Thursday, June 1, 2017

Where is my love?



Floundering on these paths
I have been looking for lost love.
No not the personified
not the human figure; not the partner.
It’s the abstract noun I am looking for-
The feeling called love,
That which is no longer found in me.
I searched the insides. The outsides.
I searched for it in words, in images, in the universe.
In books, in tears, in a cup of coffee,
On a plate, beside a tree, before the sea,
Atop mountains, on a bike ride,
Far away, near, amidst – it’s nowhere.
I squeeze and squeeze myself in the hope that
maybe a drop of it would surface.
No. Nothing. It’s long gone.
Evaporated. Vanished.


How? Where? Exactly when did it begin?
This vanishing act of love;
This corrosion of my being
For without love, I am nothing.
Sad movies. Real tragedy. Remorseful Poetry.
An orphaned urchin. Someone’s pain.
Nothing, nothing brings it about – Nothing.

Once I had it in abundance.
Now there’s nothing left.
They say if you give away all of it without
receiving any in return – it depletes.
That’s not true!
Love’s like a wild obdurate plant,
doesn’t need much;
you keep trampling, it keeps growing.
Or on the other hand, maybe there are chances
I might have received some
And it was I who was too full
Or hollow – without a bottom
Or hard, like a stone and love just washed over me and moved on.  

Friday, May 20, 2011

Give up writing dear
They  won't help you
Words aren't humane tonight


Renounce your passion
It will come to no good
The fervour is nothing but dead-weight tonight


Tame your heart
Before it runs amok
For paper will not contain your wild thoughts tonight


Do remember that when the brain does the thinking
It is the heart that suffers
Do not risk to move your heart tonight


The swollen eyes and the blood on your lips
Embrace it all
No matter how hostile it is some love tonight


Hush your breath...lie very still
And do not dare to dream
For the night is very nocturnal tonight

Monday, May 16, 2011

They suck you from within
Suck up all your blood
Till you cave in
Scratch your uterus your gallbladder your heart
Rip off your intestines
Fuck your mind
Bite off your brain and puke the masticated morsel in your bloodstream
Infect your every pore with poison
And dissolve your every bone until all undone
Wring your flesh and crumble your hope
Entangle your veins and make you a bloody joke
Unable to cope the plight
Awake you stay every night
Enduring
Hallucinating
Breathing
And finally becoming
Your Inner Demons

Thursday, May 6, 2010

The season of disillusionment has arrived
And it is here to stay

Moments melt into a timeless horizon
Time that paces away to a blur
Is proudly called Life

Mental pictures corrupted
Reality emerges convoluted
Nothing lucid anymore
Human spirit loses conviction

Friday, April 23, 2010

Living beyond the claims of being
I try hard to exist as mere essence
To be able to escape into oblivion easily
Only to be brought back from the illusory world
And be again transformed into corporeal deadbody

Monday, March 15, 2010

Came across a touching poem. It talked about Sita's crossing of Laxman Rekha. I had a different take on it. Here, I pen down my thoughts.

You can listen to the original poem here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ImJfY0cuYqo&feature=related


She thanks Sita. Thanks her for crossing the Laxman rekha,
For transgressing  boundaries, for leaving behind home & hearth
For setting a pattern for generations of women to come

Yes, much has changed since then. And, much more remains unchanged
'Cause Sita still walks the line of fire
And, wishes too that earth will split and swallow her

She not only has her saree to protect but also bow & arrow to pick
She now not only plays the victim but is the rescuer too
'Cause she knows no Ram will come to her aid, no monkeys will help

She fights battles, faces millions of Ravanas
She writes Ramayan as life dictates
She has Ayodhya to rule and also, Luv & Kush to raise

Crossing Laxman Rekha has not necessarily liberted Sita
For, today she is both - a female and a male
Having to play the part of either or both as suits the world

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Shape of his invisble ideologies I become,
And dissolving into ink, from his pen I flow;
Merely a subject of his poem I become,
In his book of memories I live, as a page yellow.