Friday, October 24, 2014

A BUNDLE OF MEMOIRS



                                                        

                  A  BUNDLE OF MEMOIRS

Which is that passion that hasten to

Turn into clouds and drip down as a rain?

Which is that note that  remains in the heart

As a gossamer emotion of a  sentiment?

Love blossoms as a  poem as the breeze

fondles the  passions with a finger touch.


Many a dawn saw me sitting down

Veiled by the morning mist, despondently

Remembering those sunny moments we had

Together, when you and me were  neighbours.


Now the resplendent evening,  whispers

Into my  ears that we both  have become

Victims of separation from our beloveds.


I used to sit under the Gulmohur trees ablaze

With fiery blossoms at  the entrance of Spring
Thinking of you, and engrossed in reveries.

The Providence  has decreed  that we should

Never  be together as we desired, and thus

We had to part, carrying the rucksack

Of our memoirs, tread in our own paths

and occasionally lick


Them like a dog licking its wounds.


Monday, October 20, 2014

INVITATION





                                 



                                

                         INVITATION

Come my beloved.. the weather is changing now

The sandalwood showering moonlight will fade now.

Remove the facade of your veil and allow me

To see your face and my yearning will be tranquilized.


'Call her, my friends! ,let her come here


And her presence will relieve me from

The malady affecting me now.
.
If you are not coming, just send me a letter

At least, so that I can feel better with

Your adoring message for the time being.

Do hold the tresses of your dress, lest it should

Fall off and obliterate your face;

And I won't be able to enjoy the splendour.

The moon light that enter in my courtyard

Will leave tomorrow if you are not here


The arrogant wind that blows through your house

May bring the dust and cover my face then.

My Darling.. fall in love with someone

And your life will change its direction and

You will realize the beauty of love then.


SHE IS MINE







                                              SHE IS MINE....

 Words flee when I try to depict the beauty of my beloved.

Immaculate, soul stirring..

You may also praise her at  the  sheer sight of her.

Still to find another fairy more fairest than  her now.


She is:

Like the beauty portrayed in the Ajanta  Mural paintings..

The bewitching spell in her eyes..

Like the sweet scented melody..

As the heavenly philharmony floating in the firmament

Enrapturing and enervating the senses..

Like the sandal fragranced moon light

That beams down on a full moon day..

A garden in full bloom in the Spring..

Like the first  radiant ray of the  morning sun..

A captivating, eyeful statue made by the Creator

Carved out of sandalwood..

Or from the  finest alabaster of Italy;



Is it the moon shining there on her face

I  can not make out  the truth.

Like a flower ever fresh and unwilted;

Like a beautiful GHAZAL or the eye of the Ghazal;

A bud of the Lotus in the Mansarovar

Or the  incarnated imagination of the soul;

A  splendid dream with its  magnificent interpretation

It's like the  never ending story in the

"Thousand and One nights"...

A medley of realities and imaginations;

A countenance unique in all aspects;

The forehead resembling that of an  elephant;

A body vanquishing the butter, melting at my touch...

I cannot cast away my eyes from her eyes anymore,

They invite me to  drink from those  goblets

filled with the wine of her love, intoxicating me.

She looks down with coy meekness;

She looks up towards heaven in prayer..

Her glances  up and down captivate the earth and


The sky together  as Narcissus.

Saturday, October 18, 2014

HUES OF DREAMS




HUES OF DREAMS


In those young days when I used to

Love blossoms, and wished to fly around them

Like a butterfly, the colour of my dreams was ‘green’.


When I coveted to touch the snow clad

Mountains that loomed over the boundless

Horizon spreading before me, the colour

Of those dreams were  ‘ blue’, as the hyacinths.


The age when I desired for the dawn of

A new political system without corruption,

And the blood was bubbling with revolutionary

Ideologies, the dreams hovered around me

Looked forward for such a dawn, its colour

Was a crimson ’ red’, of the proletariat.


When I see the dry leaves of a tree

Scorched in the intolerable heat of the sun,

My excitement freeze and the dreams

Assumed the hue of ‘ash’, in despair.


In this advanced stage of life, I am unable to see

Anymore vivid dreams, I used to have.

Now my palette have the colours, got mixed


Together, and formed a blackish tint.

No more resplendent dreams in the life now!

And who knows, what its colour could be

In the eerie silence of my tomb….



Friday, October 17, 2014

NOSTALGIC MEANDERINGS



                              



   NOSTALGIC MEANDERINGS

Is there anyone who could refuse to
Reminisce their childhood and adolescence?
Is there any one who will never covet to graze
Through their past in their episodes of love
And remember the heart throbs of beloveds?.

 Any one who will hesitate to sing a melody of love;
As they see the placid brooks and the tearful dreams
They saved in their hearts of those sunny moments?
Any one live in this earth who would not cherish
The realms of their youthful days...

My heart yearns to traverse through
Those good old days, and revel in those memories.
Is there anyone living in this earth who does not
Covet to immerse in those fond memories of those
Vibrant youthful days when life was fragrant
With love in the heart and the beloved was so close.
I will submit even my whole remnant birth
If I can recapture those sunny days back to me....

The soft shade of the old mango tree;
The corridors of my family house
Where all the household spent their
Life together in spree and unity;
Where honeydew drips from the tip of
The grass leaf in the early dawn,
And we drip them into our eyes to feel
The rapturous delight of the early morning chill.
Where at the banks of the running brooks
The toads crock courting their beloveds...
The fleeting rain embracing us in love and mirth,
And the shouts of joy while running after
An improvised paper ball in the rain..
When in the morning we imitate the cries
Of the *chakoram [Caccabis} from its bamboo nest;
And we turn to become Ace drivers of racing cars
Wheeling the old cycle rims through narrow alleys of the village...
And throw stones in the temple tank where the Water Lilly
Sways among the ripples in the morning thrill...

Watch half naked young girls sinking and
Bathing in the muddy waters of the river, after a rain;
Run after an elephant and beg the mahout to give us
A hair from the elephant's tail.. And.... And...

Writing the first love letter with three words "I LOVE YOU'
To be given to the most beautiful girl in the class;
And the aftermath of such an insolence
Of a VII Standard boy reported to the class teacher...
The bitter pain felt when detached from home and mother
When leaving for the city to study and join the college hostel..

Could all these golden moments ever come back
Into our life any time, any day.......


SEEKING YOU



                              




                               SEEKING YOU…


               
Where were you so long, for a copious period

My sweet, bewitching, voluptuous moon?

Were you hiding among the clouds in the blue skies,

Or in the terraces of the castles in the air?

Where were you all these time?

Away from your beloved for such a long time?

Were you sleeping and dreaming in some vales;

My loving swan, with your coquetry and bashfulness?

Swimming in the jade ponds of eternal love..

So long… .so far away from  my presence?

You the fragrance of the Midnight Queen 

Whose inlets are kissed by the rays of the Full moon?

Where did you go to bewitch a butterfly


And make it tipsy with your love potions ?

Sunday, June 15, 2014

WEDLOCK....

                                     


                      Wedlock…


A solitary door of the mind,
The charming door of memories
Of the erstwhile life, obsessed
Always with grief, if closed;
Always with woes, even if opened.

It’s a poem, written by the heart;
Love’s nectar is its language.
If its meaning is misconceived
If no spelling mistakes, creep up
If omissions and errors, are avoided
It becomes an epic; Matrimony is a mega epic!

Is there a song sung without discord?
Any dances without a faulty step?
Inaccuracy, miscalculation, blunder.


Slip, oversight, delusion, all may occur.
Rhythm may falter, steps may alter,
But the swirl will continue, till the end
When the course is corrected at times,
In the current of the song of life!

Paint the faded pictures of wedlock, with
Ever fresh sparkling colours of endurance;
Like rains and spring seasons wash away
The sins of summer and its debris
As omnipresent Time by its omnipotence.


       

Saturday, June 14, 2014

IN THE MOONLIGHT

         

                                     

                         


                 IN THE MOONLIGHT





Have you forgotten that night?

When we first met, in the moonlight?

We exchanged our glances artfully.

My beloved, my memories are all

Crowded with the enlightened streams

Of your enchanting smiles.


You are the tiny waves which gives bliss

To the withering memories of my forlorn life.

My pleasures pure, have become mute pangs

Now, smothering my morbid soul.

The fragrance emanating in my life

Out of your reminiscence is now

An elixir, for my existence.

The eternal radiance of your smile


Enliven my spirits and soften my pangs….

Saturday, May 24, 2014

WITHER THOU...






                                                              Whither  Thou?


Self immolation, suicides, manslaughter,
And rapes are becoming pillars of life;
Unknown someone is programming
Our lives remotely, as a parody of
A T.V. serial, without start or end
Of a story, that has no meaning,
Pertinence or reason in it.
Basic rights are pilfered somewhere
On the way, making it unfeasible
To express real apprehensions and
Dreams of the human mind, as they
Are plundered or looted away from life.

Man is discarded as an already broadcasted
Programme, rather than being a programmer
Of his life, that can be created to suit him.
Lasciviousness is honoured as masculinity,
In the culture of capitalist society.
A contract made up with the devil!
World has become a hunting ground
Like whale hunt, tiger hunt,
Women hunt, gold hunt, and sex hunt...
Life is deteriorating as an epic of failures;
And man is a helpless creature in that void.