death of the poem ...

Yes, I have killed the poem.

It begged for mercy
yet ......

Do not blame me for this, but

blame the outside sun;

why does it have to be so scorching and scalding?

The cruelty of the summer Sun makes me angry.

Do not be upset with my mood-swings,

for it is the lunar tides that is responsible.

And if I appear to be whimsical,

and different from the rest of them, then

blame my zodiac sign and astrological array!

They all have written about you;

the slightly plump one, the one elderly,

the fair skinned one and the one with deep eyes.

They all have poured their passion

into rhymes and rhapsody.

Poems are now nothing unique,

nothing exceptional! It is as if

so many in different bodies

have made love to the same ideas!

So you see, I had to kill mine;

I am sorry but I did not have a choice,

for, I can never be just one among many.

I have killed the poem,

tearing apart the sentences

till the forlorn words got splintered

all around in sobbing bits and pieces.

I have murdered the images and the metaphors

and every simile and alliteration,

till they bleed and become insipid, lifeless.

And then my poem died.

Could you really blame me for this?

For it was not me but my loving passion

that committed the gruesome crime.

a request ...

Falling star,

Would you please cross my path tonight?

I want to make a wish too,

for a moonlit night

and some drizzles,

for another note

and some riot of colors.

I have walked for decades

just because it is a habit,

even though the cruel summer

had made everything barren

and the pent up breath

is jammed in the chest,

I have still carried on, as

that is the ritual!

Of hopes and of dreams,

of love and of smile

what remains now is weariness.

So, falling star cross my path, would you?

It’s time I make a wish for myself too!

I do not want to explore those corners!

I wish to travel the path reverse to nostalgia; 

I am taking medicines not to remember,

amnesia appears to be a welcome stage, now!
My mind is craving for silence, because

everything speaks but they speak only about you.

It’s strange how even fond loving memories

can become ruthless killers!

I run away from my thoughts 

in a frantic blind hurry.

There are corners in the mind

that accumulated small kisses

and warm caresses; a sudden tight hug

and certain passionate depth of eyes; also

a dream and certain wishes.

For safety,

I let small dustballs and cobwebs gather on them,

tiptoeing away from around a distance,

carefully not stepping onto those corners and curves.

I do not want to explore those familiar areas anymore,

It’s as if my life and I have parted ways!

Cancer ...

They loved each otherand they loved so well!

Yesterday, the raindrops fluttered shyly
and kissed the waiting ground.
The deep magenta dome of the sky
was carrying the hidden Sun in its bosom;

the moss green leaf quivered like a bride
as the errant breeze caressed its cheeks.

The morning, as pretty as the melody

of an unsung poem, craved to be one
with the mysterious songs of nature,
being soaked in its velvet soft layers.

I frantically longed to be a part of them too,
for all I wanted was, to be called as beloved
on this Earth.

But alas!

By then,

I had already swallowed your sorrow
and consumed your loneliness.
They had trickled down within me,
slow yet smooth, droplet by droplet,
making a malignant lump in my heart!


And now the wound oozes out puss

scorching and scalding
every other pore.

accepting the award from Jingle; my gratitude.

I nominate - http://www.tingtasy.com/

an encouragement;

heart feels gratitude plenty;

Muse, don't let me down.

Mine ....

Carnivorous love! :P

You are going to be all mine!
I wish to imprison you in my soul,
keep you fettered and never let go.
I want to sting you, hurt you
so that you bear me all over.
I will smear your skin,
imprint myself,
and stamp the moments of mine on you;
I will crush your being and squeeze your essence
within me.
I will keep you caged in my heart
and molest your freedom.
I would maintain you in a temple
where only I can worship.
I will make you my God
whom only I can pay homage to.
My love for you is a roaring fire
running ferocious in my veins.
The thoght of possessing you
keep numbing my mind, drop by drop.
Knitted into my every fibre
igniting an all consuming flame
is an urge to feast upon your love
so that I can live.
I want to bite a morsel off you and swallow
so that I be you.
I would sear your flesh,
pollute you,
scar you,
corrupt you,
infect you
so that no one would want you ever again;
no one would dare to have you;
and you would be all mine and only mine!
and that alone can be my redemption.


Note: The above poem is not about love but a depiction of possessiveness which is almost an obsession, a sickness; with reference to a real life situation. Do take it in the garb of humor.

A dedication ...

We can never be separated;
my tears and I.
She is a stubborn, wilful little girl
always accompanying me.
Sometimes, she is sombre and quiet,
caressing my cheek gently yet persistently.
But at times, she would prefer

to play hide and seek
and teasingly be veiled in the
rhythm of the rainfall or
behind the layers of a vast lonely sky.
Often, she will peep mischievously
from my tea cup or
among the pages of my book,
occassionally, even from behind

the newspaper sheets.
Salty tears often would slip,

drop on my cheek and

plop on the pillow,
unnoticed and unidentified,
and will remain

in dreams and in nightmares.
On certain days, I get disturbed

with her nonstop company
and try to send her away
luring her with promises of happiness,

in vain.
on days barren, I would desperately blink her away
or at dark velvet nights, I would just stare into oblivion
hoping her to just drop and go away.
But she keeps coming back,
stealthily, without any footfalls
into unpretentious poems,
naive thoughts or
unassuming moist memories.
I keep building facets of life,
doing and undoing
shaping and reshaping
the sides and the contours.
and suddenly, she appears again,
in all my efforts,
ransacking like a wild sand storm,
a naughty little girl,
breaking noisily, into splintered glass pieces.
next moment, sobering down,
she will whisper into my ears:
it is dark and lonely,
why don't you say something?
And I realise, she would always be my friend,
unlike the colorful butterfly's fleeting
transitory fluttering,
or the transience of ephemeral happiness of the humans
she will stay with me yesterday and tomorrow,
till death does us apart;
we can never be separated
my tears and I.

So, my teardrop, I write a poem for you,
weave you into a small, delicate verse of mine
and I will sprinkle this poesy on all our open wounds,
soothing them with your comforting dense dampness.

unfinished tale ...

I wanted to weave a fairy tale
capturing thousand dreams
in a few fleeting fragile moments.
But I made a mistake of knitting
my own need into it;
a need like a dark bottomless pit
and I lost my ways inside.
Unconsciously, I tried to fasten

my own desire within, too,

piece by piece, creating a patchwork,
without knowing that the knots and tangles
would keep jutting out
and I faltered and staggered being caught
into those snarling jeering protrusions.
Now, the story is just a few torn strips,
nameless and faceless,
without a beginning and devoid of an end.

Will you come and help me
gather all the lose contours?
You,
who's an old longing
that still runs deep in my chore;
a thwarted desire
that is the genesis of my grief;

an aching need
that flows along my crying arms!
Since how many decades
have I been waiting for you?
I wish to collect a drop of your voice
and a speck of your laughter,
the depth of your magnetic eyes
and that tiny grove of your dimple;
I would collect all of you in my palm
and pour them into my fairy tale.
Only then would the numb ends
of my tale be enlivened,
Only then life would be breathed into my story
that was locked under a sombre silence for years now.
That unfinished story is still drifting in my breath.
Will you take it in your arms,
clasp it to your bosom
and kiss it alive?
I am waiting .....
I will keep waiting ....
till you come!