Dissolved
December 3, 2007 | Filed Under Poetry, Travel, life's answers | 1 Comment
You can find me wandering at Rabindra Sadan.
Countless trains will come and go.
Not me.
I am not a train, neither a traveler, nor a passerby.
I have come home, into the shadow of poetry,
I seek refuge from the world of people.
Into the arms of a poet that God loved.
It isn’t a metro station.
It’s a giant painting. a painting that is alive.
The trains come and go, the people change.
Sometimes it is crowded, sometimes it isn’t.
It’s a painting that allows you in,
Let’s you be a part of the landscape, And let’s you go…
When you want to.
Not me, I am not you, I am forever here.
I swim past the words, the waves, the hills, the trees.
I swim in the rivers.
I disintegrate, and integrate as words.
The sketches, they imitate my form,
They know who I am, they smile at me.
And the people, they stumble, against me,
They walk past me without recognizing who I am.
They don’t know me, they have forgotten.
I feel offended but I forgive them easily.
They ask me for directions.
Of the outside world,
But I can’t help them, I never could.
It has been years but no one’s asked
For the direction to a poem.
No one has asked.
If someone did, I could take them there,
And show them my worth.
Sigh!
But do come to Rabindra Sadan,
Pay me a visit.
I will be waiting for you.
Right across the lines that say -
An unknown flower in a strange land speaks to the poet: “Are we not of the same soil, my lover?”
Viciousity of it all
June 25, 2007 | Filed Under Poetry, Point of View, life's answers | 3 Comments
I think -
(sometimes I do, don’t laugh already)
I think some thoughts,
That no one has before,
Or so I think….
To confirm what I thought
Was original or not
I go to the world wild web.
Like a smart spider,
I type my search
In the sexy Google box,
Thinking for once
That bloody search thing
Fails
And I emerge victorious,
Like the cowardly man,
Who struck Achilles’ heel.
Ahh! coming back from
My short but sweet thought reverie,
I see the page to have loaded.
Yes I too can think within 3 seconds
And at most times as well as…
So what do I see?
I see that I am wrong,
Rather not wrong
But someone has already got there.
Got there to the thought
Faster than me,
May be ages ago,
May be minutes.
Does it matter?
So I ask a question
to the open chat window -
What is this world so full of care?
Ehh, no! what am I saying?
I rather tell her my woes.
The woes of a man whose idea has been
thought by someone else.
Someone else,
Who has gently deposited
His semen in the idea pool
And he now lets it germinate there,
And not care for my legacy.
She tells me,
(the girl in chat window)
Sweet little person she is,
Says good things to me.
(Most times.)
She says, “well it means…
that u hv good ideas,
that’s why other people are working
on them.”
I agree… (profound isn’t it?)
But then again
I think,
(yes you can laugh now,
i am the joke)
That these ideas i think
If they are small enough to be on google
But not big enough to be heard otherwise,
Then they are really just useless ones.
“But then if you would have heard
of what u would think,
then it wouldn’t be ur idea, would it?”
(says the wise little chat window)
I contemplate…
and understand the viciousity of it all
And declare…
Everything that has to be thought
has already been thunked.
(has this too?)
I dread searching anymore….
Dry Cheeks
February 10, 2007 | Filed Under Poetry, Travel | 6 Comments
what have I lost?
what have I gained?
i washed my soul, mamma,
when the other day it rained.
i wanted to cry
but the desert was dry,
way too dry for any leaf to grow,
but the thorns didn’t prick
and the sun didn’t wane.
Kismat is a devilish woman,
she sometimes comes and seduces the man,
and he leaves his virgin bride, mamma,
leaves her but takes her pleasures away.
mamma, the other day,
a beggar woman was asking for alms,
she asked not for money, not for food,
she asked for medicines, mamma,
her child was suffering from tubercolosis,
i gave her medicines,
i did right, mamma, didn’t I?
i have lost something in the desert, mamma,
I need to go back again….