packets of love

with a glimmer of passion
with a sweet wish in her heart
nearer to him, she moves,
softly whispering into his ears

"this isn't a poem
about dinosaur bones
or bones buried against clay
but this is my map of you
loving warm and gentle
which no degrees of separation
can take away"

all the while feeling him-
his pockets, for that matter.
barely listening to her
but knowing her intent
he moves away
whispering back-

"our house is gone
which you burnt down
out of jealousy, you ought to
say thanks that the money hasn’t
gone somewhere else
but wisely invested with your sister
you accused me of having an affair with her"

pausing significantly,
he doggedly goes on, walking away

"previously I wasn't but now I do wish to"

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

Many of the lines have been taken from the Read Write Poem title collage collaborative work. It was fun doing it. To use the titles in the form of a poem is a mighty task. Do check it out.

playing for pleasing the moon

sprinkled into vast darkness
stars peep out, dusting themselves
from the dirt of the universe
squeaky clean, they proudly preen
in front of the moon
wanting to please her
some even dare to press into her
few twinkling stars tinklingly taper,
playing around her in the night

when her rugged surface
scratches their smooth faces
the stars tumble into the black hole
hiding behind its darkest soul

only the impish sun remains
his wooing going full swing

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

Just don't forget to board the poetry train. Every Monday or thereafter. Do check it out.

guts wrench out in the open making a spectacle for all

I believe that at times one just needs to write about love, irrespective of everything. I don't know where it came from but it just did....


not knowing how to flaunt my passion
i flounder at showing it to you
if you only gave me a chance
the gates would open up wrenching us both
how do I tell you about this constant craving
this deep sated need for you
which eats at my guts and fills me with longing
words cannot convey my loneliness to you
yet I know you sense it
although you would rather not acknowledge it
how do I pour out my love for you
your very thought heightens my senses
I wish I could reach out to your very soul
and submerge myself within you
at oddest of times tears fill my eyes
unknown to me visible to all
my minds speaks to you
yet I know I can't reach you
walking away is easy for you
just let me know how do I do it
nonchalantly, just the way you did

yes, I will live but barely so
for a long time to come or never

symmetry in poetry or what?

fl
..ut
......te
.........ri
...........ng

leaves
of
my
journal

wh
.....is
........per

softly
to each other

t
h
e

sec
......rets i poured

i
n
t
o

them.

st
...ai
......ns of my sweat

&

s
..m
.....u
.......d
.........g
...........e
.............s

of my tears
unquestionably underline
my faith in
.....................po
....................... wer

of words

when I touch a tiny hair of
eyelash in between the pages,
I marvel at the symmetry

"isn't
..........nature
....................... in
.............................itself
.......................................a

miracle of

....................cr
.......................ea
...........................ti
.............................on?"

all in a days work

i pick my mails from my old home
shocked to see a few of my cheques
with expiry dates. no wonder
i was short on the finances
blaming recession, for my fault
i forgot to send out mails
for change of address
no, my money is not lost
revalidation of the cheques would
take care of all that but certainly not more

alas, i could have spent it cosying up
to you my love but you wait a while
before i pick you up and devour you
with relish from front to back,
not forgetting the middle
i suppose i will spend a winter's day
writing out impersonal letters
to all those stupid companies for
change in my residential address,
sticking stamps on those envelopes

"you do understand, i need the money
to buy out more of you, don't you"

book of myth or reality?

when i got to the book of myths,
i hesitated as i was scared to open it
my utmost fear being it might be truer
than what i had envisaged till date
still i had to open it
i loaded the camera
put on the awkward mask
with rubberised gloves
i flipped it open

a sweet smell hit my nose
almost gagging me
i saw ladders beyond the doors
within the book, which
beckoned me. i climbed down
each rung with care
yellow light surrounded me
following each of my movements
in the cold moist air

although i do feel a warmth
coming out of nowhere
a paradox in midst of snowy
hills, yellowy light dimming
fading away completely
a green aura is visible
my camera capturing it all
i see a broken glass
picking up i see my life enfolding

which had been lost in the sea
of neglected human sounds hurled
from the top of the vastness
of the sky. jealously i guard
my secret hiding the glass in my pocket
wherein i find my lost knife
which cuts deep into my palm
my blood spurts out almost pleasing me

out there in the open,
my funeral is celebrated followed by
a great feast. No wonder I smile
from my book of myths,
did I not know it would come true?
come watch all the fun
captured in my camera.
would it be too much to say
i relish the show that came out of my death?

Diving into the Wreck by Adrienne Rich inspired this post. It is a rough draft. However, that is ok with me.

Monday Poetry Train Revisited

I NEED PUBLICITY. PLEASE HELP SPREAD THE WORD.

All those who missed poetry train and all those who did not know a thing about it, are welcome to post at Monday Poetry Train Revisited on Mondays and thereafter. Mind you, it does not have a prompt as such. It only concerns writing...poetry, prose poetry or anything creative. Write about anything that takes your fancy and post your link there. And don't forget to visit others, but be polite about it. Don't play the critique unless specifically asked for it. Come on, lets rebuild and run our poetry train again. We never can have excess of poetry or any kind of creative writing, for that matter.

mundane meanderings

sorting through laundry
she set about ironing out
those crinkles, singing softly
keeping in tune with
beethovan wafting out
from the next room

her fingers itched to play
yet her hand smoothened out
wrinkles out of clothes
creating more in her mind.
distractions of mundane chores
did nothing for her frustration

"bawling of her infant brought
about an instant smile-
her face glowing like thousands of lights"

I knew instantly.....

When I came across Sarah's Key by Tatiana de Rosnay in the book blogs I visit, I knew instantly that I have to read it. I tried to find in the bookstores I visit often but couldn't. When I requested a copy from the author, her publicist was kind enough to send me one. I am very glad I read it.

Title: Sarah's Key
Author: Tatiana de Rosnay
ISBN: 9780312370848
Publisher: St. Martin's Griffin/2007
Pages: 293/Trade Paperback

Sarah's Key opened up facts I had not known before. That the French police being responsible for rounding up thousands of Jews in Paris and sending them to Auschwitz to die. Those included more than 4000 children between the age of 2 to 12. Those children were citizens of France. But it did not matter a fig for the police. And the people too turned a blind eye. It seems that France has kept it well hidden from the world.

It is July 1942, Paris. Sarah is a ten year old girl, who is taken away from her home along with her parents, in the middle of the night. Meanwhile, she hides her 4 year old brother in a cubboard which is not visible. She promises to come back for him. Her parents are taken away from her and unknown to her, sent to their death.

After 60 years, Julia Jarmond, an American journalist settled in Paris investigates the roundup. She stumbles upon certain secrets which almost rips apart her life. But she knows she has to find out what happened to Sarah Starzynski. And she keeps doing it no matter what. The past and present run in parallel. It keeps the reader rivetted till the end. It stays in mind long after reading the book. We cry with Sarah, for Sarah. We need to know what happened to her. Where did she go? Did she survive at all?

I am glad I got to know about the French connection. It is fiction but it is totally based on facts. And this has made me look up more material on that period of time. What I want to know why did the French keep it all hidden? Even now not much is known about it.

As it is said in the book, Remember. Never forget.

Such books should be read by ALL of us. That is one reason I am posting this review here along with posting it on my other blog, Reading Room.

one fourth of a poem

vague movement
of the enemy
registers only when
splintered bodies fly
shattering lives

pictures stare, curves are drawn

smooth black surface
darker than sin,
blankness for it
is absolute slight

that darkness
has such a soul-
shining bright,
never to be sold

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

eloquence speaks
with fluency of letters
smoothing over flat
surface, pausing a while

"darkness shines only when
it belongs to a blackboard,
much bruised with chalks"

tradition doodles

cowering within the shell of soul
tradition loses out on meanings
absentmindly the pen doodles
on that blank page trying to
fill it in with the past events
which have to be recalled
out of cold numbness

"if only it was that easy"

#Update on Dec 7, 2008: This is NOT about writers block.

keep it burning, keep it alive

this time I will keep it burning within my soul
whatever is left of it,
I will not let the balance of my thoughts tilt
forgetting and moving on is not what I need, we need.
anger is being kept alive with calculated move and resolve
human spirit, what of it?
it lost its meaning giving way to numbness
I will not let you, the powers that are, to dictate me
like the way you always did, always do
calmness that you see now hides a volcano
invisible to you as yet.
when it hits you, you won't know where to run
I will not let my mind wander
I will not wash the blood
I will not brush anything aside
I will keep it right in front
to look each day to remind me, they are gone
to remember, to keep all those who lost their innocent lives
and I am alive by sheer chance or timing or place
colour of the blood, no matter from where, is always red

time that you- our esteemed, so called worthy leaders-
shed yours to save us, who make you come into power
remember, we can kick you out too, similarly

I have not been online for the past one week. Two days my server was down. Then the Mumbai attacks happened. That has deeply saddened me. It was more of a war than a terrorist attack. For three days, our lives were on hold and spent in front of the television. It hardly mattered that I live in Delhi. Around 200 lives were lost, inluding our commandos. Has it ended? No. As long India has a soft approach towards terrorists, it is not going to change. The power that are, bicker amongst themselves, putting the blame on each other. Our intelligence failed. Need I say more? My heart is kind of dead.

How do we recover from it? I have no clue....

Writing/Reading does not give me any pleasure any more...


Yes, I thank you all for your love, concern and prayers via comments, emails and smses...