Tuesday, March 31, 2009

ode to the rains

My mind revolves
As I look up
High above in the shy,
The mackerel clouds float,
The sky is all clear,
And there is no sight of rain,
Yet I can smell the rain.

My heart leaps with joy,
As if am a nine year old child,
Crushed by the summer’s heat,
I gorge into the watermelons
Throwing away the seeds,
And they stare bare at me,
Waiting too for the showers,
To fall on them,
And there is no sight of the rain,
Yet I can smell the rain.

Lazy afternoons pass by,
And I lie under the shades of the tress,
Usually reading a book,
Mostly poems of Keats and Shelley,
Sometimes I doze off,
Taking a siesta,
Then in my dream come you,
With your cool showers.
And a smile appears from nowhere.

I eagerly wait for the rain,
Much alike the famine stricken farmer,
Only my pain is less,
But the longing may just be the same,
For prickly heats kill me,
For they burn
As I rub ice on my face…

They say the rain is going to be late this year,
For that’s the weather forecast,
But deep in my heart I know
They are wrong,
For I smell the rain every where,
The magical winds bring me the news,
And it’s going to rain soon
For I smell the rain,
I smell the rain everywhere.

Friday, March 27, 2009

somethings are better un-named

As the hot wind blew to and fro
As the desert snake hissed,
As the sun scorched up above,
And I searched for a dream.

And then came you,
With the same view
As that of mine,
Following the same path,
To become my co-dreamer.

No, I was not afraid to you,
Together we followed the path
That led us,
And together we searched for a dream,
A particular dream.

Then we reached a point,
Where the earth was perched,
We both sat together at that point,
And tears rolled downed from our eyes,
The soil got wet,
The perched earth softened,
And from our pockets
We threw some seeds of love,
And waited for days,
And cried everyday,
Till our eyes went dry,
And we had nothing more to offer.

And then one day,
When the sun was up high,
The hot wind blew to and fro,
A bud came out,
From a seed,
For only a seed was alive,
For none could bear the heat
And then slowly the bud grew
And one day it bloomed,
Together we cried,
My co-dreamer and I,
And the together we laughed,
For the fruit of our love was still alive.

As the hot wind blew to and fro
As the desert snake hissed,
As the sun scorched up above,
And I realized my dream.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Moments as they pass by

the moments passed away slowly,
taking a part of me,
and slowly I was decaying
much like a fading essence of a rose,
he once said
"Don't shade your tears,
for they are for the weaker ones"and
I hadn't from that moment
yet something was there,
that I couldn't say
or didn't understand
I wished I could cry sometimes,
The tears were stuck,
In my eyes
waiting to drop
Alas!my fate was not to cry,
but to wait
for an hour more of my life,
for another moment to passby,
another rose to wilt and wither away,
another tear ready to fall,
but to die a premature death.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

the incomplete call.

the knocks at the door don't let me sleep,
and I lay awake all through the night.
There's a call,
is it for me,I fail, to understand,
yet I listen to it quietly
lying on the bed.

there's a tap on the window,
who's there?
I cry,
nobody answers,
and then there are taps,
and I listen quietly lying on the bed.

my heart thumps fast
as if it wants to fly away from the cage,
far, far away
to some unknown lands,
I close my eyes,
hug my pillow tight,
the thumping doesn't stop.

suddenly all were quiet,
silence before the storm,
I touched my heart,
am I dead?
no, my heart beats
although slow
and I draw a sigh of relief,
but it's a momentary one.

It starts all over again,
here thunder strikes twice,
the night is long,
the wind gushes through the trees,
the owl hoots frequently,
and I lay quiet
listening to the knocks, the taps and the thumps
and waiting for the call
which is yet to come
and the knocks don't let me sleep,
and are you awake too
along with me
all I hear is the wind
rushing through the trees.

Monday, March 16, 2009

try again,try again

I ruffle,
I shuffle,
I grumble,
I rumble,
I beg,
I cry,
am I lost in the monotony of the game,
what game?
life's game
am I a miser
or a loser?
just swimming in fantasy and desire,
I growl,
I moan,
and then I laugh
a silly laugh,
and then cry
over my own folly,
or at my might,
I achieve,
I deceive,
I confuse only to diffuse,
I praise
sometimes false....
am I a hypocrite
am I feeble,
or just disabled
by norms and rules,
but provided by whom?
am I neddy,
then again I play,
the life game,
can I stop,
do you stop,
is it possible to stop?
lose or gain
try again,
try again,
is this a motto
or just a saying
for a feel good feeling,
does it count
all is but same at the end,
try again,
try again
and then again and again............

Monday, March 2, 2009

Prisoner of Time

This poem is on my love for Sunday, as a person I am lazy, a born supporter of Garfield....mu ah, love him dearly for what he is...and love lasagna too...

My mornings do not mean
the sunrise on earth,
your face is my hope of light,
for I go through six days of darkness
and the seventh day blesses me with your sight.
this one day
I am no more a prisoner,
nor am I an unnoticed sign,
for in your presence,
I feel my existence,
alas! from the next day
I am again the prisoner of time.

And then
sorrow creeps in my heart,
pain pops up its cruel head,
darkness all around,
no matter where ever I turn;
fine lines appear
as tension draws its lines,
and I wait eagerly for you
with every seconds and every
count of time.

The day before your arrival,
time passes slowly than usual,
the longing, the passion, the wait
seems like ages,
and I grow so restless
the hour glass seems to be stagnant,
and I crave for you
and your bright smile.

And then the seventh day come,
with all pomp and show
making a grand entrance,
the church bell rings at early dawn,
the chorus sings,
swallows twitter
and the love wind blows,
and I open my eyes
with hopes and desires
and longings of the days gone by,
for it is time
when your arrival is to be.
alas! time is always futile,
the day passes by
and again I fall prey
to the grips of time.

I am Beautiful

early sunday morning
very near to dawn,or
say dawn just walked away,
I look at myself in the mirror,
my eyes,
my lips,
my innocent smile,
there's no make up,
not even a dash of kohl,
and my lips are nude,
then I hear to what the mirror says
keeping my ears wide open,
It says
I am beautiful
I smile,
I laugh,
I giggle,
and the I turn coy,
and I laugh at the mirror,
to what the mirror says,
Oh! I am beautiful,
am so beautiful,
and I keep on talking
to the mirror,
I turn, I swing,
I go round and round
with my arms over my head,
af if intoxicated,
I sing,
I dance,
I look at the mirror,
I recognise myself,
I am beautiful,
not for beauty's sake,
but I feel beautiful.

this poem is dedicated to the sunday dawn that made me realise that I am beautiful from inside.