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Swallow's Delight

Raucous fright spread as far, beasts of jungle, lawmakers of land. What hell broke lose without a prison wall being broken.
A chant of greater mysteries revealed, rests in mind both me and you. Why a sudden outpour of rain or hail make a difference.
Inebriated senses of our commonality, is it true fact so far. Why a sense of new direction offers excitement.
Landscapes of human infirmity asked again a definite question. Do you still have answer to this.
Why it is being deniable to seek? Why? I ask from same. A laughable applause, to self. In each arise in volume, so does swallow's delight.

Note# 2: The Library Thing

I remember how my school librarians used to tell that they were sitting outside in the sun during winters and I should notify upon leaving. They used to have fond of me, the solitary being, who loved to read. The fault obviously was in the books. The whole encyclopedic section, I can remember even today, mesmerized me with beautiful pictures and assorted information. When I look back, I find the forming years are very surreal. It is like Bohr’s atomic model where everything is certain and bounded in law and logic. As life grew on, I realized the critical appreciation is necessary but the uncertainty principle resulted in choosing books of more specific and valid interest, languages and sciences.

The practicality of universe does not bother me and when I think of Paulo’s remark from “The Alchemist”, “When you want something, all the universeconspires in helping you to achieve it”, it makes me laugh. This fictional work is perhaps my favorite among all authors but I happe…

Note# 1: Being Closer to Nature

I may not live at the best of the places but the nature shows its merciful side to me in many forms and at times. Quoting Kashmir or Himachal Pradesh would be an overstatement. I might have said it before, may be in another blog or over a light conversation. My house, more rightly of my parents, resides among the hills on one side like a perfect suspense to the world on the other side and large fields on the west.

Watching sunrise is not only scientifically forbidden but also that in Hindu religion, we observe it as the Sun God. Mostly far from dawn, the earth catches its glow and I silently pass in a corridor with a trepidation in my heart. The sunset is in the open horizon and sets in beautiful hues of the whole spectrum. The moon again shows up near nightfall slowly emerging back from the hills and the moment can surely take one’s heart. Again it is quite religious so I observe it with a feeling of reverence mostly. I try to give it notions of lifting of veil but may…

Note# 0: Haiku For Me

The sky over me is cast with specks of horizontal thin clouds in all directions emerging from a round blue sky over a hill, much like the sunrays of the blue sun. I find from quite some months, I have been observing the beauty of nature more subtly than earlier. What could be the reason. Yes, I started writing haiku few months back and it has changed my world of metaphors, free verse, prose intellectualism and imagery.

It could well be a healing tool. The mind wanderlust can stop right here because you can observe summer and winter solstice without being at equator or hear the chirp of migratory birds without being to any famous marshland or wetland reserve. All you need is to keep your words within the syllable count of minimum 17 syllables and pour your heart and mind in it. When you read out your outburst you can feel how much connected you are with the nature. The deviation in life due to complex worldly situation we learn through newspapers, t.v. or internet can su…

A Constant Martyr

[Winning is not a question when you want to be a creative writer. Those who want to read and write, know this well. Following was one of my poem entries to Rædleafpoetry India 2013 Contest.]



Something cinders constantly in every phase, a season,
an animal or a human body, a subject of commotion,
who is playing a constant martyr to raise ashes.
Between two involuted minds, dependent on each other,
third eye opens, wisely, suspectibly, dispassionately,
commission is on to locate it, under high-profile surveys.
While their bodies prepare themselves in imperial rooms,
decaying philharmonic smells lingers for quick retrieve,
adorning newly furnished walls with proper awards.
Mocking half-heartedly only, the later of martyr's life,
rising from smoke, darken in light, his ashes are scattered,
in valleys, where no survey could follow retracing steps.

I Gave She Received

A timid hand rests over my shoulder,
of my classmate, I asked her so,
her glasses rested on globe, if it changes to be designer,
I got a reason to lend some support, or otherwise find
myself in desolation.
The side of her does not speaks to me since kid,
there is not much to discuss,
grilling my times with boys, pave to provide,
asking for on forums, and help desks, since last she met viral flu,
making her feeble.
It is much time, to devote her a shrine,
but she chose to be my dear, no, side,
cannot call virus good and bonds made, seeing her pale face,
a soft place in my heart, is due to reveal from sheets,
I gave, she received.

Winter Forest

Is this the summer fire that has enveloped the hill forest? It appears dull green.
In early frost, only the silhouette of various trees on the top brim of mountain seems to fill it.
My trips back in summer and some in rainy season suddenly run in flash before me.
These mountains from far entice me so much and always when I went, it would be soot covering
my clothes or mud. I do not know what it holds for me now.

My Poetry Experiments with Haiku

The problems one face when writing poetry in free verse and also considering haiku writing are abundant. I have been writing free verse since 2011. My use of free verse represent flow of thoughts and less of imagery. There are also concepts and themes associated when writing poems in free verse which translated into various images when I ventured into haiku world.

When I started writing haiku as part of prompt given by Haiku Heights, I followed only 5-7-5 syllable route. It was easy for me to pen my poems in three lines though with efforts.

I came to know about more metrics of real haiku when I joined Facebook group "IN haiku" started by Ms. Kala Ramesh. My first poems in this group were:

rail track
signpost on square
I try not to look

splashing waterfalls
cut noise further
I standing on bank of river

I used too many images, almost one in each line, overburdening it and leaving 80% on reader to interpret it!

Haiku is a Japanese poetry form in which using not more than two i…

A Knife Sharpener

This afternoon I heard as I woke up from nap
a call by a knife sharpener riding on bicycle
"get your knives and scissors sharpened."
Turn of events were bad some weeks back. My friend at city
called me to tell a murder in vicinity in broad daylight.
Terrified I equally, how dissimilar world do I live,
should I now adopt a veil for eluding to understand
much. Studied together in city, fates were not sealed forever.
She went for job while I married and settled in village.
Today, I cannot share this story with others and
at same time get my knives sharpened while I believe the latest
update since last we met. Fatefully surrounded by more
similar tools and my life without them cannot easily spend.
Slowly and slowly so easily it went scraping off
the uneasy parts of our bond and to erase off,
what left not there, a plain thought.
I have some knives still to get sharpened and better
I am off till to the next neighbor he is stranded.

Haiku 7

summer delight my wildest dreams under a shady tree

The Dawn

Before arrival of morning newspaper,
I often get up to noise of
dawn; adrak tea smearing somewhere.
Unguided eye observes a ritual
through ventilator of lower
storey; ringing of mild bell reaches here.
Signboards flash bright red,
and street lights glow orange. The first
sun rays strike sipping my morning tea
in time as I brush up the dawn.

My Poetry Experiments with Free Verse Part II

My two poetry books markedly show free verse. Below I am discussing how and why I inclined toward this form.

Straight From Life consists of poems partially rhythmic in nature but full of thoughts. Consistently it is the flow of thoughts that provided rhythm to poem and sometimes without intention it starts to rhythm with use of similar end syllables.


Extracts from poem "My Journey", one of poems in Straight from Life:



My Journey For all my efforts I felt anchored, my ship never sailed more than a mile. A little silver lining over a sky, I took my steps in weird world outside. Ways were curious of this mankind, I endeavor to carve a niche in this clime. I honestly can tell I failed more than twice, I hated myself for being inutile.
In this poem, there is resonance in second line of each of two-line stanza. In this sense, it is in form
x a, y a, z a form.


A second extract, "Problem" in Straight from Life:



Problem Of river dry, hopes still lie on small cloud floating above in sky t…

My Poetry Experiments with Free Verse

I started writing poetry in 2011. My intention was not to dabble in verses where rhythm and syllable are involved. There can be reasons behind writing poetry, not limited to expressing your feelings but widely many would claim it as a reason. Every mind has its own rational bend, it could be poetic in nature too.

I also started for same reason and most of times reasons came rushing to me widely based on state of human affairs. I choose free verse as a medium though as my thoughts flowed in my poetry, it became difficult for me to ignore slight rhythm to it. Thus, in some sense my first poetry book "Straight from Life" consists of work under uncategorized poetic form.

In my second work "Our Times," I still insisted on reasons behind various actions and emotions of human life and the effects we become interested in but I kept rhythm out of focus. This work is solely a free verse. Though I do not want to dwell on people reaction to my poems, I wanted to know about t…

Interplay

In the corridors under the shade of your eyes,
what bearings may draw on my heart.
Last fullmoon night, your face shone like being accentuated,
an uninterrupted thought let me had no sleep.
How the day progressed without inkling,
of very presence, of being near you.
What new tidings it creates, unaware
of which you may cast another spell.
Let it be, if it meant to be fate
where joys, sorrows, hopes and wishes interplay.

The Lump

A lump in throat, a handful of kneaded dough, I threw on raised bank of river. Other weaver, sparrow and myna through branches of tree as they will glide will notice this trap and I will be long gone by. The last day an unnerving myna sat there and I took shot of half-flying wizard, blurring my snap. Today I shot their feed among them and with queer sense they flew away. Oblivion to events they may become in some time and as another passerby, morsel by morsel will divide the lump,                            the lump in my throat.

Nothing Best of Worse

In fight of morality and ego, we lost,
some precious gains of times gone by,
some renewed terms of being positive,
seeing better even in worse of conditions.
Eyes see objective struggle of strong winds,
ruthless suffering, presence of scars, decaying limbs,
definition of human where best achieved,
while contorted figures result as means of evolution.
Where will we go in long term, being sensitive,
to pain, struggle, comforts not limited local,
ceaseless efforts to bring it wide, spread around,
distinguish can be made but where are those minds.
To think not above necessity, desperate to learn environs,
need to bring only to surface where required,
before the whole world may be grasped in milieu,
also in total annihilation that results from roots.

Yesterday

I closed my doors to thunderous applause of clouds blackening the sky of its blue.
Freshly grown palm bent to place where it could be cared a broken pot, I desired to surrender.
I remembered ancient folks, warning signals my dog calmed by his dinner bounty in the flicker of scenery since cable was out.
The sounds of falling lose hedges, of attic door, a store basket on shelf patiently drew on me black of night.

Promising City

O, distant seeker! Let me reveal you, a fact.
What you came for here, is hard. This place seems to enchant to stranger and me wholesomely, the foundation of which rubbing bones against stones lay.
On its facade  which is of glass, a proper choice I must say, I see myself as an ant. The trail of workers leaving a scent and for once form a collage with their dint.

Her Life

Red azure sky wanton her fresh spirits,
from already hollow circle that looms large,
dark beneath eyes guide into oblivion,
fresh spark shy to transcend up heights alternatively.

Reclusive soul tepidly crosses a line,
where its last prey seen left a jungle wolf,
reemerged reformed inkling among defenders,
without direction, nonchalantly revoked limits.

Both under moon and stars guiding phenomenally,
with distinct mildness and of provoked gushes,
takes her into a ride of heaven back home,
a different one, with head not high but balanced.

ख्याब

क्या हैं मन में मन ही जाने,
बात किये बिन क्या कोई पहचाने।

जाने कितने सपने बुनने बाले बुन लेते हैं,
और कहीं पलकें समेट लेती हैं सत्य।

कुछ समझ जाते हैं वक्त के नये मंजर,
कुछ चल पड़ते हैं उस डगर पर अकसर।

कह दे जो बात हर्ज क्या हैं,
पता लगने में अनिर्णीत की हद क्या हैं।

ख्याब आँखे देखे वो पूरा ना हो सके,
हर हाल में मुमकिन हैं जो व्यक्त करे।

Conversation with a Vegetable Vendor

My neighbor who is working with a social organization happen to accompany me to sabzi mandi on last Saturday. Her husband usually does this task but being out-of-station, she opted to accompany me. Naturally, she does not knew anything about prices and even seasonal vegetables. Cooking is just another activity for housewives but among professionals who choose different lifestyle, it comes with exotic and unseasonal happiness.

On the way, she consistently is asking me to guide her through the purchases and not leave her at any vegetable stand. It is my difficulty at this time because thinking about my budget, I often take some usual vegetables such as potatoes, onions and tomatoes from farmers sitting at the behind of the standing stalls which themselves are bit pricey. I am wondering at this time, how I will be able to convince her to buy from them as her husband would not have ever visited them. One thing about men is no arguments and ease of service. Women, however, l…

Make A Wish

She is gathering her articles to go for a weekend meet for first time tomorrow. She has just joined a blogging platform which calls for a blogger meet once or twice every month. As she is new, she decides to go in one so that she could mingle with other co-bloggers. Writing has been her passion. All the day at home, she could fill at least her diary with one of the anecdotes. It is not impossible for her to be a good blogger. The blogger meet is on the topic “Women rights” under which articles are invited for a renowned women rights’ organization, “Mithi.”

While this going on, she also became part of a group which subsequently resulted in friends’ request from co-bloggers, all women. Everyday, she could log on to Facebook to see the latest updates by them after her husband goes off to work. Her pen seems not so strong when it comes to putting latest statuses. Her friends are quick and witted. They talked about latest jewelry, fashion shows, relationships, queer topics re…

Lethargy

He secures International borders
setting never crossing  limit.

*

She blows air through pipe
ignites firewood, preparing morning meal.

*

Husband goes to office sometimes on meal without salt,
but happy with accompanying fruits and snacks.

*

Wife laments at home for forgetting adding salt,
shuffles whole day things to place.

*

Children grow up, every day new demand,
leave things haphazardly and behave much wisely.

*

Internet displays help forums, consistent
large data on new problems, leaving confused.

Untruth to Truth

Do not run on dry sands of dessert
hearsay spread slowly, there is a way to do it
these hot winds are revolution in seeking
which you would not be able to stand
from untruth to truth.

Do not seek forbearance in foreign
customs will set slowly, your soul is already ruptured
these rules will defeat your purpose
which unable you for salvation you seek
from untruth to truth.

Spreads in innumerable branches when you escape
from tentacles of ethics, while seeking
a nourishment of soul undecided it lays in shadows
of truth. Decide which way is good, sticking to roots
from untruth to truth.

Ceasefire Violation

LINK

A dwarf incarnation when covered whole universe
in three steps, Vamanadeva from Bali maharaja
unstimulated the need for selfish motives and desires.
Today we feed on fruits of non-violence
plucking from branches of tree called Mahatma Gandhi
in lack of whose wisdom Bharat was subdivided.
First incursions in Indian state ended up with 
loot wealth and prisoners of war, greed later
extended to lands and ruling power.

Today as principles are laid to fight
anarchism over democracy where
does Pakistan stop, not consider it a stoop.
Go away, khakis in greenish brown and beret cap
and show true worth of your valor
in saving lives of your people and living civilly.
If your guns are starting to get rust
devise some new games to entertain yourself
learning how to gauge between enemy and defensive
soldiers in emerald brown and guns in place.

Are you scared of mere a sight on borders
if not wall be raised, if raised
marks anguish by people who
have limited foresights and lack of horizon
gives them pain and feeling …

She is Back

Yes, she appeared like someone
I know for years, same gaiety
resonated through her, her ear danglers.

As she floated her head in air,
playfulness seem echoing in my heart,
my eyes following her.

Joy flowed through half-a-dozen bangles
her presence made unusual noise
yes, she is back in local quarters.

Same infectious welcoming smile,
sharing things and mingling with people,
she walks like floating in clouds.

Done, some days will be spend good,
coming with excuses and fables to get
a little of her attention and a return token.

Faraway Song

Far everyday, a song could play peacefully,
in noise of traffic, it would seem smooth,
providing a different rhythm, unintended.

A passion for someone, has become a voice,
of mingled tones, unlayering of characters,
what magic a music can create, impressive.

By evening music from coffee shop nearby,
will play another song eclectic, to which,
city people will dance till night, together.

The day the music stopped suddenly,
a little grim acted like a stone dropped,
in serene lake of city, unfortunately.

The electric song continued to play,
people came and gave applause to,
everything being played, danced whole nights.

Music they missed, made them crazier,
not wise, all remain on their souls to carry,
in as strange place where no one really plays.

Winged Birds

O winged bird! I fancy your flight,
as you jump from bush to bush,
encircle in abandoned corridors,
I wish to be friends with you.

In this balmy summer noon,
I know you would like some shade,
somewhere to rest in day,
cool with hay on side and happy to find some grain.

Hiding behind curtain door,
waiting for you, your chirpy sound,
happen to close door as you come fly,
so small, harmless in my hands.

I loved you I know,
that is why, I choose to color as I may,
red I will paint to spot you easily,
distinguishing as you hop or fly.

Alas! this effort to be with you over,
as soon as you find some puddle,
splashing in it with your fellows,
you soon forgot me, your bond.

Go away, winged bird!
now will see you gliding in sky.

Limelight

When a portrait of self hang over the interior walls,
where one took off a divine poster, shed it to store,
I realized I own no limelight.

When over the stove, a coffee is prepared,
replacing a fresh lassi with foam of rich cream,
my thirst is over, my tears well up.

When seeing my naked arms extending from half sleeve,
she pulled her pallu around,
I became embarrassed, tried to concentrate.

When they pulled curtains of their adjoining rooms,
of earlier open doors, nothing amiss,
I must have not properly coordinated.

I realized I own no limelight.

सोन चिड़िया

बाया या सोन चिड़िया किकर के पेड़ पर,
खाती है दाना, डर जाती हैं आवाज़ से,
हरयाली घास का बिनती घोंसला,
और खुश करती अपनी मधुर आवाज़ से।
धीरे धीरे जाना उस राह से,
और दे आना दाना कभी कभार,
रहने देना घोंसला, तोड़ना मत,
चिड़िया के बच्चे, छोटे छोटे रहते है अंदर।


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तुम्हारे कदम

देखना हैं तुम्हें हाँ, झिलमिल सितारों में,
पहले से वो कदम, मुझ से परे यत्नों के।

नन्हीं सी मेरी परी, आज भी नहीं बड़ी,
मैनें जो संजोए सपने, पल बदले नये नये।

मीठी सी धुन तेरे कंठ की,
जो कांपे डांट से, याद हैं मुझे।

उजले हैं तेरी आस्थायों के दीये,
डर के सिमट जाये, ये गम नहीं।

मुस्कुराहट जो समा जाये पिघला जाये,
कभी छाँव ना पड़े कठोर मन की।

हाँ, देखना हैं तुम्हें ऊँची उड़ान भरते हुये,
बढ़ाते हुये तुम्हारे स्वाभिमान को।

बच्चे बड़े हो गये

बचपन बीता,खेल खत्म,
पढ़ाना, लिखाना अब यही यत्न,
रह गया माता पिता के पास,
अब बच्चे बड़े हो गये।

फोन जो आये दोस्त का,
कह देना पापा नहीं हैं घर में,
मम्मी बैठी देखती रहती,
अब बच्चे बड़े हो गये।

टीचर से कहना, पापा गये बाहर,
नहीं आ सकते, पेरंट मिटिंग मे आज,
जो चढ़े बुखार बच्चे को दे दवाई, भेजे स्कूल,
अब बच्चे बड़े हो गये।

कूढ़ फेंकते देख मम्मी को पड़ोसी के आंगन में,
नहीं किया हर्ज कागज़ का कर्कट,
बच्चे ने खुले मैदान में फैलाने से,
अब बच्चे बड़े हो गये।

हर बहस सीधी नहीं, ऊँची आवाज़,
लड़ाई, झगड़े आम, बताने को कोई बात,
बच्चे भी आते घर में, लड़ के मैले कपड़ों में,
अब बच्चे बड़े हो गये।

Yet Not Suave

Image Source:

On a withered tree, a leaf still hangs,

of era when high storms rose,

engulfing many uproot, still stands,

on hollow land.


The leaf which carries spores,

shed finally did downstream,

along passed life, as a chore,

of time gone by.


Life, a part of which is peace,

unwavered, enduring past mill,

no small course, continuing tease,

where it lands on hill.


Battered on the strong face,

yet not suave, got imprinted,

forming a story of lifetime,

yet to be discovered.

And I Blushed

This post is adjudged WOW post by Blogadda for theme "And I Blushed" on July 19, 2013.


Sitting on side with ebullient of our clan,
not far from this space, one could tell,
each one in their designer best,
while henna hands comply with infectious laughter,
playing around merrily.

In backdrop of music, flowery swing soared in air,
taking turns with fun, girls stride,
like fairies magical are they,
something amiss, jingle to my anklet,
to lovelorn heart recusing away.

Blended in thoughts of effusive affection,
not every day is as lovely as today,
between palm leaves of corner tree,
constant gazing eyes of my lover,
suddenly I noticed, and I blushed.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

To Live

Eyes closing heavily, feeling sleepy inside, open the eyes look the wonder through the window outside.
Two parrots just flew on the horizon of sky, set your thoughts free, say this moment is my.
Peaches are hanging from branches of a tree, nature has bestowed its beauty for you to see.
Tulips are swaying in a garden below, each one is meant to bring your face a glow.
To kiss the sky, kites are flying high, telling you this is the time to live and not to die.

सफर ये तय करना

जो भी था तकदीर में मेरी,
मैंने वो पा कर लिया अपनी हिम्मत सें,
औरों के जख्म ना भर सका,
तो अपने दर्द का साधन खुद कर लिया।

आज बैठा हूँ मैं फुरसत से,
कई मुद्दतो के बाद,
तो भी लगता हैं कि मैंने क्या कर लिया।

अपनी किस्मत की लकीरे,
बदल ली वक्त के साथ,
और रह गया तन्हा अपनी खुशियों का सिलसिला।

हैं कि इतनी मेहनत तो,
हर किसी की नेक हैं, चाहे कुछ गरीबी में,
कुछ अन्जान सम्पत्ति में।

यह भी हैं कि कर्म मेरा,
कर्म तेरा हैं अलग,
पर जो मैनें लाभ तेरी अपेक्षा का उठाया।

अभी बाकी हैं सफर ये तय करना।

न्याय के प्रकार

समय की पालकी में ये मन,
कितने सपने संजो कर रखता हैं,
पर कैसे विलश्रण हैं न्याय के प्रकार।

मन के पार, उपर की तह के पार,
सिर्फ कुछ रह जाते है विलक्षण उपहार,
मुशिकल है तय कर पाना किसका हैं अधिकार।

सीमा के पार, ठहरा नहीं जा सकता,
आँखे फेर चले या मान अपनी हार,
उल्लेखों से, क्या दें जाये हे राम की तार।

यहीं उचित हैं हर इच्छा के साथ,
कुछ होते है कर्तव्य अन्जान जैसे,
सौंप पाना सुख, समर्पण कर सके तो कर।