Nit-Picker's Ballad

On the loveless shores of dissatisfaction
He wanders, dark and sombre.
She said she loved him, you see.
And he wonders why.

You, the reader, would now smell a skunk.
You don't? You're supposed to. There!
Why does he wonder why! Because, you think?
Fine. But why?

He wonders, that's why.
Now, why he should, does it matter at all?
No, you think? Why not, I ask.

Walking the shores, with promises of love
Given endless dreams, and lustrous hopes
A hand held warm, a heart cosseted gently
Why would he wonder? Why should he?

But then he is that alter ego of everyman
The one that never takes on trust, 
The one that fell foul of love
The one who found no love within. 

And yet that one, too, is he
That quietly stood, and braved the angst
When she lost her mooring.
Gathered her when she was washed ashore
From a tumultuous voyage, bereft, and battered.
She knew. Though he did not.
Saviour he was not. Survivor, he was.
As was she. 

A pause to this tale, here now;
To tell you how love, it creeps upon you.
Perhaps to envelope, perhaps to smother,
But always to fill each pore, till replete it is.
And so it was, with her. She knew.
And so it was, with him. He did not.

So there comes, then, this moment:
Survivor to survivor; the honesty of a heart,
The unfathomable depths of utterance
And the incomprehensible betrayal of the ear. 

She confessed. He ran.
In circles, on that loveless shore afore mentioned.
What then? The storyteller is asked.
What then? And you wait with bated breath.
Willing a fairy tale to happen.
Knowing that some things are never to be. 

Will he stay?
Will she accept, then?

But ah! The threads, they dissemble, the weave fragmented...
And the spell of the storyteller is broken.
He sighs. His gnarled fingers wrap themselves around his staff.
And on, he plods. 

Thinking, dreaming, of what could have been.
Had he stayed. 

1 March, 2013
Online, on yet another silly line of thought :)

Free

The gust of wind that blew
Did not take away the weight
I thought it would.

If anything, I feel heavier
For the storm, that rained on,
Did not cleanse, it only drenched.

Heavy, deep inside, with no hope
Of ever shedding that baggage of grief.

When you lose, shouldn't you be light?
For you are suddenly free, severed.

Of responsibility, of being bonded.
Of love.

You are that kite, soaring on freed string.
You are that feather, blowing thither, every which way.

YOU are free.

And there is free. Again.
Free of you.
Free to keep you ever, in my heart.
To know sometimes, visit memories
Free to grieve.

I wonder, though, when
Ever
I will be.
To.


29 January, 2012

Angst - a Jorio

Bottled emotion spills over

Wild eyes, aflame, errupting

Then sizzling, stinging, hurting

Into icy pearls, unforgiving

17 January, 2012

***

A Jorio is cuboid writing, four lines, four words on each line, on a theme. More explanation on the form, with the previous and debut Jorio here :)

Patches on the ceiling

(This is post is entirely inspired by Arjun, the First Born, my caregiver (along with my parents and Chandrika), who insisted I had to be inspired by my forced inactivity, or rather my debilitating condition (lol), to write something with this title. His wish had come to be assayed thus :P. Happily enough, it is being typed out on his laptop.  )

These many days, past,
Prone, unmoving, almost
Enveloped in a fine mist of pain
I never saw
The patches on the ceiling.

They smoothened in a blur
As I lay on my back
And looked, eyes
Distant with the discomfort
That grew to be a part of me.

I felt, almost proudly, I now wonder,
In retrospect, my whole self
Neatly accomodating to pain.
And how I never demurred, protested
At its intensity. Vain, I certainly am!

Yet now, forced out of this
painful, accomodating complacency,
I sometimes writhe, hurting,
Crossing new thresholds of recovery...
The blur fades, focus sharpens
And I see the ceiling for what it is.

So like me.
Uneven, faint scars of reworked plastering.
Stretches smoothened, especially around corners...


And the patches, Oh yes-
Each one, clear, takng shapes
That make me smile.

And one, that stands out, distinct.
An ode, a toast perhaps
To a certain denizen of the region.
Long, slim, tapered at one end
Softly triangulared at the other
The entire length, pockmarked
With tiny peeling whorls of pain(t)
A shape bubbled out, by the damp.

So like my familiar friend, who visits
Each dusk, as the lamp lights,
To haunt my twilight wall. Our gecko!

And now, you know, I'm glad
I see, and know, those patches on the wall!


5 October, 2011

In Retrospect

Wallowing in time...
That brings back breaths
Of aeons past-
You prompt. You jolt.
I realize. And regret.
At the brilliant needlepoint
Of pain, accrued, in blue,
Sometimes red.
Bled cold with each pin-prick
In crafting this
Unforgiving image of my undoing,

If only there was time
To go back, before
Meeting unnamed destinies-
Time to undo that intricate
Weave, and weft, and warp
Of pain-
Undo, thread by painful
Thread, all my inconsistenties
My selfishnesses, thrust upon you-

A reprieve- at least, this day
I glimpse anew, that design
Of regret-
Knowing, absorbing,
Seeking and receiving
Your forgiveness.

Framed in acceptance,
Kept aside, with quietude-
Only to peek, when again
I may falter...
To guide, when I may lose
Myself, yet again,
Subjugated by insidious
Webs of duties that tie me down.

To seek strength, knowing
That I shall not, again,
Craft, of myself, another such
Mosaic of regret and pain.


25 September, 2011

The Coming Together

From a speck where it all started
Blossoming - an amalgam of a spectrum
Exploding into existence,
Then shrinking into familiarity
The colours vivid, the emotions livid,
What's within, and what's without
All there, and none at all!

Contradictions abound.
I am you, and you Me!
I soak in that Wonder-
That we have enriched
Each other- through the
Memories our cells carry
Back to the womb of Creation!

Her Thought! Are we That?
From the maturity of perfection in creation
Do we degenerate into the immaturity of a life?

Each cell we posses, not ours
Each person, Her own, hers alone?
Of isolation, of belonging
Of coming together, in That Heaven
Parts of whole, whence we came
To where we

Never can return?




8 July, 2010

Edited to add :)
After re reading Siddharth's comment, I came back to a few posts I had here, much earlier :) Just to share an uncanny (maybe not so much, after all... :) cell memory :D!)
Malaise

Evolving

Homing In

New Perspectives

Like inky nights
diluted with
pearly moonlight...

Like dry riverbeds
inundated with
rushing waters...

Like sudden stillness
invaded with
thunderous gales...

Or poignant silences
gentled with
murmurs and smiles...

And lack-lustre eyes
moistened with
tears of feeling...


Maybe there's hope for us-
New perspectives
Untold and untried..

Normalcy now,
would be
an achievement.

2 April, '91

***

A re post, to strive and find a muse again:)

Knife

The knife twists in the wound
As I sit and watch

The pen scratches on paper
And I still feel inexperienced.



Undated

Formless

He came with the dawn,
Early morning mist-
A hazy form:
vague nothingness,
slowly taking shape!

My long night was
nearing light-
I knew, the sun
was just behind him.

Trapped in my darkness
I could do nothing,
but wait...
Endlessly, it seemed.

I wondered.
Did he know?
Was that why he came?

And I waited.

Wondering
why, suddenly, the steps
seemed unsure
faltering-

And the mist grew thick!

Still trapped in
my darkness
I knew
I would have to burn-
so that he could see light,
and part the mist again.

Only, I hope, he will forgive me
for being formless,
when he finally gets here.

5 June, '07

Grief

How could Fate
have been so cruel?
I wondered...

Not for myself
but for them,
Who so devoutedly
gave of themselves
and asked only
for blessings in
return,
not for themselves
but for their own.

How could this be?

There are no answers,
some said sagely;
Things have a way
of happening,
others said, knowingly.

Neat, ambiguous answers
to console the
grieving hearts
whose pain is
the only unresolved
undissolved,
resolute and
undying residue
within.

How can one ever
console them?

Even He cannot,
then who am I to
even try?



20 April, '02

****

A re-post. Just thought of this, after a visit to a family bereaved of their mother, who passed on, peacefully at the age of 90+. The time spent there, was filled with touching moments of grief, really, in the way all her grown up children, grand children and great grand children were moved beyond words with grief. There was peace, and there was grief, each in its proper place. But sometimes I wonder. I always have...
Ever since, that day, I have been wanting to repost this, just to share...

Untitled

A wounded bird
Abandoned and
Exiled.

He tried too hard-
They said.
Not knowing he
only wanted his
sole self freed.

He sinned and
paid the price,
They crowed
righteously.
Not knowing how
much their inner voices
protested-
Fools, don't you realize
he only tried to make you see!

A patch of shade
Thankfully graced
his self.
Weary, yet serene,
he looked up-

Still pleading.
A prayer, spontaneous
escaped his parched self.

Forgive them, dear Lord
For they know not what they do.

The utterance sealed his fate-
As the angry mob descended
in a dark cloud.

It was time.
He simply surrendered.

To live again a thousand times
In each heart, that pecked him
to oblivion.


25 August, 07

***

Destiny

The destiny planned out
weaves its intricate threads thru'
hearts of people;

tearing emotions, feelings
bonds, into pieces;

The work of that Superman?

I don't know now;
maybe I'll never know.
Maybe it'll remain as elusive
as that pot of Gold
at the rainbow's end.

Or maybe
the Wonders of the Infinite
will be understood
thru' the pains and sorrows
of living life;

Just cherishing those moments
that are worth the hell
the rest of our life holds..

Maybe...
Someday...
I'll know...





26 January, '84


Picture, Courtsey:
http://garrit.deviantart.com/art/Destiny-14107530

Dark Was the Night

Dark was the dusk
When the storm broke!

Long was the night
When the fires raged!

Deep were the wounds
that seared the hearts!

This is not a picture of long ago,
but of yesterday
when demons born of man's mind
roamed the streets
to ravage, to pillage humanity.

I stood a mute witness
to this nightmare come alive
And thought - is this what we have
come to?
Is man merely a refined instrument
of death in the name of religion,
of land, of tiny man-made divisions?

Has he lost sight of his glorious
self?-
The one in all of us...

If he would only stop to think
to take stock of himself
look around

See... the trees, flowers, mountains,
valleys, plains, rivers....

Listen... to the laughter of a child...

Feel... the blessings his mother gave him..

Share... in the love of his comrades
And come home,
Into his heart... with peace.

Oh please! just pause a while
And thank god for giving you
A mother who has the
largest, warmest, most loving
heart of all...

She has suffered enough..
and now all her sons
and daughters shall join
hands and hearts and sing
with one voice -

God Bless you always..
Vande Mataram!

Written in 1993

****

A Note:

It seemed appropriate to share this one now, with the fires still raging and shooting still going on in Mumbai. This was actually written post-Babri Masjid, when the riots almost shattered the secular fabric of our nation. But fifteen years later, how much has really changed, other than the faces? It is still humans, doing this, to each other, for all those twisted reasons they find, isn't it? Not aliens, not extra-terrestrials! My heartfelt condolences to all those who have lost near and dear ones to these kinds of acts of violence. May God grant them the strength to bear their loss and live through this time of pain and anguish. The silent succor of our prayers are always with you all.

God Bless us all!

28 November, 2008

Treasure

Liquid treasure
Stored for ages-
Mellowed, yet holding
The Sting.

Only with you
Could I share it.
For only you could
Know, the value...
For no one else
Could even make me
Want to try...
For, no one else
Was deserving too...

Your tenderness
The gentleness
Of your quiet question:

Why are you holding it in?

When you read
The pain,
In my eyes..
Was enough.

Trembling, in your arms,
My head tucked into your shoulder,
I can only let you
Soak it too..

That treasure:

Now as much yours...


22 April, 2008


***
A re-post again :) Till the muse visits again :)

Ode - I

If it could be like this

Always-

You and me and happiness
till past
Eternity.

If it didn't have to be
play-acting,
make-believe:
just an interlude
in the misty, nebulous
world of dreams!

If only all this
were true-
that you're still with me
walking this road together...

I miss you, my friend.
The part of me that you were
Will always be yours..
Till that promised

Past Eternity...




10 December, '85

*********

Picture, Courtesy: profile.myspace.com

A re-post again... :) Pushed up from the bottom of the list, in February when this was first posted. Just came across this today and decided to refresh it :)

This write has a sequel of sorts :)... Do read, if time and inclination permit:)

Ode - II

*********

Getting Here

It's been a long way...
And it's been a long time...
getting here.

Dark, desperate
torturous paths,
Stormy troubled times..
Lashed by bitter
experience
Briefly relieved
by caring helping
hands..

It's been a lonely fight...
getting here
But if life
had been
kinder...
Would I have ever
discovered
my strength,
my faith?

Would I have
ever searched..
sought and
found
my own echoing
self...
in you?

It's been worth it
getting here.

6 June, 2002

***

Perhaps you have the time for this too?

Untitled

Thank you :)

The Chill - A Senryu

The Chill


The liquid tear drop

Solidifies into pain-

Barren snowy heart!

28 September, 2008

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

Syllable Count:

The/ li/quid /tear/ drop...5

So/li/di/fies /in/to/ pain-..7

Ba/rren/ sno/wy/ heart!..5

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

Senryu is a form of Japanese lyric just like the haiku. The one above is in the 5-7-5 format:) However, while Haiku celebrate the seasons, and nature, Senryu speak of human nature, and are mostly a little darker in their expression: More, from wikipedia..

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
(Redirected from Senryu)
Jump to: navigation, search

Senryū (川柳, literally 'river willow') is a Japanese form of short poetry similar to haiku in construction: three lines with 17 or fewer "on" (not syllables) in total. However, senryū tend to be about human foibles while haiku tend to be about nature, and senryū are often cynical or darkly humorous while haiku are more serious. Unlike haiku, senryū do not include a kireji (cutting word), and do not generally include a kigo, or season word.
The link, for those interested:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Senryu

In Redemption

Expulsion, into exposure.
Naked stand notions.

Thoughts thrashing
Through screaming silence.

Your copious consolation;
Or casual concern?

In emotion electrified,
Yet redeeming regret;

I find favour finally-

Deeded to Death.





7 August, '07

Bullseye!

Though daggers
and stilettoes
be all that you
possess in your
armory of words-

I shall stand
and receive them
with open arms.

There is a
distinct possibility-
One that I'm
banking on-

That one will
strike right there-

At the centre
of my heart!

Usha, 1 July, '07

The Rain Is Me

The rain is
me, now.

Grey, grey clouds
that hold my heart
and soul, captive;
heavy with leaden
sorrow.

Huge pearly
drops falling;
from my eyes??

My thoughts
my dreams, hopes
aspirations and expectations,
peopled in my mind-

Inundated
by the pain
that never seems to stop.

That will never let
me be.

The downpour
of agony
sweeps all away.

A sun rises anew,
in the cycle of life again;
flood waters recede-
as they must.

To garner myself
my thoughts and
my precious self...

How tough it is-
to learn to live again.

Usha, 1 July, '07