voice of reason--One Single Impression

what use is God,
if injustice to humanity still persists?
divine justice
don't give me that
you created HIM/HER
to justify your wrongfulness
on the garb of religion

what was your GOD doing
while a father killed his dauther
in the name of honour.
whose honour was it-
can you truly answer that?
my heart goes for the girl
who has no freedom of choice

still in all the darkness around me
I can still see light
and turn towards it
believing I can make a difference
if I speak for those who cannot
giving voice to the weak
is the need of the hour

"let God live in peace in the places you built for him"

for my nephew

This goes for my twenty-year old nephew Aditya (meaning the sun), who is going for his management studies, after finishing his graduation in mathematics.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

was it only yesterday I held you in my arms?
a wee thing, crumpled face and wrinkled skin
all skin and bones, nothing else
that did not deter me from falling in love with you
you dad asked me to name you.
boy, was I thrilled?
with whole lot of extended family adoring you
you somehow always turned to me
showing me your first piece of art
you writing skills
along with tears and scrapped knees.
indulgent I was towards you
still you sensed I could be firm too.

time, does it not fly past rather very fast?
now, you have graduated from college
venturing out for management studies;
no longer that wee child holding our hands.
what do I say, apart from this:

"be as extravagant as you can be, with words;
the only weapon you need for today's world"

gutted

finest piece he had ever carved
he looked it over
feeling pride swell in his chest

isn't labour of love
one good motivation?
giving it a final polish

drying it out
he carefully hid it
tears of joy spilling over

next few days
he waited for the right time
trying to seek out her,

his own flesh and blood
a convenient playmate
for his master's daughter

life took an unexpected turn
for no misdemeanour of hers
his daughter was sold to settle a bet

he threw the carving
smashing it on the wall
his heart broken to pieces

"dry tears of sorrow spilled nowhere"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To know where it came from, read my review of Roots by Alex Haley and my subsequent poem, slaves to whom? after reading it.

drifting

someone has sprinkled
crushed dried loaf on the bushes
whose crumbs the crows inspect
with much disdain incomparable
with those who are starving to death in a distant nation
these raven black birds
scrutinising with expressionless eyes
opened to the light its glassy acids,
squinting just as soon
search for moistness
to go with the crumbs

I am watching all this
my thoughts left to fend for themselves
just like messages left to set
adrift in ginger ale bottles
into the bottomless ocean

realisation hits me
it is not you who is away from me
it is me who chose this path
to be absent from you

The italized lines have been taken from poems by
Emily Dickinson
Maxine W. Kumin
Pablo Neruda
and again
Maxine W. Kumin,

slaves to whom?

legacy of his birth got blurred over the years
by the virtue of their skin colour
his ancestors were captured as slaves
although looked down upon,
women bore the brunt of lust
which cannot differentiate
between skin tones in darkness of night

illegal from the point of view of nature
however, is no match for brute force
power, and much greed
body broken, beaten, maimed
but spirit for freedom remains same.
now with a decree of law
he is set free. from what? to where?

"why were his ancestors enslaved in the first place?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am currently reading Roots by Alex Haley. Twenty five years after reading Uncle Tom's Cabin. I only have one question about the slave trade. Why? And why did it go on so long? Any human being irrespective of his skin colour has every right to be free. In any part of the world. I know there are no easy answers. However, I feel this is a blot on history that something like this happened. Maybe I am seeking simple answers for so complex an issue.

can't you please reopen the portals sooner than later?

I find that interpreting works of poet in ones own way is creative too! I like transcreating. This time I take The Lonely Street by William Carlos Williams.







The Lonely Street

School is over. It is too hot
to walk at ease. At ease
in light frocks they walk the streets
to while the time away.
They have grown tall. They hold
pink flames in their right hands.
In white from head to foot,
with sidelong, idle look--
in yellow, floating stuff,
black sash and stockings--
touching their avid mouths
with pink sugar on a stick--
like a carnation each holds in her hand--
they mount the lonely street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

can't you please reopen the portals sooner than later?

since school closed
mornings are empty-
despite the heat
I miss the sounds
of chattering girls
shoes dragging in the corriders
in stiffly ironed uniforms.
streets seem so empty
parents are so harassed
and here I was thinking
vacations are cure for
stressed minds.
when I see those
splash of colours
however dirty,
on those scraps of paper;
these make me long
for school to reopen.
when you do come back
I can only hope
you would be wiser
now that you are taller.

"I would still welcome you even if you are not"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do let me know what you think of my attempt. I welcome comments and feedbacks, as always!

running away with it----Read Write Poem/Monday Poetry Train

And also come ride the Monday Poetry Train...

pulsating, so ripe it throbs
suddenly developing wings
it flies away, disappearing
totally out of sight.

my tongue hanging out,
I look at the deep hole
where it ought to be
my hands feel the depth

tentacles form out of nowhere
roots fill the hole
sprouting leaves and buds
next thing I see flowers

blossoming. sweet fragrance reach
out to my nose and I do not miss
my fly away heart any more

"when I do find it floating on water
I kick it away, not wanting it"

reflected changes-----One Single Impression

deeply staring into your eyes,
I see the irises changing shades
catching my mood into them
your air of detachment
disappears subtly
replaced by fierce heat
with intense interest I watch
our souls merging
where I am not I anymore
you are not you either

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another of my rare love poetry. I am leaving this open-ended as love in itself is open-ended. Your comments and feedbacks are always welcome.

ghost of words jump haphazardly-----Sunday Scribblings

leave me alone
give me a well needed rest

too long you have stringed me
I am now so very tired

same old story
told differently each time

I and you know
you are getting maudlin

still you believe no one else knows
ghost of words jump on the screen

same old words, same old story
packaged in a new garb

why don't you ever
listen to your inner voice

plainly speaking
simply quit writing-

won't you?

the end of the world for me------Writers Island

amongst my collection, I looked for it everywhere
somehow my mind could not recall where I had misplaced it
a much coveted possession gone missing right in front of my eyes
replacing it is not a problem and is only an option
but how did it happen in the first place
it might be trivial for some
for me it was a serious matter
for a few days it played in my mind
finally I gave up on it
making it a note, I will replace it soon

now I am at your place enjoying a cup of tea
what do I find nestled in your shelves
the very same book I have been searching for
do you mind giving it back to me
so that I return it to its rightful place

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was reading "On Human Bondage by Somerset Maugham" some days ago. I found it missing. I searched for it everywhere and couldn't find it. After I had given up on it, I found it a friend's place who had picked it up from my place. She had not asked for it. I wouldn't have refused her if she had asked for it. But taking it away without asking, I was kind of pretty mad!

some crap inside my mind......Totally Optional Prompts

intense is how/what you read about me-
one aspect, I never ever intended
to get across for you to see.
now intensely I try to read, what else, me.
truly what do I really tell thee-
aspirations, dreams that are distended?
intensity of which is lost from me
all aspects gone forever, which I never intended.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think I took too much poetic liberty with the lines, while writing a triolet. It might feel disjointed to some. However, it answers what has been playing in my mind since yesterday. Why? That is another question...

focussed on death--3WW

sitting on the edge of the tracks
he waited for the train
to end all his travails
when he cut his wrists,
his dad saved him;
when he consumed poison,
mom made him drink salt water.
jumping from a building,
he landed on unseen tarpaulin.
hanging from the fan,
the rope couldn't take his weight.

this time around,
his focus was totally on dying.
tired- he fell asleep
only to wake up to find himself alive.
first delayed and then cancelled train
had yet again saved his life.
getting up he kicked at the tracks,
walked back home to fill his empty belly.

Remembrance

Lately I have been writing a lot about my dad. Shifting to the new house has made me think of him each moment. Maybe becos I am trying to make new memories of him in here fully well knowing I can't. However, today I can't but help speaking about him. It is his sixth anniversary. He passed away on Buddha Poornima six years ago. We do a puja and then go to a temple. Today too, after we do a puja, we will visit a temple. I do it more for ritual than anything else. I am not a temple person, like my dad. He was not deeply religious and seldom visited any temple. He was spiritual. I have inherited that aspect from him. Of all his four children, I am more like him. And I am discovering that only after he passed away.

I do not think I understood it when he used to tell us to overcome ourselves, not anyone else. The race should always be against one's ownself not with others. Now I do. Achievement is rising above the self. He never said that we have to give up materialistic stuff. But that we should know if we really need it. I like my comforts. I work for it. I suppose thats what he truly meant.

My dad had nothing. Not even his father to support him. He was a self-built man. Of course my grand mother supported despite being a widow soon after his birth. In India, being a widow was a curse (it still is). ( Another story for another time).

Dad, wherever you are, if you are watching over us, I am thankful for what you taught us. Believe me, I am happy enough, although I do have my moments. I will always love you. You know that.

stoicism----Read Write Poetry/Monday Poetry Train

And come ride the Monday Poetry Train...

that child as still as a unmoved rock,
with a stoic befitting a saint-
sat on the temple steps.
in the shadows of the night
he could be taken for a stone God
taken out of the sanctum
left there by some thief
in his haste to run.

only his eyes moved rapidly
like blinking lights-
when hunger pangs danced
wild in his belly-
he howled like a distressed dog,
waking the whole neighbourhood
from its lazy stupor.
pademonium broke loose

whose child was he?
he had been left on the temple steps
by his mother, and told to be quiet
so he had sat there for the past two days
as still as a unmoved rock
with a stoic befitting a saint,
until hunger pangs corroded his guts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lately I have been thinking of homeless children. I can't get them out of my mind. Hence my last few posts are somewhat about those children.

ravages of time----One Single Impression

squinting his eyes, he looked towards light
none forthcoming, he was lost in bygone eras
one after one, he had taken on so much
lost in the war, lost to disease, ravages of time
had bled him of everything he possessed,
his children taken away, gone forever.

his ear heard the sound before he could see,
she threw herself in his arms, crying bitterly.
his gnarled fingers gently touched,
soothing the weeping child. she snuggled
into his chest, secure in his love,
the grandchild who had survived.

"holding her to his heart, pulling the rug over her-
his thoughts were, had he really lost all?"

ah, the anticipation---Sunday Scribblings

in that shower, flowing water cooled her body
her heart was soaring with anticipation
her wait had been long, filled with longing.

towelling herself, she rubbed body lotion
covering each bit with care but with haste too
lest, more time was wasted in mundane task

tying the sash of her clingy gown, she walked
barefeet, loving the feel of the cool wooden floor
her thoughts all the while on what was to come

when the doorbell rang, she almost ran to open it
tripped on the carpet, and now lay flat on bed
with a broken limb, sore heart, he fussing over her

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I suppose I need a break from blogging. I can't seem to write like I used to. I am churning out mediocre stuff. And also getting repetitive too. A warning to stop writing.

celebration of sorts----Writers Island

copiously crying women
beat at their chests
instead of heart-rending
it was almost comic

he was somewhat surprised
by so many people at one place
and still there was an eerie hush.
his unknown relatives, friends
he had not seen for what seemed eternity
were present but not interacting
strange sight that it was
he moved to the centre
his eyes were drawn
a pristine white shroud

copiously crying women
beat at their chests.
instead of heart-rending
it was almost comic

on an impulse, he pulled it down
recoiled next moment
as his own face stared up at him.

tunneled view---Totally Optional Prompts

alluring electrons align to flow, giving away their playfulness
volts jump around when wattage changes
fluctuating energy stabilizes itself after much confusion
jolted equipments pause a while before running smoothly
rippling away, waves pass through nonchalantly
in that vacuum, air might have been disbarred
fluidity decides to acquire more speed for free movement

"do you or do you not see light at the end of the tunnel?"

lost to taxes------3WW

balancing the receiver in the crook of his neck,
he went on scribbling something on his notepad;
apparently the phonecall did not hold attention.

in his line of work, he got ten such calls in average
on any given day. good manners made him listen
and grunt his responses, doodling all the while.

one such day, he was found in the same postion
but with a massive heart attack claiming his life;
without a will all his wealth was lost to various taxes.

"same desk, same chair, now his wife had taken over
rebuilding the lost company right from the scratch"

Sleeplessness-----Transcreated work

When I started my tuesday posts, I mentioned that I will write about myself and occasionally interpret some famous work of a poet in my own way. Until now I was writing mostly about myself. This time I am taking a short poem by Maya Angelou...

Insomniac by Maya Angelou

There are some nights when
sleep plays coy,
aloof and disdainful.
And all the wiles
that I employ to win
its service to my side
are useless as wounded pride,
and much more painful.

Now I will try to transcreate it in my own words:

Sleeplessness

with all my might
I try to win over sleep
with knives and daggers
slashing through its soul.
colour beyond my eyes
see nothing but stars-
in that cicada filled darkness.
lost in a labyrinth,
I lose a lonely battle
giving way to dust laden path of dawn.
I entirely blame myself
for trying to hold on to something
as transient as night.

"it recognises my ruse and turns a blind eye"

I write this with due apologies to Maya Angelou.

a child to love?------Read Write Poem/Monday Poetry Train

And come ride the Monday Poetry Train...

you got that child into your home
after much misgivings by well-wishers;
a girl with cherubic smile
looking at you with longing and hope.
abandoned by her birth parents
found by the authorities,
brought up in an orpanage,
she had seen more of life and its travails
then anyone can even imagine.
for three days, she followed you around
with love in her eyes, joy in her heart-
not wanting to let you out of her sight.
whatever happened in between
that you changed your mind,
leaving her back at the orphanage?
thinking of adoption is but noble-
actually going through it, is a big task,
not all women are capable of it.

"a child left to her devices yet again"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What I posted here, is a true account. I don't have any kind of sympathy for the people who thought of adoption but couldn't go through it. However, I can't stop thinking of that 4-year old girl, who did not deserve any of it. I can only hope and pray that she got real great parents, who love and cherish her forever. Would you like to pray for her too?

warm feeling----One Single Impression

when droplets of rain travelled on dark clouds,
they waited to be shed at an appropriate time.

I stood there watching out for the first drops
of rains on my head, wanting and welcoming it,
a warm feeling of anticipation cocooning me.

as I waited with a peppy song in my heart,
winds came out of nowhere dispersing them
to tiny useless drops on the parched earth-

making dust rise out of it, the smell hitting
my nostrils. instead of rains, now I was swathed
with dust, a cloud of it surrounded me, almost

trapping me. somehow I escaped and as usual
my shower was simulated rainy day for me.

punished for indolence?!----Sunday Scribblings

In summer days of '02
I chose to stay home
with my books and sheets-
life at my fingertips;
doing what I wanted
even silence if I please.
lying down; daydreaming
or staring at the blue sky.
probing for nothing much
uncluttered by screams,
television switched off.

ringing of that telephone
woke me up from my reverie.
holding the receiver
listening to my brother speak,
a silent scream formed in my throat
by the time I reached the hospital,
dad, you had lost consciousness-
never to wake up again.

moon faithfully fantasizes---Writers Island

was it but a year ago, the moon shining bright,
(etched in my mind, so well);
I strolled with my loved one in the orange light,
our voices intermingling like twinkling bells

suddenly the moon grew dull-
my love seemed to have sprouted wings;
he appeared a face of a smirking skull
what I felt in my heart was a ghastly thing.

fantasy was it? for my love lay still
within my arms, his eyes aglow;
wondering why my lips were chilled.
silently I pulled him closer, kissing him so.

one year gone, the moon is still bright.
too bright, like a ghost of woe;
I am standing by a newly dug grave tonight
with a wrecked heart, it's bizarre you know.

changling-----Totally Optional Prompt/Patchwork Poetry

the distorted shell broke-
without the hardened, tough, exterior
yolk flowed out with no direction
changing into a yellowing flower
minus the sweet smell but a stink
my hand reached out to pick it
when the slimy wetness touched it
with repugnance, I drew back
A tiny bird flew out of my head
leaving me with the following thoughts
"untamed is the symmetry of our mind’s tigers"
these lonely days of blue
has resulted in a demented state
no wonder I had cut you with the bitter blades of what
I think, is deep hatred for your changling state

"the same state I had once proudly possessed in myself"

Patchwork Poetry done by taking lines from Paisley, lirone, lissa and writerwoman, in that order!

packing my bags--3WW

one of these days I need to pack my bags
putting all that I have needed over the years
that photo album, I don't remember since when
old penny given by my dad when I was twelve
walkman my brother gifted to me at fourteen
silk scarf, my mom presented to me at seventeen
tattered journal, coming apart at the seams
patch of air, damp yet essential
my broken thoughts, belonging only to me
maybe it is human nature to be cautious
and not let go of our comfort zones

"I need to collect all those before I toss them out of my life"

Complacently seeking happiness

It has been two weeks since I wrote a tuesday post. More due to lack of internet in my new house. It has been more than two weeks, I have moved here. However, it is yet to become a home. I and mom decided to move here so as to be nearer my younger brother. It was not a rash decision. We took more than a year to consider and re-consider before making it happen. We had lived in the previous house for 14 years. My dad's memories are there. This house, although belonging to my eldest brother is new and is a good house to be in with all modern facilities.

It does not have any negative points to speak of. Yet, I am feeling depressed and lost. I miss my familiar place, my old corner etc etc. Is that difficult to fathom? Am I going to find happiness here? I hope so, I want so, I wish so. My mom cannot be happy, if I am not. Maybe I have let complacency rule me for a long time. I need to shake it off and get into the spirit of adventure.

Maybe I will go and buy diamond studded platinum earrings for myself. Nothing like diamonds to cheer a female up. Long time, I have indulged myself like that!

clawing crawlies----Read Write Poem/Monday Poetry Train

And come ride the Poetry Train


blighted lights blinked bright
slighting my intelligence.
cooped in the room for so long
eyes to the dashboard
i was trying to decipher signals
never seen before
unknown to earthlinks
large torsoed,
small headed creatures
of outer spaces,
visible through glasses
of the windows in that strange disc
some might call an UFO
those crawly legs, cringed me
clawing at my dry throat
more than elation,
I felt abhorance
no way I was interested
to meet aliens
I prayed for hallucinations

"sometimes spiders have that kind of effect on me"

pinpricks------One Single Impression

combing out with fine teeth-
love; she brushed aside
with deliberate moves,
ignoring shards of feeling.
deserted by her;
his depth of love plunged
from soaring sky to deep sea.
pain ceased to matter after a while-
pinpricks still cause trouble,
intestines tied up into knots-
slowly bleeding away both their guts.

"torture by her conscience is what she deserves"

dog and (wo)man------Writers Island

that pug nose tugged at my heart
soulful eyes stared into mine
front paws straightened, he lay down
putting his head sideways on the ground
both with a state of nirvana
we sat on the floor, contendedly
contemplating nothing
dog and human, not so much different
yet our identities separated by species and genus
I softly stroked his ears
a much loved stray, now a part of my life
getting up, he limped to fetch my book

looking at him now who would have thought
he had saved my life by killing my molester
loosing one of his hind leg in the process

kindred----Sunday Scribblings

with your glasses in one hand
eyes shut, reclining on your favourite chair
I can still picture you.
only a small sound was needed to wake you up-
maybe you never slept, only did a shut eye.
when I hovered near you
you gave me a much cherished half smile
beckoning with your eyes to go near you.
with three tame sons and a virago for a daughter
I speculate, you had your hands full.
those brothers of mine were buried in books-
this daughter of yours was busy with basketball.
with oversized shirts and baggy trousers
she was a complete misfit.
you let her do pretty much what she wanted
If she had asked for the moon,
you would have got her that,
but for mom, who put her feet down.
such a small woman with so much iron strength
had it been not for her, I would have had cropped hair,
which now cascade down my back almost covering me.
I cringe now for not being the daughter
you both must have wished for-
getting me in the bargain,
who is still confused what she wants in her life.
through thick and thin, you stood by me-
dad, I know know you are still watching over me
to help mom, who has been unable to get rid of me.

I would still be needing you both, and my brothers too-
blood, as they say, always calls out.