Saturday, August 12, 2017
Thursday, April 20, 2017
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
words they don’t hear us...pen
Does your
dictionary give you all the help?
Absolutely comes
an answer from an etymologist…
may be, says a
seasoned writer
who cares, sighs
a disinterested observer,
falling
short-claims a lover...
perhaps!
incomplete are
the
words, phrases,
sentences,
foolish attempts
of comical alliances.
Songs stories
and poetic expressions are so
confusing in
nature
most times lost
in their own cultures
wrapped in their
regional linguistic expressions,
unable
to break-free their creators self indulged philosophical retrospections.
they stand no
help to no-one's agonies.
Songs stories and
poetic expressions are bunch of words,
words just words,
caged in dictionaries and thesaurus
used by humans as
they wished, struggling to survive
through
centuries,
words are
just directors’ actors,
color tubes in
the hands of freaky painters
bullets fuming
from a religious jihadist’s gun barrels .
Empathetic words,
if questioned might say, Oh friend!
we never
experience what you go through
we are plain words...we
try hard to understand...but we fail..
just the way you
always did in choosing us or using us.
and when we are served
to you ,
we hardly make sense to you,
and you blame us saying,
utterly rubbish , meaningless senseless .... words.
Twilight Musings... May 18, 2011 at 7:59pm
The evening is so
Gay, Bright & pleasant,
A prompt feeling of
cheer peeped- in through the window.
Lone inside my room, lazing with internet
I felt a sudden
need to write this poem,
Then I said to
myself,
Inside me is also a
Man of energy & commitment,
He would never let
my dark side to swallow this Infant
Poem.
Evening sun,
shining smooth, wished me some luck in my endeavor.
My first thought
was scary, as my creativity always took birth from lonely Musings.
Ideas languished
for years, aged and took the shape of gloom –paintings.
The desire to know
the unknown, always aped an Halloween prank,
By now light dimmed
inside-out.
My restless heart looked
all-around for some source of inspiration,
or maybe an object of creation.
My untidy room cornered
my vision to Essential Picasso
and Betty Edward’s drawing
from the Artist with-in.
Successful artists
annoy me,
Screamed a voice
within. Hypocrisy rules…
Outside my window
by now,
Night showered with
no sight of moon.
The dim thought of poetry suddenly twinkled
and my vision cleared,
The greatest sacrifice that would be needed was to kill the
night,
Night
that turns creative in the hands of crazy artists
melts in the ever burning desires of Lovers ,
Swallows every grief even the death.
Fails me,
And locks me lone in this room,
Lost in recent histories, and disturbing love stories.
By now running out of patience ,
I dragged myself out of couch,
pulled off the rooms
window curtains
and opened the doors ,only to find a Bright shining star raising
high,
Illuminated my heart and unleashed my desires to fly.
Here ,
I end this lazy attempt to create a poem ,build by a
Bunch of chosen words ,and
Sentence myself to peace ,freedom ,and a
Good night’s sleep.
Like Father Like Son May 19, 2015
As I watch my little boy playing with his disco-ball,
I suddenly witness a Déjà-vu
or say, just like a fresh start
solar yellow - orange beams lashes out from his half- open palms
to spoil the preset chiaroscuro of my room.
Nevertheless,
a colossus image dominates my mind space
pain in heart surfaces to central stage,
and taste of tears: the timeless wheels roll-on…
as I travel back through the time ,
I landed in a similar situation, a similar room, similar mood, and maybe similar face too!
here, I stand in the vicinity of a man dark & handsome with rotten tanned teeth,
and an Impeccable smile…
or laughter rather!
His tanned tooth shimmered sharp, and reminded me of the half broken,
evanescent teeth of my son and his impish smile.
My dad’s shimmering smile brought me back from the flashback.
well, nevertheless
This expression of joy, and the worthwhile smile
Both my dad and my son shared,
Spreads out evenly in my heart,
And posed a quirky question
Where Art thou … 
Abstraction
It’s not me, who shaped it,
This is not my thought,
I did not notice when it occurred to me,
I was not given a choice to choose,
I am as naïve as you
I reject all accusations,
I am not the creator.
Yet,
The fact still stands to escape my conscious reasoning.
Yes my friend It took,
The shape of the shapeless desire’
Covered itself with the red herring views,
It also smelled like the smell less stench,
The size was so gigantic and endless,
That it could only be measured by itself.
Oh my dearest, I am so confused,
Lost in my own erroneous expressions,
Struggling to capture you with my derivations,
Shall I now accept you as answers to all my fears and frustrations?
Letting you, to swallow my huge inhibitions,
Leading me from the dark channels to ever expanding and
illuminating horizons,
Oh god!
What a clear confusion,
Cheating of human perception,
An idealistic illusion of a poetic expression,
Above all,
You are the slave’s only aspiration.
Freedom
My friend, You are such an abstraction!
Monday, April 17, 2017
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