who are we?

there might be wealth of questions for you
but I seek no answers
not in your words
what I wish to hear
you won't say
that's what you think, is it not?
think what you like
I don't really care
too much hassle

your answers even if you made the effort
won't register in me
as I have switched off that arena
I like the numbness that permeates me.
kind of injected into me,
it has become a part of me
isn't it strange
what I disliked about your persona
is now what I am

"where are the questions,
where are the answers-
who is really you, who is really me?

bygones

that old pottery ochre mug
sits light in the darkest of corners
I imagine bygones

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

English Haiku: 6-8-6

it didn't create history

it didn't create history

when I was born

I was just one of millions of babies

born in a day

the fact is

a girl being born

just a little after midnight

is nothing spectacular

yet I disrupted routine

the nightly sleep of my mother

also that of my father

not to mention my two older brothers

my father used to tell me,

"one had no words,

but the other jumped at my birth,

dancing around my cradle when he got to see me."

what did it imply,

I wouldn't know,

maybe my brother feigned it

as no love is lost between us now.

well, nobody is perfect,

I too don't claim that virtue

although I have tried to bridge that gap

"my brother of mine, I hope you come and dance at my funeral"

mother of mine

When William Butler wrote that line-
"When you are old and grey and full of sleep”
what was he thinking, I wouldn't know
I hope he did not mean it as a theory
he was generalizing, I presume
one look at my mother, his theory fails
she is old (don't tell her that!)
but not grey and is full of activity
a radiant heroine in her own way

"and she ended with a daughter who is always tired"

mis-shapen memories

I put little knick knacks on the slots
rearranging this way and that way
that mis-shapen shell stares at me
an ugly little thing
left in a oubliette
I can't throw it away
a gift from a stranger
on a sunny day at beach

I put it back in the niche-
smile at it; remembering
something long forgotten

the anguish of anger

hidden from view
she of noble birth
watches the uneven fight
between man and beast
she lets her thoughts roam-
what was his crime
other than loving her?
when the beast falls down
he stands tall yet doomed
to his inevitable death

anger and anguish
take her in
silently she gets up
jumps from her hidden niche-
falls at his feet.
'another love story doomed'

incomplete yet so replete

In day's last light
he moved very quietly
hidden behind her

hidden from moon
his non-existent shadows
spooked her out

out came her arms
to protect her facade
and hit him instead

hit by her
he fell on ground
embracing it

sweet earthy embrace
took him in
held him like a lover

earth as his beloved
he kissed it passionately
needing none other

help me rewrite the Greek tragedies

blinking lights help Icarus find his way up
he now stands tall ready for flight
it was all a myth
that he fell to his death
new thoughts in the pages of our mind
acted as erasures
and brought out the truth
can he ever fall,
disgraced he might be
but he knows his way
even if he was buried in the depth of hell
why do we gloat on tragedies-
Greek or otherwise
why do we hail insults on the living
make the dead a super being?

"we need to rewrite the old tragedies-
and need to be reminded that
Icarus is unforgettable, eternal;
dead or being alive can't change that"

motivational speaking is a hogwash

I speak out from the podium
my nimble fingers turning
pages after pages
after a short while
I stop listening to myself
meaningless words pour out

yet I don't let myself budge
and go on and on.

is it what I wanted
to do in my life,
trying to motivate others
expounding a theory
I can't comprehend
which I myself don't believe

"is it brainwashing or hogwash?"