rooted

ode to remnants of love

2009-11-22T21:07:00.001+05:30

sitting well after midnight
I call you on the telephone
trying to save you from yourself

you are sick and do not answer
the waste of my love hits me hard
I have always wondered about the remnants

in that vacuumed state
my heart aches,
and a drousy numbness pains my senses

I watch the red coals, burning,
flashing and dying-
sitting well after midnight

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"My heart aches, and a drousy numbness pains my senses" is the opening line of John Keats ‘Ode to a Nightingale’

creative knot

2009-11-22T08:18:00.000+05:30

carefully he circled it
the rope in his hands
a burden for him
that tree felt so like home

he chose the second lowest branch
flung the rope over it-
checked if it would hold
sat down to have a smoke

he had made neat packets
kissing each one tenderly
placed those under the tree
save for one, which went back

into the pocket of his coat
having no second thoughts
he held that rope again
and tied a precise knot

a work of beauty-
his last creative work,
and his last thoughts before
life was snucked from him

perfectly plastered

2009-11-18T21:37:00.000+05:30

plethora of prickly,
pompous people
prevaricate

procastination
psyches me out

porous plaster
pedantically pours over
parallel lines

I push the plate of peas
placing it primly on paper

purple nail paint
prominantly displayed
on pampered fingers

ship-wrecked

2009-11-18T20:32:00.001+05:30

I put on the absurd flip-flip
I am having to do this
there is a ladder.
hanging obscenely

I go down-.
the oxygen immerses me
my flip-flops cripple me,
I crawl like an insect

I am blacking out and yet
I have to learn alone
to turn my body without force
in the deep element.

the thing I came for:
the ribs of the accident
curving their assertion
among the loyal hunters.

this is the place.
and I am here,
amongst the half-destroyed instruments
that once held to a course

the water-eaten log
the fouled compass
speak of a love
which is now gone forever

time and time again

2009-11-14T12:03:00.001+05:30

on that endless highway
I stop at one of the food joints,
sit on that plastic chair
biting at that giant burger

people look at my weird beard
examine my highland kilt
you in your elegant attire
squeeze my hand reassuringly

I look around the place
scattered with wilted flowers
newspapers too flap
in that mild winds

I know I will have to die again
and you will have to follow me soon
to be reborn in which century
or which place in the vast universe

"we know not where/why yet we both do know
some kind of oracle works for us-
death does us apart, it brings us back together"

skin dreams

2009-11-12T17:05:00.003+05:30

so you sleep so peacefully
uncaring that I watch you
those eye lids moving along
with your tremulous dreams
your nose flaring a bit
the rise and fall of your chest
I subtly put my ears to it
picking up your heart beat
I sway to the rhythm of it
I steady myself and
my palms slide over you
your skin seeps ecstasy
into mine. closing my eyes
I join you in your dreams
adding some of my own..

elbowing in, elbowing out

2009-11-11T17:41:00.000+05:30

I pick out in the middle
errant threads from that sweater sleeve
you look back into that story

without any end
you get lost in it, pulling at the seams
elbow peeps out, dry and rough

I hanker for the warmth
and arbitarily look out for signals
the sun warms your face

"my face gets murkier"

a winter poem

2009-11-07T17:49:00.002+05:30

when the warmth of the sun
disappears behind the cold winter
trees bend like old men
coughing into the ground

the icy ground receives their sobs
geeky nighmares speak in Greek
blackening branches interview each other
for dignified white death

'wood of the trees ends up as coffins for old men"

scrawled sheet of paper

2009-11-05T07:51:00.001+05:30

a sheet of paper drifts away
the child's scrawl on the refrigerator door
with the sounds of laughter
mingles into the buzzing of the kitchen gadgets
I stare above the microwave
day-dreaming of harmonious
spaces invaded by the scent of food
I look beyond the obvious
towards that broken chair in the corner
emptiness speaks of untold secrets
in that darkened spot behind the kitchen door

"what does that dried blood suggest to me?"

flames of karma

2009-11-04T15:23:00.002+05:30

I walked and walked
the flames beckoned me
how could I not obey?
when I went right through the parting
I stubbed my toes on the whithered logs
fell headlong into the middle
I became less and less.
when ashes rose out of me.
I could see nothingness
as light passed through me-
karma had made me resplendent
for you, them and the heaven

collectibles

2009-11-01T13:33:00.006+05:30

in the midst of my books
I place precious something
you must be thinking of bookmarks
yes, I do collect those too
along with scraps of paper
matchboxes, coins,
black and white pictures of movie stars
yet, those count for nothing

I collect memories too, which
an angel holds in its arms for me,
and gives me back when I so desire

deathly adventure

2009-10-31T21:02:00.002+05:30

it happened this way.
but you can hear Death's own gentle voice.
you do not turn to look at her.
I would not advise it.
if you do turn, she might smile at you.
her smile not a child's smile,
or a woman's smile.
she will tell your story,

"it happened this way-
I was on the road.
I could be anywhere.
does it matter which road?
it is small, cobbled and potholed;
it lead from one place to another
horses trot there,.
dogs mark their places;
so why not I?"

pausing, Death twirls her skirt.
sometimes she likes playing a mortal.
it amuses her.
you wait for her to continue
you barely ever notice the shift of time,
the clouds covering the Earth like canopy;
the sudden icy sting
on that bright sunny day

"It happens this way, always
I will blow over you,
watch the blood drip slowly
over your limbs
soaking your clothes
before I can no longer
watch your agony.
I will rip your heart
before I walk away with your soul."

the highs, the lows

2009-10-29T05:30:00.001+05:30

she lets her hands be her eyes
slowly shaping the contours
she lets herself pour over it
the softness changing into hardness
controlling each movement
she can feel each of the nuances
the highs, the lows
exactitude of pressure
when she achieves her utmost desire
she opens her eyes
smilesat what is beneath her hands

"her master piece is ready
when the potter's wheel stops"

the waiting

2009-10-28T20:48:00.000+05:30

when a distant whistle sounded,
there was a shuffling of feet on the platform.
The night express slowed down
a burly man with the dishevelled red beard
walked swiftly up the platform
toward the approaching train,
uncovering his head as he went.
the group of men behind him
each one letting his thoughts incubate,
glanced questioningly at one another,
a few of them climbed in
a coffin was got out of its rough box
and down on the snowy platform.
not a word was exchanged
one who had come with the body,
looked about him helplessly.
The man with the red beard
stepped up and stooped
took hold of one of the handles of the coffin
opened it to face his nightmare

"when something exploded on his face
it took more than his vanity and his red beard"

clipped toenails

2009-10-26T20:54:00.004+05:30

her nagging drowns his strumming guitar
his head bows down and down
closing his eyes, he blots her out-
slowly starts a tuneless song
instead of ending the discussion,
this winds her up even more.
she again starts on about his faults,
reciting one after another
as though she’s building up a case
he leans back in his big blue recliner-
starts clipping his toenails
he wonders if maybe he can
get one of those prefab storage sheds for the backyard
he needs a place he can be alone
and play his guitar as loud as he wishes
if he soundproofs it,
he can use the little shed as a recording studio
more he clips his nails, more he whistles
and suddenly senses something
looks at the darkening sky and says-
we'd better get back, 'cause it'll be dark soon,
and they mostly come at night... mostly

"his bent head doesn't register her fangs
till those dig into the back of his neck"

mean edges

2009-10-23T22:46:00.002+05:30

mean edges of the bricks
cut deep into the skin

sounds of that aircraft
tone down the loud silence

sonnets twirl out of my pen
the paper accepts them gratefully

crawling pain turns elusive-
sonnets stand in attention

I cement the various layers
rounding the edges skillfully

tuning to the drones of aircraft
which recedes with much aplomb

"if poetry comes out of all this, why should I complain?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I participated in Dewey's 24-hour Readathon, which took place on 24-25 October. I posted updates about my reading on my other blog, everything distils into reading. If you wish, you can go and comment there. I will appreciate that very much.

I will get back to your blogs after I recover from the Dewey's 24-hour Readathon.

My eyes are total goner now!

Terza Rima: psychedelic pajamas

2009-10-22T14:42:00.003+05:30

those summer months added to woes-
quenching that thirst, eating until sate,
nothing much to do in hunger’s throes.

enhanced girth cannot be taken as fate;
image faithfully mirrored brings lows-
sense of unworthiness has added to hate.

much loved printed, psychedelic pajamas
do not fit any more. determined I yank
those up with a huff, looking like a llama.

jolted out by that representation akin a tank-
pictures in my mind move in slowly; drama
enacted of other unknown horrors. frank

self-appraisal does yield results. vigorously
I start exercise regime. one hour jogging,
half hour yoga, dietary habits rigorously

changed. with good metabolism, dogging
is not too bad. better that than self-flogging!

memories jive tirelessly

2009-10-21T20:07:00.000+05:30

metallic blues jangles in the background
reckless me, jives tirelessly
dad, your words
move in and out
after countless years
silhouette within the walls
of memories jiggles
my heartache is contained
because you reinforced it that way
that speck of paper in my pocket
scented with your love
drives away my blues
metallic sheen of jangling bangles
makes me heart whole yet again

what has time got to do with blood?

2009-10-17T11:51:00.003+05:30

a blur
time rolls us away from it
to it
like a supersonic flight
sounds seem to merge with time
noise in my ears conquer the wired junk
the sudden numbness reaches a crescendo
in that frenzy my knife slips
chipping away half my nail
I stare at the red dots of blood
on the white tiled floor

I ask myself, "doesn't red look good on white?"

exulting mixture

2009-10-15T09:12:00.002+05:30

irresistible progeny of internet
uses exulting language
vowelized words croak
capricious, insolent, vehement
do these work together?
cosmoranic rebrobates
sounds good to me
I let the investment lie low
words need to cool down before
exploded chelations hit me hard

commas and all

2009-10-14T22:07:00.000+05:30

I am not learning anything
cooped up in that so-called school
those tomes of history books
frustrate me no end
cramming is not knowledge
I understand that very well
memory has never let me down
I can almost say it verbatim-
and if you so wish to hear
I can verbalise the commas too

"wouldn't you say that's indecent?"

honeyed glow

2009-10-11T06:49:00.002+05:30

speaking of eternity
your poured honey
over the flower of our love
I tried to imbibe the sweetness
chasing away the butterflies
life was never so sweeter
I basked in it

letting the glow flow over me
scented love is but a feeling
which washes over one's self
submerging all
permeating into the skin
chasing away the blues
I let it be, I let it be

"now I watch the red ants eroding it
with almost pleasurable pain"

solidified

2009-10-09T22:27:00.001+05:30

I hold that talisman of silence
my heart flames over it
in all that light
the darkness oozes into me

the woman within
splits into numerous splinters
clawed nails scratch
the invisible walls

that tight squeeze
solidifies oxygenated blood
pieces of which fall
on the concrete floor

I get on my knees
sort through the tiny pieces
pick a few of those
and put into my mouth

eating my own blood
solid though it is now
isn't as difficult
as I had initially thought

"you sit there writing poetry over my dead soul"

objectivity

2009-10-08T18:39:00.002+05:30

let that eclipse languish
out of that patio door

in its own place of choosing
I watch the darkening sky

and think, I will take a detour
my mood just as stormy

I walk on, increasing my velocity
by now I am completely disarmed

this rambling will go on,
flits through my mind-

to decide what path to take
I pause to take a breather

isn't it true, we like to choose
mayhem that is us?

while I do take a detour
and engage myself in packing my things

mere objects those
yet we hold onto these as lifelines

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I mashed the following to get the above poem.

let my poemlette take you on

let that eclipse languish
in its own place of choosing
I will take a detour
increasing my velocity
I was never asked
why should I be a part of it
mere objects those,
I am alive & I thrive
this rambling will go one
if I don't stop it

here I leave loose ends for you
to decide what path to take
isn't it true, we like to choose
let my poemlette take you on
while I do take a detour

time runs out on me

out of that patio door
I watch the darkening sky
my mood just as stormy
mayhem that is us
flits through my mind

I solicit courage from the clouds
walk down to our room
engage myself in packing my things
your facade blocked out
with strong determination

I pause to take a breather
our photograph from the side table
engages my gaze
I am completely disarmed
trickling tears reinforce my resolve

"I know I will salvage myself from the wreckage"

get that card for me

2009-10-06T21:51:00.003+05:30

that card, invisible though it is
where now do I search for it?

my sanity

who now is a total stranger
swirls in and out

would it stay or come out-

when now?

unsound cavities in my teeth
rattle rapidly like windowpanes

my painful gut

searches for that invisible card
with your numbers on it

I limit myself

& stretch my vocal chords
which renders it fallow