Iridescent dreams, technicolor on a blue black stage...
Soaring heights, endless depths and miles of nothingness,
a billion beautiful images, flash past, excite and engage,
Morphined away from what's real, the mess....
Wake up to what you face, a struggle and a bag of lies,
a daily sickening rigmarole, a hypocrite's paradise,
A mind numbing, breath choking closet of ice;
Curse the day fate rolled that decisive dice.
Written on sunday, may 10, 2009.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
An incoherent whine of an incompetent existence.
From the angst driven recesses of a much troubled mind,
fire red passions mangled to an ice blue hue,
ill-formed emotions peek out in search of expression,
to escape the bars of a comfortably numb heart.
Solo strings of an unaccompanied violin,
eke out a tune to pierce the eternal silence,
of a love never found, hope never lost,
orchestrating its symphonic fantasies.
A stab straight to the center of the heart,
the gushing blood, the blinding pain,
evidence at last that life still lingers,
a chance to scream out a billion unsaid emotions.
Written on saturday, may 2, 2009.
fire red passions mangled to an ice blue hue,
ill-formed emotions peek out in search of expression,
to escape the bars of a comfortably numb heart.
Solo strings of an unaccompanied violin,
eke out a tune to pierce the eternal silence,
of a love never found, hope never lost,
orchestrating its symphonic fantasies.
A stab straight to the center of the heart,
the gushing blood, the blinding pain,
evidence at last that life still lingers,
a chance to scream out a billion unsaid emotions.
Written on saturday, may 2, 2009.
To H
You,
the recluse, the shy one, the one with a lot unsaid,
the one deserving of love of the right kind;
an online human connection, that neither ever fathomed,
a long walk at night, a night spent on a mountain;
through streets narrow and wide, we walked,
savoring the sights, sounds and tastes of a place we hold dear;
an oriental adventure took you far, to a land of wonder,
thousands of words traveled cyber highways to bridge the gap;
and we held hands long-distance.
the weight of a grown man sits on your shoulder so lightly,
And it is my wish for you, never may worry crinkle that forehead,
and never may that dignified and soft spoken demeanor, flounder.
hope love walks with you, and diffuses its charm at every step.
And I be a spectator, to the story of your life.
Written on Monday, November 15, 2010.
the recluse, the shy one, the one with a lot unsaid,
the one deserving of love of the right kind;
an online human connection, that neither ever fathomed,
a long walk at night, a night spent on a mountain;
through streets narrow and wide, we walked,
savoring the sights, sounds and tastes of a place we hold dear;
an oriental adventure took you far, to a land of wonder,
thousands of words traveled cyber highways to bridge the gap;
and we held hands long-distance.
the weight of a grown man sits on your shoulder so lightly,
And it is my wish for you, never may worry crinkle that forehead,
and never may that dignified and soft spoken demeanor, flounder.
hope love walks with you, and diffuses its charm at every step.
And I be a spectator, to the story of your life.
Written on Monday, November 15, 2010.
To DP
A day in the A-Z, fresh in my memory,
too early to be up, for you, that was life for me though,
a half-sleepy, half-unsure look, is he a good mentor, or devil incarnate, maybe;
that was my introduction to you.
soon you were sandwiched between my long term neighbor and me,
and we were to be the three not-so-little “performers”!
we worked till our asses shone and laughed till it hurt at all the right places;
understood it was “forever and always”, and was never “too late to apologize”;
drank spoilt slim milk, thrived on green tea, and asked for our extra jalapenos and olives,
slept too little, worked too much, and reached out to our literary oxygen masks;
exchanged intimate secrets on a winding beach pathway,
having come to investigate a lone individual’s sexcapade;
the things a strong drink can make one do!
no more rambling mails to a man we both loved,
no more endless hours of working hard, having fun; me being history;
but,
every little word, every little song, every little moment of wonder,
will keep us entangled, forever.
Written on Monday, November 15, 2010.
too early to be up, for you, that was life for me though,
a half-sleepy, half-unsure look, is he a good mentor, or devil incarnate, maybe;
that was my introduction to you.
soon you were sandwiched between my long term neighbor and me,
and we were to be the three not-so-little “performers”!
we worked till our asses shone and laughed till it hurt at all the right places;
understood it was “forever and always”, and was never “too late to apologize”;
drank spoilt slim milk, thrived on green tea, and asked for our extra jalapenos and olives,
slept too little, worked too much, and reached out to our literary oxygen masks;
exchanged intimate secrets on a winding beach pathway,
having come to investigate a lone individual’s sexcapade;
the things a strong drink can make one do!
no more rambling mails to a man we both loved,
no more endless hours of working hard, having fun; me being history;
but,
every little word, every little song, every little moment of wonder,
will keep us entangled, forever.
Written on Monday, November 15, 2010.
To C (or rather, S)
You,
my carnatic connection,
my German blitzkrieg,
my SUNY selfish gene,
my trainee, in times of excel and ASINs;
my pantry partner, in the times of A to Z;
my movie mate, from curious cases to revolutionary roads,
my telephonic link to mankind.
my strong, independent woman,
my inspiration to laugh at the face of difficulty;
my FRIEND, forever to come.
Written on Monday, November 15, 2010.
my carnatic connection,
my German blitzkrieg,
my SUNY selfish gene,
my trainee, in times of excel and ASINs;
my pantry partner, in the times of A to Z;
my movie mate, from curious cases to revolutionary roads,
my telephonic link to mankind.
my strong, independent woman,
my inspiration to laugh at the face of difficulty;
my FRIEND, forever to come.
Written on Monday, November 15, 2010.
To S or M or C?
You:
my unique wildflower,
my cloud in the sky,
my dance in the rain,
my hand-holder,
my spirit-hugger,
my irritant imbecile,
my two-wheeled charioteer,
my door that’s always open,
my partner in crime,
my nagging inner voice,
my blood-less family,
my love with no lust.
Written on Monday, November 15, 2010.
my unique wildflower,
my cloud in the sky,
my dance in the rain,
my hand-holder,
my spirit-hugger,
my irritant imbecile,
my two-wheeled charioteer,
my door that’s always open,
my partner in crime,
my nagging inner voice,
my blood-less family,
my love with no lust.
Written on Monday, November 15, 2010.
A Silent Death
Buried six feet under, alive;
no one to hear my screams,
as my nails scratch the coffin's door,
and cry their red tears,
I woke up with a start;
It was a dream, after all; or was it?
Real life doesn't seem very different.
Written on Friday, November 19, 2010.
no one to hear my screams,
as my nails scratch the coffin's door,
and cry their red tears,
I woke up with a start;
It was a dream, after all; or was it?
Real life doesn't seem very different.
Written on Friday, November 19, 2010.
The Serial Liker
The posts on my wall,
fear their shady stalker,
for nothing misses his eye,
he is the serial liker!
From fortune cookies, to every new status,
and with a poetic note thrown in-between,
he is there every-time, to make that crucial click,
he is the serial liker!
They may call it like-fixing,
or compete with his endless clicking,
to me he is a cherished presence,
he is the serial liker!
Dedicated to Arindom Mitra, who makes it a point to *like* every post on my FB wall. Written on Wednesday, November 24, 2010.
fear their shady stalker,
for nothing misses his eye,
he is the serial liker!
From fortune cookies, to every new status,
and with a poetic note thrown in-between,
he is there every-time, to make that crucial click,
he is the serial liker!
They may call it like-fixing,
or compete with his endless clicking,
to me he is a cherished presence,
he is the serial liker!
Dedicated to Arindom Mitra, who makes it a point to *like* every post on my FB wall. Written on Wednesday, November 24, 2010.
Pretence
The person that has never been, or will,
the one I was not allowed to shed tears over,
a being of mystery, motives unfathomable,
the one that is there, but never was.
The one who I wanted and needed,
but could not find around,
who led me to probably,
seek it elsewhere.
And you bring around this new being,
a silent, brutal replacement of what never was,
what I had learnt to live without,
and I never get the chance to protest.
If all people are equal
and all emotions worth expressing,
why do mine get so little notice?
I wonder.
I cry to myself at night,
I type furiously;
For what I wrote before,
I had to flush down the toilet.
You are full of your pain,
you have your source of solace;
I have all that you didn’t,
how ungrateful; to complain.
And so I compress it all in,
deep down where you can’t see,
unvoiced words, unexpressed emotions,
devoid of validation.
And no I can’t tell,
I can’t reach out to a shoulder,
and wet it with my warm tears,
unknown is as unknown does.
A poem born out of depression. Written on Thursday, November 25, 2010.
the one I was not allowed to shed tears over,
a being of mystery, motives unfathomable,
the one that is there, but never was.
The one who I wanted and needed,
but could not find around,
who led me to probably,
seek it elsewhere.
And you bring around this new being,
a silent, brutal replacement of what never was,
what I had learnt to live without,
and I never get the chance to protest.
If all people are equal
and all emotions worth expressing,
why do mine get so little notice?
I wonder.
I cry to myself at night,
I type furiously;
For what I wrote before,
I had to flush down the toilet.
You are full of your pain,
you have your source of solace;
I have all that you didn’t,
how ungrateful; to complain.
And so I compress it all in,
deep down where you can’t see,
unvoiced words, unexpressed emotions,
devoid of validation.
And no I can’t tell,
I can’t reach out to a shoulder,
and wet it with my warm tears,
unknown is as unknown does.
A poem born out of depression. Written on Thursday, November 25, 2010.
Farewell, Mothership!
The year was 2008,
With hopes afloat in my heart,
and eyes filled with wonderment,
I walked into you,
to work, play and be history at the A-Z.
For the next 15.5 months,
Too early in the day, eyes groggy in protest,
or late in the night, after my favorite shift,
I drove in and out, under your steady gaze;
working too hard, but having too much fun, nonetheless.
Unbreakable bonds of friendship were formed,
Fiery feuds were staged;
Misunderstandings and making up added spice,
In the cosy cocoon of your embrace,
we lived in you, our second home.
Maybe I took time for granted,
Maybe it was meant to be;
It was soon time to spread my wings,
and fly from the safe nest you were.
A teary mess, I left, that day.
Life sped away and took me along,
Every door I knocked opened,
Everything I wanted, was mine to have,
And yet in times of solitude and deep thought,
I always came back to you, in spirit.
Who was I to know,
that this umbilical cord was intact,
and you would pull me back to you,
when the time was right,
and when I was ready;
A 9 month polka dance, it took,
for me to cross a Lion's bridge,
and stray back into your fold,
Home is, after all, where the heart is.
But it was not to be.
I walked back into your arms,
Knowing separation was imminent,
That though I could always come back,
I had somewhere else to go,
something else to do.
Three long weeks I had,
to savour every brick you hold,
and imprint those memories deep inside;
From culinary chutzpah, to long walks along your veins,
and many a solitary moment spent sitting on a stone bench.
I have had the time of my life,
And have never felt this way before,
And yes, I owe it all to you,
And this is no long goodbye,
It is a promise to be back.
Farewell, Mothership!
A poem dedicated to ASCENDAS IT PARK, Taramani, Chennai. Written on Wednesday, December 22, 2010.
With hopes afloat in my heart,
and eyes filled with wonderment,
I walked into you,
to work, play and be history at the A-Z.
For the next 15.5 months,
Too early in the day, eyes groggy in protest,
or late in the night, after my favorite shift,
I drove in and out, under your steady gaze;
working too hard, but having too much fun, nonetheless.
Unbreakable bonds of friendship were formed,
Fiery feuds were staged;
Misunderstandings and making up added spice,
In the cosy cocoon of your embrace,
we lived in you, our second home.
Maybe I took time for granted,
Maybe it was meant to be;
It was soon time to spread my wings,
and fly from the safe nest you were.
A teary mess, I left, that day.
Life sped away and took me along,
Every door I knocked opened,
Everything I wanted, was mine to have,
And yet in times of solitude and deep thought,
I always came back to you, in spirit.
Who was I to know,
that this umbilical cord was intact,
and you would pull me back to you,
when the time was right,
and when I was ready;
A 9 month polka dance, it took,
for me to cross a Lion's bridge,
and stray back into your fold,
Home is, after all, where the heart is.
But it was not to be.
I walked back into your arms,
Knowing separation was imminent,
That though I could always come back,
I had somewhere else to go,
something else to do.
Three long weeks I had,
to savour every brick you hold,
and imprint those memories deep inside;
From culinary chutzpah, to long walks along your veins,
and many a solitary moment spent sitting on a stone bench.
I have had the time of my life,
And have never felt this way before,
And yes, I owe it all to you,
And this is no long goodbye,
It is a promise to be back.
Farewell, Mothership!
A poem dedicated to ASCENDAS IT PARK, Taramani, Chennai. Written on Wednesday, December 22, 2010.
Aborted Innocence
A teenage virgin, her first kiss, eyes pregnant with hope.
a bright red bite, gift of last night's passion on the bed.
a beautiful bulge, harder to hide with each passing day.
an inch-long scar, the last remnant of a long-gone child.
Written on Monday, December 27, 2010.
a bright red bite, gift of last night's passion on the bed.
a beautiful bulge, harder to hide with each passing day.
an inch-long scar, the last remnant of a long-gone child.
Written on Monday, December 27, 2010.
Time Travel in a Hospital's Physiotherapy Ward
He tottered past me,
down that long corridor,
lined with metallic green chairs.
A book titled "Freedom from helplessness",
A walking stick; his only two companions.
In a white veshti, with a whiter head of hair,
Frail of health, but sure of eye.
As I waited in a gleaming metallic green chair,
for my painful date with the physiotherapist,
He appeared again.
Too impatient to wait for the lift,
he went for the stairs.
the respect his age commands,
made those around,
request him to sit.
As the elevator doors closed,
and I caught my last glimpse of him,
I couldn't help feeling,
that I had seen through a mirror,
forty years on.
This post and the next ones to follow are an attempt to collate all my poetry written in notebooks, in FB notes and other blogs in to one single place.
This poem literally came to mind while I was waiting for my physiotherapy session this evening at a hospital, and I just typed it out on my phone. I love spontaneous poetry.
Written on Tuesday, March 8, 2011.
down that long corridor,
lined with metallic green chairs.
A book titled "Freedom from helplessness",
A walking stick; his only two companions.
In a white veshti, with a whiter head of hair,
Frail of health, but sure of eye.
As I waited in a gleaming metallic green chair,
for my painful date with the physiotherapist,
He appeared again.
Too impatient to wait for the lift,
he went for the stairs.
the respect his age commands,
made those around,
request him to sit.
As the elevator doors closed,
and I caught my last glimpse of him,
I couldn't help feeling,
that I had seen through a mirror,
forty years on.
This post and the next ones to follow are an attempt to collate all my poetry written in notebooks, in FB notes and other blogs in to one single place.
This poem literally came to mind while I was waiting for my physiotherapy session this evening at a hospital, and I just typed it out on my phone. I love spontaneous poetry.
Written on Tuesday, March 8, 2011.
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