent
bedlam
                         
                          fingers gripped on emptiness
                         legs pushing forward
                         a body of existence

penumbral being waking in turbulence
seeking vision
play of shadows and lights
in drifting waters

                               impeccably indecipherable gaze
                              consciousness
                               may be a globule of light waits
                              the quenching sight  of a voyager

the cypher of being and non-being
circling the globule

body of existence  
bedlam in drifting waters      



Saturday, 6 January 2018

Interrupted silence, flowing on different hues…

















An incomplete painting...


sun mellowed to a light orange blush…
Kitchen sink brims loud
with day’s unwashed dishes…
shadows started melting along//
with the skimming darkness…
but moon wasn’t that shy as i was…
she entered completely revealing me//
and the day lingering here and there…
it’s not that muse and moods eat you//
leaving hollows; i cleaned the lingering day…
moon, she entered my canvas for me
to reach her with the fingertip;
time and thoughts are volatile, graceful//
and astonishingly constant…



Tried to show omitted words and opted silence with ellipses and small pauses for  hesitating thoughts with caesura...hope it worked...