Faith

The poem is dedicated to my DAIMOKU - CHANTING - 
NAM MYOHO RENGE KYO

Written for Jingle poetry potluck

A ray of white light and a galloping horse

from nowhere,

piercing eternity,

from within,

is searching for my soul,

to touch my inner core,

from inside the cocoon of conceit.

I must stand still and let it find me.

I stand in the complete eclipse,

in inky darkness,

I stay in the frozen cold,

among frost bites,

yet a strength

to bend down and collect

and gather afresh

those fragmented dreams

and bruised hopes

that were lying strewn on the ground,

unattended,

and stride steadfast

to cover that extra mile

lighted with a new found faith;

a gift

that helps refute death and

see strong promises in disease and decay;

a gift

that renders vision in the cataract eyes and

is perceived in the breathing lung of a new born.

Now,

I shall assemble my scattered self
 into my single self.

Now,

I am alive.

So I believe.
and

I believe.

So I am alive.

Time

written for ONE STOP POETRY

Time is a solitary wanderer;

he moves ahead

for days and for many seasons,

carrying some grain and

a few leaves, kindling and twigs,

a few heaped up years,

along with a mound of soil,

and some wood for the pyre,

leaving behind only a few footprints.

All that was left was just a few footprints!

Earlier I could hear his subtle footfalls

that vibrated along with

a saga of weeps and whimpers,

a solo tear drop,

also a chronicle of smile and sanctity,

and a vivacious laughter.

I have seen Time come

and I have seen Time go;

he walks alone

with his own loneliness

and the remnants are

the lashing of memories,

and beatings of the bygone,

and just a trail of footprints.

For me and

for all of you,

once again Time has gone by.

Yet again change has won the battle

over permanence.

I love to talk - 9

PLEASANT POBITORA; THE TRAIL AND TRAVELOGUE:

The morning started on a bad note as I woke up with a sinking feeling in my stomach when the gloomy climate and the hazy morning of Guwahati peeped inside my hotel room with a lonely depressing effect. The feeling got enhanced as I heard everyone leaving in a hurry as they were all set for their forest safari. Even the lovely songs that were played from that multi facility cell phone and the hot morning coffee were not enough to pull me out of my so called depression and my so familiar mood swings!

But I guess what man proposes is often that which God disposes, for very soon I had to change my decision and boy, do I thank God for that? The car that was supposed to come for the safari, failed to turn up and it took almost 1 and ½ more hours to make new and fresh arrangements. This time lapse was enough for me to shake myself off from my gloom and low phase and within no time I got ready to join the gang and the warm smile and eagerness of everyone that welcomed me was enough to convince me that I made a right decision.

Soon, we started our journey through a picturesque natural beauty towards Pabitora Wildlife Sanctuary, situated 60 kms away from Guwahati. This sanctuary has a flat land coupled with a gentle inclination in the direction of east to west, excluding the region of Burha-Mayong hillock. We reached the forest rangers’ office through eye catching scenario of hills, landscapes, lakes in almost 2 hours. As we sat in the jeep, all set for our jungle escapade, my expectations were already fluttering and wandering wild for venturing a road, less traveled. :-)

This wildlife sanctuary supports a lot variety of flora and fauna. The main attraction of the wildlife sanctuary is the one horned rhinos. With a lot of anticipation we started our forest trip, maintaining a pin drop silence with only cameras and videos to do the talking. The bitterness of the cold was already less with just a mysterious fog nestling the horizon.

The sight that brought a smile to our lips in the very beginning of our journey were two huge black wild buffaloes among the cows grazing in forlorn pastures. Soon our guide hushed our excitement and pointed at a faraway distance, on a few whitish grey shadows and we realized that we were seeing a family of those famous great Indian one horned rhinos and my thrill just knew no bounds.

Since we had enough time with us we asked the jeep driver to proceed at leisure and moved along the bumpy rocky road and the difficulty of the drive only added to my sense of adventure. Every furlong had to be covered carefully as the path, steep in most places, was strewn with boulders and littered with small stones, which slid and rolled underfoot.

It was the fall time and the trees all around were with grey and pale yellow leaves. The narrow trail, covered with rusty leaves, as well as the path ahead reminded me of the life left behind, the lashing of memories and yet so many more miles to cover, yet so much hope, still so many dreams to pursue!

The silence of the forest spoke in many voices; sometimes it was a strange bird’s twittering, then some alien grunting and suddenly the breeze whispered by and the caressing rustling of the leaves filled my ears. I was amazed to realize that the silence of the forest has its own voice and expressions that in no time transported me into a world of sublimity devoid of the daily drab drudgery.

Surprises weren’t over as suddenly the groaning of the jeep stopped and the guard got alert with his upright rifle and the driver gestured for us to be quiet. In this sudden eerie deathly calmness, there stood this mammoth sized one horned white rhino, looking straight into our eyes, just some 10 or 15 feet away! We were almost paralyzed, rooted to the spot but our cameras and videos clicked away to glory. It was indeed an experience of a life time! Soon after, we were rewarded with the sighting of another mummy-Rhino, with her baby springing and trailing behind.

A jackal with its foxy curious look watched us, sitting right in front of the path as we slowly ventured further.

A while later, as we entered into some more dense growth we encountered with a wild ferocious looking boar but soon there were more colorful pleasant surprises as we saw a large mixed flock of birds with many interesting species. The species included greylag goose, white-necked stork, black-necked stork, spotbilled Pelican, swamp francolin, greater adjutant stork, falcated teal, white-bellied heron, white Ibis, ferruginous duck, etc. and two beautiful deep yellow and indigo blue birds.

We ended our journey in a gorgeous late afternoon light basking in which the forest behind us appeared more mesmerizing. The setting and the landscape was so serene that one can easily be lulled into romantic notion. By then the limbs were sore from a jerky uneven ride but the mind was at peace as the trail of my travelogue carried soothing memories of raw yet divine jungle passion.

Henna on my hand ..

The new Henna on my hands

caressed my palm with golden amber;

it merged with a new-found happiness;

a bliss that I longed for,

which earlier I let go, opening my fists

being at peace with my bargains and losses.

My Henna

told me what no one has.

The warm, vibrant hue, caressing my palm subtly,

whispered secrets of freedom

and laughter and

spoke about a passion

that I never knew before.

My only noun ‘love’ and the only verb ‘to wait’

fused into one with my Henna color.

As I sit here silently;

my silent Henna and I;

we speak volumes

that echo among the forests of time,

piercing the cobwebs of many pale nights.

And then my Henna gathers all my despair

my longings, and

my lovingly crafted love notes

and transfers them into a tiny word

called hope,

which now stands sublime and steadfast

seeking a never-ending forever,

and a permanence.

note: Henna has been used since the Bronze Age to dye skin (including body art), hair, fingernails. In several parts of the world it is traditionally used in various festivals and celebrations.

Loss of Innocence

“Your poems aren’t simple anymore; I don’t enjoy them”

 says he,

I smiled but couldn’t tell him

that the day he had gone,

 he left

 a few smiles

some laughter

a couple of reminiscences

and a tale of innocence

on my courtyard.

Since then I have 

 fumbled around

collecting them,

 gathering them,

bit by bit

speck by speck

to place them in my poems.

In this effort of mine, and

in my struggle to measure the rainfall

that blurs my window,

I kept on disentangling

the trapped lines,

the cluttered limbs of my poem,

to capture his face that quivers in memory,

for just one more time;

I grew weary,

I faltered

in my vain strive to hold onto him,

to untangle and smoothen the lines

that lay jumbled and knotted with his thoughts.

What I didn’t realize is that

life has moved on ever since, and

a pity

I ended up writing words and rhetoric,

so devoid of life,

showcasing unnecessarily

my linguistic expertise;

but to my dismay they remained

one step short from

being a poem

as he had taken away the simplicity

the day he left.

Death BY Dessert

 

an erratic rhyming attempt--- for Thursday poetry rally ....

An Appeal ..

Onion O onion!

I want to empty my soul 

of all dreams and hide within you.

I approached the Moon to take me away

but he did not bend down for me;

perhaps, he doesn’t know how it is to wake up

crying in the middle of the night!

I can’t go back to the mother’s womb,

so I have come to you O onion;

please hide me,

hide me please o onion!

I wish to escape within your pink petals,

in between your onion groove,

sulking quietly in the center,

away from all eyes.

I want your transparent petals

bury me in their bosom,

guarding me layer by layer,

fold by fold.

Help me flee from the

cruelty of memories

in your crystal secret,

let others weep

If they come to undo you and touch me,

keeping me safe 

in the secrecy of your dark belly.

O onion

You have stood for the poor,

now stand for me,

engulfing me in a silence;

Clasp me so tightly 

that I should never see the sky again,

for then,

 I might make the mistake of hoping again!

please hide me,

hide me please o onion

beyond living, beyond dying!

A Writer's Soliloquy ...

The whole kaleidoscope of last year left me with a mixed feeling. I am not sure whether I could call it good or bad. A bouquet of fragrant flowers with a few thorns here and there, a bunch of laughter mixed with some incoherent sobs, some gains, a little losses, deep velvety love with a vivid lining of palpable hatred; everything together engulfed me, leaving me satisfied, pleased, yet wanting a little more, longing for a few more.

The whole year went by, with scripting cursive, sculpting words and chiseling sentences, trying endlessly to rein my storm-wild thoughts and my rainbow-hued dreams that always soar higher and higher, much above, and then keep circling menacingly hovering over like a hunter bird.

Through out the year we kept meeting only in my poems and inside my stories where we were happy despite the oddities of the world. I continued to unload the burden of my psyche in between the fissures and creaks of my writing, in the process, carving a niche, a cozy, loving home for us, silhouetted by the warmth of alliteration and rhetoric prosodies.

At times the day-to-day chores or mundane problems, a vegetable price hike, an angry exchange of words and a lost school note book or a strip of crocin tablet, banality of bills would overpower in the garb of an everyday fiend, challenging the honor of my soul. Yet soon after, just a fresh bout of drizzle or a pale Autumn Moon and a fluttering butterfly or even that bird who visited me on my verandah, the bird who has a green color that resembled a banana leaf, would be enough to put my mind at ease. And then I wrote again; I wrote about you, your love, your anger, your caresses and about the day you left. It is strange how I could never get tired writing about you. It was as if the blank note book in front of me was like a virgin canvas and after I tied it secured on the easel I was ready with my pen to flash and spray all the myriad colors of promises and disappointments, diverse patches and blotches of grief and laughter and once I started, just about anything was possible.

And now at the end of the year, and at the advent of beginning a whole new one, I have decided to stop being perfect. My over anxious nature to put everything in its right place and vacuum cleaned rooms over the years taught me that perfection has nothing to do with happiness. Now the clutter around me along with my open note book and pens and the computer that I so often forget to switch off and fall asleep almost over the key board, my messy room, all together exude a warmth that envelopes me like a soft shawl against the chill winter of the world.

5-7-5 syllabic effort ...

My tryst with haiku

remains a failure umpteenth,

I fret rhythm fall.

I count up and add,

I calculate, aim to carve

a haiku lively.

 I incarcerate

echo of a singing bird,

buzz of butterfly.

I steal a rainbow

from the torn indigo sky

and a laughing heart.

I pour all with love

lexis, thoughts race and fly high

 haiku is born bright.