“Change is like the water slipping in through the tunnels to the fields, without change there ain’t going to be any harvest!”
There is a world in all our minds where we know the truths…
There is a surreal freedom in our heart.. incantations whispered in fervent tones..
You are the godliness you worship in the holy caves..
To find and string your own strands..They fly in the whirlpool of ripples rising from your epicentre..
To find your heart throttled beneath the sheaths of all that your heart knows.. and doesn’t know..
To find the true destiny of the scarred hope..
Hope who walks stealthily in your darkest shadows..
Hope is the tongue of that loving king on the throne of buried hell..
Warns you of a beautiful death.. Murmuring hoarsely“burn the wooden doors of the great framed arch..”
To find.. find that place.. that place we all want to go to.. ..
All want to writhe and laugh..and dance..and roll in its heated sand..
A craft doorway.. The wooden doorway frames it.. The hell’s haven..
Be forewarned of seeing your pitiful self sculpted on gallows..
Drag your famished body..
Shoot into the orange light…rising heat…fiery flames of love and war..
Of bludgeoned hope.. Ambient dreams.. and rising agony..
And sweet, ravishing, merciless poisonous fruits reaped in lawless love…
Hold your breath and drown forever..It’s the sea of bodies of crippled friends..
Each face a glaring resemblance of your many flesh wounds.. of your many fair colors..
To find the loss that scraped your flesh bit by bit.. To find all that you thought you had abolished…
To find all those brave souls you stabbed with you lust for life…for selfish freedom..For heinous desires..
To find your mind in trampled by one a many hurtling truths of enticing lies..
To see the bundles of firewood you have gathered..
And to see the blood red sunshine you have drawn in that bland…colourless garden of life
Masked tiny creatures carrying trays laden with shells..
Embodiments of prophesied lives lived in and with or without them..them-love..hope..dreams…ambitions..
To find that one creature who might frisk past screeching your name..you must follow the voice..
Chasing with your hands tied..On your knees to reach touch a shell..
And find that one shell that prophecies your freedom from this journey.. as a slave of time..
A voice leads to another voice and another… And you must twist and scatter and disfigure..
But each head that turns to face you… a medusa..
And you must look at it to escape into the next moment..
You are sculpted on the gallows..
To piece all those static bits.. to merge all the stone figures..you must burn..drown and disfigure to find..
To find…to find..to find.. to find…I must go on..to find..
Words drift with the winds, brush past the being,
A hidden creek rises from the cusp of veiled hopes and sanctimonious desires,
An elixir flows enriched with pain, stirred with molten love, drowned in dreams afloat,
A pyre crackles at the cusp fanned by moments, like breath from a flute tapped by the click-clocks,
Winded and dragged on the mount, a storm- silence, a storm-silence, yet the pyre keeps the elixir alive,
A silent creek must whisper in silent tones, silent sounds ought to be heard,
The screams and cries, hurt and wants, murmurs of caution, of distrust and disbelief, fencing life,
Dreams echo in the cave, from wherein flows the life-drug,
Muffled voices of a zeal to rise free and dare to fall free….
…Thundering shallow commands of those dignitaries from the concrete walls and glass moulds……
….The two voices, one from within, other from the out….
…Neither from south, but at war, each clashing with righteous vengeance,
Torn mind is not, agitated blistered heart is, the roped path to that mount swings forlorn,
Awaiting impatient footsteps, missed beats, heaving breaths,
Clasp your hands over your ears, and sing with harsh breaths the songs of your dreams,
Let the flute play your tone, hang your coat and your hat at the entrance of the shelter you left behind,
You must pass the valley of fear, of haplessness, of disdain from pitiless eyes, unshielded,
For dreams of souls can be borne only ragged and scalded,
Fondled by hardships yet unbent head, the fanatical almighty might point you to east,
Gulp the pain of lost memories, of a yester year where you knew less, moan not for the yourself,
Clutch the sack of gathered autumn leaves, of seeds for the summer,
Merge what you see, what you fathom, what you might know,
Roar towards the cave on the antagonizing peak; turn not to the south, nor to the west,
But look to the north, harrow with your feet to that glow of pyre in the east,
Drink you must from the creek, wet your lips with hope for now, for only the elixir shall quench thy thirst
I came across a picture of many ladies standing in a group and well they all looked so happy..there was something so alive and powerful about that picture..so I had to pen down these thoughts.
I am reminded of my grandmom and my grandad too..I had little time with them..but to me both were the picture of benevolence and power. And I see many wise women fighting for their families and their rights tirelessly, and we have much to learn from them:) And I loved the picture:)
Aah… Those Ladies
There is something about that lady, all those ladies,
Have you seen them smile, all white and eyes sparkling in glory..
Age defied by the lines crinkling at the corners..
Unaware of the beauty that exhales with their walk..
A stature that draws your soul to bloom.. look up from the drooping petals that you hide in..
Oh the fight that fences their eyes..and palms open wide..
Shoulders rise questioning the callous world..
Grim lines stretch along that fiery face..
Vengeance not spiteful yet exuding power almost godlike..
With a feisty, yet calmingly shrewd aura, the words from tongues and eyes befall on the ears..
Deaf and down trodden stare, aghast, awed, stirred in their hearts and minds..
A challenge summoning the world to rise above its apathetic forms..And norms..
Await rains..To fight with faith.. they teach us..
Drought is bound by nature to torture with thirst and hunger..
Tragedy to haunt our lives.. Savage are nourished to be pitiless..
And yet all are hapless against the turns of the earth.. the spinning of time..
The twists in the seasons.. from forlorn wait..to shady winters..
To scorching summer and the rains that wash away all the filth..the sorrow..the dread..and the scum..
Those rains shall leave your breath clean, your hearts effervescent shall find wonder and courage in thyself..
Aah those ladies, their lives, their stories of tears both merry and forlorn.. Regale your heart with hope..
Palms open..Arms embracing you with an exuberant warmth.. you are her child not from her womb..
Her friend.. Whoever you might be.. You find love trailing their eyes…
And each passing moment they whisper with their smiles, with their touch and speak in wringing tones..
“From the depths of our wells of righteousness shall rise our will to stand in the face of the storms..”
Oh Dear Man..tell me..
I shed tears engraved with your name
I find pieces of me seething in pain,
The pieces you touch heave and sigh in your remembrance,
And the parts in oblivion to your soul.. lay still waiting to be asked…
”Would you like a ride to the dawn with me?…Where is it that you belong and what say is your story?”
They shrink in the drought of the long summer haul, blind creatures with a pitiful stature, feeding on pain that trickles down their layers…
But you walk away, back turned, darkening my heart in your shade,
Marked by memories in the scorching shape of your form,
I stand waiting to run, run far away from your scorn,
But stranded I am.. limp , no caves to hide……………..As all are lined along hills of the grieving town..
The town where paths lead astray to the homes of dead hopes, drunken wishes, follies of wants..
You are but a mad man, a wolf.. Fighting like the brave life and death for his pride..
For deeper dreams and friends that that fill your soul..
And I am but the prey of the calls you sound in the moonlight..
I find myself twisting away to seek the fork that finds me at my sun kissed doorstep,
Where I might find you to be a thought of another distant self,
Where light of love might remain a haze without a tryst with its dark shades..
Let me stroll back, do not call me back in time,
Let me forget that I met you on the lone walk one very eerie night,
I was straddled by a sudden bliss..but now the bliss churned with a deadly essence..
The callous reckless wanderlust of unrequited passions…Brimming the chalice of tonight’s spirit..
I find my mind sinks into yours with a penchant to read thee like a manuscript about all that is life…
Oh dear man, tell me… where shall I seek your heart..
Else show me the route to that moment before..years ago..then I shall escape to find mine in whole..
Let those minute pulses that beat in your mind, even as the breath has been felt and lost,
Let those beats faint away into void; let the breaths die their natural death,
Tie not the noose with one hand and pump your heart with another,
Either your hold, slacken it and let the beats, the breaths heave in deep agony,
And find your mind gushing with blood and tears of yesterday’s war,
Or drop the other hand and string the noose to the bell,
Let it ring in the mind and dull the lights on the those darkened days, dusky nights, chain the gates
Its time, it’s time to depart from the world of those wishful sensations,
Memories and questions, and desires clutch your heart, yet let’s depart;
To cleanse the heart that drowns in the pool of purple poison,
Let the heart beat to slander those memories, and yet as much as I try, all is still,
Hands shake, fighting the wolf’s claws to drag you back to that desert, the bindings of being human,
Can you depart the deserted land; pass the mirage not quenching your thirst?
Heart believes, beauty is just beyond the blinding horizon,
Is beauty indeed found, is faith brought back by a touch of innocence or just a lash of scalding truth?
Can beauty and faith be found in horrendous truth?
Pain, betrayal, unrequited love, unparalleled atrocities, Or is the child’s tear the only sacred beauty?
Do the birds of war and love embrace to find peace?
Does the desert finally show its true treasures and horrors?
And peace remains as delusional as the belief in the moon’s promise of shimmer on the dark fortnight?
Do the eyes droop and breathing ease resting on the bosom of a mate?
Or do yours and mine-souls,
Do we finally depart with pain in our bones and mirages in our eyes and thirst on our cracked lips?
But departing is only a trapping, the truth only a fantasy,
We are prisoners in our infinitely deserted land,
And answers evade and delude sinking into the sand.
Slightly edited version..:D Born from the memory of dreams and cross roads and hindrances as we try to follow those dreams.
Dreams I Fiddled With
I can’t find my voice in those dreams I had fiddled with,
A long time ago when my eyes were blinded by faith, I sparked off in a moment of impulse-a dream,
Belief that the world would always rise with the good to castrate the evil,
I knew not, was I was allowed to dream of a land of innocence, breeding soulful souls?
I dreamt on in the silence of the nights, before the idols I bestowed my faith,
I dreamt unknown to myself, I knew not- I was only dressing a fantasy,
I only dreamt but foolishly forged ahead on a path leading nowhere, as it took me far,
Far away from the land that owned my mind,
I found evil, I found a world faithless, and I found a world drowning in survival,
It was tormented by existence, perennial needs of survival,
Hounded by the rituals of the caste, the society they were born into and procreated unintentionally
Starved so as to starve and feed on the hunger of the others,
All by the evil sewn into the minds, The venom of satiation spilled into their tongues they fed,
Deceptive false hoods recited by the phony pole stars, not a fault of theirs,
As tortured as I was, practising a life in a world unfathomable to me,
I sensed the desperation to find my fantasy, to find innocence, to find life in the saplings of timed lives,
To find the weeds in the history of those lives,
To find the dark den of slithering snakes that hissed in the minds,
Poisoning and egging the men to twist, use, slander, grab and own bodies and minds,
The thorns that pricked a man to take refuge in the codes and coats of survival,
To understand the rise of evil in the land of innocence, I fled to find the land that owned me,
As I walk along the blurring boundaries in this county, I find faith dulled in the minds of trusted beings,
The hand on the head is no more a blessing, questioning my faith, my dream,
Brushing it aside as though I dream a surreal reality, beyond my human capacities, dimwitted child am I?
Oh dear father! Oh dear mother! Oh dear friend, my dream ain’t dead, it ain’t a forgotten wish,
It is trapped as my voice is stuttering with hapless hurt at your denial to believe,
It sails away plagued, of your dread and needs and wants,
Hope is seems a shred of the forgotten memory in this moment, out of reach of the soul’s dominion.
I can only wish for the dream to rescue the ever sought after hope,
Circumvent on the broken cycle of my childhood days,my foolish dreams
Pedalling , riding my way up to the cave of surreal reality.
In a mind might be carved three windows,
Translucent, opaque and well the third, its unbarred,
One must remember these are windows, and our human form, our mind -the confinement,
Through the translucent window, beams reflected, bouncing off numerous wedges,
Tainted in colors taken away, ignited in colors given away from scenes and souls, and windows afar,
Reach the soul, no, not yet, gliding only though a netted vision, graffiti of the known,
The soul reads the world in this light, through tinted eyes, etching lines of right and wrong,
But those lines forever crisscross to frame a mesh, another window in the soul,
Every wrong has a human weakness;
Every right has an imposed, narcissistic tinge wafting from it,
So many dots at the intersections of these lines, it’s all discrete and none can confirm a story,
A story narrating the bible of a world divided in right and wrong,
But the mind searches for that point of reference to unfold a story,
And hence it strives on and on to walk on tiptoes stepping only on those points,
The opaque eyes see nothing, only graffiti that that has been learnt and has blackened it eyes,
The walls of the prison say you must be the thoughtless, mad, soulless soul,
And thus it feeds daily on the satisfaction of being just so,
It sees no light; it searches for no light, it knows no light, as it knows the mind sapping bible by soul,
Then there in the unbarred window,
It sounds as though it might see the quaint beauty and horrid insufferable weeds growing in the garden,
A garden that stretches beyond the horizon,
Alas, one must remember the light is still painted in streaks and rays of many colors from a zillion,
None show its true form, and none exceed the limits of existence in that form,
The light reaches, bright, blinding the soul with questions one too many,
A mind that knows nothing, sees all it can see, is still engulfed by the sounds incomprehensible,
Colors whose meanings, whose representation, the soul seeks to find,
Lines of right and wrong are blurred, streaks of thoughts clash, and answers found are turned to zilch,
The narration to the saint who scripts the bible is written, scratched,
Rewritten, remaining indecipherable,
And hence walking on and on,
Eyes and soul wandering to places through the window unbarred, confined though in its human form
Memories, asleep beneath the grave of time,
They refute your desire to know the truth,
It was whiplashes from another hand soul clasped on to, absorbing pain in desperation, blatantly foolish
Some so gory, that your mind dreads their return,
As they tell tales of those times buried in layers of stacked indecipherable moments
Times you seek to ink on parchment to discriminate illusions from reality,
Some dangerously carved falsehoods…
..Cascading irrational fears with the moments that skinned cells of your faith,
In brutally trying to scavenge for answers, fear of self, fear of what was and what it has fed you,
The old wounds burn, and hiss and leak venom transcending to this moment
Mind clots, chokes in revulsion, revolting against the excessive intrusion,
Invading the past might bring no control, but to rise above ones fears, one must let the venom seep,
To understand the mind now, one must know how it came into being,
To plough out its dark secrets, it’s reason for cerebral dormancy,
Its static stance against abominable acts of hungry desolate minds,
Till the present state evolves into numb acceptance,
The truth trudges up, annihilates all meek pity, and fails to irk the mind into delirium,
Its weakness remains unpardoned.
She dyes herself in blue, your poison,
She dyes herself in red, her love, your portrait
She dyes herself black, her hideout, her darkness,
She dyes herself in the sky; hope to fly, to touch the heaven in her mind,
She dyes herself in autumn yellow; she is your sunshine, as she is her own,
The cold winter shrinks your flesh; and hardens your whimpering soul,
She is the knitted blanket, the warmth in the crackling fire, as you doze into theland afar,
She dyes herself in lustrous green, beauty you see as silence engulfs your soul,
Rains have lashed and left, but her beauty, green droplet endowed on nature,
She dyes self in fluorescence, so you might just be blinded by her zest for light,
She dyes herself in the color of your eyes, her penchant to liven them and live in them,
She is the brown earth, her endurance of life, her endearment as she shields you in her bosom,
She is peace, she is freedom, she is embellished only by the serene plain sky, white clouds, her love for you in eternity,
She is the colors of her life, her own streaks, her own blends,
And she braves the wars, drenches in your tears, in your marooned blood,
She stays fastened to you, your life she holds close to her soul,
You tell me, who she is? You know here, you think of her, she could be anything and anybody,
She is the colors, the picture you painted in your mind’s eye.