Vortex of Pleasure

Posting this too for Sunday Scribblings' Deepest, darkest. This is another version of the same photo, I had put up in the previous post, Stranger in the Mirror. Here I put up smaller version of the picture for easy recall.

Vortex of Pleasure

in the deep recesses
of my psyche-
my ecstasy is
bursting forth;
dispelling darkness,
welcoming light.

with an inner smile;
hiding the joy
for the time being’
I relish bliss
selfishly,
averse to share

as of now………

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Another take on Deepest, darkest on Sunday Scribblings..

Stranger in the Mirror-----Sunday Scribblings

Posting this for Sunday Scribblings prompt Deepest, darkest. I had some kind of verses formed in my mind looking at this picture on google images. Infact I wrote two entirely different versions. Those suit rather well for the topic. One I post today, other I might post on Sunday. Though I saved the picture, I forgot the source.

Photo Source: Internet

Stranger in the Mirror

deepest
darkest secrets
unknown even to her;
dwells in her mind
scaring her.

this side of herself,
she was unaware.
at times,
her inner demons
slaying her.

smiling under
this scary mask;
a total stranger
stares back from
the mirror.

reluctant to
reveal the
pain within;
she holds on
head held high.

accepting herself
the way she is;
with blemishes,
imperfections
will she find peace?
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Look out more darkest deepest secrets...

Meditating for being one with you-----Poetry Thursday

As for last this time too it was on ecphrasis poetry but in a different way, that is, to try stepping inside a work of art and writing from that perspective as mentioned here. I had done that way in my last post Soul. So here I take the slant in a different way. I have always liked Salvador Dali. Hence I take the following painting and write this. The painting has other interpretations which can be read here. I did not want to elaborate on that. Hence I take it differently. This is not quite poetry but a conversation between two lovers who are in commune with each other. Who is saying all this to whom can be interpreted either way.

Meditation on the Harp by Salvador Dali

(1932-34 67 x 47 cm)

Meditating for being one with you

You have given me all of you,
not keeping anything for yourself.
Trusting me enough to bare it all.
Your vulnerability was always
known to me somehow,
even without your saying so.
You have done much more.

You have opened yourself to me,
a very big responsibility
to care for, to nurture.
I am not one to let you down,
I will retain this part of you safe
within me. The same way
I expect you to keep me
safe within you.

You somehow complete me;
fulfilling that part, the vacuum
which I wasn’t aware, existed.
I was in a slumber,
you woke me up
crashing my defenses with your love.
With you I can be me-
nothing else matters anymore.

The great master
painted us the way we are
in the recesses of our minds;
the harp playing for us
for eternity….

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Read more images poetry here .

Black Vitality

smooth black surface
darker than night,
blankness for it
can only be a slight.

comes to life
when words form,
pictures stare,
curves are drawn.

yet the darkness
has soul- never sold.
as can only happen with
blackest of blackboards.
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Another attempt to write on inanimate objects, mostly on classroom materials. One of my friends has asked me to name those as stationery series. I will if I have enough poems.

Cook up a tale.....Sunday Scribblings

This week, Sunday Scribblings wants us to scribble about kitchens. The best place in this world... Here goes:

Cook up a tale

What does one think of when kitchen is mentioned? For most of us, it is food. Some of us can even smell food. It can be any kind of food. Kitchen reminds us of shared love, laughter, fighting with siblings for bigger shares and just the feeling of being with each other. Our basic need is food and it gets fulfilled here.

From time immemorial, the kitchen has been the domain of woman. Only in this place, they come out on their own. Most females do not like to share this space with any other person. Here in the kitchen, women give in to their nurturing instincts for caring. They do it by providing the best of food to all those they love and care for. Their family, their friends. The food prepared by so much love, can only taste good. They give in to their creative instincts of preparing something new.

In the olden days the phrase “home and hearth” started with the kitchen. Only in the kitchen, the worries of the days vanished and the whole family got together to enjoy a hot meal, talking, bonding and enjoying the food. They seldom picked on food. Warm wholesome healthy food was always available and always welcome by everyone.

To answer it truthfully, nowadays how many of us sit down and have a meal, relaxing? We are always in too much of a hurry. Sometimes we just gobble it down, standing right inside the kitchen, not even tasting it. We make ourselves busy for nothing and do not even enjoy that one thing which sustains us throughout the day.

Our kitchens have become very modern, come with best of gadgets…but lost their souls. We use packaged food, warm it and think of it as a good meal. Our kitchens are no longer the same place which bonded us with each other. Holidays come, our moms made sure the cookie jars were filled with homemade goodies made with love. Now we just buy it off the self. Does it taste just as good?

Even though we have become so busy and do not spend as much time as our mothers did in the kitchen, it is still the life force of any home. The heart of any house. The place which unites a family. A place for bonding. A place for shared love, laughter and dreams.
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Click for more kitchen tales...

Soul--------Ecphrasis------Poetry Thursday

This time in poetry thursday, we have to write something inspired by images. It is known as ecphrasis. I have done this before but I did not want to post one from my archives. I had been thinking on which image to write about and stumbled upon an image by jac. This image affected me no end and words simply poured out in my mind. I asked him and he was kind enough to let me use this image.

Photo Credit---Jac

I titled it SOUL. As I found out that soul means "A sense of ethnic pride among Black people and especially African Americans, expressed in areas such as language, social customs, religion, and music" from answer.com. It goes well with the picture.

SOUL

Why do you look away from my stare?
do you unearth questions that scare
you/me? If they do I am not aware

why. That boy is all I have got now,
for loss of other, to God’s will I bowed
not knowing answers to why/what/how.

Much I have been through- strife, war,
maiming of mind, body, soul; hunger
too, unaware where one started, other

ended. With my misery, wretchedness
I live in my drab world where darkness
prevails. For power, persists lawlessness;

my lone motivation is my child-
I’ll ensure he is healthy, not reviled
as was done to me in this wild

jungle of humanity. Each of those years
I lost a kid, now I tread slow with fear;
nothing to save, leading a life of austere.

His future is in my hands, I can’t shirk that
I would go great lengths, no matter what.
Too long I accepted anything like a doormat.

Our world has no gray shades, it is either white,
black and bleak. Various colours- so very bright
you see is only in my shawl which I wrap tight

around me to save me from further disgrace
where you can look & write on my visage.

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This is the longest poem I have ever written. It is as raw it can be, not properly edited as of now. I do not know if I will get around editing it.

Click image inspired.

cms & inches

grooved chest-
great looks;
smooth features,
marked surface-
straight lines;
a rule-
goes into
great lengths!




picture source: internet





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After structured poetry, it is good to come back to short, brief free verses. Mundane stuff really.

Journey of Ink----Deemed Sonnet

starting from nowhere, where does it end?
going on, stopping a while, resting along
saga continues, spirit being so strong-
circles, curves, squiggling at the bends,

stories are told, cut short once more, tend
to go off in a tangent, nothing goes wrong
as it has to travel miles, pausing for a song;
poised above words, jerked out; sends

signals to follow travellers, regaling anecdotes
of various stop over, amusing details retold
again and again which becomes part of lore

to be memorized; recalled akin to a side note
on the margins of a text marked muted or bold
this goes on until nothing is left of ink's valour.

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Rhyming Pattern for this is abba abba cde cde

Wrong can never be right, right can never be wrong!

today she finds herself
in the abyss of darkness

where black holes absorb
all that they can,

leaving her with nothing
but never-ending pain.

comprehending fully well;
wrong can never be right.

sucked into that vortex-
how does she come out?

blinded by this throb;
she can’t find her path

will she find a new one
or retrace her steps?

whatever the outcome,
mind will know the right one.

Fillip......Sunday Scribblings

This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is inspiration.

As a word, it is very powerful. At least for me. When I see this word, I get ideas. To do something. Without even knowing really what. To read, to write, to draw, to create. It can be anything. Inspiration can give rise to do any task, cooking, cleaning, looking after the house; do any other routine stuff without thinking of it as a burden. To give an example; festivals inspire us to clean and decorate the house.

Sometimes observing something, inspires me to write what I like best, poetry. Inspiration can come from anything, words, nature, a person or simply from our thoughts. Major of the times, our emotions too inspire us.

Most of my stimulation for writing poetry, comes from watching people go by. Their mannerisms, their way of talking, and those small things that separate us from one another, delights me no end. The funny part is, I might not write about those but it refreshes my mind and I start to write. Most of my writings are an outlet of my creative feeling written solely for myself. But I do get instigated to write well for those who come and read and encourage me.

Love or lack of love too inspires most to write. Love in all its manifestations, can make the words come out so beautifully. Some poets thrive on love poetry, a few on rejection of it or on unrequited love.

Sometimes when nothing seems to work, when the mind refuses to function, we enthuse ourselves by giving ourselves pep talks within the mind. It works..

Last, not the least, nature is always there to motivate us with its beauty, bounty and just by being there..

Get inspired...

Obscured...half a sonnet

jumbled in the maze, search
for it continues, hither thither

under the table, on the tip of
my pen, other side of erasure

cut by sharpener, bleeding
all over, none too visible

buried in lexicon, my words!

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I have not been able to write poetry the way I want to. My words are stuck in my mind but aren't coming onto paper or PC! I was inspired by pat paulk by one of his post dealing similar sentiments.

I wrote this half a sonnet taking a leaf out of Russell Ragsdale.

Aphasia...Poetry Thursday

This week optional idea was defined.

That is selecting a word and writing a poem defining it. I had done that before. This poem of mine is from the archives. I had written it in May 2006. I usually write a new poem for poetry thursday. As I have time constraints, I post this here now. If I do write another poem, I will post that too.
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Aphasia

thumping words
hammering
in my mind.
wanting an outlet
at the doorway of fate
asking for forbearance

aphasia.

cognizance’s end
elucidation's catastrophe
totality in the doldrums
stupefied, abeyant
i wait....

aphasia
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Click here for more defining moments.

Journey within the mind....Sunday Scribblings

Sunday Scribblings prompt was dream journey. Infact on Sunday I was on a real journey. Read the the previous post. I wrote this a short while back as this has been playing in my mind. Again a terza rima. It is tuesday but I still post it as sunday scribblings...:D

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Journey within the mind

this is something I do not recognize,
although I am taken over by
intense feeling, none to very wise.

thoughts touching you, flying to the sky
rebounding back to me. In trepidation
I accept, look unseeingly with a sigh.

enormity of it registers in conclusion;
leaving me with feelings inexpressible-
my tears streaming with exclusion

of unfathomable emotions, non-analyzable.
journey within my mind continues
taking me to places which feel stable.

in my dreams, in all glory, all its hues-
peace pervading; my mind awaits you.

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Click here for more dream journeys.

Travel....Ajmer...Rajasthan

When my brother called up on Thursday, I wasn’t expecting this. He asked me if I would like to go to Ajmer with him and his family for the weekend. I was in a dilemma. March being such a busy month for us teachers, I was not prepared for this. I had lots of evaluation work to do. But I decided to go. Ajmer is in Rajasthan and is around 425 km from Delhi. Though I have lived in Delhi for more than 35 years and been to Rajasthan many times but somehow we had never been to Ajmer. It is a very important pilgrimage for both Hindus and Muslims.. not to forget people of other faith. There are a few very old Cathedrals too.

On Friday after school, I reached my brother’s place along with my mom on the other end of Delhi. Early morning on Saturday i.e., 5.30 am, we started for Ajmer. The Delhi-Jaipur highway is one of the best in India. It is a toll road and the journey was smooth. We did stop a few times to stretch our legs, tea and lunch etc etc. We reached there around 1.30 pm and booked into a Hotel. As I said before this being exams time, it is off season and we got good bargains in Hotel rooms. After resting a for a while, we started for Pushkar.

There is a Brahma temple in Pushkar which is about 15 km from Ajmer. Brahma is one of the trinity and the creator according to Hinduism, Vishnu being Preserver and Shiva being Destroyer. The beauty of Hinduism is no one knows from where Hinduism originated. There is no beginning, no end. This temple for Brahma is the only one temple dedicated to Brahma in all of India and of course the world. Brahma was cursed not to be worshipped because he married Saraswati which he created from his navel. In a way he married his own daughter. Thus we do not find any more temples for Brahma. Here too there is no ritualistic worship. It was constructed in the 14th century. What was very interesting is that I saw more foreigners than Indians inside the temple. After asking around I found out lots of people from Israel visit Ajmer/Pushkar. The shops leading up to the temples solely cater for foreigners. Shopkeepers were not very keen to even talk to us. Not that I minded much. It was pleasure to see that around 70% of the tourists were foreigners….visiting from Spain, Italy, Israel, US, UK….


Next morning we visited the Dargah of Sufi Saint Hazrat Khawaja Moinuddin Chisty which is visited by both Muslims and Hindus in equal measures. It was built some 800 years back. There is a lot of faith in the powers of the Khawaja.

It is oneof the most revered places in this World. Whosoever goes there gets his wishes fulfilled. After his wishes are fulfilled he returns to thank the Khawaja. Spiritual feelings abounds the tomb. There is a saying, once you visit Ajmer and go to the Dargah, you have to visit again. I do not know but I have heard about it so much. Hope I too go back….soon.

After being both to the Brahma Temple and Dargah, I felt so much better. This was like some burden had been lifted from my head.

Back in Delhi, I feel rejuvenated and energized to face the real world again…

Terza Rima---Circling...Poetry Thursday

When Poetry Thursday asked us all to write about the colour red, this was what formed in my mind.

I needed to write this terza rima as I needed to discipline my mind. Lately I have had too many thoughts in my mind. I need to school that and concentrate on mundane stuff. Not easy, I know. So here I go....

Terza rima is a three-line stanza using chain rhyme in the pattern a-b-a, b-c-b, c-d-c, d-e-d. There is no limit to the number of lines, but poems or sections of poems written in terza rima end with either a single line or couplet repeating the rhyme of the middle line of the final tercet. The two possible endings for the example above are d-e-d, e or d-e-d, e-e. There is no set rhythm for terza rima, but in English, iambic pentameters are generally preferred. I follow the rhyming pattern but iambic pentameters go above my head!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terza_rima


The piece I write is what is happening right now with us teachers. Annual examinations are going on. Along with that comes evaluation of answersheets. I have written about the dilemma a teacher faces while evaluation.Some answers are to be read to be believed. They would have got awards for innovative ideas if it was not for the examinations. I don't have time to edit it. So I am posting it here as it is for now. I am not satisfied with the title. So I welcome suggestions for that..

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Terza Rima---Circling

looking at those filled answer sheets,
with not much of a space in between;
finding correct responses is no mean feat.

each word to be read, each sentence to be seen
in all that haywire, nothing being decipherable;
unless wading through for what would have been.

nuggets of knowledge if those were but visible
by some magical force hitherto unknown;
to the examiner who by this time trembles

with the prospect of new ideas been thrown;
too bizarre to understand; to fully comprehend,
to be absorbed, assimilated, with a frown.

with resignation , thinking with her head
she takes out her pen, finally circling those red.

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For more on the topic, click roses are..

Deep Purple---Rapture of the Deep

This goes out for a very special person.

Rapture of the Deep
By Deep Purple
BestAudioCodes.com

Irrationallity of Superstitions...Sunday Scribblings

This time Sunday Scribblings prompt is superstitions.

This is something I do not relate at all. I do not believe in superstitions. But I would like to say something about it though. What I have observed through the years.

In my part of the world, new ventures are rarely undertaken on Saturdays. It is said that Saturn has a bad effect on anything undertaken on Saturdays. Metallic especially stuff made up of Iron are rarely bought. Sometime back even travelling long distances was kind of taboo too.

If a black cat crosses ones path, that person is supposed to turn back and wait a while before venturing out again.Or else some thing bad is bound to happen.

Nothing new is to be worn on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Then there are colour codes too. White on Sundays and Mondays, red on Tuesdays, green on Wednesdays, yellow on Thursdays, blue on Fridays and black on Saturdays. What about all those other colours, hues, shades? I have seen many blindly following those without rhyme or reason. If one wears those designated colours on appropriate days than the ill effects of the planets are nullified as each day of the week is supposed to be ruled by one planet or the other. How can planets rule us from so far away?

Then there are some who believe in not cutting their nails on Mondays and Thursdays. A few do not wash their hair on Thursdays. They do not even do any laundry that day.

To top it all, horoscopes are matched for those who are getting married. As if that would ensure a long fruitful union. I have seen marriages breaking down even after the horoscopes were said to be very well-matched.

Superstitions tend to rule us if we let them to. I do not believe in any of the above. I do not give in to those. I only do what I think is right on any given day.

I do believe in premonitions, ESPs, omens and signs though.

Do check out other superstitions.

Parallel Streams---Poetry Thursday

. This week the theme is very unusual. To describe something but no names, please. I was going to give it a miss as I couldn't think of what to write. I wrote this after much pondering.

on the side-table
isolated, ignored,
waiting; it lay

meanwhile
books were read;
papers picked.

crying louder.
willing hands to
reach out for it.

box of crayons
fought for
by unruly kids

still overlooked
sitting forlorn
clamouring

keyboard punched
thoughts
whirling away

to be noticed.
silence trying
to reach out.

Mind not registering
anything except
impending deadline.

one sweeping hand
obliterates it
staining the carpet.

intermission!
heart burns
picking splinters!

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For more on "without give away what the thing is" click What's in a name.