unverbalised

feelings- ambivalent, ambiguous.
emotions too unresolved to incarcerate.
ideas spilling over each other.
notions repudiating to visualize.
unimaginative, unmotivated yet
words determined to be revealed;
stripped bare, completely naked,
exposing the cavernous soul.

nonetheless, why do i bottle it all up?

End of another year.

On this last day of the year, I am thinking of all that I achieved in 2006. It is not about materialistic or any such thing. It is about the blogosphere...

All I can say is I am very glad to have made great blogger friends. We might never see each other but that does not stop us from sharing each others' milestones..happiness, sadness....whatever it takes. Visiting, connecting, encouraging, critiquing. Need I say more? I have become less cynical, more tolerant and better person for knowing you all. Thank you all for just being there.

May the blogger's tribe increase as never before.

I wish a very HAPPY NEW YEAR 2007 filled with peace, love, laughter and much joy to all my blogger friends.

Brushing abstracts

This is my 300th post on this blog.

Sit back and relax, girl!

It is Christmas evening and I am kind of alone at home. The whole world seems to be out revelling. I did go out in the afternoon but looking at the crowd, I was glad to be back home. Infact I am enjoying my own company listening to soft music. The following is just one of the lot. I know it is predictable but what the hell!



Last Christmas...George Michael

Maybe I will write a poem or two and post it here. My muse seems to be working for sometime now. This time I did not have too long a dry spell.

Uprising

This post has nothing to do with christmas. My poetic urge took over and here I am posting another one...still raw and out of the mill!
......................................................................................................
Uprising

fire oddly restrained;
lost in the fumes,
inside surefire stockade-

releasing the shaft,
consenting it to breathe
disregarding its rage.

soaring above blistered
remnants which storms up
unfettered and uninhibited.

Tidings of the mind

The title sounds as if for poetry! But it has nothing to do with it.

Schools closed for nine days! Last afternoon and early evening I was out shopping. I literally shopped till I dropped. I was so tired that I feel asleep at 9.30 pm. Too early for me. But I could barely manage to keep my eyes open. This morning I was up early at 4.30 am.

Hope the kids like what I bought for them, clothes, toys, junk jewellery, books etc etc. Chocolates, cakes, pastries comes next. The best news was, we finally received one month's salary. So that should more than cover my splurging.

I had ordered books and those too arrived at the right time. Next task is to decorate the christmas tree, pack the gifts and invite the kids. And hope I too get gifts...LOL!

I don't know why but I feel happy as well as as sad. conflicted emotions. At times it gets too much to deal with those.

SANTA, where ARE you?

Nothing really!

I seldom write about my work. That's becos I want to keep it away from my own time here. Today too I will just mention it in the offing here. After I got back from Bangalore, I received 423 answer-sheets to evaluate in three days. Looking at those papers made me almost insane! Literally keeping the midnight oil burning, I finished the job at 2.30 am today.

The festive spirit had not seeped through me. Oh, I had a great time in Bangalore but back in Delhi, it was a rude shock. Some one had goofed up at some level and I landed up with 400+ answer sheets. I could have refused but the second terminal results had to be out by today and someone had to do it. I am never the one to back out of it however unpleasant the task might be.

Now going through homo escapeons' and within without's blog, I finally was jolted out of it. Time for me to get a small christmas tree, some decorations and gifts for my nephews and nieces. If I do not do this, they will miss their Santa, namely me. I am looking forward to the weekend to go shopping! It does not matter that I am yet to receive my last three months pay!

Merry Christmas to you all!

About writing poetry....

In May 2005, I started out writing at the behest of a good friend. I don't know what he saw in my writings that he encouraged me to write. I started as a short story writer. Not that I was any good at that time. But I was eager to learn. I don't know how but I slowly gravitated towards poetry writing. Maybe I was too lazy to write prose, maybe poetry was my calling. I can't answer that. Initially I wrote rhymed poems. That was the only way I could write poetry. After a while I started with free verse. I found that it flowed for me. I am very comfortable with writing this form of poetry.

Not that it does not have any rhythm or rhyme or lyrics but it is not binding in the strictest sense. I tried my hands at haikus. The tight structures disciplined my thoughts in a way I had not thought possible.

I have written sonnets, terza-rimas...classic poetry in modern interpretations. Somewhere down the line, I simply gave up on trying to write classic forms. Maybe I found free verse more to my liking. But now I think I must get back to structured poetry. There is so much beauty in those, so much discipline of the mind. I need to do that. One of my main drawback is I am unable to write long poems. My thoughts go awry after a certain point. I can't concentrate enough.

Maybe structured poetry will get my mind in the right track...What do you say?

Reason and logic

cold reason-
why do you accuse me
of meagre strategy, your eyes
staring pitifully at me?

i squirm, deeply hurt
by your psychoanalysis;
willing and hoping
for you to be kinder-

considerate of my loyalty
to humanity at the expense
of sciences which are
destroying this world.

cold reason-
how you mock me so.
finally I look back at you,
uncaring of what you think.

................................................................................

This has not come up the way I intended it too. I posted it here becos I know I will never get around editing it and posting it if I don't do it now. All my poet (and non-poet!) friends are welcome to critique it. I will appreciate it very much.

This is sad...

I posted my poem here yesterday and was sitting with my mom just relaxing when we got a phone call. My mothers' younger brother passed away yesterday. He was two years younger than my mom. They were very close.

We had returned from Bangalore, my mom being so happy about my brother's new house there.( we had gone there for his housewarming.) Now this.

She was kind of unconsolable for a while. I called up my brothers. They kept her busy talking to her one after the other. When she talked, her sadness seemed to fall away. She recalled the good times with him. He had not been well lately. Infact he was in a lot of suffering and was in the ICU for the last one week. The doctor had said he might get well. But he did not. He was 69. He lived in Orissa. He died in Orissa. All his three sons were there with him.

He had had a major accident in 1980 when doctors had given up on him but he recovered fully. His sons were so small at that time. GOD gave him a new lease of life. He had done well for himself and his sons. But death is so final. I suddenly remembered my own dad. Not that I had forgotten him but I felt the sharp pain once again.

Mom will go to Orissa for the rituals that are done on 10th and 11th day. One of my brothers' will go with her. I know I shouldn't worry but I do.

This is life. Happiness and sadness go hand in hand. I SHOULD KNOW....

Checkmate

forging ahead;
turning across,
if the pawn gets
to the rook,
killing a knight or two;
the empire falls apart
in just a few moves!

Back in Delhi

For once the flight was on time. We reached Delhi around 9.30 am. At 11 am we were home. Brr! It is cold. After the pleasant weather in Bangalore, it is kind of nasty. Whatever, I am glad to be back home. I did enjoy my stay in Bangalore but home is home.

Time to catch up with my blogger pals! Sorry friends, if I had been neglecting you. I will be with you in no time!

Conclusion

flowers that
we both picked;
sent to me
warped and stained,
stay unwrapped,
precisely like letters-
as from me to you.

In Bangalore (II)

Flower Market in Bangalore







It has been six days in Bangalore. This is my third visit. Previous two ones I spent sightseeing, shopping and dropping dead at the end of the day. Now I seldom go out after the first two days. I prefer spending time with my SIL and my niece, not to forget my brother after he is back from office. Only places I have visited are few flower markets.

This time I am here for my brother's Grihapravesh (housewarming). I had promised him that I would attend his housewarming irrespective of when he held it. Mid December is very busy for us in school. Second terminal exams are held at this time of the year and we do not like to take leave at such times. But as I had made that promise, I took a week's leave and here I am in Bangalore. It was his Grihapravesh today. All those pujas (rituals) took a long time. It started at 8.30 am and finished at almost 4 pm.

I seldom sit through any puja but I don't what made me do that this time. I just did not get up. I had almost forgotten the rituals followed. But as we went along, my memory to refreshed itself. I seldom go to temple nowadays. I have a love-hate relationship with GOD. So I had closed my mind to all these rituals that Hindus follow in any Puja. I am a believer in Karma so why did I feel this way today?

Maybe I am less cynical than I thought I was. Maybe I need to reconnect with GOD. Maybe I am getting on with age. Maybe I am just being stupid. Too many excuses (or are these questions?) but no specific answers.

Time and Space

Subterfuge

waltzing impeccably
on the limits
of time and providence
i slice my image
into thin wedges.

sashaying flawlessly
on putrid flesh
of rationale and pledge
i sculpt myself
as individual yet again.

In Bangalore

Landed up here in Bangalore on 8th Night. Our flight was 90 minutes late. I had called up the airlines before proceeding for the airport but they said it was on time. Why can't we get proper info? Good thing I take along books almost everywhere. I wasn't bored. My mom was travelling with me. She gets tired sitting and waiting. I sometimes forget that she is 70+. Travelling is tiring for her despite the fact she is rather active.

We reached 10 minutes past midnight, i.e., 9th Dec! It was my niece's birthday. She was still awake waiting for us. My eldest brother lives in Bangalore with his family. His eldest son is studying in Delhi.

It has been two days and we are here till 17th. I am just savouring the time doing virtually nothing. Break from work, routine and stuff. Going for walks, hitting the malls, drinking endless cups of tea ( I am a tea person!), utter bliss...ah! Coming back to Delhi, I will need to work out harder after all that food I am gorging!

Writing too has taken a backseat. So if I do not come to your blogs to read and comment, you know the reason why. I will catch soon enough, I hope!

Snaked Fingers

Purple Haze

Poetry meme

Thanks lotus reads, for tagging me for this. I have had fun doing this doing this..:). I must thank cam too, for initiating this.

1. The first poem I remember reading/hearing/reacting to was:

Will you come into my parlour said the spider to the fly..
I cannot forget it ever. It was my first exposure to duplicity.

Here it is for all of you:


The Spider And The Fly by Mary Howitt (1799-1888)

"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the spider to the fly;"'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you may spy.
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show when you are there."
"Oh no, no," said the little fly; "to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high.
Well you rest upon my little bed?" said the spider to the fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest a while, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
"Oh no, no," said the little fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again who sleep upon your bed!"

Said the cunning spider to the fly: "Dear friend, what can I do
To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome - will you please to take a slice?"
"Oh no, no," said the little fly; "kind sir, that cannot be:
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"

"Sweet creature!" said the spider, "you're witty and you're wise;
How handsome are your gauzy wings; how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf;
If you'd step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say,
And, bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."

The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the fly;
Then came out to his door again and merrily did sing:
"Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple; there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!"

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer grew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes and green and purple hue,
Thinking only of her crested head. Poor, foolish thing! at last
Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast;
He dragged her up his winding stair, into the dismal den -
Within his little parlor - but she ne'er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words I pray you ne'er give heed;
Unto an evil counselor close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the spider and the fly.


2. I was forced to memorize (name of poem) in school and...

Tyger, Tyger, burning bright by William Blake. I simply loved the imagery.

“The Tyger”

Tyger, Tyger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye.
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, or what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger, Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

3. I read poetry because....

I have too. I read classics to modern. Anything, everything. I have vast and varied taste. It depends on my mood.


4. A poem I'm likely to think about when asked about a favorite poem is ....
Too many. But I think my favourite is by John Clare:

I Am by John Clare

I am: yet what I am none cares or knows
My friends forsake me like a memory lost,
I am the self-consumer of my woes—
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shadows in love's frenzied, stifled throes—
And yet I am, and live—like vapors tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
Even the dearest, that I love the best,
Are strange—nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes, where man hath never trod,
A place where woman never smiled or wept—
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling, and untroubled where I lie,
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.

5. I write/don't write poetry, but..............

I do write poetry. I started out as a short story writer and don't know how I graduated to poetry. Words just flow without any reason and I have to write no matter what.

I can't do without words
I only exist without it
Poetry gives me direction,
imagination and perception.

7. I find poetry.....
Everywhere. Things I love, things I hate. In mundane things, in nature, in you, in me...you name it, I see it.

8. The last time I heard poetry....

At a poetry meet organised inter school last month in Delhi. I enjoyed poetry reading very much.


9. I think poetry is like....
soul food. I cannot live without it. I have to read it and write when muse strikes me.

All you poetry lovers...readers and writers...consider yourself tagged!!

Stigmata

Pinnacle of Pleasure

black vines entwine
to walls in the countryside
thunders bring in the cold night
trees welcome embracing rain
just like lover his beloved

soil awaits its turn
soaking in the water
to its core through it pores
quenching its thirst
as never before

lightning strikes
showing the nudity of nature
in all its splendour
in the arms of water
pouring as if to consume.

the storm abates
hunger satisfied,
each single part replete
the earth settles about
after orgasmic release!

Filling the holes with ink

preceding night,
turning the pages
in my mind; filled
with your memories,
i fell asleep with lights on.

with numb fingers,
i tried to pen the holes
that time has made
into your remembrance,
handwritten for me

my ink tried to fill in the
painful distance,
created by your absence.
i could visualize
your glaring eyes

in those pages in the
recesses of my mind,
the words stood out
noted down in margin
of memories which I had

scribbled the night
you disappeared forever,
leaving me alone
with shards of pain
which will never fade.
..........................................................................................

In memory of a close friend who passed away some years back.

Word List....writing exercise

Fidelity,

Gnu,

Hacksaw,

Ize,

Jabber,

Krypton

With loads of Krypton in his body, the Gnu had low fidelity rate. His friend Ize asked Jabber to get a sharp-edged hacksaw to cut of his(Gnu's) over-active organ.