--
There are different reasons why people travel, and there are different ways in which one can express why travelling means so much to them. This, is just one of the ways.
**
The insatiable need for a
different place.
The ceaseless urge to take a
road unexplored.
To breathe-
a different air.
To gaze-
at a new horizon.
The seductive pleasure in leaving the
familiar behind.
The glorious freedom of being
on your own.
To dance-
to a music unheard.
To drown-
in the silence of the unknown.
The increasing quest for the
stories untold.
The mystifying life of the
people met.
To be lost-
in the wild.
To find-
yourself.
**
The first line of the above is taken from a poem by Anindita Sengupta.This single line set me on writing this one. http://aninditasengupta.wordpress.com/
--
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
I can't think of a title, WTH
--
I am staring at the phone
waiting for its red screen to blink
I wait an expectant minute,
WTH
I pick it up and type you a message,
I read it again, I re-type, read, re-type
So much to tell you,
So much to write you,
I am going to write it all,
In this moment words don’t fail me.
Wait a minute!
No, I am not sending them,
Minutes of pretended diversion,
And then
Stare, wait, pick, WTH, words, type, End.
Emotions filling up the heart,
(ah! Not so much drama)
Words forming in the head,
Fingers typing them out on the red screen,
the same fingers pressing the red button.
Stare, wait, pick, WTH, words, type, End.
Who wants the words?
Forget the words, erase the words,
Who cares about grammar?
Throw the keyboard out.
We love our silence, don’t we?
between us, it speaks a thousand,
(Avoid clichés! Avoid clichés!)
But we are about them, the words,
We can’t do without them,
We won’t last an hour without them
WTH
I am going out to look for the keyboard,
I am glad I didn’t burn it.
It’s been very long, 16 hours to be precise.
I feel like a carton after someone sucked out the last drop.
(Couldn’t think of anything better?? stop dramatizing, now!)
Actually, I feel like a balloon that can’t take more Helium.
(yeah, that’s heavier than Hydrogen)
Words have been filling since morning,
Words with meanings,
Sentences with meaningless words.
Some said already a thousand times over, (clichéd again!)
Some still craving for their meanings (ah! this is original)
WTH
WTH
WTH
Pick, WTH, words, type, End.
End
End
End.
--
I am staring at the phone
waiting for its red screen to blink
I wait an expectant minute,
WTH
I pick it up and type you a message,
I read it again, I re-type, read, re-type
So much to tell you,
So much to write you,
I am going to write it all,
In this moment words don’t fail me.
Wait a minute!
No, I am not sending them,
Minutes of pretended diversion,
And then
Stare, wait, pick, WTH, words, type, End.
Emotions filling up the heart,
(ah! Not so much drama)
Words forming in the head,
Fingers typing them out on the red screen,
the same fingers pressing the red button.
Stare, wait, pick, WTH, words, type, End.
Who wants the words?
Forget the words, erase the words,
Who cares about grammar?
Throw the keyboard out.
We love our silence, don’t we?
between us, it speaks a thousand,
(Avoid clichés! Avoid clichés!)
But we are about them, the words,
We can’t do without them,
We won’t last an hour without them
WTH
I am going out to look for the keyboard,
I am glad I didn’t burn it.
It’s been very long, 16 hours to be precise.
I feel like a carton after someone sucked out the last drop.
(Couldn’t think of anything better?? stop dramatizing, now!)
Actually, I feel like a balloon that can’t take more Helium.
(yeah, that’s heavier than Hydrogen)
Words have been filling since morning,
Words with meanings,
Sentences with meaningless words.
Some said already a thousand times over, (clichéd again!)
Some still craving for their meanings (ah! this is original)
WTH
WTH
WTH
Pick, WTH, words, type, End.
End
End
End.
--
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Shared memories
--
This one is from a very dear friend...
"On a verdant hill,
endeared,the wind and the waves
a bastion of sweet memories."
--
This one is from a very dear friend...
"On a verdant hill,
endeared,the wind and the waves
a bastion of sweet memories."
--
Friday, August 22, 2008
In the Summer...With Her
--
Sunlight is peering in through the crack
and is throwing patterns on the mud walls.
I am curled up on the mat reminiscing
about the dream from last night.
Outside, I hear everyday chores breaking
the silence of the summer morning.
I lazily get up and go to the kitchen
still holding the ruffled pillow.
I see my grandma
bent over the earthen stove
blowing through the metal pipe.
Her eyes are wet from the smoke
and she is wiping her cheeks with
the red border of her yellow sari.
Her wet hair wound up in a towel
is tucked behind her neck.
Drops from a loose strand is wetting
the sleeve of her cotton blouse.
She shifts a little to adjust her silver anklets
and sees me watching her, smiles.
“You are up?”
She brings my tea in a stainless steel glass,
takes the pillow from my hand
and kisses my forehead.
She dusts the loose strands of thread
from my shirt and smoothens my hair.
I kiss her, her skin soft against my lips
And she runs her hand on my face.
I take my tea outside and sit on the veranda:
the first sun of my vacation is already up.
The goats are on their way to the hills,
the shepherds, with sticks in their hands
are walking behind them, still yawning.
Bare backed men, driving the cows,
are headed to the fields to the south.
Smiling women in colorful saris
stand at the old municipal bore-well.
Their uncombed hair catches the sunlight
and creates a golden maze.
The saris, tucked at their waists
end four inches above the ground
reveal their bare feet and bony ankles.
Sunlight pierces the plastic pot
under the tap and I can see
the level of water rising inside.
Little girls in blue skirts and white blouses
are on there way to the school.
Their red ribbons sit like butterflies
on the white jasmine flirting at their necks.
Old men with walking sticks and thick glasses
are sitting under the panchayat tree.
Two young men, neem sticks in their mouth,
are cycling towards the village stream,
Little naked ones are playing in the street
some of them sucking on their dirty thumbs.
Five summers have passed since the last time
I sat on this veranda and watched a similar morning.
I hear her anklets behind me
and turn to look at her.
The towel is gone and
her hair is pulled back in a bun.
She looks younger.
I notice some unwashed turmeric
on her neck and reach out to wipe it,
she holds my hand and wipes it herself
and again brushes my hair
“Won’t you grow them?”
I smile my answer and reach for a hug
My hand brushes against the jasmine.
I watch as two flowers come loose
And fall next to her feet.
She shyly leaves the embrace, smiles
“Water is ready”.
--
Sunlight is peering in through the crack
and is throwing patterns on the mud walls.
I am curled up on the mat reminiscing
about the dream from last night.
Outside, I hear everyday chores breaking
the silence of the summer morning.
I lazily get up and go to the kitchen
still holding the ruffled pillow.
I see my grandma
bent over the earthen stove
blowing through the metal pipe.
Her eyes are wet from the smoke
and she is wiping her cheeks with
the red border of her yellow sari.
Her wet hair wound up in a towel
is tucked behind her neck.
Drops from a loose strand is wetting
the sleeve of her cotton blouse.
She shifts a little to adjust her silver anklets
and sees me watching her, smiles.
“You are up?”
She brings my tea in a stainless steel glass,
takes the pillow from my hand
and kisses my forehead.
She dusts the loose strands of thread
from my shirt and smoothens my hair.
I kiss her, her skin soft against my lips
And she runs her hand on my face.
I take my tea outside and sit on the veranda:
the first sun of my vacation is already up.
The goats are on their way to the hills,
the shepherds, with sticks in their hands
are walking behind them, still yawning.
Bare backed men, driving the cows,
are headed to the fields to the south.
Smiling women in colorful saris
stand at the old municipal bore-well.
Their uncombed hair catches the sunlight
and creates a golden maze.
The saris, tucked at their waists
end four inches above the ground
reveal their bare feet and bony ankles.
Sunlight pierces the plastic pot
under the tap and I can see
the level of water rising inside.
Little girls in blue skirts and white blouses
are on there way to the school.
Their red ribbons sit like butterflies
on the white jasmine flirting at their necks.
Old men with walking sticks and thick glasses
are sitting under the panchayat tree.
Two young men, neem sticks in their mouth,
are cycling towards the village stream,
Little naked ones are playing in the street
some of them sucking on their dirty thumbs.
Five summers have passed since the last time
I sat on this veranda and watched a similar morning.
I hear her anklets behind me
and turn to look at her.
The towel is gone and
her hair is pulled back in a bun.
She looks younger.
I notice some unwashed turmeric
on her neck and reach out to wipe it,
she holds my hand and wipes it herself
and again brushes my hair
“Won’t you grow them?”
I smile my answer and reach for a hug
My hand brushes against the jasmine.
I watch as two flowers come loose
And fall next to her feet.
She shyly leaves the embrace, smiles
“Water is ready”.
--
Thursday, August 21, 2008
A fulfilled wish
--
The morning breeze
A floating quill
A wish to touch
An outstretched arm
One failed attempt
On the toes
For the second
A moment’s pause
A gentle descent
The tender touch
A frozen second
A fulfilled wish.
--
The morning breeze
A floating quill
A wish to touch
An outstretched arm
One failed attempt
On the toes
For the second
A moment’s pause
A gentle descent
The tender touch
A frozen second
A fulfilled wish.
--
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Hyetal Embrace
--
Its half past twelve,
She locked the rickety door
And stepped out into the rain.
She pulled out her blue umbrella
And looked around for company.
Wet deserted roads.
She walked towards home
A score minutes away.
Every dark corner, every narrow alley,
Screamed at her through its silence.
Merciless night.
The shadow of the lamp post,
Falling on the wall stared at her.
The wind in the trees intimidating.
A looming song.
The drops on her umbrella,
And her shoes against the asphalt,
Break the gloomy silence.
Merciful escape.
The blood is rushing through her
Heart beating faster,
And knees weak.
She tried to distract her mind
From the clutches of the night,
Thinking of things
At home, awaiting her-
Hot-bath, steaming tea, a cozy bed.
She warmed herself
With these thoughts
And ignored the fringing fear.
Desperate pretence.
Her mind wandered a little more
To things missing at home
Someone to
Prepare the hot-bath
Share the steaming tea
Join her on the cozy bed.
Lately, days have been like this;
Just a mundane being.
Returning loneliness.
When was the last time she felt-
The rush in her blood?
The tug in her heart?
Knees weak?
Her steps slow down
Laden by these thoughts.
Sore memories
Now the night feels different-
It’s keeping her company
On these lonely roads,
And is warming her
With its black cloak.
The world has left them alone;
The night and her.
Mysterious lover.
It made her heart race
And her keens weak tonight.
She turned the last corner
And is glad to see her house
She reached for the door
And fiddled with the keys.
A gush of wind
Made her pause.
A hesitant minute.
She folded her umbrella,
Dropped her bag
Turned to look at the rain
And stepped back
Into the dark night.
Hyetal embrace.
--
Its half past twelve,
She locked the rickety door
And stepped out into the rain.
She pulled out her blue umbrella
And looked around for company.
Wet deserted roads.
She walked towards home
A score minutes away.
Every dark corner, every narrow alley,
Screamed at her through its silence.
Merciless night.
The shadow of the lamp post,
Falling on the wall stared at her.
The wind in the trees intimidating.
A looming song.
The drops on her umbrella,
And her shoes against the asphalt,
Break the gloomy silence.
Merciful escape.
The blood is rushing through her
Heart beating faster,
And knees weak.
She tried to distract her mind
From the clutches of the night,
Thinking of things
At home, awaiting her-
Hot-bath, steaming tea, a cozy bed.
She warmed herself
With these thoughts
And ignored the fringing fear.
Desperate pretence.
Her mind wandered a little more
To things missing at home
Someone to
Prepare the hot-bath
Share the steaming tea
Join her on the cozy bed.
Lately, days have been like this;
Just a mundane being.
Returning loneliness.
When was the last time she felt-
The rush in her blood?
The tug in her heart?
Knees weak?
Her steps slow down
Laden by these thoughts.
Sore memories
Now the night feels different-
It’s keeping her company
On these lonely roads,
And is warming her
With its black cloak.
The world has left them alone;
The night and her.
Mysterious lover.
It made her heart race
And her keens weak tonight.
She turned the last corner
And is glad to see her house
She reached for the door
And fiddled with the keys.
A gush of wind
Made her pause.
A hesitant minute.
She folded her umbrella,
Dropped her bag
Turned to look at the rain
And stepped back
Into the dark night.
Hyetal embrace.
--
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
In the library
--
I see him sitting
At the corner desk,
Reading a thick book, drowned.
He,Though in the corner,
Of my attention, is centre.
I have heard about him
From the other teachers;
Dedicated,
Smart,
And manners pleasing too.
I look at him, captivated.
A smile on his lips,
A glow in his eyes,
And on his face, contentment.
I wonder at his aura,
At his young age, marvel.
Son of a rich father, must be
And a doting mother too,
To be so at peace within
And with the world outside too.
He is writing something,
In his little red book,
As alone I stand, wondering.
He closes his book,
And packs his bag,
As towards him I walk, hesitating.
A crumpled page,
Slides off the desk, unnoticed
And to my feet, glides.
He turns around, unaware
And reaches for something behind.
I pick up the page, uncertain
On it written a single line,
Seven little words stare at me
‘To my Ma n Pa in heaven’.
A shiver runs through me,
As I stand there stunned
My myth about him broken.
I say a silent prayer
And turn to look at him, shaken.
He is walking away
Head held high,
The smile on his face touches.
The silence on me, heavy
Broken only by the echo
Caused by his crutches.
--
I see him sitting
At the corner desk,
Reading a thick book, drowned.
He,Though in the corner,
Of my attention, is centre.
I have heard about him
From the other teachers;
Dedicated,
Smart,
And manners pleasing too.
I look at him, captivated.
A smile on his lips,
A glow in his eyes,
And on his face, contentment.
I wonder at his aura,
At his young age, marvel.
Son of a rich father, must be
And a doting mother too,
To be so at peace within
And with the world outside too.
He is writing something,
In his little red book,
As alone I stand, wondering.
He closes his book,
And packs his bag,
As towards him I walk, hesitating.
A crumpled page,
Slides off the desk, unnoticed
And to my feet, glides.
He turns around, unaware
And reaches for something behind.
I pick up the page, uncertain
On it written a single line,
Seven little words stare at me
‘To my Ma n Pa in heaven’.
A shiver runs through me,
As I stand there stunned
My myth about him broken.
I say a silent prayer
And turn to look at him, shaken.
He is walking away
Head held high,
The smile on his face touches.
The silence on me, heavy
Broken only by the echo
Caused by his crutches.
--
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Rumbling Rambling
--
It’s a lazy Sunday morning,
I am awake but still in bed,
On my back watching the fan.
The flowers on my side-table,
Nodding in the fan’s breeze,
As if they approve of the lazy day.
The sunlight and the fan,
Throw flickering scenes on the wall,
It’s like watching a silent movie.
Looking at the blades go around
I remember the adage
About things coming around
I reflect it on my life
And think of all the things
That did come around.
I try to follow one blade,
The one with the dent,
As it goes and comes around,
But realize I can’t do it,
The fan is too fast and
It all gets jumbled up.
I have done it before, haven’t I?
Being stuck on one thing
Blind to everything else
Only to realize soon
I have created a mess
And I am actually nowhere.
I wonder what would happen
If a blade were to break
I think the fan would topple
And would go around no more
It would continue to hang there
But no one would look at it anymore.
What would be my three blades?
I ponder over it and it comes easy
Family, friends and the world
What if one of them breaks?
Will I continue to go around?
Will I continue to be?
The little bulge in the centre
Where the blades meet
Is a representation of the ‘I’
Giving it definition are three blades.
What would the bulge be without them?
What would I be without them?
It’s a lazy Sunday morning,
I am awake but still in bed,
On my back watching the fan,
On my back, watching myself.
--
Could have been so much better...... I didn't seem to be satisfied at all.......kept editing.......but it kept dragging....hence decided to post it the way it is......
--
It’s a lazy Sunday morning,
I am awake but still in bed,
On my back watching the fan.
The flowers on my side-table,
Nodding in the fan’s breeze,
As if they approve of the lazy day.
The sunlight and the fan,
Throw flickering scenes on the wall,
It’s like watching a silent movie.
Looking at the blades go around
I remember the adage
About things coming around
I reflect it on my life
And think of all the things
That did come around.
I try to follow one blade,
The one with the dent,
As it goes and comes around,
But realize I can’t do it,
The fan is too fast and
It all gets jumbled up.
I have done it before, haven’t I?
Being stuck on one thing
Blind to everything else
Only to realize soon
I have created a mess
And I am actually nowhere.
I wonder what would happen
If a blade were to break
I think the fan would topple
And would go around no more
It would continue to hang there
But no one would look at it anymore.
What would be my three blades?
I ponder over it and it comes easy
Family, friends and the world
What if one of them breaks?
Will I continue to go around?
Will I continue to be?
The little bulge in the centre
Where the blades meet
Is a representation of the ‘I’
Giving it definition are three blades.
What would the bulge be without them?
What would I be without them?
It’s a lazy Sunday morning,
I am awake but still in bed,
On my back watching the fan,
On my back, watching myself.
--
Could have been so much better...... I didn't seem to be satisfied at all.......kept editing.......but it kept dragging....hence decided to post it the way it is......
--
Thursday, June 26, 2008
There and Here
Morning Prayer, Backyard Streams, Singing Birds,
Flat Tyres, Crumpled Shirts, Crowded Buses.
Generous Rains, Yielding Cattle, Swell Wells,
Lean Accounts, Unpaid Loans, Mounting Bills.
Grandma’s food, Lazy Days, Smiling Children,
Unhealthy Diets, Busy Schedules, Ignored Families.
Delightful Huts, Wild Orchards, Fallen Mangoes,
Tiny Flats, Crowded Clubs, Fatal Drugs.
Happy Farmers, Timely Harvests, Festive times,
Nosy Bosses, Missed Deadlines, Boring Meetings.
Govt. Schools, Playful Children, Bedtime stories,
Heavy Bags, Empty Playgrounds, Tuition classes.
Bullock Carts, Soothing Shadows, Hair-Pin Bends,
Traffic Jams, Choking Pollution, Delayed Flights.
Afternoon Siestas, Coconut Water, Crimson Sunsets,
Sleepless Nights, Addictive Caffeine, Missing Horizons.
---
Didn't come out the way i wanted,... still...
-
Flat Tyres, Crumpled Shirts, Crowded Buses.
Generous Rains, Yielding Cattle, Swell Wells,
Lean Accounts, Unpaid Loans, Mounting Bills.
Grandma’s food, Lazy Days, Smiling Children,
Unhealthy Diets, Busy Schedules, Ignored Families.
Delightful Huts, Wild Orchards, Fallen Mangoes,
Tiny Flats, Crowded Clubs, Fatal Drugs.
Happy Farmers, Timely Harvests, Festive times,
Nosy Bosses, Missed Deadlines, Boring Meetings.
Govt. Schools, Playful Children, Bedtime stories,
Heavy Bags, Empty Playgrounds, Tuition classes.
Bullock Carts, Soothing Shadows, Hair-Pin Bends,
Traffic Jams, Choking Pollution, Delayed Flights.
Afternoon Siestas, Coconut Water, Crimson Sunsets,
Sleepless Nights, Addictive Caffeine, Missing Horizons.
---
Didn't come out the way i wanted,... still...
-
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Journey
My bag is packed and I am counting days,
Waiting to begin my journey to nowhere.
I have only heard of the roads I seek.
May be all I have is no more than a week.
Have years of existence to wrap up,
Have goodbyes to say and chores to do.
I look at the sun and know the day is not far,
When the unknown I chase sends the lodestar.
Last night, I dreamt of a ship leaving shore,
That’s the sign to begin my awaited voyage.
I am leaving behind chattels by the dozen,
And taking with me memories frozen
The lamp, the pot, and the fishes say your goodbyes,
The old violin in the bag is my only tie to the past.
Friends and family are standing at the door,
I won’t look back because I may go no more.
The bells on the door and the crack in the wall,
The leaking tap and the crooked branch,
They call my name with a brilliant gust,
But they know I can’t stop, go I must.
I am on the platform looking at the train,
From here is where it shall all begin
The journey to a place nameless and blurred,
My journey to the unknown, the unheard,
---
Waiting to begin my journey to nowhere.
I have only heard of the roads I seek.
May be all I have is no more than a week.
Have years of existence to wrap up,
Have goodbyes to say and chores to do.
I look at the sun and know the day is not far,
When the unknown I chase sends the lodestar.
Last night, I dreamt of a ship leaving shore,
That’s the sign to begin my awaited voyage.
I am leaving behind chattels by the dozen,
And taking with me memories frozen
The lamp, the pot, and the fishes say your goodbyes,
The old violin in the bag is my only tie to the past.
Friends and family are standing at the door,
I won’t look back because I may go no more.
The bells on the door and the crack in the wall,
The leaking tap and the crooked branch,
They call my name with a brilliant gust,
But they know I can’t stop, go I must.
I am on the platform looking at the train,
From here is where it shall all begin
The journey to a place nameless and blurred,
My journey to the unknown, the unheard,
---
Addition to "Haiku"
Had been to my old house yesterday......
Familiar roads -
Like a flower in an old book,
Reminiscence of a fragrance.
--
Familiar roads -
Like a flower in an old book,
Reminiscence of a fragrance.
--
Monday, June 23, 2008
It
---
It's here, it's gone, No wait! It lingers on.
I wish it away, it doesn’t sway.
I close my eyes, it still pries.
It knocks on my door, I try and ignore.
It still persists, oh! I barely can resist.
It’s at the fringe, I so weakly cringe
It enters, flares, hurts, tortures.
I cry, ache, plead, pray.
It breaks, kills, Ah! I am lees.
But,
I rise, fight, no more on knees.
It said “You can’t beat me,
You may be tough”
But, lose it did to me,
Coz I had enough.
It’s over now
But still I shudder,
Not knowing
When it will appear.
May it come again
It can’t hurt me,
Because, my dear! Now I know
It was me.
---
It's here, it's gone, No wait! It lingers on.
I wish it away, it doesn’t sway.
I close my eyes, it still pries.
It knocks on my door, I try and ignore.
It still persists, oh! I barely can resist.
It’s at the fringe, I so weakly cringe
It enters, flares, hurts, tortures.
I cry, ache, plead, pray.
It breaks, kills, Ah! I am lees.
But,
I rise, fight, no more on knees.
It said “You can’t beat me,
You may be tough”
But, lose it did to me,
Coz I had enough.
It’s over now
But still I shudder,
Not knowing
When it will appear.
May it come again
It can’t hurt me,
Because, my dear! Now I know
It was me.
---
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
The second attempt
---
I wake up as the morning light gently caresses my cheeks,
and I blush in the sanguine sweetness of its beguiling embrace.
I open my eyes to behold the vivid light in its proud glory,
And fill my mind with score memories of the life that has been,
And with pert awe for the life that will soon be.
Sitting on the balcony I look at the spry world outside,
The symphonic morning drizzle falling soft on my toes.
I gaily see the now familiar faces through the azure drops,
The cup of tea in my hand a sign of completeness.
Betimes life can be a little hazy, a little less beckoning,
But just beyond the foggy veil, lies its ceaseless verdure.
The revered words of the wise men remind of our duty to be happy,
But what is life without the awing trials and the delightful seven.
A gush of wind brings me back from the vise of such myriad thoughts,
And I smile, for yet again, I am seduced by the esotericism of life.
The wet air around me stirs a little and I quiver in its sensuous touch,
I can’t hear the message in the air or draw the cue in its touch,
Only, there is a feeling that something wonderful is happening.
---
I wake up as the morning light gently caresses my cheeks,
and I blush in the sanguine sweetness of its beguiling embrace.
I open my eyes to behold the vivid light in its proud glory,
And fill my mind with score memories of the life that has been,
And with pert awe for the life that will soon be.
Sitting on the balcony I look at the spry world outside,
The symphonic morning drizzle falling soft on my toes.
I gaily see the now familiar faces through the azure drops,
The cup of tea in my hand a sign of completeness.
Betimes life can be a little hazy, a little less beckoning,
But just beyond the foggy veil, lies its ceaseless verdure.
The revered words of the wise men remind of our duty to be happy,
But what is life without the awing trials and the delightful seven.
A gush of wind brings me back from the vise of such myriad thoughts,
And I smile, for yet again, I am seduced by the esotericism of life.
The wet air around me stirs a little and I quiver in its sensuous touch,
I can’t hear the message in the air or draw the cue in its touch,
Only, there is a feeling that something wonderful is happening.
---
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
My attempt at prose
I do scribble things on and off.......as and when it occurs to me........could be while waiting at the airport or sitting at the coffee shop..........and never really make an attempt to save and collect them.........
discovered this on my laptop a couple of days back....... wrote it a couple of months back.........
will try and dig out more from the lost archives.......:)
Warning: Lower your expectation before beginning :)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I sit by myself looking out side the window,
The morning breeze gently kissing my cheeks
The birds on the tree outside are doing their morning chores
I am doing mine, sipping hot steaming tea sitting on a tripod by the window
This is how my day begins everyday
I open the window to the world and let the light take me over
There is warmth in my heart and an unfading smile on my face
There is completeness within myself, completeness with the world outside
And today it’s different
I open the door to the world and sit by myself sipping the hot tea
But today is different
There is warmth in my heart and an unfading smile on my face
And…and there is love all around
The wind brushes my hair on the forehead
And I am reminded of something
The wind kisses my bare neck
And I am reminded of something
I can’t take the smile off my face; instead, there is a glow
I can’t shut the twinkle in my eyes, instead, there are tears
I can’t reduce the warmth in my heart; instead, there is a longing
I can’t erase the completeness in my soul, instead there is peace
I have always been in love with life
I have always loved the world the way it is
Now, they are welcoming me with arms wide open
And I am willingly losing myself in their embrace.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
well?.........
--
discovered this on my laptop a couple of days back....... wrote it a couple of months back.........
will try and dig out more from the lost archives.......:)
Warning: Lower your expectation before beginning :)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I sit by myself looking out side the window,
The morning breeze gently kissing my cheeks
The birds on the tree outside are doing their morning chores
I am doing mine, sipping hot steaming tea sitting on a tripod by the window
This is how my day begins everyday
I open the window to the world and let the light take me over
There is warmth in my heart and an unfading smile on my face
There is completeness within myself, completeness with the world outside
And today it’s different
I open the door to the world and sit by myself sipping the hot tea
But today is different
There is warmth in my heart and an unfading smile on my face
And…and there is love all around
The wind brushes my hair on the forehead
And I am reminded of something
The wind kisses my bare neck
And I am reminded of something
I can’t take the smile off my face; instead, there is a glow
I can’t shut the twinkle in my eyes, instead, there are tears
I can’t reduce the warmth in my heart; instead, there is a longing
I can’t erase the completeness in my soul, instead there is peace
I have always been in love with life
I have always loved the world the way it is
Now, they are welcoming me with arms wide open
And I am willingly losing myself in their embrace.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
well?.........
--
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Haiku
Haiku is a poetic form and a type of poetry from the Japanese culture. Haiku combines form, content, and language in a meaningful, yet compact form. Haiku poets write about everyday things. Many themes include nature, feelings, or experiences. Usually they use simple words and grammar.
The most common form for Haiku is three short lines. The first line usually contains five (5) syllables, the second line seven (7) syllables, and the third line contains five (5) syllables. Haiku doesn't rhyme. The content of a haiku is typically, but not always, focused on what a person witnesses in everyday life that is more outstanding or important than normal, something deemed worth reaching for in written expression.
A Haiku must "paint" a mental image in the reader's mind. This is the challenge of Haiku - to put the poem's meaning and imagery in the reader's mind in ONLY 17 syllables over just three (3) lines of poetry. My favorite part of writing haiku is finding the 'awe' that is usually passed by without notice.
A friend recently introduced me to this. And I am hooked:)…. The simple words and equally simple style of writing is so fascinating. Not only does it allow your creative side to surface it also allows you to see beauty in the simple things in life that you might have otherwise overlooked.
You can find the work of few of the famous Haiku poets here… http://www.toyomasu.com/haiku/
Meanwhile……here’s my amateurish attempt at it……….
---------------------------
Little dark boy,
In the puddle on the road-
Laughter like rain on tin.
---------------------------
Merciless nights,
Hope elusive as hope.
And then, dawn.
---------------------------
Hard day-
Summer heat wearing you out.
Sleep comes to rescue.
---------------------------
Little girl in a little frock,
Chasing butterflies in the sun-
Life of innocence.
---------------------------
Local train,
Treading along in the summer heat,
Heartbeat of the city.
---------------------------
Old books-
Pages rustling like autumn leaves-
Myriad of memories.
---------------------------
Window seat-
Vivid images flying by.
And inside-memories.
---------------------------
Neighborhood garden-
Winter leaves and springtime blossoms.
Still no child to play.
---------------------------
Lemme know what you think....... ;)
---
The most common form for Haiku is three short lines. The first line usually contains five (5) syllables, the second line seven (7) syllables, and the third line contains five (5) syllables. Haiku doesn't rhyme. The content of a haiku is typically, but not always, focused on what a person witnesses in everyday life that is more outstanding or important than normal, something deemed worth reaching for in written expression.
A Haiku must "paint" a mental image in the reader's mind. This is the challenge of Haiku - to put the poem's meaning and imagery in the reader's mind in ONLY 17 syllables over just three (3) lines of poetry. My favorite part of writing haiku is finding the 'awe' that is usually passed by without notice.
A friend recently introduced me to this. And I am hooked:)…. The simple words and equally simple style of writing is so fascinating. Not only does it allow your creative side to surface it also allows you to see beauty in the simple things in life that you might have otherwise overlooked.
You can find the work of few of the famous Haiku poets here… http://www.toyomasu.com/haiku/
Meanwhile……here’s my amateurish attempt at it……….
---------------------------
Little dark boy,
In the puddle on the road-
Laughter like rain on tin.
---------------------------
Merciless nights,
Hope elusive as hope.
And then, dawn.
---------------------------
Hard day-
Summer heat wearing you out.
Sleep comes to rescue.
---------------------------
Little girl in a little frock,
Chasing butterflies in the sun-
Life of innocence.
---------------------------
Local train,
Treading along in the summer heat,
Heartbeat of the city.
---------------------------
Old books-
Pages rustling like autumn leaves-
Myriad of memories.
---------------------------
Window seat-
Vivid images flying by.
And inside-memories.
---------------------------
Neighborhood garden-
Winter leaves and springtime blossoms.
Still no child to play.
---------------------------
Lemme know what you think....... ;)
---
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Festival time…….
Just posting to convince myself that I still blog...... :)
Today was one of those days when I missed mom more than ever. I was teriblly missing her mouth-watering Pongal……:)
I went around the office asking (read begging) my fellow-tamilians for some pongal which, as it happens, no one had to spare…… after my successful attempt to make them feel guilty for not being thoughtful enough n and of getting promises of getting it tomorrow I returned to my desk to see what wikipedia had to say about Pongal……. n as usual it was quite insightful……… (not that I already didn’t know about it)…….
Just when I was about to give up the hope of doing anything festive on this festival day I received a message from Amey inviting me for Kite-Flying at his place (actually, on his terrace)………. It said “You are invited for Kite-Flying at my place at 2pm today”……..well, that’s some notice period (notice period: more about it later)…n 2pm!!...dear friend, am at work!!....I wrote back my apologies for not being able to make it……… did I mention that Amey’s place is in Andheri n that my office is in Worli?........
As I was leaving office at quarter past five…gave a casual call to Amey to find out if the others had come n how boring was it going without my revered presence…….he said “come”, I said “man! it ll take me an hr!”, he said “come”, I said “ I m coming”……….n off I went
Mercifully the traffic wasn’t bad….(except at the airport junction)…. The moment I touched the Western Express Highway I was glad I had agreed to go…. The bike, the road, the weather….sinful package…. n I found myself wishing Amey lived farther away….
I was on the Santacruz flyover when I felt as if a dozen score birds are hovering above me……I wondered why…. I looked up…..n there….!! Kites!!..... in a beautiful jumble of colors……presenting me with rainbows….rainbows made of paper,……..rainbows, for once, touchable…….. it felt like tiny embroideries on a blue blanket..… then I looked in the direction of the choreographers of this ballet of colors……every single soul from the basti seemed be on the slanting thatched roof (not terrace) of their huts…the older ones with string in their hands, the younger ones hovering around them with the string roll but no less excited….it was delightful watching the funfair……. n I thanked God for denying me the wisdom to not go….. This was already worth the ride…..could have just stopped there and watched it for hours, but the traffic behind me wasn’t helping my cause….
Reached Amey’s place in flat 40 minutes….Had a good time flying and cutting kites…. Had been ages since the last time I flew a kite…but discovered I haven’t lost touch…………..cut two kites in the first 5 minutes (first five minutes after the half an hour that took to air borne the kite :) )…and a third one just before it got too dark…..three of us hung out at Amey’s place for some time before heading back home around 9pm…. am tempted to dwell over the ride back…but will spare the details…
As usual, after dinner picked up “Long walk to Freedom”…this time with the determination to finish it….this book, though enjoyable, has been haunting me for over a month now……..just haven’t been able to finish it…….. Got a call from a friend just as I was dozing off…….turned out to be a real long conversation……..conversation that according to the person on the other side was “deep”……… I was ready to settle for “sensible”..…:)……. Picture this….. two people,………. one already hopelessly in love with this city,……. the other, who has decided to drop all guards n is looking forward to be swept (read flooded) away by the magical life this city is capable of offering………talking about the city, its people, its life………..(sigh!)….. The conversation: insanely quixotic….. the city: Intimidating yet welcomingly seducing, and us: feebly yet willingly surrendering…….
Forgive me for the melodrama………but its next to impossible to talk about this city with even the ‘faintest sense of detachment’..........
---
Today was one of those days when I missed mom more than ever. I was teriblly missing her mouth-watering Pongal……:)
I went around the office asking (read begging) my fellow-tamilians for some pongal which, as it happens, no one had to spare…… after my successful attempt to make them feel guilty for not being thoughtful enough n and of getting promises of getting it tomorrow I returned to my desk to see what wikipedia had to say about Pongal……. n as usual it was quite insightful……… (not that I already didn’t know about it)…….
Just when I was about to give up the hope of doing anything festive on this festival day I received a message from Amey inviting me for Kite-Flying at his place (actually, on his terrace)………. It said “You are invited for Kite-Flying at my place at 2pm today”……..well, that’s some notice period (notice period: more about it later)…n 2pm!!...dear friend, am at work!!....I wrote back my apologies for not being able to make it……… did I mention that Amey’s place is in Andheri n that my office is in Worli?........
As I was leaving office at quarter past five…gave a casual call to Amey to find out if the others had come n how boring was it going without my revered presence…….he said “come”, I said “man! it ll take me an hr!”, he said “come”, I said “ I m coming”……….n off I went
Mercifully the traffic wasn’t bad….(except at the airport junction)…. The moment I touched the Western Express Highway I was glad I had agreed to go…. The bike, the road, the weather….sinful package…. n I found myself wishing Amey lived farther away….
I was on the Santacruz flyover when I felt as if a dozen score birds are hovering above me……I wondered why…. I looked up…..n there….!! Kites!!..... in a beautiful jumble of colors……presenting me with rainbows….rainbows made of paper,……..rainbows, for once, touchable…….. it felt like tiny embroideries on a blue blanket..… then I looked in the direction of the choreographers of this ballet of colors……every single soul from the basti seemed be on the slanting thatched roof (not terrace) of their huts…the older ones with string in their hands, the younger ones hovering around them with the string roll but no less excited….it was delightful watching the funfair……. n I thanked God for denying me the wisdom to not go….. This was already worth the ride…..could have just stopped there and watched it for hours, but the traffic behind me wasn’t helping my cause….
Reached Amey’s place in flat 40 minutes….Had a good time flying and cutting kites…. Had been ages since the last time I flew a kite…but discovered I haven’t lost touch…………..cut two kites in the first 5 minutes (first five minutes after the half an hour that took to air borne the kite :) )…and a third one just before it got too dark…..three of us hung out at Amey’s place for some time before heading back home around 9pm…. am tempted to dwell over the ride back…but will spare the details…
As usual, after dinner picked up “Long walk to Freedom”…this time with the determination to finish it….this book, though enjoyable, has been haunting me for over a month now……..just haven’t been able to finish it…….. Got a call from a friend just as I was dozing off…….turned out to be a real long conversation……..conversation that according to the person on the other side was “deep”……… I was ready to settle for “sensible”..…:)……. Picture this….. two people,………. one already hopelessly in love with this city,……. the other, who has decided to drop all guards n is looking forward to be swept (read flooded) away by the magical life this city is capable of offering………talking about the city, its people, its life………..(sigh!)….. The conversation: insanely quixotic….. the city: Intimidating yet welcomingly seducing, and us: feebly yet willingly surrendering…….
Forgive me for the melodrama………but its next to impossible to talk about this city with even the ‘faintest sense of detachment’..........
---
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