100 Days of Poetry - Part II

So, on 18th July, 2016, I began this series called #100DaysOfPoetry, and decided that I am going to collate the individual poems here in sets of 10.

The first 10 can be read here - Part 1

The next 10 are -

11. John Donne - The Good Morrow

Context - I studied this during my Masters in Jamia, and instantly fell in love with this love which is beyond cartographic definitions.

Poet - Among the greatest of metaphysical poets, John Donne is also remembered for his profound prose. He was the master of 'conceits', which are a category of metaphors where the comparison is rather abstract. In fact, Helen Gardner has famously commented on conceits by calling them a 'comparison whose ingenuity is more striking than their justness.'

Takeaway - The beautiful notion that when you are with your lover, your world converges in the little space you inhabit.

12. C. Day Lewis - Walking Away

Context - I found this hidden away in this amazing book called 'Poetry Please', which is a collection of the 100 popular poems from BBC Radio 4 programme. 

Poet - Cecil Day Lewis has held the distinction of being the Poet Laureate of UK. A 20th century poet, he is of Anglo-Irish origins. If you have ever heard the name Nicholas Blake - the author of detective novels, he is the same guy. Till date, he is remembered as a voice of revolution in poetry and politics. 

Takeaway - The last line - "And love is proved in the letting go."

13. Agha Shahid Ali - Tonight

Context - FAVOURITE poem. By far. 

Poet - A Kashmiri poet, Agha Shahid Ali is a dear, favourite voice from the postcolonial corpus. His poems smell of nostalgia, of a lost land, of lost culture, of despair, of identity, of conflict and seamlessly blend traditional notions with modern connotations. He is credited with giving ghazals their just place in English language. And I can go on about him, 

Takeaway - Each couplet in this poem is a discourse in itself. The poem in the attached image is incomplete - find a version which has the epigraph. This is a ghazal in English, following each rule by the book of the Persian poetic form. And it is beautiful. So beautiful. By the way, can you figure out who is the narrator in this poem?

14. Judith Wright - Failure of Communion

Context - Judith Wright lay on the unexplored terrain of poets for me, especially since the first poem I read of hers was supposedly a 'ghazal', and it just did not seem to be one. That put me off. Rediscovery began with this poem.

Poet - Wright is an Australian poet and environmentalist. Among her poems, 'Woman to Man' has the most hallowed status. And rest, I am still exploring. 

Takeaway - The subtle sensitivities of relationships encased in-between the words. Oh so nice! 

15. Margaret Atwood - The Moment

Context - Stumbled upon it while randomly googling Margaret Atwood poems. (Yes, I do that.)

Poet - Atwood is a contemporary legend. On her recent visit to Delhi, she has been known to cause a stampede. Of Canadian origins, she dons many hats - poet, environmentalist, novelist, critic etc. Handmaid's Tale is perhaps her most read work. 

Takeaway - Stoicism. That is my takeaway. What is yours?

16. Lord Byron - She Walks in Beauty

Context - Among love lyric, this has been in my imagination since much before I can recall. Many writing exercises have begun with these oft-quoted words. 

Poet - Byron is a Romantic poet, and also the genesis point of the term 'Byronic Hero' - the charming recluse, or the tortured charmer. Byron himself, being a Romantic poet, dwelt extensively on the theme of 'nature' and its dichotomy with civilization and urban living. Nature, while being used to evoke metaphors, was also the all powerful entity, and an apt companion for humanity. 

Takeaway - Beauty, and a companion for lovelorn nocturnal readings. 

17. P. B. Shelley - Good Night

Context - I just needed a nice 'good night' wish to send across to a friend and was reminded of this. 

Poet - Another Romantic poet. Like fellow Romantics, he too dwelt deeply on the power of nature, and in addition, the power of human intellect. He saw the poet as a seer, a commentator and a visionary. 

Takeaway - Thinking what is a 'good night' for me. 

18. e e cummings - i carry your heart with me

Context - This has been a poem which is close to my heart for its simplicity and for being a literal specimen of meaning lying 'between the lines' and hidden along punctuations. 

Poet - cummings is remembered for his eccentric usage of punctuations - you'll find no use of capitals, abrupt parentheses, lines beginning after gaps - and this was not all random. Meanings, gaps, emotions could be located in the way the words were arranged. Though inspired by the avant-garde style, much of the content of his poems is traditional. 

Takeaway - Simplicity and universal assertions on love. Carrying your beloved's heart in yours, firmly, carefully. 

19. Frank O'Hara - To John Ashbery

Context - Friendship Day

Poet - Frank O'Hara is an American critic, writer and poet. Interestingly, his work is inspired by Jazz, surrealism and abstract art. 

Takeaway - O'Hara wrote many poems to Ashbery, his friend of 20 years, whom he affectionately called 'Ashes'. This one was penned in 1954, and here he imagines them both reading this together like a pair of ancient Chinese poets. 

20. Keats - quote on Poetry

Context - I cannot stop being inspired by the Romantics, can I? Late night Twitter scrolling led me here. 

Poet - Keats is, again, Romantic. And he propounded the 'negative capability' theory of poets, of which I am such a fan. 

Takeaway - He calls 'imagination' truthful. Can you see how subversive and beautiful is it at the same time?

The next 10 will come up soon :) 

Healing Waters, Floating Lamps - A Review

I have not been writing reviews regularly for quite sometime now, but when a request to review a poetry collection came my way, I could just not say no! The fact that poetry is finding its foothold in the literary world was a pleasant fact to acknowledge. It is still sad, however, to note that among the hundreds of books I have received for review till date, Healing Waters, Floating Lamps is only the second poetry collection out of it! Sad, but I hope that changes soon.

At the outset, let me admit, I had to read this entire book thrice over to get closer to the meanings of some exquisite verses penned by Kiriti Sengupta in this wonderful collection. Even then, my comprehension was woefully inadequate to wade to the depth of each poem. Don Martin's Foreword came handy to pull me out of this conundrum. To understand certain works, the voice of an observer other than the poet/author is sometimes necessary - for he is able to think like a reader does, and hence provides certain inroads into the even very esoteric texts. In this case, Don Martin not only familiarised me to Kiriti Sengupta's literary aura, but also threw light on the way the poems held in Healing Waters Floating Lamps contained layers and layers of meaning.

Coming to the poems, they had a serenading beauty. The imagery concocted by the words was capable of transporting one to a Ganga Ghat, or to the sublime regions of one's consciousness. It is the latter where the poet probably was exhorting us to reach, and to do so, he gave us a very circuitous path to tread on. This path led from unravelling the poems, and then placing ourselves in its context to comprehend the message the poet is trying to spread across.

Apart of lyrical beauty, these poems are also imbued with spirituality - but the kind which everyone can adapt for themselves. Very short, but very profound in impact. Deep, very deep within you lies your God, and in the same regions resides the meaning of life. By encouraging an enquiry into nature and meaning of existence, I believe the poet was trying to egg us onto the higher realms of consciousness. I could be completely wrong here, because, as I did state, even after the third reading, many of these poems and their contexts seemed elusive to me.

This book will not make for a casual read, but will ask you to give it time and attention. If you are ready to lavish both of them on poetry, pick this up. I give it 3 stars on 5.

The Lore of Dungri-Garasiya Bhils

Marija Sres was a name I was not familiar with till about three days ago. Today, three days later, it is a name which has begun commanding decent amounts of respect from me. A religious sister, she came to work with the rural population of India and succeeded in impacting not just the spiritual and economic lifestyles of people by understanding their core problems; but also left an indelible mark on the literary landscape of Gujarat. The doyens of Gujarati literature have themselves acknowledged her genius and genuineness - she carried to the literary domains the legends of tribals and outcastes, about whom, even Gandhian activists shied away from writing. Literature, after all, was an elite, and puritanical domain. However, Marija Sres put in the effort of not only learning Gujarati, but also finding a subject of writing which won her the prime regional literary award.

At a discount fair organized by Zubaan, I came upon this really interesting title - "First Their Was A Woman, and other stories". Slightly subversive, or dreamily assertive - I could not decide. Centuries of religious instruction would have ingrained in us the secondary-ness of a woman's origin. God first created Man, isn't it? The lore of Dungri Garasiya Bhils would differ. The unique ring of this narrative does not end here. Not only did their existence begin with a woman - the procreation and continuation happened without the presence of man. In fact, in the legends, wherever a man is mentioned, he is shown to be deceptive, or silly, or incapable of taking valorous decisions, unless prodded by the female. Such powerful depiction, that even the simplistic manner of writing jolted me completely. 

The all encompassing entity in the tribal culture is Kudrat, who is said to have created Pruthvi first - a female entity. Upon Pruthvi, Kudrat placed a lot of elements to beautify it. The first human to find its way to Pruthvi was a woman, painstakingly created by Kudrat as a Murti out of earth, carved and shaped unto perfection. She was called Sati (root word - Sat - meaning truth). The intrigue in this myth does not end here. When Sati found herself alone, while there were more of other kinds of species, she had an urge to procreate - and this she did with the help of Sapsi - a serpent, and not by desiring a male partner. The Pruthvi, thus, was a woman's kingdom. 

Stories which form a part of tribal orature are not mere instruments of amusement. In them lie explanations for historical changes and sociological connections. In the story of Kava and Kavi, I understood how the naturally more vivacious and energetic female was slowed down using the treachery of beautiful garments and accessories, while she was caught unaware in the web of deceit concocted by male ego. The eternal nature of a woman's love was reinforced in the stories, and adequate light was also thrown on instances where a woman becomes a woman's worst enemy. This, as per my understanding, happens due to the rivalry that economic and social dependence on man bring about between females. 

Because the tribal culture of Dungri Bhils, like most others, was animist since its ancient beginnings, a lot of supernatural instances find their way into the stories. People are gifted with the power of understanding the tongue of animals, and the source of vitality for humans resides in natural elements too. I have a feeling that the hierarchical structure, if any, in these societies would be - Kudrat (Invisible entity), Nature (Visible power), Woman, Man, and rest of the creatures. In a story about crows, the Queen is shown to be assertive and cunning enough to guide her King towards a right decision. In the only story where a King is the Supreme, he is shown to be unreasonable and silly. Snakes and Cobras have been depicted as benevolent and protecting species. 

My favourite stories in the book are two - 

1. Bhaliya and Priya - a love story, which talks of oppression by the King, and then dark, covert revenge by the lovers. Love is the vital force which oppression cannot mess with for long. 

2. Alkhi and Dhulki - a story of sister love, which presents an alternate version to the beginnings of Sati. 

India is a land of such diverse and glorious folk-tales! The more one delves deeper, the more is he surprised with the kind of degeneration that has affected our morality and belief systems. Harking back to animist and tribal traditions is always enriching and endearing in a shocking sort of way. And sometimes, it needs the eye of an outsider to locate stories in a patch of ourselves we forget to acknowledge and appreciate. 

Marija Sres' book is an easy 4 on 5 stars. Thanks to Zubaan for bringing forward this wonderful book to an urban audience.

Kitaabon Sa Rishta - Part III

Woh yaad hai,
Aur woh yaad bhi hai.
Yehi toh ruyon se jhagadta purana sweater bol raha hai
Woh kuchh toh afwaah hai
Aur kuchh raaz hai
Laut-ti sardiyaan aas-paas phusphusa rahi hain.
Sard raatein maano ki yaadon ka kaarvaan hai
Phir chai ke pheekepan ki bhi toh apni zubaan hai
Jo gehri-kaali pyali se jhaank kar
Subah ki kirno par ankhein moond leti hai
Kitaabon par gaadhi syahi bhi ab
Dhundhle lafzon mein yaad sikod leti hain
Aaya toh tha na?
Aake gaya bhi tha na?
Ya is aane jaane ke khel mein
Kuchh toote-bichhde se mel mein
Bas ik chhalava tha?
Pyaar ka dikhava tha?
Kuchh toota dil
Kuchh tooti main bhi
Ek raasta woh dhoondhne aage badh gaya
Ek raasta main takte peechhe chhoot gayi

Picture by Aaqib Raza Khan

PS - This is the third in the series of a 4 part poem. You may read the first and second part on the links mentioned below.

Kitaabon Sa Rishta - Part I

Kitaabon Sa Rishta - Part II

A Starry Sky

An hour ago I cried
At the thoughtless thoughts
Of my mindless mind
And incessant buzz
Of crude connections
Wired and wireless
Which firmed up and fractured
Into a dozen cracks
Now visible in creases
Ageing around my eyes.

Eyes, eyes have water
Not tears, but water
Pure, watery water
Flowing in frenzy
Down and out
As if gravity were a better friend
Than I could ever be
As water flowed out
Memories settled in
Calm gathered,
I scribbled a message of hope
And hope sure is sinless sin.

Sin was it.
To love and be loved.
Then tear and be torn
Into a million stars
Which now light the darkness
Of this ephemeral, and eternal
Existence.

Existence is a starry sky
With dark as its cloak
And night as its cradle. 

Pic Credits - @TheWishingChair

And Then...

And then,

A silkworm cocooned and marooned on a leaf, 

Would know of its power with which to weave,

Silk that would last more than a century,

Silk to change grotesque into pretty.

And then,

A butterfly flapping its large wings vibrant,

Hurriedly pursuing nectar and scents,

Would know of the power encased in its form,

The power to unleash a mighty storm.

And then, 

A man caught unaware in the grind,

Burning within with a will to drive - 

Darkness out and light a candle, 

Would know of the power with which to handle

The desire to change the world as we know,

Into a land where virtues flow. 

And then, it glowed!

Naive in thought, and usage of words, the above poem had to make it here because it was the first time I composed something during an exam! Yes, so, a souvenir from there.

Picture credits - Madhurjya Saikia. I have already told you guys he is a superlative photographer, not something to forget. 

Let's Grow Up Together

Dear PACH,

Can we call it the best group picture, like ever?

You're growing up into a terribly demanding kid. Kid, yes. You're that insistent, even nagging, and you cannot, just cannot stand any lack of attention from those who nurture you. I am a case in point. At the conclusion of your tenth edition, I had made a promise to myself, that for about a month and a half, I will maintain a safe, sane distance from you. But then, you crept into my dream, as a definite vision of what could a perfect incarnation of yours look like, and I jumped right back in. You see, I like holding your hand and leading you there, there where we all imagine you should be. I am privileged you grip my hand right back, and trust me. And then we travel together, in a caravan, of course, of a growing urban tribe of poets, and arrive at surreal junctions like the one which just went by. Lets talk a little about it to each other, shall we?

I was talking about you to Navin ji the other day, and one thing we concluded was that your setting this time was impeccable. Karan Bhola and Cheistha Kochhar need to be thanked for allowing us to meet you in the amazing, pristine, beautiful Sri Aurobindo Centre for Arts and Communication, which also serves as the Young India Fellowship Programme campus. It was green, and of course, that made our already hyper, young environmentalist, Aavika, chirp even louder with glee. We expected it, of course. That is one of the cooler things about you PACH. Your family has members who are known by their distinctive traits, distinctive preoccupations, distinctive inspirations and styles and perspectives on life - but they all seamlessly blend together to make you into the vibrant tapestry of gem-like thoughts. Hell yes, you're studded with all precious, not semi-precious, ideas, which are brought to table by people who dwell on comics, superheroes, first crushes, unrequited love experiences, nature, creatures, languages, family, bonds, individualism, devotion and innumerable other incongruous, yet complimentary motivations. You, its all you PACH. 

When we invited you to take it all out, and how you obliged us! 

Do you know the best thing about being where we were? The fact that we were under an open sky, not bound by any space. I could, for once, see poets relax, find their own comfort zones, walk around, freshen up their thoughts, loosen up their bodies and drink in both the chill and the sun with equal alacrity. May be you should always call us to places like this - which are free, so our thoughts could travel free. Well, poetry is a medium of travelling, to distant lands, to hearts of people - and this, of course, I learnt from Ekanksha, in an exquisitely worded introduction. Oh, introductions are the special things about you. People like talking about themselves, we love hearing about them - it all just adds up perfectly. PACH, perfection is boring. Don't be perfect - just always be better than what you were the day before. It has kind of been the trend so far, so, lets not pressurize you in that direction. 

The beautiful amphitheatre of SACAC

Three huge paragraphs, and I have not even arrived at the point, the pivot, the peak, the prime reason why this PACH was a touch above from the others. Actually, leaps and bounds ahead of all previous ones. This reason is a name - Ashok Chakradhar. A poet who is an institution in himself. While anticipating his arrival, we were hoping to meet a celebrity, one who would enamour us, meeting whom was what our collective dreams were made of. However, the actual tryst with him proved to be astonishing and humbling, both at once. In him, we met a listener, a poet and a teacher - not a celebrity. He came, he became a part of you PACH - and he took keen interest in both, knowing you and commenting on you. All good comments, goes without saying. 

Chakradhar sir was eager to listen, laugh and appreciate. Whether it was Govind narrating his love story in broken Hindi, or Dipalie finding solace and silence in her beloved's grace; whether it was Mago's poem which tickled Newton and Einstein, or Anup's ingenious, rhythmic verses giving brief lessons on living - Ashok ji heard them all with interest and enthusiasm. Aditya's ghazal needs no commenting upon anymore. Aavika, our little environmentalist, impressed Ashok ji with her naughty Sunday song, dedicated to an imagined lover. I had a short vain moment when Ashok ji appreciated Daastaan, the poem closest to my heart after 'A Thousand Times Over'. He mentioned something about having tears in his eyes after my recitation, but I will let that pass, lest I not be able to control this pride knocking so firmly on my door. The true show-stealer, however, was this poet who calls himself 'Umar'. His poetic dimension was so well hidden from me, that to this day I marvel and sense disbelief in my heart regarding it. While Ashok ji, but obviously, was mighty impressed with his compositions, I could only let my tears lose in response. His words were filling me up so much, that I actually wanted him to stop! Now that, PACH, is something new I experienced. 

This capture is amazing for the smiles spread all around, especially on 'Umar' sahab's face

Ashok ji himself couldn't hold back, and he recited something in front of us which the world as yet does not know about. I'll keep the specifics of the composition to myself, since all my letters to you PACH are sort of a public affair, but what I will let out is that in my view, his poem was a PACH epic. It was long, but it only kept getting better with each succeeding part. The tone, the rhythm, the vocabulary and the recitation - each was a lesson, each leaving us absolutely bewildered. I felt certain emotions the dictionary has no terms for - and I know for a fact that I share this bewilderment with you PACH. There is no way you do not understand this feeling. Sir was full of grace, humility and the lasting image I will carry of his will be that of a teacher sitting in the midst of 35 odd students, teaching them about Abhida, Lakshana and Vyanjana...

In hindsight, I cannot believe sir gave me a high five for a naive comment during his recitation :)

And the shawl! Looked so perfect on him. You do very well know how much more I want to talk about Ashok sir, but then, there are other poets I MUST make a mention of. 

Dipalie said something very intriguing and remarkable about you PACH. She said, if the air around and within you is canned and carried to different places, will creative genies cast their spells on everyone they come in contact with? Essentially, she was giving voice to the shock and awe I experience when first time poets, or people who are still nascent in this realm of writing churn out completely incredible, top level verses. I mean, so many have come to your gatherings admitting that they never write, of if they write they don't write in a particular language, and that they don't share their creations with anyone or in public. Now, how many of those very people have gifted you surreal words and expressions you want to neatly and carefully compile together in a treasure trove of poems which will undoubtedly leave the world stunned? The number is too good to be true. 

Iti, Ekanksha and Mago - three outstanding poets PACH is blessed with

When we last met you PACH, people shared too much. Right from the beginning, where Ekanksha put our day long journey on the perfect track, till the very end, by those melodies stolen from Rafi sahab and Jagjit ji's corpus, each moment you breathed, I lived a little more. The Elephant in the Room, by Vaishali, left a giant impact on each heart. Navin ji's reflections on truth, which went from lived experiences, to philosophical abstractions to realistic deconstructions was akin to a compilation drawn from our collective childhood. Jyoti and Anup's duet was soft, lyrical, lilting. Anurag's composition reflected mature thoughts and word usage. Neha's poem, read in absentia, was rich with genuine devotion expressed in unforgettable phrases. Mansi always adds that spontaneity and ebullience to the group. Ghosts of Neha Bawa's past still haunt my heart. Iti, demure and dignified, touched each soul with her ode to the most special, umbilical bond which life grants us. 

In his smart winter attire, the writer par excellence

And, even though I feel out of breath recollecting such vast list of poem, each uniquely special and remembered by me, I cannot help but make a distinct mention of Kamal, whose poem was so amazing, that I cannot even begin to describe it in words. "Hum Aapki Kyun Karein?" is a simple question, but demands some understandably difficult answers. I want a larger world to read that poem, PACH - it had so many echoes which have so far only reverberated within the walls of heart. I invited him as the next guest blogger on Nascent Emissions - I think he will agree. 

The photographer-painter-poet

All these, each one of these, make you so special. PACH, you cannot be a lifeless concept. You are growing, one meet at a time. The pace of your growth has been scary, but hey, some crazy magic works here, remember?

I want all this love, disbelief and fondness to grow, as you grow. I want myself to grow, as you grow. You keep acquiring newer meanings for me, dear PACH. Its an enormously satisfying, calming feeling I am blessed with in time present. 

Winters are here. Let's promise each other some warmth and some awesome balmy days we spend holding each other's hands. 

With love and bright hopes for future, 

Saumya 

PS - I have to admit, that at times, so much happens during a single PACH meet, that I find myself incapable to registering and processing it all. It is for this reason that writing these letters is so important for me. This is where it all sinks in. This is all like being in love. For so many of us.

In the subtle glow of setting sun...

Chhupana Seekh Liya

Kal raat, os giri thi mere aangan mein

Shabnam mein dubki  lagaaye maano gulaab jagmaga raha tha

Nange paaon baithi rahi, use takti rahi

Woh khush tha, ya boondon ke peechhe akelapan chhupa raha tha?

Kal subah uthte hi, tumhe nahi sataaoongi

Yeh khayaal jo adhpake se hain, tumhe nahi bataaoongi

Laal rang ko andhere se ladte jo dekh liya

Khush hoon, ki ab maine chhupana seekh liya

Phir kasa hua man aur aawara kadam

Bistar ki or nikal pade khud hi, narmi ki lalsa liye

Wahaan bikhre kambal ke jagah

Parchhai dikhi tumhari, aur ekaa-ek kadam rok diye

Jaao, kambal tumhara, tumhari neend bhi zaroori

Main simat jaati hoon zameen par, chhod baatein adhoori

Parchhai se na aankhon ko na baaton ko, bas ehsaas ko jod diya

Maun man, aankhein nam, aur maine chhupana seekh liya

Subah laga, baadal the shayad baahar

Akdi, pareshaan kamar ko sambhala, bhari ek sust angdaai

Kohra mila phir kamre ke hi andar

Dar toh laga tha meetha sa, par tumhe samjhaane se katraai

Ab subah ki kadvi coffee  mein apne raaz ghol deti hoon

Man khatta hai zara, yeh cheeni se bol deti hoon

 Raat ke khwab, subah ke khayal, din-din ghat-ti hichkiyaan,

Meri hain, tumhari kyun? Ab maine chhupanna jo seekh liya

Veeran nahi hai sheher mera

Yahaan gham aur khushi ke mele bunte hain kai kahaani

Palon ki ginti rukti hai kya bhala?

Baatein banti rehti hain, tum ehem samjho ya bemaani

Pichhle roz maine, bhoori chidiya ko sataya tha

Us-se pichhle din, kuchh gehnon pe dil aaya tha

Kisi bhoole-pehchaane shaqs se baazar mein takra gayi

Bachpan ke kisse chale, jinko sunke hasi aa gayi

Akela kala gulaab, do hazaar ka bikta hai

Aur ek mera laal hai, jo ab khaas nahi dikhta hai

Pados wali aunty ki hasi, daayan ko dara de

Par hathon mein swaad aisa, ki roothe ko mana de

Namak sahi nahi ho, toh khaane se kudh jaati hoon

Par ek dost hai meri, jis se namakdaani chhupaati hoon

Kaam mein kuchh uljhi aise, ki dino-din qalam nahi uthaya

Aur diary jab ainthi, toh use choom ke bagal mein sulaya

Yeh chhoti chhoti baatein, yeh toote se kisse

Chhupa bhi loon, par hain toh zindagi ke hisse

Tum bhi ab kisson mein ho, waqt ne yeh tohfa diya

Tumhare kisse tumse kya, ab khud se chhupana seekh liya

This gem by Afremov is called 'Expectations of Love' - now, how interesting! 

PS - 

Ankahe ehsaas laal os mein pighal gaye

Ik atki si soch hai, woh batana chahti hoon

Ki jo baat tumse na kahi

Ab khud bhi bhool jaati hoon. 

Anamnesis

That morning was weird and nice
For then stars sparkled in clear, blue sky
When water ripples resembled smiles
And rushing winds in ecstasy cried

I felt a prickly chill somewhere
Looked and smiled at arms left bare
Palms outstretched still catching rain
Collecting pearls to lose them fain

And then his words echoed and shined
Like lashing on the shores of my mind
The mind left numb to chill of dew
The mind dancing to a gay heart’s cue J

I picked and sifted past night’s memories
Meandering through that bag of stories
I let his laugh ring high and pierce
The morning calm on which I perched

A voice not deep, but rich, and foul
A moment grave, then shrill and loud
But that did cast exquisite spells
By uttering words which made hearts melt

That morning, stars watched me over
Invisible, yet, in sleepy eyes they shimmered
They lay in my lap, I still looked up
I looked up and guessed, I fell in love.

I fell in love sans self or pride
I fell in love with eyes open wide
I fell in love not thinking of gains
I fell in love while shivering in rains

I fell in love with the mirth he gave
I fell in love with the anger I hate
I fell, and fell, sans fear of hurt
I fell in love with him, his words

Postscript

I fell in love, like it’s here to stay
I fell in love, but it’ll go someday 

Postscript 2 – I have come to realize in life, that love should never begin at admiration. However, observe that this caution is coming from a girl who uses dawn as her blanket for dreamy slumber. The idea behind stating this fact is to let you all know that when it comes to emotional adventures, I have always thrown caution to the wind. I wrote this poem under the starriest skies of imagination, only wondering, if true, will I be as giddy and happy? Some things in life are best left confined to the canvass of imagination, for those thoughts are pretty, precious and fragile. Reality is the spoiler always, isn’t it? And so, the Bard, in Midsummer Night’s Dream, has this to say about ‘Love’ –

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,

And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

Picture Perfect - December

I know its a little early for this post, but the above picture left me so excited, that I had to share it on my blog, as soon as I could. This was taken on a chilly Delhi afternoon in Aurobindo Market areas, where the flower vendor was still putting his shop together, and was kind enough to let two mad women get themselves clicked in the company of his beautiful flowers. The other mad woman is my friend Neha, who has been complicit in most of my crazy plans in the past few months. You will find her picture below.

There is another reason why for me to have put this picture up. A dear friend of mine, Gopan, found this picture inspirational enough to convert it into a Christmas gift for me. In a beautifully crafted mini-story, called "Memory of a Winter Morning", he has inserted this picture to add a visual glow. And, to be honest, with the story about a girl who sold flowers running in the background, I think this frame looks a lot prettier. A heartfelt thank you to him. 

To all readers of my blog, a Merry Christmas! You all deserve a special thank you for being with me on this journey upto a lakh views. I usually give you all flowers when I need to express gratitude. This time is no different. Roses, gladiola, lilies, carnations - look to my left and take your pick. Thanks for dropping by and leaving your valuable feedback. It feels nice to know that whatever I write is not for nothing, that there will be people who will read it, and also, perhaps, get back to me on it. You make me want to continue writing. Thank you all so much. 

And here is my pretty friend, with more flowers - Neha!

Risks and Passions

Skirting the truth, I skipped around the beach

“Water’s dangerous”, chirped many a noisy beaks,

“ ‘Tis cold and deep and dangerous and unkind,

Stay away, little girl, oh you juvenile mind!”

The endless skies were my heart’s delight!

“Soaring too high, beware of the Sun’s might.”

“Bask if you want, but from a distance.”

Here I stood dejected, at the edge of a rigid fence.

The glory of night, was only despised,

Warned, I drew away, scared of horror-filled cries

"The home of haunted", did have a mystic touch

The dark was hailed as abode of forbidden lust.

Tempted to step over, needing that one prod

Mired in wonder, did I actually need a nod?

He had to come, and come he did,

Filling me with beauty, dispelling all myths.

He came bathed in the crystal ocean,

Luminous, with softness of rising sun

Descending from a beaming unicorn,

Whom glittery jewels of the night adorned.

We allowed the waves to caress our feet,

His hand reached out, to steady my wobbly gait,

The water was warm, not a prickly cold,

Danger stood afar, my heart was in his hold.

The balmy sun sent out its love,

I and he basked in its mirth.

Together we rode on the stream of air,

Plummeting down? No longer a fear!

Night came again with its horrors and charms,

Nervous and cold I stood in his arms,

The cries I heard were of my own ecstasy,

In pleasure and passion now lay my dark fancy.

They all say love comes with its risks. They further color it with forbidden hues. But each of you who has experienced it knows the joy which only true, rich, passionate and intense love can give you. Throw the stereotypes in the ocean. Go out, immerse yourself in love and feel it to the fullest. A morning walk on the shore, hand in hand, talking of  nothing in particular and yet conveying a lot is the perfect start to a lover's day. A night, filled with emotions shy of daylight; the dark giving cover to two souls trying to become one is the perfect end to a day spent loving and living. And as John Donne puts it, when you wake up the next day in your lover's arms,when it is The Good Morrow, you will find your entire world having come alive in that one little room you share with your beloved. 

Don't be shy. Love is all there is.