ode O, Traveller, by a letter

 

Dear somebody,

 

Today a nobody....but once my world
Today the random 27th...
You died today for me....and every year this day you will die afresh...
Mystique....
Masked are my feelings,  for now...I care not to seek the normal litany...Yet etched are your words in my memory...like foolish hearts that lovers carve on trees....
You are dead....I wish I could delve in.. to the abyss and remain..
But you're like a fish that floats on the Dead Sea....
Like warped wires waiting for some Samaritan to clip them.
My mind recollects of times...what memories once gave solace...now compel me to question... Were you true?
Oh nobody...you're existence is now a parody for me...
Be gone. Be gone.
Or as the Bard said 'get thee gone'
Adieu.

 

 

MY PHONE

 

I live with it.
I survive with it.
I depend on it.
More like a lifeline.
 It sings to me,
It plays with me.
 It works with me.
It connects me globally
It makes me a recluse
It kills me with it’s radiation,
Yet I love my killer
It curbs my memory,
And deprives you of my attention
Yet I love it
And confess you must:
You too do love
My Phone

Yet You Could'nt See

I spoke of my pain through my eyes

Yet you couldn’t see.

I spoke of my pain through my smile

Yet you couldn’t see

I spoke of my pain through my ear

That I lent you patiently

Yet you couldn’t see.

So I stopped sharing

I gave you what I loved best !

I gave you me.

To use and to perish.

Yet you couldn’t see

So I drift away,

From your joys and your morrows

Yet you couldn’t see

I say Good Bye My Love

Yet you couldn’t see.

  

CHANGE

in the middle of the night..
I go walking in the street..

..sings Billy Joel at the back of my mind. its one of these regular days when sleep is as elusive as the winters of Calcutta. The only difference between the song playing and the practicality of the gender I allude to can not walk in the street in the middle of the night. Its an erratic weather, that offers no respite and no sleep either, with a constant nag of a back ache gained due to a constant sitting position..urgh..am complaining like a nag...

 

I admit I am complaining, but aren't we all? about the system and the lawlessness, about the traffic and the mad rush, about perfection with people and the unruly behaviour of the ruthless young, about the dying poor and the permanently afflicted rich, about the nasty government policies and the suave politics of the legions abroad, about how fake life has become and how different we are from the portrayal , about the loss of vocabulary and diction and the superfluity of the same with the intellect few, about the dirt and the grime and the slow coach that the city has become, how the roads are spilling with heads and cars and vehicles being driven opposite to the one-way lane?

 

amidst all this complaint the few who differ and protest are labelled as cranky, attention-seekers, mad?

Modern day Tughlaqs?

To apply paint and pancake is suggested as bedecked, to be polite is labelled as coquettish, to be to his own business is said to be rude and indifferent, then so be it.

someday someone needs to stand-up; for the wise men of the yore and today never did, nor ever will stand up to make amends, or take responsibilities, the foolish ones love to be leaders and democrats and responsible.. No wonder this democracy of 65 years and the weeny politics of the day looks like mockery.

 

Voltaire, Plato, Marx or Gorky, or for that sake any great leader of his time be it a socialist or a socio-political one was ostracized by the society of his time, but adored for later, when the ashes have finally become so ingrained with the land they stand buried now!!

 

Me thinks the wise men of today are waiting to be remembered tomorrow..

Cheers to Change

Cheers to Thoughts again

 

Faces

I look at the silent faces on the street
Some have expressions
exasperation, and others mild wait and tire

I look at my face
In the reflection of a parked car
Do I look serene or a star?

Who cares of the random muse I look
am bemused
tasselled and free

Or am I?

Its a winterless day
mid-February.
Amidst dust and sand
I think of you as I cross the road
knowing you are elsewhere
crossing your own sands of time
 

sages of rage

I travelled far...with the sage
Traversing waters calm and quiet...
Beneath the sea and above the soil
Above the cloud
Yet with turmoil..

I heard the beached whale croon..
and the burling brick swoon
I danced with the raging sand changing hues
I lapped in the sun bathed in angered gold

I laughed...I traversed..
yet I knew no bound
the sun blazed orange
raking the soil
the green mountains slaved smoke
billowing haze.
liquid orange bold

Yet when I dived to stamp
The beaching whales croon..
I saw myriad schools of fishes
dirt blood and stings..
small ones and frail..

last I reached the sand
It twirled.
And slaved..
changing to its light.
delight
and there I met her
dancing in her clinking mad
frenzy..
her jewels shone..
her black hair strewn
Her chilling laughter wafted...
as she brandished her sword
shining slick
dripping red and gold...

Endless Tirades

walking through the silvery streets
where the silhouette are common
and riles so deep
the trash and the thrashing of the random cat
a seldom bark and the beggars sniff
the dark alleys
and drunken whores
The stink of dried blood and
vestiges of puke

What am I doing?
Here
dressed in my satin and lace
These are people
real good and bad
where I : a mere caricature
can find no space

the muck and the ruckus
all in a spate
life is a brazen date
an endless tirade
 

To the good times

 

Drink away

To the merry times of the juvenile

Yore..

When the head was young

And heart not sore!

 

 

Man near say “fie”

Let demons die

And angels cry.

 

When the riley firebrand tames

Not a vestige

Not a garland to shame

To the loathing, of

The dioramic head!

Merry be ye;

Oh lonesome firebrand

A challis to your dreams

Cheers ! Me thinks...

Music For Me

I am a diffident fool
They say!
I cannot sing
For my voice is of a croaking mule.
I cannot in my memory rewind
The lyrics of the best sung songs

I care not..no more...
I want to remember lyrics no more..
for the wind that shakes the maize
is music in its ruffle,
for the sand that churns in the air..
And the ibis that flips...

to the screeching stillness of the
punctured tyres!
To the Cold wind that cuts across the ear
There is music..
which I hear...
too the lisping of the fishes in the sea

there is music in the harp..the lute and the cello
and also in the baritone mellow
that I see with the closing of my eyes
the silence and the stillness is music to me

The craving lullaby..or the blaring of the horns..
Are all the myriad music for thee..
Are music for Me.
 

random muses

If my words I could pen:

Cocooned in a Den,

Scribbled would I ...what?

for my mind he does thwart..

blessed is my wanton heart:

Tarries when I say Sart!!

wanton acts...do not sway...

Let me stray !!

His RED Pajamas

on a bright Tuesday morning
Sipping tea..
From my terrace i see
An octagenarian in his Red pajamas
bald spate!!

I smiled...
Red at Eighty

He brought his paper and bread!
crossed the road..and was dead..
a speeding truck did it!!

there he lay:
in his free-flowing Red
Him and his Red Pajamas

let us not

can we not cling:
to hope.
to light!
to addictions
to joy
a new light?

should we?
need we?
can we just be humans and not leeches

why cling:-
when u can
make:
a new day
a new life
a ray of hope
 yours!

and with every making
take sorrows,
joys anguish and love withal
a new story.
a new tale
all yours
for all!

THE MAN AND HIS MUSE

the poetry will remain incomplete without a Thank you, to a stranger I met at a bookshop... where we discussed: Neruda, Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Cooleridge, Southey...Da Vinci, Michealangelo...and so many to name, each had a muse, and each man including some despots we can name had a muse too! this poem is dedicated to all muses and amused..!

The Deep Sunlight

Cascaded...

Slanted

As the cat basked

Slovely Gloriously

                                          He was busy with his Chisel
                                          Admiring His cat
                                          his Muse...
                                          the Amused Sculptor smiled:
                                          Shy, Lovely,
                                          She Could Purr...
                                          Indeed:-
                                          Mused the sculptor!

Bastard!
She smiled
How many had he lain'
Could he keep count?
Could he remember ?
She Knew;
He was the candle..
She lavished
to Dance like a moth.
Like a mad frenzy, she must
Dance to his Chisel..
Bid..bidding..

                                        His eyes roved over Her;
                                        Drawing in every Breath...
                                        Nape to Toes...
                                        Nude  
                                        As the looks locked.
                                        Flushed innocence of a Muse.


"My Demi God"
The mused Amused...!
He had stilled her every where...
In the Mermaids hair,
In the Angels lilt,
In the cupids lift
In the demur eyes,
In the queens brow!
In a mysterious smile..
In a flashing Cherub
Across the seas...across the works
In every works a little more!
she basked...
Smiled ..
Slanted!

                   TIRED  the sculptor abandoned...
                       took her by his coarse hands...
                           The muse was his..
                                His rote to rant!

But Bloods are Dye

its a follow up to :
http://anemboldenedmystique.blogspot.in/2012/11/hurling-cusses.html

Cussess
&@#..@

feels lighter
Better
Like a whiff of smoke
Takein in slow...
Let..out... in circles

Like a Show
Rough
Coarse
Abuses..
Harsh
Raw
Abuses
Flavoured..
Savoured
Abuses

Wounding Deep

Why should I hear?
and not vent at all?
Let me vent the cussess
Hurled and hurdled deep
By the one who hurts
By the one who runs deeper
In the veins like blood
Like a kin
of a second skin.
But kin are blood
thicker than water.
Wine?

I measure softly
tread gently
they are my blood-
I reason
My black soul laughs
Tells me:
they are'nt kins..
They clean not like water.
Cling hurt like dye.
Black-Red.
Cusses are Dye!

Hurling cusses

I am hurt,

and you people:
hurt me more
...



I am crying,
 deep inside
and you rake
you demand
your barbed words
wrench my heart.
I too retaliate!!

not thinking-
uncaring
for the
Consequences.



did you ever ask
why do I hurl
cussess,
use words to swear.



Behave : like a
rough-shod Pseudo man.


we be of one blood
ye and I: I am told
But bloods are dye...